The Whys of Us

10

Sabina, Andy, and MJ made up the day the eldest left for home.

"You're right," the redhead said, raising her palms in the air. "It wasn't fair of us to judge him like that. And to project my own issues onto him."

Andy looked at Sabina.

The eldest sighed. "I'm sorry. I was really rude to him. He looked like...someone dangerous."

"Like an asshole," MJ added.

"Not helping your case," Andy said.

"The way he was sitting, too," Sabina continued, eyebrows furrowing, "I don't know, he looked cocky and he kind of reminded me of Luke, and I was just worried for you."

"And like I said, no worrying needed," Andy told them with a smile, pulling her friends into a big hug. "He's good to me. But you guys need to be civil with him the next time, okay? You're my best friends, and he's my boyfriend, and I really want you guys to...not try to kill each other."

"You have our word," MJ promised. "Now, come on. Sabina's going to be late."

And just like that, they're okay.

Andy spends the rest of the week working while MJ also goes home to spend time with her family before summer classes start.

On Saturday, Andy loads her bags into Rhysand's car.

He's leaning against the Jeep with a cigarette in his mouth as he watches her. "Are you sure you don't need a ride?"

"Just to the bus station, Rhys, we talked about this," Andy reminds him with a smile, shoving the third and last bag into the trunk. "After the meeting-my-friends thing, I don't think we're ready for the meeting-my-parents thing yet. Besides, my dad is going to kill you. Literally."

Rhysand doesn't say anything. Andy closes the trunk with a loud sound and steps closer to him, frowning at the stick between his teeth. "Smoking. Again."

"You say that like you're surprised," he mutters.

Andy sighs and pulls out a lollipop from her bag. "You should really quit. This isn't good for you."

Rhysand doesn't respond—only takes out the smoke and leans down to level his face with hers.

Andy puts the candy in his mouth. "Come on."

Rhysand opens the passenger door for her, and he drives onto the main road with one hand on the steering wheel. The other grips her own, interlacing their fingers together.

And on the bus, once she's bought her ticket and loaded her stuff in, she faces her boyfriend with a smile. "Thank you for driving me. I'll see you in two weeks."

"Two weeks," Rhysand muses, crossing his arms. "Call me when you get in."

"Okay," Andy whispers, wrapping her arms around his waist. When he stiffens—being touched in public like this—Andy tells him, "Just a hug. To sustain me for two weeks."

Rhysand sighs and pulls back, cupping her face. "Don't think a hug will suffice."

Without warning, he kisses her. It's fast, but sweet, and Andy melts into his touch.

He's been doing that a lot lately, ever since that night on his bed. It still surprises her—manages to catch her off guard, and she's still not sure what she's doing—but it feels right, and still, incredibly overwhelming and wonderful.

It's always been Rhysand doing it, though. Andy hasn't tried to do the same—no matter how much she wants to initiate it. She's not that brave. She still squeaks in surprise when Rhysand leans close to her face, and she has to talk herself out of pushing him and running away.