Daydream (Maple Hills, #3)(79)

“Right…”

“And I said, ‘Win,’ really enthusiastically because he likes enthusiasm, and he said, ‘Good, was yesterday a onetime blip?’ and I said, ‘Yes.’ And then he said, ‘You’re allowed to have an off day. You’re a human, not a robot.’ And I said, ‘Good to know.’ Then he asked me if I’ve registered for spring classes yet and I said, ‘No,’ so he said, ‘Go and do it,’ so I said, ‘Okay.’?”

Henry pushes his hands into his pockets and avoids eye contact with me. “So you didn’t tell him you’re scared to let your friends down and you’re struggling to process the tie between the team’s losses and your role as captain, and it’s making you seriously unhappy?”

“No. It didn’t come up,” he says casually.

“Henry, for the love of God, please go back upstairs and tell him how you really feel.”

“We need to leave or you’ll be late for class.”

“Henry,” I borderline plead. “Please tell him you need more support. What if you lose again this weekend? I despise seeing you be so hard on yourself.”

“We won’t lose. You’ll be there and you’re my lucky charm. It’s a scientific fact.”

“Henry, that isn’t how science works. I feel like I don’t tell you how annoying you are enough,” I grumble, walking under his arm as he holds the door open for me. We’re leaving the sports building but it’s reluctantly on my part even if it’s not on his. “Me being at your games is not a great strategy for success.”

“You’re the only person who finds me annoying. Everyone else finds me adorable.”

Slowly, the Henry I’m used to starts to move to the surface. He still looks worn out but he feels closer than he did before. “You’re a menace. I don’t know where anyone is getting adorable from.”

Hottest guy at this school, yes. Adorable? Not quite.

“To my friends I’m like the younger brother they have to keep alive and out of trouble. You have an audio clip of me making you come on your phone. Very different type of relationship.”

I’m surprised I don’t fall to the ground. I’m positive my knees wobble a little. “Oh my God, you can’t just throw that out there in the middle of a conversation while there are people around us.”

He looks around at the one—maybe two—people within listening distance who are clearly not paying attention to us as we all walk in the same direction. “Why not? We haven’t talked about it since it happened. I wondered if I’d imagined it because I expected you to bring it up. Have you listened to it?”

“Henry, is this seriously what you want to talk about right now? After how you’ve been feeling, this is what you want to discuss?”

“I’ll talk about literally anything if it stops you from talking to me about hockey.”

“I’m trying to help you get the support you so desperately need.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Have you listened to it?” He looks at me and smirks. “Why are you blushing?”

I take another look around us and conclude people definitely aren’t listening to us. I lower my voice anyway. “Because you’re asking me about masturbating while you walk me to class.”

“I didn’t. I asked you if you’d listened to it. You’re making assumptions about what I think you’re doing to yourself while you moan my name on that clip.”

“I hate you.”

“Do you hate me enough to not want to make more?”

I don’t know if this is entirely false bravado considering how bad he’s been feeling, and if he’s doing that thing he does where he pretends that he’s okay. Or if he just really likes getting under my skin and it’s genuinely improving his mood.

Of course I’ve listened to that audio. If this was the olden days, I’d have literally burned out the tape. It’s the single most erotic experience of my life and I have it recorded. I don’t know what’s so hot about it other than the fact it’s Henry. I’ve been using audio apps for a while and there’s nothing on there that even comes close to how good this is.

Nothing else has happened between us since then other than, as the library sign would say, heavy petting, and lots of cold showers.

And listening to the audio clip with my vibrator, obviously.

Maybe it’s because it makes me feel powerful in an area of my life that I haven’t felt powerful in before. Maybe it made me feel desired and satisfied and happy.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s Henry Turner.

“I’ve listened to the clip, Henry. In bed. In the bath. When I’m supposed to be studying.”

We reach my building and he holds open the door for me. “And what’s your professional review?”

“Professional review? Eleven out of ten. EGOT status pending for an excellent performance.”

“Thank you to the Academy in that case,” he says.

It’s a lot busier here than it was outside, which massively reduces my willingness to discuss what I’m doing when I’m home alone. I don’t know if I just watched too many college shows when I was growing up, but it really does feel like everyone notices Henry as we walk by. His posture stiffens, face hardens. It tells me it’s not just in my head, and perhaps the idea of being perceived isn’t what he wants right now.