Under the Same Stars(43)

“How romantic,” I said, straight-faced.

“C’mon, it is!” Austin chuckled again. “Mads, he’s your best friend. Wouldn’t it be awesome if your best friend became your favorite person?”

His last two words made something twist in my chest. Favorite person, Austin Fisher-Michaels’s synonym for soulmate. I suddenly remembered talking to Samira back in April, while hiding in the bridal salon’s bathroom. “It could be nice to be with your best friend,” she’d mused. “The person you never stop laughing with, the person who always has your back, the person who knows you inside and out…”

But what happens if we end up like you and Samira, Austin? I thought. You were best friends before you became more, and look what happened after you did. She wasn’t your favorite person forever.

And I felt like Austin and Samira were the exception to the rule. Most exes never stayed friends afterward. I couldn’t bear to lose Connor entirely.

I’d almost mentioned that during Austin’s and my FaceTime call, but I ended up keeping my lips zipped after Austin told me that I’d never know with Connor unless I tried. It was amazing how he could read my mind sometimes. We hung up after he added that texting Connor some version of Do you want to start going out? was lazy.

(And last resort–sounding, per Katie’s unsolicited opinion.)

I had to make a flashy move.

God, what should that be? I wondered as I hit a reverse shot. Embarrassingly, I missed the net and the ball flew far into the meadow. “Dammit,” I muttered, grabbing another neon yellow sphere from my ball bucket. A line of fiery sweat trickled down my back.

But it turned ice-cold when I heard the hum of a car coming up the driveway. Arthur and Francine started barking, but I hesitated to turn around, suddenly wishing I’d listened to Dad and put on his definition of actual clothes. My workout gear…

Well, I suddenly felt flat-out naked.

The dogs’ upbeat woofs meant the arrival was someone they knew. I internally counted to three before turning to see a slate-colored Acura that I knew Marco had affectionately nicknamed the “Bumper Car” due to its various dents.

Sure enough, there was the bright orange PRINCETON decal on the rear window, and I felt my ribs twinge when the driver door opened and Marco slid out; we hadn’t seen each other since my campus visit over two months ago.

He looked like summer in a blue EVERTON Premier League T-shirt and fraying green shorts with flip-flops and a deep tan from soccer training. But he wasn’t wearing his glasses, and I wondered why. I liked them.

“Hey!” he called out, raising his arm in a wave.

I waved back with my field hockey stick.

He took that as permission to approach the field.

“Hi,” I said, avoiding eye contact when he reached me. I spoke to his favorite soccer team’s crest on his chest.

“Are you okay?” Marco asked.

My pulse thudded, but I forced my chin upward and we locked eyes. His irises could only be described as perfectly toasted marshmallows, a sweet golden-brown color. “Hi,” I heard myself repeat.

“Hi,” he repeated back. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” I said lamely, then straightened my shoulders. “Two months.”

Marco’s lips curved up in a sly smile. “I know. I also counted.”

“You didn’t answer my text,” I added as if he weren’t already aware.

“Not true.” He shook his head. “I didn’t answer right away. The end of the semester was ruthless, and you also made a pretty”—he searched for the right word—“bold suggestion.”

I didn’t answer.

Get out of that situationship, Marco. She’s the worst.

An anxious ripple went up my spine, wondering if they were still together.

“I’ve been trying to text you for weeks,” Marco continued, “but all my messages weren’t delivered.” He hummed. “Am I having technical issues?”

I shook my head. “No.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No.” I rolled my eyes. “I deleted your number.”

“Huh.” He folded his arms over his chest. “You did, did you?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“Well, that doesn’t exactly explain why the messages failed to send. You’d just receive them from an unknown contact.” He paused for a beat. “You blocked me.”

“You flatter yourself.” I tried to keep casual, but my voice told the truth, its octave skyrocketing up into the heavens.

Marco gave me a crooked, almost amused look. “Was it really necessary to jump to that extreme?”

Yes, it was. Because for some reason, I hadn’t been able to deal with his radio silence in our chat. It gave me agita whenever I looked at it, which was weirdly a lot. And so I’d deleted our thread, but that hadn’t been enough, either. I didn’t trust myself not to open a new message and apologize to him. Because in all honesty, even if it made me sound immature, I still believed I deserved the apology.

We stood there in silence for a few moments before Marco let me get away with silently pleading the fifth. “I had some free time today,” he said, “and since I had no way of contacting you, I thought I’d stop over.”