Houston pushes his hands in his pockets. His jeans are dark; they’re the kind I would think a guy would wear going out to a club, not when moving furniture around a chick’s dorm room. I kind of think he dressed up, a little, for me. He’s staring down at his feet, and I watch as his mouth opens and closes twice, each time with a breath, about to speak. Finally, he just settles on smiling and looking up at me.

“I guess I’ll see you in the morning?” I say, looping my hand through the strap to pull my bag along behind me. My things are heavy, and going to the Delta House is really the last thing I want to do. But I’m not asking Houston for any more favors.

“Here, let me,” he says, reading my mind. He grabs the heaviest bag, pulling the strap over his shoulder. I take the opportunity to study his tattoo when he does—it’s a cross, with the letters M and B. I’m guessing the M is for his father’s name, because I’m sure I know who the B is.

“Thanks,” I say, pulling my roller bag behind us. We step through the main doors and out to the walkway. It’s a good ten-minute walk from here to the Delta House, so when Houston turns toward the parking lot, I sigh with relief. I’m glad he brought his car—no matter how shitty and old it is.

Houston puts my things in the trunk, then opens my door for me. I’m prepared for the seatbelt this time. What I’m not prepared for is the familiar smell of being in a small space that is permeated with Houston—his cologne—I don’t know what it is, but I like it.

I…like it.

Shit.

We drive the two blocks to the Delta House, the radio filling the awkward void for two minutes. Houston pulls up to the curb, and I sigh, relieved I don’t see anyone else’s car parked along the road. Chandra has a white Acura. Her license plate says W1N3R. She tells everyone it’s the only combination left she could get for winner. But I don’t know, it reads whiner in my head. I keep searching for the whiner car, not satisfied that I don’t see it. She could still be here.

“Hey, you wanna just stay tonight?” Houston’s question bursts through the silence, and it makes me start to sweat instantly. He’s leaning to the side in his seat, his head resting on the back, his hair a little disheveled from the move. He’s adorable. I can’t deny that. And yeah, I want to stay, because I don’t want to be here! But if I stay with you, it’s going to look like I want to stay with you, when in reality I just want to hide, and you’re giving me shelter.

No matter how adorable you are.

“It’s…it’s okay. It’s just one night. But if you can, maybe you can help me move in the morning? I’m kind of done with this place,” I admit. I haven’t told Houston why I’m leaving, but when we talked over break, I did let it slip that some of the girls I counted on as friends turned out to be ruthless bitches.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind. And Leah is excited about having a sister. Oh, yeah…by the way, she says you’re going to be blood sisters,” he says, the right side of his lip lifting, doing that dimple thing. I’m not sure what’s making my heartbeat race—the look on his face or the thought of Leah liking me.

For a few long seconds, I stare at him and consider his offer. My night can take two paths, one in a place I hate, and the other in a place I…

“I’ll be fine, really. See you at eight?” I make my voice sound definitive so he doesn’t try again. If he asks me once more, I’ll go with him. And for some reason, I feel like going with him now will make me notice those other things about him more. And Houston is a whole different life—one that I don’t want.

He meets me behind the car, and when I reach for my bag, our hands touch. He doesn’t move, and my fingers clutch around his on the bag’s handle. It’s a touch that’s somewhere between a standoff and fire.

“I can get it,” I say, my voice sounding a little bossier than I mean. “Really, thank you, but…”

“Paige,” he says, his head doing that tilt thing, and…yeah…there’s the dimple. “I’d be a real asshole to just drop you off and not help you carry your things. Just let me not be an asshole, okay?”

I let my muscles relax and smile as I let go of my grip over his hand. When he turns, I flex my fingers, trying to rid them of the feel of his hand in mine. It wasn’t even a handholding kind of touch. But still.

Once I open the door, I drop my bag and reach for the one Houston’s holding, pulling it inside with me. When he steps toward me, wanting to enter, I place my palm on his chest. I can’t have him come in here with me. That will make me look desperate. And maybe there’s a part of me that wants to keep my Houston-world pure, untainted from this place.