Holding the key firmly, I place my gloved hand on the ignition switch. Before turning it I glance at the pile of books on the passenger seat beside me. My breath crystallizes in the chilly air as I count the titles. If I'm missing one, that would be enough to allow myself to get out of this car, out of this weather, and into my warm apartment, my warm bed. But they were all there, and I had reserved the study room at the undergraduate library for this very purpose—to make myself work, get this paper finished. It was due a week ago. Of course I didn't have chains—very few on this campus were prepared for the storms we've been having. But even as my car swerves and slides on patches of ice, I know I couldn't have walked. My bones ache even with the heat radiating from the vents, from the coils in the drivers seat that hold me. The snow has stopped falling, and the roads are relatively clear. The library is only a couple miles away. I manage to smuggle in a coffee I had ordered from the café next door. Hardly anyone is around at this early hour on a Saturday, though finals would be starting in a few days. But it always seems like whoever was at the front desk managed to confiscate any type of food or beverage immediately. I glance over the main catalog terminals—a few scattered students pecking at keyboards. I wait for the elevator patiently, my left hand holding the forbidden cup of coffee inside my coat. The elevator cables creak as I stare at the numbers lighting up. I get out on 3 and head for my designated satellite room. I always choose the eastern-most corner room, as it affords the best view and is relatively removed from the standard library bustle. Though I did notice that another study session was scheduled for the adjacent room within my allotted time. Before entering, I sign my name on the sheet beside the door, indicating it was taken. I leave the door open, as there are books I'll be needing in addition to those I had brought. This room always feels like home to me—its warm pergo flooring, rectangular cherry wood table with sturdy matching chairs, the familiar Asian area rug. Two brown leather armchairs sit directly in front of the north window, slightly offset and postured to accommodate the small wooden table between them. The dry erase board is mounted on the wall opposite these sitting chairs, so every seat in the room could face it. A screen could be pulled down for Powerpoint presentations or overhead projections. I turn on the track lighting, remove my coat, and drape it over a chair in which I set my weathered backpack. Coffee in one hand, I unzip the front pouch and fumble around for a pen. After flipping through a few pages from my various books, I scribble a few quotes on the board. Pleased with my preparation, I sit in one of the rigid wood chairs to begin my notes. I tap the pen nervously against my notebook, glancing at my blank page, at the scribbled wisdom of others I had written a few feet away. Sliding the chair away, I stand and take a sip of my coffee. The sparkle from the beveled glass of the window catches my eye—it has begun to snow again. I stand there, gazing at the falling white, the few small, animated frames of cars and people foraging through it. She should still be sleeping now, I think to myself. I can almost see her—looking so small in her queen-size bed, covered with blankets, surrounded by pillows. She's adorable when she sleeps; she really is. Not like some people who lie there on their backs with their mouths open, a trail of drool running down the side. No...she curls up and tucks her head slightly, something of a smile to her lips. Like a baby. We met a couple years ago...here. She's going for her J.D., and I for another B.A. The irony is that she is younger, though I don't think it matters much. We're polar opposites in so many ways; but in some of the right ways, it just works. Things didn't become romantic until recently. We had been at a dinner party with a few of her peers. It was an uncomfortable setting for me—everyone just seemed so lofty, so pseudo-intellectual. Though I don't usually drink wine, it was all I could do to minimize my part in the conversation, to avoid laughing at what the topic was. I still don't know. After dinner we all played Pictionary, and she and I won with my stick figure drawing of Lady Godiva. We laughed and I told her I loved her. I don't think anyone else heard, but she smiled and looked away and left the room. She came back in what seemed like an hour later, our coats in hand, and saved me from an awkward conversation with a guy who resembled a basset hound. Again, no idea what the topic was. We walked out to the car in relative silence, only the crunching of the snow beneath our feat was audible. She had my keys, had taken them from my coat pocket. Not that she hadn't been drinking, but she had consumed considerably less than I had. We got in the car, she turned the ignition, and then she just sat there a minute, looking straight ahead. Her light blue knit beanie offset her dark hair and skin so beautifully. I wasn't sure what was going on. If I had done something wrong, if she was angry...
"I don't usually drink wine," I said.
She closed her eyes then turned and looked at me intensely.
"What you said to me in there..." I paused.
"Yeah, well..." I said, avoiding her eyes.
"Did you mean that?" she interrupted me softly.
A/N- keep going?
Excuse mistakes
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