Older || 18+

11. Emma

"Hey, Emma!" Alex's voice cuts through the post-class chatter, pulling me out of my daydream about the cozy bed I'm planning to dive into as soon as I get home.

I turn, spotting him weaving through the crowd with that easy smile of his. Alex and I have had pretty much all the same classes since starting college. He's another graphic design major. We were paired for a group project our first semester and instantly clicked.

I pause, waiting for him to catch up. "Hey, what's up?"

He brushes his unruly brown hair out of his eyes—a habitual gesture that I've come to find endearing—and says, "I was going to grab some lunch. You in?"

My stomach answers before I do, rumbling loud enough to make a statement. "I could eat," I admit, and his grin widens in response.

"Great, let's go," he says, grinning.

We head over to the student union building and grab some sandwiches and chips.

"So, what are you doing this weekend?" he asks, taking a big bite of his sandwich.

"Nothing thrilling. Study, laundry... the glamorous life of a college student," I say, my tone dry. The thought of another weekend spent with textbooks and detergent isn't exactly thrilling.

He laughs, the sound easy and warm. "Sounds like a blast."

"And you?" I probe, already suspecting his answer might involve more social activities than mine.

I'm not unpopular by any means, but I do like to keep to myself. Alex, on the other hand, is a social butterfly. He's in every club he can fit into his schedule, he plays any sport he can make the team for, and he joined a fraternity the moment he could. He is a boundless ball of energy all day, every day.

"I'm hitting a frat party," he says, his eyebrows doing a little dance that suggests mischief.

I can't help but roll my eyes. "Of course, you are," I mutter. My mind flashes back to the last frat party adventure—me, alone, a little too friendly with the punch, and an intimate acquaintance with some unfortunate bushes. Not my finest hour.

"Why don't you come with?"

"Those things aren't really my scene," I say, trying to keep the memories at bay. The truth is, I'm not great at saying no to one more drink, and these parties always end in regret.

"Please. You're killing me," he says, clutching his chest dramatically. "You never want to go out and have fun with me. Do you even really like me? Tell me now, I can take it," he pouts, his bottom lip jutting out.

Seeing him pout like that, I feel my resolve weakening. "Alright, fine. Calm down, boy. But if I end up a drunken mess, you're on cleanup duty," I warn, half-joking, half-serious.

His face lights up with a victorious smile. "Deal. You won't regret it," he assures me, but I'm not entirely convinced.

"When is this party anyway?"

"Friday night. I can pick you up, if you want."

I consider the offer for a moment. I really hate driving. And if I drink even the littlest bit, I will not be able to drive. I don't see how some people can drink whole six-packs and drive. If I down a single solo-cup, I'm unsteady on my feet. "Sure, I'll text you the address," I agree.

Alex is one of those people who is so easy to be around. He's nice, and thoughtful, and although I hate to admit it, he's funny. I would never tell him that, though. It would make his already oversized head even bigger.

We spend the rest of lunch chatting about our classes and upcoming assignments. We plan to meet up to work on a few assignments together.

After we part ways, I head to the library. I have a couple of papers due and I'm not even close to finished with them thanks to all that wedding planning.