In The Backseat

Chapter 15: Desire Unspoken

The morning after that late-night drive, I woke up with a headache that wasn't really a headache—it was just her. Calitrope had infected my dreams again, and no, I'm not about to go into detail, but let's just say my subconscious is far bolder than I am in real life. You know it's bad when you wake up blushing and glaring at your pillow like it's personally responsible for everything that happened in your sleep.

And here's the kicker: I've stopped fighting it. Yep. I've signed the contract, sealed it with a notary stamp—I am officially into Calitrope. And you know what? Fine. I accept it. But acceptance doesn't mean I'm ready to say it. Nope. Because here's the rub: Calitrope, despite all the heated almost-kisses, lingering touches, and late-night Mustang confessions, hasn't once asked me to be her girlfriend. Not once. No labels, no declarations, no, "Hey Vee, let's make this official and put everyone out of their misery." Nothing.

So what am I supposed to do? Be the first one to open that box? Ha! Please. Me? The one who hides under sarcasm and iced coffee whenever emotions come knocking? Yeah, not happening.

And so the cycle begins. Fantasy-filled dreams every night, frustration every morning, and every time I see her—whether it's passing in the dorm hallway with her hair tied up and a towel slung over her shoulder (don't even start me on that image) or catching her smirk across campus—it just makes it worse. My dreams get bolder, my blushes get deeper, and I'm basically living in a permanent state of emotional chaos.

Which is why, when I sat with Adrianna in a cozy study café, drowning in textbooks and espresso shots, the last thing I needed was that name flashing across my phone screen.

Callie.

You know that cold, sinking feeling in your gut when the horror movie villain suddenly appears even though you thought they died ten minutes ago? Yeah, that.

"Shit," I muttered, and Adrianna peeked over her laptop like a curious cat.

"Who is it?"

I grimaced and showed her the screen. She nearly spit out her espresso.

Of course, I answered, because apparently I'm a masochist. "Hello?"

"Vee!" Callie's voice was way too chipper for someone who'd nearly dragged me into a jealous meltdown weeks ago. "Where are you? I'm on campus!"

I shot up from my seat so fast Adrianna swore under her breath. "You're—what?"

"I'm here," Callie said, casual as anything. "Where are you? I'll come over."

And because I'm apparently incapable of lying on the spot, I told her. Which is how, a few minutes later, Callie strolled into the café, sunshine smile and all.

"Callie... Adrianna. Adrianna, Callie," I muttered, doing the awkward hand-wave introduction.

And then something strange happened. Something terrifying. Something I absolutely did not prepare for.

They clicked.

Not just a "hi, nice to meet you" clicked. No. A soul sister clicked. A "laughing at inside jokes within ten minutes" clicked. I sat there, frozen, while my best friend and my... rival? Crush-blocker?—whatever Callie was—bonded over who-knows-what, leaving me third-wheeling my own table.

Finally, when things calmed down enough that I could slide in a question, I asked the one that'd been burning in my head since she called.

"So... why are you here?"

Callie took a sip of her frappe, shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world, and said, "Well, they've got a good program here for business courses, you know."