Greek (Palm South University)

He was — is — part of my recovery.

And it seems I’m part of his.

After a long moment debating, I sigh again, extending my hand. “Friends,” I say, pulling back a little when he goes for the shake. “Just friends. The second you try to cross a line, it’s over.”

Gavin throws his hands up. “Just friends. I swear. It’s all I want.”

I nod. “I’d like that, too.”

His smile is one of relief, his shoulders sagging with the breath, and then we shake hands.

And on that touch, the first time touching him since he broke my heart, I feel an all-too-familiar aching pain radiate right to my heart.

“What are you doing now? Want to go grab a drink, catch up?” he asks. Then, he laughs, grabbing the back of his neck. “Or, well, maybe grab you a drink. I don’t drink anymore.”

“At all?”

“Nope.”

I smile. “I think that’s a good thing.”

“I do, too.”

“I have plans tonight,” I lie. The only plans I have are with my bed, but this friendship is new, and I’m too tired to dive in deeper than just agreeing that it’s okay. “Maybe next time.”

Gavin’s smile is a bit flat, but he nods. “Sure, next time.”

He grabs my door to open it farther for me, waiting for me to climb in before he carefully shuts it and taps the top of my car.

“I JUST HOPE YOU’RE ready to barely leave the hotel room,” I tell Cassie under my breath, looking around the bar to make sure no one’s heard me. Of course, not that I really care — but I am trying to be polite to any innocent bystanders.

Cassie giggles into the phone. “I wish I could just talk to you all night.”

“Me too,” I tell her, my chest squeezing with the admission. “But we’ll see each other in just over a week. That’s not too long.”

“I might die waiting.”

“Better not. You’ve got your first cosplay convention to go to.”

She squeals a little at that. “You really think I look okay? I’m excited to dive into Tera’s world a little bit, but I don’t want to embarrass her.”

“Are you kidding? You make the absolute sexiest Daphne Blake I’ve ever seen…” I whistle. “I just wish I was there to be your Fred Jones.”

“You’d need a very good wig to pull that off.”

“And I’d wear it,” I say. “For you.”

A pause passes between us, and then Cassie sighs. “I really should get going. I’m picking Tera up from her dorm room across campus.”

“Take lots of pictures and videos and tell me all the crazy things you see.”

“I will,” she promises. “Eight days.”

“Eight days,” I repeat on a sigh. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

When she hangs up, I hold the phone to my ear a while longer, heart heavy and aching with the need to hold her, see her, be with her. I finally set my phone down on the bar, signaling to the bartender to pour me another IPA as I polish off the last of the one in front of me.

It’s been a long time since I’ve gone to a bar by myself — let alone on a Monday night. But with the Alpha Sigma bonfire behind me and the semester winding down as the brothers focus on holidays and finals, I’m in a pensive move.

And I’m lonely.

I miss my own brothers, miss how busy it always was this time of year back at Palm South. I miss having a purpose as president, and though I thought this position would fill that need, the simple fact is that it just doesn’t.

I’m not in a fraternity anymore.

I’m not in college anymore.

Lost is the sad term that keeps coming to mind, and as the bartender slides a fresh beer in front of me, I sigh, drinking down the feelings that come with that admission.

My eyes find one of the big screens hanging above the bottles on the back wall, watching as the Cowboys and Steelers take the field. At least I have football to distract me.

“This seat taken?”

I blink, frowning at first when I turn to find Chandler beside me. But then a surprised smile curls on my lips. “Looks like it is now. What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, I’d imagine,” she says with a sigh, propping her hands on the bar to help her up until she plops down onto the barstool next to me. “Drinking away Monday.”

I laugh. “What are you having? I’ve got a tab open.”

“What’s that?” she asks, nodding to my glass.

“IPA.”

“Perfect.”

I get the bartender’s attention, and once Chandler has a cold beer in front of her and has shrugged off her jacket and scarf, we clink our glasses together and take a long chug.

“Ah,” she says, smacking her lips. “That’s exactly what I needed.” Her eyes find the television, and she wrinkles her nose. “Ugh. Football.”