Combust (The Wellingtons #1) (12 page)

I SIGH with relief as I walk into my dorm. After spending a long weekend at home, visiting my parents, I feel exhausted and more than grateful that I can get away from Bethel whenever I want. Dad wanted to know all about classes and if I’d determined a major. Mom wanted to know all about the boys on campus and if I’d met anyone special. Riley, my older brother, who also happened to be home, wanted to know if I had any hot friends for him to visit whenever he was in town. The answers, respectively, were no, no, and a very emphatic no.

All I need is for Riley to walk onto campus and have all the girls swooning over him. I dealt with that enough in high school, and I’m finally enjoying having my own territory where I’m not known as Riley Kane’s sister. As a baseball player for the University of Memphis, he’s tall, lean, and according to Reese, hot as hell. With a head full of dark-brown hair, he was fortunate enough to skip the redhead gene. Because let’s face it. The odds of an attractive redheaded guy are pretty much every three out of ten. That might even be generous. Trust me—as a redheaded woman, I feel bad saying that, but it’s the truth. Even I’m not attracted to my own kind.

Turning on my latest feel-good playlist, I begin to unpack and wonder what I missed over the weekend. Teddy made sure that I knew about the raging party I was going to miss even though I’m not sure why he thought I would care. The night he asked me out, I more than let him know that I hated parties.

After that night with Cohen, I decided to let it go, to let him cool off. I stopped hiding from him around campus and figured that, if he changed his mind and wanted to be friends, he’d make a move. Instead of doing so, he always looked away when he saw me. It didn’t help that Teddy seemed to always be around at the most inopportune times.

We’d gone to dinner the night after the party and had a great time. While he made me laugh, it just wasn’t the same. I told myself that I needed to give it time, because unlike Cohen, he and I were actually on the same page in that neither of us wanted to jump into a serious relationship. That didn’t mean I was going to jump into his bed right away. I’d definitely learned my lesson with that one. At the end of the night, when he leaned in to kiss me, I was surprised to find that I actually liked it. He was a true gentleman—another thing that surprised me—and he pulled back before deepening the kiss. We made plans to go out again, and I’ve seen him almost every day since thanks mostly to Reese.

“About time you got back, roomie!” Reese says as she enter the room. “How was your trip? Was Riley home? Did you steal a T-shirt for me? He always wore the best cologne.” She dramatically flops down on my bed and gives me a hopeful look.

“It was fine. Nothing exciting happens in Bethel. You know that. And if you wanted to be a perv and smell Riley’s shirts, you should’ve come with me. But nooo, you couldn’t leave Cy’s side.”

She sits up and scoots back until she’s resting against the wall. “Trust me. Staying here with Cy trumps your brother’s clothes, no matter how good they smell. Plus, I wanted to stick around for the party Friday.”

“Reese, there’s always a party on Friday. Missing one won’t kill you.”

“Yeah, but you said Bethel was boring. And it is. Speaking of frat parties, missy,” she says in an accusatory tone, “who the hell is Cohen?”

His name coming from her lips causes me to freeze just as I’m in the process of hanging up my clean clothes. “How do you know Cohen?” I ask, trying to sound like that name means nothing to me.

As much as Reese wanted me to lose my virginity, there was something that kept me from telling her about what happened. I wasn’t ready to share it, and now that she’s mentioning Cohen to me, I’m getting apprehensive about what she may or may not know.

“The better question is how do you know Cohen?” Her tone is suspicious, and even though I don’t want to look her in the eyes, I slowly turn to face her. “A-ha! You are the Andi he was looking for. I mean, I knew you were, but the guilty look on your face definitely confirms it. So come on. Out with it. I know he’s the guy you left with the night of Cy’s first frat party. I want details.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Reese. But what do you mean the Andi he was talking about? And how do you even know that he and I know each other?”

She sighs loudly but gives in. “You’re not getting out of this, but whatever. He came into the coffee shop Friday after you’d already left. Somehow, he knew I was your roommate. Anyway, he ordered a coffee and then asked me for your number. He said you’d given to him but that he’d lost it. I wasn’t sure I believe him until he described you as sexy redhead wearing an Elton John T-shirt. I knew, or at least hoped, there was only one Andi on campus matching that description.”

I can’t help but smile at both Cohen’s description of me and his lie that I’d given him my number. The thought that he’s finally ready to make contact pisses me off as much as it makes me happy. I’m not exactly the most patient person, but I’m thrilled that he’s ready to be friends.

“Okay, and after you were done insulting my wardrobe?”

“Oh, Andi, I felt so bad for the guy. I hated to be the one to spill to him that you were already seeing someone. I swear, for a split second, he looked like his heart was broken, but I think I was just seeing things because then he just shrugged it off and left.” As if she didn’t just crush me, which, well, she wouldn’t know, she moves to the end of the bed to where her purse is and pulls out a small CD case. “But he did tell me to give you this.”

I take the case and turn it over in my hands to where his handwriting has written a playlist on a sheet of paper that’s stuck inside. Looking back up at Reese, I have to ask, “Why would you tell him I’m seeing someone?”

She shrugs. “I figured he’d want to know about Teddy, and it’d save you the trouble of having to let him down later. We both know how bad at that you are.”

It’s true. I’m really bad at that, which is how I ended up on so many bad dates in high school. “But Teddy and I aren’t a thing. We’ve only gone out a couple of times,” I protest.

“Oh, come on. He’s totally into you, and I can tell you like him. Plus, it’s really not a big deal. Cohen was at the party on Friday night and then Saturday. I saw him having a great time with some blonde chick I recognized from one of my classes. I’m pretty sure he left with her, too, so it’s not like he was crying in his beer or anything. You’re totally off the hook.”

“Yeah, thanks, Reese. You definitely helped me dodge a bullet,” I say flatly then excuse myself to go shower.

When I get back to the room, I pop the CD into my laptop, import the songs, and the transfer them to my phone. I tell Reese that I’m exhausted and pop my headphones in as I lie down in bed. The first song brings a smile to my face. I can only imagine Cohen waving the white flag as he put War’s Why Can’t We Be Friends on the CD. It’s followed by We’re Going to be Friends by The White Stripes, and I love to think that this is a declaration from him. You’ve Got a Friend in Me, Count on Me, and countless others continue to play. The more songs I listen to, the more the thought of Cohen with someone else hurts.

The songs change from just friendship to ones with a little more of a hidden meaning, especially when the song She Changes Your Mind from an unfamiliar to me band, Copeland, comes on. As I listen to the words, I feel a pang in my heart that makes no sense—especially if all I wanted from him was a friendship. Now I feel like the shoe is on the other foot and I completely understand where he was coming from. For us, I don’t think friendship will ever be enough, but at the same time, I’m not sure either of us is ready for what lies beyond that, and trying right now would probably just ruin everything even further, which is why I have to stick to my guns. I feel like I have whiplash from all this going back and forth, and it makes me think that my decision is the right one. I just can’t be friends with Cohen Wellington.

And when the playlist ends with Elton John’s Your Song, I can’t help the tears that silently fall, wishing for something I know I want, know I could have, but I’m just not sure I should. At least not now.

WHEN I wake up the next morning, the music is still playing in my ears. Instead of feeling sad or sorry for myself, I decide that I should return the favor. After all, I was the one who suggested that we be friends, so who am I to ignore Cohen’s gesture? Like he said to me, I’m not his and he’s not mine, which is exactly how I want it. At least that’s what I tell myself. If he wants to hook up with other girls, more power to him. In fact, that’s probably a good thing. He’s apparently as inexperienced as I am, and we’d probably just end up being a disaster if we tried for anything more.

At the same time, I feel this indescribable pull towards him, and I have since the day we met. Even when I was trying to avoid him, it was a constant battle between my head and my heart every time I saw his familiar frame and messy, blond hair walking across campus. As much as I tell myself that I should accept his own acceptance of our own friendship, I already know that he was right in the first place when he said that he didn’t want to be friends—couldn’t be friends. Bringing my hands to my face, I groan into them. I’m beginning to give myself a headache from all this back and forth.

I think that’s why I like Teddy. I like spending time with him, but he doesn’t pull me off my axis like Cohen does. He doesn’t make me think of what more could be like. And that’s exactly the type of relationship I want right now. Fun, uncomplicated, and not serious. With Cohen, I have a feeling that things would be way too complicated, and I’m not even sure why. Our chemistry was undeniable, even from the start, which is probably why I so easily fell into bed with him, which already led to too many complications. I’m beginning to rethink this whole mix-CD-swapping thing, but I feel like it’s the least I can do. Even if we’re not going to be friends, we still have music in common, so I decide that there’s no harm in making him one of my own.

Sitting through my classes all day is a struggle. The entire time, I’m jotting down song ideas in my notebook, itching to get back to my dorm room so I can create my own mix CD. I have a pretty good list of songs, and even though some of them could seem to have a hidden meaning, I tell myself that they are just my favorites and I want to share them. It doesn’t mean anything. I liked them well before I met Cohen, and even if he fell off the face of the Earth and I never saw him again, I’d still like these songs.

AFTER WHAT feels like the longest day since I started college, I enter my dorm and flop down on my bed, ready to take a nap. Thanks to Seth’s dragging me out on both Friday and Saturday nights, I didn’t do any homework. The raging hangover I was battling yesterday didn’t relent until almost five in the afternoon, so I had to scramble and pull an all-nighter last night just to get all my homework done.
Never again,
I tell myself.

All day, I struggled to stay awake, and if it weren’t for my lab partner, I’m pretty sure I would’ve lit myself on fire in the chemistry lab. Fortunately, I think she has a crush on me, so she took pity and did most of the lab work—which only succeeded in making me feel like a piece of shit. As my eyes begin to close, I make a vow that, from now on, it’s homework first, social life second. Or maybe I can have one night on the weekend set aside to go out, but the other will be for homework. Either way, there will be no more two-nighters in my future. If Seth keeps this up, he’s going to have a find a part-time wingman.