The rest of the weekend flies by, and I’m shocked at how quickly I’ve gotten comfortable sharing Gage’s small studio apartment. Aside from his meeting Saturday morning, we’ve spent the entire weekend together. But now, it’s Monday morning, and our time together might be nearly over.
I push myself up to a sitting position and look over at Gage’s sleeping form. He’s lying on his stomach, his hair falling into his eyes, and I have to stop myself from pushing it back so I don’t wake him. I think about all the things we have in common and how much fun the weekend was. But I have to remember why I’m even at college in the first place. Why he’s at college, too. We both have dreams we’re chasing, and it’s unclear if we’d be able to chase them at the same time while staying in each other’s lives.
I slip out of bed quietly and start to gather my things into my duffle bag. The Student Housing office opens in an hour, and I should have just enough time to get there to get my dorm situation sorted before my first class. After zipping my bag closed, I cast one last glance at Gage. I feel a spike of guilt at leaving him without a proper goodbye, but I’m afraid if he wakes, I’ll end up begging him to let me stay. I can’t do that to myself.
I can’t do that to him.
***
A little while later, I’m walking out of the Student Housing office, dejected. Despite my calls to my bank and the proof they gave me of my housing payment, I still don’t have a dorm room. I was told to come back that afternoon, so I’m left hauling my duffle bag around campus to my classes.
My first class of the day is an advanced course in financial planning. During my senior year of high school, I’d taken a few classes that gave me college credit hours, so I was able to skip the prerequisites and go straight to the advanced course. Despite my interest in the subject, however, I struggle to get excited for class to start. I’m distracted by the stress of my continued housing problem and thoughts of Gage. The image of him sleeping in bed this morning, warm and relaxed, is stuck in my mind. Memories of the weekend play through my head, and I have to squeeze my thighs together in an effort to relieve some of the needy ache I feel.
To distract myself, I decide to pull out my planner and review my goals, remind myself of why I’m here and what my focus should be. But when I open my bag, I can’t find my planner. Frantically, I begin to dig through my bag, certain it has to be here somewhere.
The whispered conversation of a couple girls in front of me catches my attention, pulling me away from my search.
“I was supposed to take this course last year, but it was full.” A pretty blonde wags her eyebrows at the girl next to her. “I don’t mind too much, though. Gage is a tough TA, but he’s gorgeous, and once you learn his rules, he’s not so bad …”
Could they be talking about my Gage? He’s a finance grad student and a TA …
The girl next to her giggles and agrees about how hot he is, like we’re all still in high school. These girls are clearly older than me, probably juniors or seniors. I can’t exactly disagree about his looks, but I frown as I’m hit with a wave of jealousy and possessiveness at the thought of these girls throwing themselves at him.
“He kind of seems like an ass,” a third girl chimes in. “He’s the TA for my nine o’clock seminar, too. The entire hour, he sat at the front of the lecture hall and just glared at us. Didn’t say a word.”
The first girl shrugs. “He’s probably a little checked out since he’s about to graduate and go on to be a millionaire business mogul.” It’s clear she’s the head of his fan club, and I struggle to keep my mouth shut.
Suddenly, movement at the front of the hall catches my attention, and I look up to see Gage entering the hall and carrying a stack of papers which he passes to the professor as she starts her lecture. The conversation I’d just overheard finally sinks in. Gage is a TA. Gage is my TA.
As if he’s got a sixth sense for my presence, Gage’s eyes catch mine and our gazes lock, freezing me to my seat. An emotion that looks like anger crosses his face as he stares me down, pinning me in place with his eyes. In my peripheral vision, I can see the girls in front of me look from Gage to me and back curiously, but they don’t say a word.
Finally, I manage to break free of his stare. I gaze down at my desk for the rest of class, frantically trying to decide what to do. Is he mad at me for leaving without saying goodbye? Should I try to talk to him after class? What will this mean for me? Will I have to drop this class? Questions race through my mind in a never-ending loop, and I barely hear the professor when she dismisses the class.
Sensing a presence at my shoulder, I look up to see Gage standing over me, expression hard and indecipherable. “Can we go somewhere and talk?” he asks quietly.
Yes, please, that’s the only thing I want. Well, it’s not the only thing; I want to have him in my life while also succeeding at my studies. But no, I cannot go somewhere quiet and secluded to talk to Gage, because I’ll throw myself at him, and compromise the dreams we both have for ourselves. I jerk away and shake my head, then grab my things and rush for the door.
I spend the rest of the morning wondering desperately what he’d wanted to say to me before I’d panicked and ran.
