Page 75 of Crashing Tides

“Yeah. Go back to sleep.”

Almost immediately, he resumes snoring in my ear.

But I’m not OK. I lay awake until three-thirty, then give up on sleep entirely. After I tell Duncan goodbye, I leave a note. He’s out of it enough that I don’t think he’s going to remember me leaving, and I don’t want him to worry.

“It’s just anxiety,” I tell myself out loud as I cross campus. Nobody is out yet, but the gym opens at five a.m., and I have nothing better to do. Besides, cardio always makes me feel better. I can’t outrun my problems, but I can run until I’m too tired to worry, and that’s usually good enough.

Because apparently a note isn’t sufficient, I text Duncan. Couldn’t sleep. Miss you already.

An hour later, Aleo arrives at the gym, and we spend the next couple hours lifting weights. By the time classes start, I’m ready to nap at my desk.

One week till the next full moon, Duncan is on edge. He doesn’t mention it, but I notice that he hovers a little closer, sleeps a lot harder. I accidentally-on-purpose leave my dirty shirt in his room, then track its movement. I find it balled up on his desk, then in a laundry basket, then tangled in the sheets. I’m afraid to ask if it helps, but he’s definitely sniffing it when I’m not around, which I find endearing on a weird, primal level.

My situationship is a werewolf. I’m allowed to think his weird quirks are cute, OK?

At lunch, Jane drags me away from Aleo and April, insisting she needs someone to keep her company in line. I dutifully follow.

“So,” she says, when we’re alone and she’s scooping mashed potatoes onto her plate. “What’s going on with you and Duncan?”

After a month of increasingly obvious public displays of affection and relentless texting, I should’ve expected this, but I have no idea how to answer her. “Um…”

She sighs, grabs a saran-wrapped sandwich out of a display case. “Are you dating or what?”

I shrug, then grab a sandwich, too. “I don’t… actually know,” I admit. “Kind of?”

“Are you fucking?”

I nod. “Definitely that.”

Exasperation unfolds across her face. It’s the same look my mom used to give me when I tried to lie about leaving the back door open or who ate all the candy out of the bowl. I’m embarrassed to have put it there. “Do you want to be dating him?”

The answer comes to me before she even finishes the question, an emphatic yes. I’m confused by him—there’s definitely something he isn’t telling me, and it keeps me up at night. But I fucking love hanging out with him. He’s low maintenance, easy to get along with, attentive, excellent in bed.

But I wasn’t lying about the serial monogamy. Being alone sucks. I’m way happier in a relationship. Even a bad one.

Or at least, that’s what I always tell myself when I’m getting shouted at for the third time in a week, obsessively counting calories, detailing the inside of a car that was “destroyed” when the groceries spilled in the backseat. I put up with it until they do what they were always going to do and dump me.

And then I move onto the next guy and tell myself it’s going to be better this time.

I have a hard time imagining Duncan getting upset about a busted jar of spaghetti sauce or shouting at me that I’d better fit into that suit for the gala next week, but at this point, rose-colored glasses are my default. I know better than to trust my own judgment.

The words, “I think so,” spill out of my mouth.

Jane isn’t impressed. “What’s wrong?”

I don’t actually know what’s wrong. I don’t think it’s Duncan’s fault. It’s probably years’ worth of terrible relationships catching up to me after an extended period of celibacy.

“I just… I need to take things slow,” I say finally. “You know, after the whole Jeremy thing.”

At Jeremy’s name, she makes a face. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

Oh, shit. “Yeah,” I say. “Of course.” And then, because she’s still scrutinizing me, I add, “Duncan hasn’t done anything wrong.”

I shouldn’t have told her those stories about my exes. Now she knows I’m an idiot, and she’s never gonna trust me.

Her green eyes narrow. “Tell me if he does.”

Lunch goes on as normal after that, but her question follows me around all day, echoing in my head. “Are you dating or what?”