Page 19 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

He laughs, and it’s low and husky in a way that has no business coming from such a thin frame—it’s the type of deep, growly register you expect from a mountain man, and it does odd things to my stomach.

I wince at the thought. I cannot afford anything as trite as butterflies around a man right now.

“Are you okay?”

“Indigestion,” I blurt, because it’s the least sexy sentence I can think of. “I usually keep snacks on me.” I reach for the hairband I meant to keep on my wrist, only to find I’ve lost yet another one. It’s a terrible habit and one I keep trying to break Aurora of.

But I’m no better than my little sister.

I, too, can’t seem to help fidgeting with my hair when I’m anxious.

“Do you want to grab a bite?” He pauses, and just in case I don’t understand, he adds, “Together. Eating smaller meals more frequently helps with indigestion. And we can continue arguing about how that second problem ought to have been coded.”

“I’m right.”

“You certainly think so.”

Part of me is dying inside because I’m not sure which of us is more awkward: The girl who started babbling about indigestion or the guy who runs with it? But still⁠—

“No.” It comes out a little too forcefully, and I try to backtrack. I check my phone and am, for once, thankful to see a slew of messages from my mother. I scanned them earlier and none are important, but I feel zero guilt weaponizing them now. I use my thumb in a vaguely hitchhiking gesture, as if that helps my case. “Family things to take care of. And truthfully, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to . . . for just the two of us to . . . you know.”

“Share bread.” There’s just the hint of a smile on his face as he says this, and again, I feel a thawing sensation, a pull of attraction that is as foreign as it is unwanted.

Instead of answering, I redirect. “I noticed you tried heap sort on the last problem.”

It’s comical how quickly Lucas takes the bait. “Obviously not well thought out. But I do have some new theories.” He pulls out his notepad, which functions as everything from scratch paper to origami stock, depending on his mood, and walks me through his ideas.

We debate outside of Brody’s dorm for almost half an hour before Lucas is satisfied, telling me he’ll implement as soon as he gets home to confirm.

“You know the contest is over, right?”

“Yeah, but we can’t leave it incomplete.”

Feeling safer now that we’re no longer in the awkward almost-date-category, I look toward Brody’s dorm, where music is leaking through every crevice. “You think Brody’s night is ending with beer, video games, or sex?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” I nod. “All of the above sounds correct.”

I could turn and walk toward my dorm. I shouldn’t drag this out, but I find myself lingering until it’s Lucas who asks, “Ever think we’re doing it wrong?”

I don’t pretend to misunderstand. “You mean the whole college experience? Our youth? Or just life in general?”

Lucas nods, his gaze on me. As usual, his beard needs trimming and his glasses are askew.

“I’ve tried some of this fun stuff before.” I try to brush away Lucas’s surprised look. “People said dating was fun, that sex would be a release.”

There’s a pink hue spreading across Lucas’s face, because the same guy who can’t say pussy likely hasn’t had serious talks about intercourse before. “Personally, I’ve found both to be overrated. Some of us have responsibilities.”

“The fun comes later?” His face, as always, is open and guileless. He doesn’t bother to hide his wistfulness.

“The fun comes later.”

Lucas’s phone starts ringing again. He glances down and closes his eyes briefly. “Speaking of things that aren’t always fun, I’ve got to go.”

“Family? Or work?” I shouldn’t pry, should keep things dry and professional.

“Often both. But this time, just work.” He lingers and I’m wondering if he wants to say more.