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That might be the only smart decision you’ve made since I met you.
“I wanted to see you.” Graham’s eyes lowered when Ali’s flew to his.
“I thought you wanted to see Coach Crawford.”
There was silence for a moment, and Ali watched as Graham kept his gaze down, focusing on the rug. “You,” he said softly. “You were the only one who had my back. I shouldn’t have made a scene. I lost my temper.”
You lose it a lot.
Ali felt Mowgli’s gaze on her from his place across the room. “Come on,” she told Graham. “I’ll take you home.” She reached for her keys on the table, and Graham slowly rose from the couch. Pulling her phone out, she texted Cornell again.
I’m driving him home.
“Ali,” Graham called as she walked to the front door.
Ms. Whitaker, she wanted to correct him. “Stay here, Mowgli,” she said, watching the dog’s eyes shift to Graham as he rose off the couch, stumbling to the door.
* * *
Apart from asking where Graham lived, the car ride was silent. Ali’s eyes kept floating to the cupholder, almost willing her phone to ring. Graham’s presence in her car felt as equally wrong as it did in her home—unwanted, uncomfortable. She pressed harder on the gas after they cleared Main Street, heading east.
“What’s going to happen to me?” Graham asked from the passenger seat.
“You’ll go back to Houston and figure out where you might be able to go to school next semester,” Ali said, turning down Broad Meadow Lane, where the homes were far and few between. “And hopefully you’ll finish your degree.”
Graham’s head turned to her. “What about football?”
Ali shrugged. “I don’t know, Graham.”
“You don’t think I’ll play again, do you?”
“I don’t know,” Ali repeated, peeking quickly at the still black screen of her phone.
Graham shook his head and clicked his tongue. “What do you know, Ali?” There was the slightest annoyance to his voice. “I don’t know, I don’t know,” he mocked.
Ali pressed her lips together. “Unless you want to walk the rest of the way, you should just be quiet.”
“I just mean—”
“Graham.” Ali sighed exasperatedly, unable to hide her frustration. “You’re drunk. You could’ve gotten killed walking to my house, where you never should’ve gone in the first place.”
“But you’re not my adviser anymore,” Graham pointed out, his tone suggesting that made the whole situation better.
“Exactly. I’m not.” She slowed, trying to read the house numbers in the dark. “You’re not my—”
“Problem?”
“I was going to say, student.”
Graham shifted in his seat, looking at her. “So, we could be friends?”
His stare was hyper-focused and palpable, beaming into her. Somehow, she felt incredibly exposed in the small car, even while covered nearly head to toe in leggings and a hoodie. Ali stepped harder on the gas, taking a deep breath, anxious to get him out. In your dreams.
“Sure, Graham,” she said with a careful nod. “You email me when you’re back in Houston, and we’ll talk sometime.”
Relief flooded her when she saw his house and quickly turned into the driveway, the lights from her car illuminating the front of the large, dark build. She stopped the car and turned, waiting for him to get out.
“Do you want to come in?”
