Free What If by Rebecca Donovan Page B

place to get to know someone. And the drunker everyone else gets, the more sober I feel. I’d rather end this with her still remembering me.
    “I have to give my roommate a ride home,” I lie as she starts wiggling her hips next to me, an indication that she wants to dance. And I don’t dance.
    “Let me have your phone,” she requests, holding out her small, manicured hand. “I’ll give you my number and we can go out sometime.” I hand it to her. She taps in her number, then calls herself. “Now I have yours too.”
    I lean down to give her a hug, and she brushes her lips against my cheek. “Good night, Cal,” she purrs in my ear. I’m suddenly second-guessing my departure, but then she’s off, hollering to some girls on the dance floor.
    At least tonight wasn’t a total waste.
    *     *     *
    There’s a sledgehammer slamming against my head. I press my face into the pillow, begging it to stop. Then I realize the banging isn’t inside my head. Someone’s knocking on the door. I squint my eyes open, trying to focus in the dark room. I have no desire to get up and answer the door. I roll over with a groan, hoping whoever it is will go away. But the knocker is persistent.
    I wait for Eric to answer it.
    The pounding echoes through the apartment again.
    Shit. Eric’s not home.
    Grumbling, I throw back the covers and push myself off the bed. Half asleep, I shuffle to the door that might as well be a mile away.
    “Coming!” I yell as another booming knock shakes the door. When I finally open it, I’m immediately blinded by the harsh light in the hallway. I squint and find electric-blue eyes peering up at me. I run a hand through my hair and blink again, not convinced she’s real. “Nyelle?”
    “Hi, Cal,” she says, humming with energy.
    “Um… what are you doing here?” I open the door wider so she can come in, but she stays in the hall.
    “I came to get you.”
    I shake my head, trying understand what’s happening. “How’d you know where I live? And why are you holding a sleeping bag?”
    “I asked around the dorm. Figured one of the girls dated you at some point. A girl whose friend dated one of your roommate’s fraternity brothers told me where you live.”
    I’m so confused.
    “Do you have a sleeping bag?” she asks when I stare at her too long.
    “Uh, yeah,” I answer tentatively, trying to remember if that’s the truth. “Why?”
    “Get it and meet me at your truck,” she instructs and then walks past me, grabs my keys from the nail in the wall, and disappears down the hall.
    “Now?” is my automatic response. I have no idea what time it is, but I know I should still be sleeping.
    “Yeah,” she calls back over her shoulder before exiting the building.
    I rub my eyes, trying to force myself awake.
    Then I hear my truck starting in the parking lot.
    “She’s serious,” I say with a heavy breath. Where the hell is she taking me in the middle of the night… with a sleeping bag? As inviting as it sounds to crawl into a sleeping bag with Nyelle, I’m pretty sure that’s not what
she
has in mind. And, apparently, I don’t have a choice, so I drag myself back to the bedroom to get my things.
    I glance at the clock and blink hard when I read
4:12
. No wonder I can barely focus.
    I eventually walk outside, dressed and carrying a sleeping bag I had stashed on the top shelf of my closet. I grumble under my breath at the dark sky. I should
not
be awake.
    “You’re driving?” I climb in the passenger side. Something I haven’t done since my older brother, Devin, owned the truck. But I’m too tired to care—and probably to drive safely—so I shut the door and slump against the seat, dropping the sleeping bag on the floor.
    Nyelle shifts the truck into reverse and backs up with a small jolt when she releases the clutch too quickly. After fighting for first gear, and a rough transition, we pull onto the road. I clench my teeth as she grinds through the gears, until she