The Brightest Light of Sunshine

Dax Wilson talked to me. I repeat: Dax Wilson talked to me. This is not a drill.

I still don’t know how it happened, but I’m also not going to question the universe’s mysterious ways. The only thing I know is that one second, I’m chatting with Amber at the bar, and the next Dax is tapping on my shoulder and asking me if I had fun at Paulson’s party all those days ago.

He remembered me.

And I’m not even mad about Aaron interrupting us out of the blue, because Dax Wilson remembered me.

By the time Emily and I reach our dorm and get ready for bed, I’m bouncing on my feet, unable to make my heart stop beating so frantically. She tells me how excited she is for me, and that I should sit next to him on Monday, but I don’t want to rush it.

“What if he thinks I’m clingy?” I bite down on my bottom lip as I get under my cold bed sheets.

Emily is still folding her clothes and putting them away on the other side of the room we share. “He won’t. He’s clearly interested, G. Super popular guys like him don’t just go up to a girl if they don’t want to hook up with them.”

And that’s exactly my problem, isn’t it?

I might not have felt uncomfortable during our conversation at the bar, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to, I don’t know, let him shove his tongue down my throat. I haven’t kissed anyone in four years, and I’m not a hundred percent convinced that I’m ready to start doing it now.

But it’s Dax Wilson we’re talking about. He’s the first guy I’ve felt something for in a long time. This is a sign, right? A sign that it’s time to move on.

I end up chickening out and not taking Em’s advice to sit next to him on Monday, but I build up enough courage to come up to him after our Tuesday class.

“Hey.” I approach him on my way out of the classroom. He’s still putting his stuff away in his backpack, and I figured this would be the only opportunity I get to talk to him since he’s not surrounded by his very loud, very nosey teammates.

“Oh. Hey, Grace.” He throws me an easy smile when he notices me. “Tough reading this week, huh?”

“Don’t even mention it.” I let out an exasperated sigh. “Seriously, how does Mrs. Keaton expect us to read sixty pages by the next class? I don’t think she knows we have a life outside this building.”

Dax laughs. “Trust me, she knows. She just doesn’t care.”

He finishes gathering his things and we walk out together. A few people turn their heads to look at us and do a double take when they see me by his side. Yep, I’m leaving the classroom with Warlington’s hockey star Dax Wilson. This is even better than in my daydreams.

“Hey, speaking of having a life outside of Mrs. Keaton’s classroom,” he starts as we exit the building. The September air is colder than I anticipated, and I curse myself for deciding against wearing more layers this morning. “Are you doing anything this Friday night?”

I come to halt. Wait a damn second. Is he about to—?

“There’s a frat party at Zeta House and maybe we could go together?” he asks, and he almost sounds shy about it. “I mean, if you want to.”

There comes a time in everyone’s lives where one must make a life-altering decision. To attend this party with Dax, or not to attend this party with Dax, that is the question. And the answer is:

“Sure, I’m not busy.” I ignore the uneasy feeling settling in the pit of my stomach as I agree to… a date? Is this a date?

“Great. It’s a date, then.”

Well, there’s my answer.

Dax pulls out his phone from the pocket of his jacket. “Let me get your number so I can text you the details later.”

Once he’s saved my number—my freaking number!—he excuses himself because he has a study group in ten minutes, and then I’m all alone outside of the Humanities Hall.

It’s not until five minutes later that it really dawns on me.

I have a date with Dax Wilson.

***

Emily literally screams in my ear when I make her privy to my Friday plans, and I don’t blame her. I went from not being able to talk to a guy without wanting to throw up to having a date with one of the hottest boys on campus. If that isn’t a full-on glow up, I don’t know what is.

“See? I knew pushing you to get some phone numbers at Danny’s would be good for you,” she tells me from the other side of the line as I make my way towards The Dance Palace for my evening class. “Are you nervous?”

“Just a bit,” I admit. “I’ve never been to Zeta House before.”

“It’s like a fifteen-minute walk from our dorm. The place isn’t enormous, so you should be fine,” she reassures me, but I still feel mildly sick to my stomach. “You know you can cancel at any moment, right? You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“That’s the thing.” I bite down on my lip. “I want to go. This might be the only time Dax asks me out, and I don’t want to blow it.”

“I know, babe, but you shouldn’t do something that makes you uncomfortable just because a hot guy asked you out. There are plenty more fish in the sea.”

I happen to want this particular fish.

“I’ll be fine.” And just because I know her and she’s worried, I add, “I promise to cancel if I change my mind.”

“Carly’s birthday is on Friday too, but I can bail and go with you if you need support,” she offers.

This woman, I swear. “Absolutely not, Em. You live your life, I’ll be okay.”

She lets out a loud sigh. “Fine, but text me when you get there and when you come back home. How about that other guy you talked to, though? What was his name?”

“Callaghan.” My heart skips a beat at the reminder of our last conversation.

I thought he was flirting with me, and I freaked out a bit because I didn’t know how to respond, but it’s all good on my side. I wonder if he’s dropping Maddie off today at the studio. The possibility of seeing him again makes my stomach jump with anticipation.

“He’s a friend of Aaron’s. He owns Inkjection, actually.”

“Neat!” Em exclaims. “But he gave you his number, right? Why don’t you use it?”

I give you permission to show my number to your friends as long as you know you can use it.

That’s quite literally what he told me to do, didn’t he? Still, thinking about texting him intimidates me. Plus, I have no idea what I could text him about in the first place. It’s not like we’re friends or anything. Outside Maddie’s ballet lessons and me possibly getting that tattoo, we have no need to contact each other. He was probably just being nice. If I texted him, I would just annoy him.

“Baby steps, Em.” I round the corner and spot the dance studio in the distance. Its enormous pink sign is impossible to miss. “I’ve already got a date with Dax this Friday, which is way more than I could’ve asked for.”

“Yeah,” she says, “but, I don’t know, Callaghan seemed cool. You looked at ease with him.”

“He is, and I was.” Something he told me a while back occurs to me then. “He’s thirty, though. Maybe that’s a bit old for me.” That’s eight years older than me, and I’ve never had friends that age.

“Nah. Remember when I dated Patrick Evans?” How could I forget? The man was so well-off he bought her five designer purses in the three months they were together. “He was ten years older than me, and it wasn’t weird or anything. You’ll be fine.”

“Whatever. I don’t want to date him, anyway.” When I reach the studio, I spot Adelaide inside and wave at her. “I’m at TDP. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Sure, hon. Have fun.”

And for the next hour, I do exactly that. Being with the girls always manages to lift my mood and wipe off all worries and remaining anxiety of the day.

We practice some more moves for the Christmas recital, and although I’m sure they will forget all about them by the end of the lesson, the fact that they exit the studio with wide smiles on their little faces is the best gift of all.

When I gather my things and head for the front desk, a pair of bulky tattooed arms catch my attention, and my heart does a stupid cartwheel.

“Callaghan, hey,” I greet him in what I hope is a casual tone as he kneels to zip up Maddie’s jacket.

“Hey, Grace.” Today, a tight gray t-shirt with the logo of his shop hugs his chest, and the thin piece of clothing is doing nothing to hide his ripped muscles. At least four mothers have checked him out on their way out in the past thirty seconds, and I can’t blame them one bit.

“So, listen,” I start, not really knowing why I’m bringing this up at all. “I’ve been thinking about the tattoo recently, and I’m still not fully ready to do it, but maybe we could talk about some sketches and budgets or something?”

I’ve never felt more self-conscious in my life. I’m still wearing my ballet tights and slippers, and my voice sounds too small and unsure, and he’s right there in all his muscular and tattooed glory and I’m probably wasting his time and—

“Sure. I’m free tomorrow after six. We can talk about your options then. Sounds good?”

Oh. Maybe it’s all in my head.

“I’ve got rehearsal at five thirty. Meet you at seven?”

“Works for me.”

“Great.” I give him a small smile. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Goodbye, Miss Grace!” Maddie waves at me as they leave the studio holding hands.

I wave back, smiling, until a voice behind me startles the shit out of me.

“Who was that?” Adelaide’s looking at me with a knowing smirk, her brunette hair tied neatly at the nape of her slender neck, one thin eyebrow raised. She’s in her late forties, but she doesn’t look a day older than thirty and, frankly, she’s one of the classiest women I’ve ever met. Because she’s half-French, probably.

“That was Maddie Steven’s brother.” I eye her carefully. After four years of being around her almost every day of the week, I know what she’s about to say. “Don’t get any crazy ideas. He’s just a friend of my cousin’s.”

“Uh-huh.” She’s not buying it. “That’s why he was giving you those puppy dog eyes, as people call it these days? Because he’s just a friend of your cousin’s?”

I roll my eyes at her far-fetched assumption, even if my heart skips a beat nonetheless. Callaghan was absolutely not puppy-eying me. “You’re just seeing things,” I assure her. “We don’t even know each other that well.”

“Mm…”

“I’m serious.”

“Well, you look good together,” she muses. “I’m digging the whole bad boy, good girl aesthetic you’ve got going on.”

“Oh, my god.”

Aesthetic? She’s lost it. It’s official—my ballet teacher and boss has lost her mind. Puff! Gone.

Adelaide has the nerve to laugh before winking at me and disappearing behind the desk to check something on the computer. Shaking my head, I take my phone out to add a reminder for tomorrow’s appointment at Inkjection. This time, I’m not running away like a headless chicken.

It’s time to put my big girl pants on.