“I’m not really that surprised,” I said.

My words wounded him.

“This is the last time I’m going to ask you, Erin, and then I’ll leave. Can I come in?”

“No,” I said without hesitation.

He breezed past me, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I said, spinning around.

Weston walked toward me, reached around me to shut the door, and then stepped back. “I changed my mind.”

“Well, you can’t. I told you, I have to study.”

“What?”

“Music Appreciation.”

“I appreciate music.”

“No, Weston, it’s more difficult than it sounds. I’ve been struggling. I need to do well on this test, and it’s in the morning.”

“I’ll help you,” he said, desperate.

I narrowed my eyes, dubious.

“I swear!” he said.

“I could call Sam, you know. He would make you leave.”

Weston walked over to the couch and crossed his arms. “Not without a fight.” He sat down.

I sighed. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Then, let’s get started.” He pulled out his phone, tapped it a few times. “Pepperoni?” he asked.

“You know I like pepperoni, but I don’t need your help.”

“You don’t really want me to leave,” he said with such confidence that I wanted to throw something at him.

Instead, I stared at him, unable to answer.

He tapped his phone a few more times. “I’m ordering pizza. It’ll be here in forty minutes.”

I lifted my bag and brought it over to the chair before setting it on the floor. The zipper made a high-pitched noise as I pulled on it, and then I fished around until I found my folder.

“Your bag looks heavy. You carry that around everywhere?”

I closed my eyes and huffed. “Why are you here, Weston?”

He didn’t answer, so I peeked over at him.

“You already know.”

“Just tell me, so we can get this over with.” Saying that to him made my chest burn, and my legs felt shaky as an overwhelming nausea hit me like a tidal wave.

Whatever I was feeling, Weston felt worse.

“I deserved that,” he said, nodding. “Study first. Talk later. Or not. We don’t have to. You don’t owe me anything.”

I warily eyed him. “What is it that you want?”

One side of his mouth pulled up. “You’re different.”

“Good.”

He laughed once without humor. “I miss you, Erin. I thought I could get over you, but I can’t. What I did do was a lot of thinking, a lot of talking to other girls who weren’t and will never be you.”

I winced. His admission stung.

“Everyone kept telling me it was going to get better—my roommates, my instructors, my parents…your parents.”

“You’ve been talking to my parents?”

“It hasn’t. It will never get better. I used to wonder how long it was going to last. Now, I wonder how long I’m going to last.”

“That’s not funny,” I said.

“I mean, in Texas. I knew it was going to be hard to be there without you. Not having you at all is worse.”

“That was your choice,” I said.

“You’re right. Just like you said, I did this.”

I fidgeted. That awful feeling that had swallowed me when he left was bubbling at my feet, threatening to crawl up my legs.

“Do you hate me?” he asked.

“I try to—every day.”

He nodded. “I deserve that, too.”

“Did you…” I began, hating myself already. “Have you…dated anyone in Texas?”

“It depends. If it makes you jealous and you want me back, then yes. If it makes you jealous and makes you hate me even more, then no.”

“Just tell me the truth.”

His eyes fell to the floor and lost focus. “Couldn’t even bring myself to look at anyone else like that. It made me miss you even more, and I was already going through hell.”

“Me, too.”

“No one?” he asked, the tiniest bit of hope in his eyes.

I slowly shook my head. I wasn’t even sure if it was noticeable.

“Erin,” he said, thoughtful, careful, “what if I said I screwed up? What if I said I’m sorry?”

“You’ve said that before.”

He nodded, looking intently into my eyes. “What if I said I love you and that I don’t care how it happens—whether we’re friends, back together, or something in between—as long as I don’t have to miss you anymore?”

“You’ll still miss me. We’re four hours away.”

“I just drove that. It’s nothing, not when I’m on my way to see you. Erin”—he cautiously chose his words—“I’m still in love with you. I’ve tried to stop. I’ve tried to hate you, forget you, forgive you—”

“For what?” I snapped.

His face fell. He looked broken. “For loving me in a way that I can’t get over. You are the best thing I’ve ever given up.”

My expression crumbled, and I looked down, picking at my nails. “We can’t go back, Weston, and that is what I think about every day. That’s what I miss. I’m not even sure I know you.”

“We’ve outgrown the way we felt,” he said with a confidence I’d never seen in him before. “I don’t love you like that anymore. That was selfish and impatient and not about you.” He lowered his chin. “What if I beg?” He moved forward, kneeling in front of me. He touched my face, using his thumb to brush away the tear falling down my cheek. “We were just falling in love then. I’m done falling, Erin. I love you—without expectations, without demands. Hell, just with the hope that you love me back.”

I breathed out a laugh. “Sam said if you came back, you’d do it on your knees.”

“I’ll lie on the floor if you want.”

My lips formed a hard line as I tried to suppress a smile.

“Please?” he said, desperation in his voice. His twin green pools scanned my face and then glossed over. “Erin?”