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He grips my shoulder again, but he won’t move this statue.
    “Come on, Jordan. It’s cute. You’re cute.”
    He’s trying to be sweet, but my shoulders slump with his words. I’ve always been the cute one. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but a certain safety—a notion of “This girl is great friend material”—exists along with it. That’s all I’ve ever been to the guys in my life. Escaping the friend zone has never been my strong suit other than a brief interlude two years ago. Even Logan used to refer to me as adorable, which I never minded, but it lacks the passion of other, stronger adjectives. When we first slept together, he called me beautiful, but I’m pretty sure other factors controlled his vocabulary at the time.
    Griffin takes advantage of my diminishing defense and turns me so I’m facing him, a pout now winning out over my embarrassment.
    “What? What did I say?”
    “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Stupid girl stuff.”
    Because that’s what it is, stupid girl stuff.
    He leans in toward me, and I freeze again, thinking of a guy by the loo doing the same thing.
    His lips graze my ear, and I shudder. I’m so not used to this haircut.
    “Actually…” His volume lowers, barely more audible than a breath. “I think it’s kind of sexy.”
    A short, sharp inhale, hardly enough to replenish the oxygen sucked out of this train car, is my only response. His lips, maybe on accident, maybe not, brush across my cheek as he pulls away. How is this my life right now? I wouldn’t put it past Sam to find a dozen kissable guys on a train—and for them to want to kiss her—but not me. Yet here I am with a guy who likes my smile.
    But it’s not his lips I think of as I close my eyes with remembered pleasure.
    “Apples,” I say. It’s the only word that can make its way from my oxygen-deprived brain and out into the space between us.
    He cocks his head to the side, momentarily confused, but then grins.
    “My shampoo. Yeah. I share with my sisters. Their products kind of ruled the shower when we were growing up. I got used to the shampoo.”
    I silently congratulate myself for the save, proud I’ve made the supposed man-whore blush.
    “I like it,” I say. “The shampoo. I like apples. The scent suits you.” I have no idea what I mean by that and really hope he doesn’t ask.
    He doesn’t. Instead he turns back in his chair so he’s facing forward. I do the same.
    “What time is it?” he asks.
    I reach into my purse for my phone to check. “Almost six-twenty. Only two more hours to Aberdeen.”
    “I’m here for the semester.” He blurts it out, as if it’s something he’s been trying to say but hasn’t found the right words. “A semester of electives, and then a year of travel.”
    “A year? Won’t that make it hard to graduate?”
    He leans in to the window. “My parents bought me an open-ended ticket. I don’t have a return date for Minnesota. Not yet. And my dad has some pull at my university. In exchange for a small donation to the alumni association, they are freezing my records for two semesters should I choose not to return immediately after my studies abroad.”
    His words are clipped, his tone tinged with irritation.
    “That sounded a little rehearsed.”
    He lets out a breath. “Probably because it is. I don’t know how else to say it other than the way it’s written in the letter from the university. No matter how it comes out, you’re gonna think the same thing.”
    “What? You’re lucky you don’t have to make up your mind yet? That your parents aren’t hounding you to make a decision affecting the next few decades of your life?”
    He shakes his head. “And spoiled, wealthy asshole isn’t hiding behind your little rant?”
    His smile teases me.
    “I’m not judging you, Griffin. I might envy you, but I don’t judge you.”
    Because I might have this year to figure out what I want as far as a career goes, but my freedom is short-lived