WHEN WE GET there, Carter parks in the diner's parking lot and makes his way across the street. I watch his figure disappear into the dark of the night, almost hesitant to do the same.

I wasn't exactly at my finest the last time I walked through these doors. My hair was a jumbled mess, I hadn't changed my clothes in 2 days, my eyes were bloodshot with tears, and my voice pathetically quivered as my parents stood by my side and forced me to quit without notice.

The memory is unsavory, but I eventually push it away and make my way in.

Nothing has changed, from the checkered pattern floors, to the white and red vintage booth seats. It feels like I'm walking in to start another shift. A shiver of anxiety runs down my spine at the thought.

The only thing that's changed are my former co-workers. I don't recognize a single person here.

Besides a few weird looks from people who seem to think I've put on a red carpet gown to go to a two star diner, I place my order and get the food without any problems.

Carter is leaning against his car, a similar bagged container hanging on his wrist. When we get in, he turns the car on and shifts to me. "Where do you want to eat?"

"Here is fine, if you don't mind eating in your car." My state of hunger has turned from low aching to full on rumbling, and the quicker I get some food in my stomach, the better the world will be for it.

"It's fine with me." He turns the engine off but leaves the radio on low volume.

We begin digging into our containers, the smell of meat and fried grease permeating the enclosed air. "God, I think you've just put me onto a new order." I moan, after stuffing my face with a big bite.

"You think that's good, wait till you try this." He nudges his burger towards me, and we exchange with each other.

Without much thought, I bring it to my lips and take a decent chunk into my mouth right where his last bite was. I stifle a sound, not wanting him to get the satisfaction of knowing how good I find it.

While I'm enjoying his burger, he's looking down at mines, failing to try it.

Is he a germaphobe or something? I'm getting ready to tell him he can just take a bite on the other side if it bothers him, when he looks up at me. 

"You don't have cooties, do you?"

A choked snort escapes my mouth from the unexpectedness of his question. "No, I don't have freaking cooties, Carter Reyes."

"I was just making sure, Summer Sanders." He goes for the middle, intentionally putting his mouth onto the section of my last bite.

God, why am I chuckling like this? It wasn't very funny.

He's laughing with me, both of our mouth's full and dangerously close to spitting out the contents that fill it. His laugh is deep, the kind that makes his eyes squint and chest move up and down rapidly. The kind that makes you laugh along, simply because human nature demands such an intoxicating sound receive accompaniment.

His face lights up and the light brown of his eyes gloss with joy. I take his sight in, watching the previous rigidity wash away as he blossoms into a completely different person. It's a nice sight I'll say.

A question enters my mind and I don't want to kill the mood, but my curiosity gets the best of me "Do you mind if I ask you something? It's personal so if you're not comfortable answering, that's fine."

His smile drops, and I admittedly miss it the minute it's gone. I'm starting to become so acquainted with his cues that I already expect the pause he takes. I like it. The fact that he doesn't just spit out the first thing that comes to his mouth. He takes the time to process what you're saying, then decides a response. It shows a lot of discipline, I guess that why he's apparently such a good player.

"Sure," he says. For once he doesn't sound reluctant.

"Did someone from your family go through alcohol problems or something? I'm just asking because you had only met me hours before, and you were basically getting ready to ship me off to rehab from one drunken night." As I'm getting the words out, I keep debating if bringing that night back up is a good idea. God knows I want to forget it ever happened, but for some reason, I keep going back to it.

"I'm sorry about that," he sighs. "I-I went through something when I was in high school. I thought I was being rebellious and cool, drinking and experimenting with drugs then it turned into me needing to drink to get drunk and smoke to get high. When I saw you that night, it just brought back a lot of memories of how I was. My first thought was to help you get help."

I take a breath, processing the small glimpse into his past. That night, when he said he didn't want to go down my path. He wasn't just being a jerk, he was worried about his sobriety. I brought alcohol into his room and could've caused him to relapse. The shame I previously felt has been taken up another notch.

"I'm so sorry. If I had known, we'll, if I hadn't been in such a self destructive mood, then I would've never even left my room, much less ended up in yours." I hope he can feel my sincerity.

"It's not a big deal," he says, solemnly.

"How do you deal with it? Being a big athlete, I would think you'd have a very vibrant social life." I can't stop myself from wanting to know more about him. I hope he doesn't think I'm crossing a line. If he starts to get too uncomfortable, I'll just stop and we can go back to silence.

"I stick to myself, mostly. Darren, you know the guy you met back at the banquet, he's pretty much my only friend on the team. That's sort of why the other guys aren't too happy with me. They think I'm being standoffish, not wanting to hang with them, but really it's because I need to keep my head straight, and the best way to do that is to isolate myself."

"I was wondering why giant freckles knocked into you like that." I reference back to the tension I witnessed between him and the angry ginger. "Don't you think isolating yourself is a little extreme though? Do you think there could be a balance?"

"Maybe but right now, this is what works best me. I don't really want to take a chance and end up back down the wrong path."

"Well, how do you handle relationships?" I couldn't stop myself from asking. It was the tiniest thing nagging at the back of my head. Is he seeing someone?

He finishes his last bite, taking his time chewing. "I've never really done relationships and I have no interest in starting now.

"Same," I reply. "I've tried it once and it ended disastrously." I'm surprised we have this in common. Sometimes it feels like so much emphasis is put on relationships in school that it makes me feel left out. Whenever that feeling would come up I'd try to spend some time with Cory, more so for want of conformity than need for companionship.

"What happened?" He asks with curiosity I didn't think he cared enough to have.

Do I want to share this with him? He's opened up to me, so it's only fair that I do the same. It wouldn't be right to pry my way into his personal life, then refuse to give anything back. 

"My ex was super controlling. He would constantly tell me what to wear, what I couldn't wear, how he wanted my hair and makeup, who I was allowed to talk to. He wanted to mold me into his image of a perfect girlfriend. I guess being myself wasn't adequate enough."

"Cory Bush? He looks like the biggest dick-"

"No." I cut him off. "It wasn't Cory, me and him are friends. It was someone else that I definitely don't talk to anymore. And besides, relationships just aren't for me right now. There's no time for it. I don't want to add another thing that'll take up my time and distract me from my studies."

"That's stupid," he says.

"Pardon?" I almost think I don't hear him correctly.

"That's a stupid reason. You can make time for anything, you just need to create a schedule."

I laugh at his sheer confidence. Like he's found the answer to all the problems in the world. Just create a schedule. As if it's that cut and dry. "And you're the master of schedule making?"

" I would say I'm pretty good at it. I wake up at 5:30am every morning and workout, then I grab some breakfast, and head to my classes from 9:30am-1:45pm. After my classes, I get lunch, then do my homework. From 3-6pm I'm at practice, then after, I get dinner and relax for a few hours. At 9pm I do my night workout, when I'm done working out, I come back, take a shower, call my friend Sam, and get to bed by 11pm. The only exception is Saturday nights, when I do my laundry." He lists off his iron-tight schedule in such a quick manner, I can barely keep up.

"Wow, okay. You really do have it all figured out." I'm dumbstruck from the rigidity of the life he affords himself. "You really have to schedule you calling your friend?"

"Well, yeah. It's a part of my daily routine. She's important to me. I have to make sure she's okay."

She. he has a she that's so important to him that he has to speak to her everyday. "What's your reason for swearing off college relationships then?" Let me get back on track.

"Relationships make you vulnerable. I started drinking and smoking because I didn't know how to deal with a loss. Love isn't going to lead to anything but loss for me. I don't want to go through that feeling again and reach a point of no return, losing everything I worked hard for again." He grabs my empty container, condensing both into the bags.

"that's a pessimistic out view." I wanna shake him, tell him to smell the fresh air every once in a while. It saddens me that he thinks he can't enjoy life just because he's made some mistakes in his past. "So let's say you meet a girl one day and you think she's the prettiest thing in the world. You get to know her and your personalities mesh perfectly. You can't stop thinking about her, to the point where you wake up in cold sweats dreaming of her. She's totally into you as well. You're telling me you wouldn't pursue it because you believe it'll ultimately be doomed and you won't be able to recover?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying." He nods.

I feel like I want to help him. Get him to see how he doesn't need to close himself off so much, but at the same time, I don't want to overstep his boundaries. "How about this? You help me develop a schedule for myself and I'll help with some of your social phobia." I offer, hoping it's some sort of middle ground.

"I don't have social phobia, but if you have any ideas on how I can get closer to my teammates it would be great. Coach is on my ass about that too," he says, reaching for a clean napkin and pen.

He begins to write after I give him my work and class schedule, while I conjure up ideas to solve his dilemma.

"There's this escape room a few miles from here. It's fun, and involves a lot of communication and teamwork to get through it. I think it will be a good way to let your guard down and get to know everyone more."

"That doesn't sound too bad." He hands me the napkin.

"Carter, if you think I'm waking up at 5:30 in the morning you're crazy. If you think I'm working out everyday, especially multiple times a day, you're even crazier. Such a psychopathic schedule is reserved for you and you alone." I give him the napkin back to revise.

He laughs, turning it over to start again. "It takes a lot of discipline, I'll admit."

When he hands it back to me, the new schedule is much more agreeable.

" So since you don't do relationships, do you at least do other things?" I ask.

"Like what?" He doesn't catch my drift and now I'm forced to elaborate.

"Like...you know. We're adults, we have needs ever so often." My face heats up and I curse myself for even opening up this can of worms. I think my curiosity is going a little too far.

"I mean, I have two working hands. But if you're asking if I do hookups, then no, it's been a while." He's staring into my soul and I feel like I'm going to melt into a pool of embarrassment. "That is what you were wondering right? If I've had sex recently."

"Well, you know, not that exactly. More-so just, you know what? Let's move on. That wasn't an appropriate question to ask, I'm sorry."

"Okay, well I have a question for you." He counters.

Once again, it's only fair I give him the same chance he's given me. "Let's hear it."

"When you said Cory was a friend, was he the friend you were referring to the night we met? You know, the one you originally planned to meet up with."

"Yes." My answer is quick and simple, and hopefully lee way's to a different topic.

"So you two are hooking up?" He knows I'm squirming and he seems to take pleasure in the sight, which is the only explanation for why he's continuing.

"Not anymore, but we were for a while." I'm not ashamed, I promise. I've just recently found out I'm only comfortable talking about my sex life with Aleena.

"Wow," he breathes. "I didn't expect you to be one of those girls.

My heart pangs. "What do you mean?" God, let's pray his explanation isn't going the direction I think it is.

"Some of the guys call them ball hoppers. Girls that cling onto D1 athletes hoping to reap the benefits when they go pro. If they get dumped, they move to the next target on their list and then the next, until they've secured a ring or exhausted their options."

His tone his playful but his words bite at me. They don't just bite, they're like a flaming sword plunging straight into my gut. I'm in full defensive mode now, and in the blink of an eye, the mood has been soured.

"It's not like that. I'm far from a "ball hopper" and even if I was, would that be the worst thing in the world? These guys have their own agenda as well. Do you think they would even entertain a girl if she didn't the face and body they praise above all else? You guys want a hot girl you can show off, and some girls want a rich man that can pay their bills. If both parties go into it with those mindsets, I say it's an even exchange."

This is a sensitive topic for me. I've known Cory before he was anywhere close to being a top athlete. I don't want anything from him and never have. That's why the misconceptions hurt so much. Nothing about our relationship, past or present would change if he was another nobody on campus.

"No need to get all angry." His hands dare to rise in defense.

Now he's really starting to tick at me. "I'm not angry, I'm simply explaining myself since you seem to think I'm some gold-digging tramp."

"I think you're misconstruing my intent. I didn't mean to say you were a gold digger or a tramp."

"Ya, sure. It's getting late, I think we should head back to campus." I cross my arms after clicking my seatbelt on. This situation is not salvageable and it's best we go our separate ways before it gets worse.

"You don't have to tell me twice. I'll be counting down the seconds until I can drop you off." His previous playfulness is replaced with the anger he swears I'm harboring.

"Let me save you the trouble." My irritation is blinding, and without a second thought, I hop out of his car and begin walking out of the parking lot. He's calling me, his voice comes in one ear and goes out the other.

Am I being dramatic? Maybe. I'm someone who admits their flaws and one of my biggest ones is without a doubt my stubbornness. It's simple, I'm tired of feeling like crap. My entire college experience has been me feeling like crap, either due to awful boyfriends, stressful family problems, demanding work hours, or piling schoolwork. I'm tired of this crappy feeling, I don't need it from anyone, which is why I've decided to immediately withdraw myself from any situation that I feel crappy in.

I open my clutch to retrieve my phone, heading straight for the rideshare app that will get me back to campus since I've decided Carter no longer needs to be burdened with the task.

His truck drives up on the road besides me. He pulls his window down and says, "Summer, get back in the car please."

"Nope, I'm good." Even though the chill whip of the aggressive wind hurts more than my aching feet, I refuse to get back into his warm truck.

I can't believe I tried to be nice, sympathized with him, tried to help him, just for him to throw it all back in my face by insinuating I was some clout chaser.

Two minutes. My Black Hyundai will be here to pick me up in two minutes.

"Just let me get you home, you don't have to talk to me or anything." He continues to plea and I continue to ignore him.

His debt has been repaid, and just like we agreed, we can now go our separate ways forever.

I hold the spot by the giant diner sign, tracking the driver's distance. Carter's car is stopped on the shoulder of the road and he waits patiently in silence.

The driver pulls up around the corner, swerving onto the shoulder right in front of Carter.

"Summer?" The driver asks.

"Yes," I confirm, opening the door of the back seat.

I take one last look at Carter, his dome light is on and I can see him gesturing for me to join him back in his car. I shake my head and enter the black Hyundai, trying to hold back the pain? Hurt? Loss? I don't know, I just hope whatever this feeling is, it goes away quick.