"So what do you think?"

I stood in the middle of Trip's dorm room on Tuesday night, wearing his blue Away jersey. I reached up to free my hair from the neck, the ends falling about an inch below my collar bones.

"#33 looks great on you," Trip replied. He sat at his desk with his laptop open to Duke University's course catalog, but had swiveled around to face me. 

"Of course it does." I smirked at him before turning to survey myself in the full-length mirror mounted on the back of the door. The boys' lacrosse jerseys were predictably larger and more baggy than my team's, with the bottom hem of Trip's nearly covering my black biker shorts. Tomorrow, I planned to style the jersey with a pair of Lululemon shorts and Nike trainers.

It was tradition at Cannondale for the boys' and girls' varsity lacrosse teams to swap jerseys during the conference playoffs. It was essentially a photo-op in which the boys endured a handful of photos in the girls' inherently smaller jerseys, before changing out of them by lunchtime. The swap typically occurred during the semifinal round, which both teams had advanced to in recent years. We also only swapped the jersey that we wouldn't wear for the game, which depended on whether we were Home or Away. 

As the No. 2 seed in the conference, the girls' lacrosse team received the home field advantage for our semi-finals game against the No. 3 seed, Essex Academy. We anticipated a tough game; we'd only won our regular season game against them 11–8, and that was in early April.

Still standing in front of the mirror, I lifted the fabric of the collar to my nose and grinned. "It smells good."

"I just washed it."

I peeked at Trip from over my shoulder, a coy smile on my lips. "It still smells like you."

A terribly cute, lazy grin crept across Trip's features. "Come here."

I turned around entirely with my eyebrows arched, studying him for a moment before obliging. As I arrived in front of him, he slid his hands around my waist, and looked up at me with that same lazy grin. His gaze was so soft but intense, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Yes?" I prompted, delicately running my hands down the front of his t-shirt.

"I have something to tell you."

"And what's that?"

"Headmistress Harvey called me into her office earlier today to tell me in-person." Trip paused for a beat and his grin expanded into something worth cherishing. "You're looking at one of this year's Valedictorians."

"Trip!" My heart swelled with joy, and I tugged him up from his chair to throw my arms around him. "Congratulations."

I felt Trip's laugh ripple through his chest as he returned my hug, pulling me flush against him. He then pressed a kiss to my temple. "Thanks, Chan. I wasn't expecting it."

"You weren't expecting it," I echoed with a chuckle, and pulled back slightly so I could fix him with an incredulous look. "You've made high honors every term, and had an interview with Headmistress Harvey. At the very least, you somewhat expected it."

"I suppose," Trip drew out his words, sounding almost bashful. 

"You have a lot to be proud of."

"Thanks, Chan," he repeated, then scrunched up his nose. "But now I have to write a speech for graduation. I have to coordinate with Matilda Hanson."

I noted Trip's casual mention of the other Valedictorian, and nearly frowned because I'd hoped Delaney would secure the girls' spot. It was, however, very competitive and the administration would never name two lacrosse captains as the Valedictorians. Those were bad optics.

However, I knew Matilda deserved it. She was the soft-spoken captain of the debate team and was heading to Georgetown. I would congratulate her once I became certain she'd made her achievement public. It was her news to share, just as it was Trip's. Even though we were together, I still felt a little thrill at the thought of being one of the first people who Trip told.

I was still recovering from the misery of last week, my anxiety remaining relatively high and my conscience heavy. But being in Trip's presence was like an antidote, relieving the tension in my mind. I wanted to spend as much time in his company as I could, and had escaped to his dorm room almost every evening.

"You know I'll listen to your speech as many times as you'd like," I said, reaching up to tangle my finger in the soft curls at the base of his neck. "But now I think we should celebrate."

"You do?" Trip's words fluttered against my skin before he kissed me, his hands on either side of my face.

"Mhm," I mumbled, smiling against his lips.

"Well, if you insist." His hands moved to my hips and he walked me backwards until I hit his bed.

"I do insist."

Without hesitation, Trip lifted me up and dropped me onto his neatly-made bed. As he moved to join me, he reached out a hand to lightly grab the front of my jersey—his jersey —and fisted the fabric to pull me up for a kiss so deep that my head started to spin. When he pulled back, I watched him deliberately look me up and down. I wanted him to look at me like I was his.

"Now that I think about it, I don't think this looks all that great on you," he mused, releasing the fabric. The mischievous glint in his eyes made the nerves in my body buzz with anticipation. I didn't want anyone else to make me feel this way. Like one electric touch might make me combust.

My lips brushed against his neck as I whispered, "Then take it off."

I didn't need to tell him twice. Trip's fingertips dipped under the hem of the jersey, and his touch ghosted up my sides. I let my eyes flutter shut, wishing I could tattoo this feeling to my skin. My breath hitched when his fingers skated back down and pressed down onto my hip bones before tugging the fabric upward. It was quietly intimate, but heat seeped through me like magma. Just as I'd sat up slightly to assist him in tugging it over my head, a sudden knock on the door prompted us to freeze.

"Trip, I'm back," came Jameson's voice from the other side of the door. "I'm kind of early."

My heart sank and I leaned my forehead against Trip's shoulder in silent defeat. Jameson wasn't supposed to be back for another hour.

"Yep, no shit," Trip called out in response as he shifted onto his side. "Hold on for like...30 seconds, alright?"

"Only 30 seconds? Sorry." Something that sounded like regret punctuated Jameson's weary voice. He probably figured that if he'd actually interrupted, it would take longer than 30 seconds for us to get situated.

"Me too," Trip mumbled, raking a hand through his curls as he hopped off the bed.

Even though Jameson had a key, Trip begrudgingly made his way over to the door to let him inside. Maybe he'd wanted to greet his roomate with a displeased expression, one that I didn't dare display.

"Evening, Chandler," Jameson said as he brushed past Trip, who was scowling.

I forced a smile. "How's it going, Jameson?"

"It's...well, it's just going," he huffed out and dropped his backpack onto his desk chair. "You'd think they'd cut the seniors some slack after we finished our AP exams, but nope. I'm still at war with my final project for AP Chem. I needed to come back for some old notes on stoichiometry."

"Screw stoichiometry," Trip grumbled as he returned to sit beside me on the bed. I willed him to put a hand on my leg, but he didn't. "Are you going back to the library or..."

"Uh..." Jameson's dark eyes shifted between the two of us before locking onto Trip.

Something unspoken seemed to pass between them, and Trip tensed up almost imperceptibly.

As I looked at Jameson, I couldn't help but feel like he was still holding some sort of grudge against me. I knew Macallan had told him about our situation with Gianna just as I'd done with Trip, but I wondered if he thought that we'd done the right thing by putting distance between us and her. I wondered if he thought I was somehow responsible.

"Actually, I should go," I heard myself say, briefly setting a hand on one of Trip's before reluctantly shifting my legs over the side of the bed and dropping my sock-covered feet to the floor. "I want to watch some of the film from Essex Academy's quarterfinal game against the Winsor School."

Trip side-eyed me. "Really?"

"It's helpful," I answered as I retrieved the old Cornell crewneck I'd worn over and tugged it over my head. "I'm taking the draw against #7, and she pushes almost every time. That's important for me to know."

"Is it?" Trip asked.

"It is," I insisted. "It also helps to know what kind of offensive plays they run, and which players they prioritize in them..."

I trailed off when I saw that Trip sported a subtle smirk. I swatted his leg. "You're messing with me."

"Yeah, I am." Trip's smirk remained intact as he hopped off the bed. "I'll walk you home."

My lips tilted upward. This felt like a mediocre consolation prize—I could steal a few more kisses in the shadows.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Jameson said as he started unloading his backpack, though he looked relieved to be staying in the comfort of his room.

"Don't worry about it. Good luck with stoichiometry." I gave my best fake unbothered shrug, but knew it wouldn't fool Jameson. I'd kicked his Columbia-bound ass out of our room enough times to see him do the same nonchalant act, and knew he would easily identify mine.

Trip picked up my backpack before I could get to it, and snagged his keys off of his desk. "Alright, I'll be back in a few."

Jameson nodded. "Bye, Chandler. Nice jersey, by the way. I think Macallan's switching with Jay."

"Yeah, probably," I said.

I didn't look at the spreadsheet that Delaney emailed us yesterday. She'd collaborated with Trip and Grayson to strategically assign the swaps. The boys' team had a few more players than the girls', so some of the underclassmen would have to make do with team t-shirts. But that wasn't my problem.

I had Trip's jersey and he had mine. We'd get our cute picture together tomorrow morning and call it a success. He held my hand as we left the dorm and stepped out into the night.