LORI
The hallway leading to the boys’ dorms smelled like body spray and testosterone. Every third door had some crusty sock or crumpled Red Bull can outside it, and someone was blasting something that sounded like a chainsaw remix of trap music.
I clutched the little cake box like it was my emotional support animal and counted the doors until I reached his. 307. Jason’s door had no decorations, no scuffed posters, no beware of dog sticker or dumb meme taped to the front. Just a plain number and this strange feeling crawling up my spine.
I knocked once. My heart tried to choke me. The door swung open.
He looked shocked to see me then his eyes dropped to the cake box, and his eyes softened. Or maybe I was just projecting because my brain had completely melted and was leaking out of my e
