"Sure," he says easily, but I can tell he caught me dodging the question. "But Doc? People are more than what you'd find under a microscope. Sometimes the stuff you can't measure matters most."
As I walk away, I can feel him watching me, and my neat, organized world feels suddenly, dangerously tilted.
As we're leaving the mixer, without winning the gift card, much to Wei's disappointment, JP nudges me.
"So, the hot jock," he says with zero subtlety. "What's the story there?"
"There is no story," I insist. "We met briefly in the library. That's it."
"Uh-huh," JP sounds far too amused at my expense. "That's why you were giving each other 'I want to climb you like a tree' eyes all night."
"I was not—" I sputter.
"You kind of were," Wei says quietly. When even Wei comments on social dynamics, you know it's obvious.
"He's not my type," I say firmly.
"Tall, muscular, smart, and looks at you like you're the most interesting person in the room?" JP raises an eyebrow. "Since when is that not everybody's type?"
"He's a jock. A frat boy. Probably straight," I list, more to convince myself than them.
"Keep telling yourself that," Wei says with a knowing grin. "Meanwhile, the rest of us saw the chemistry between you two. Honestly, it was kinda hot how he looked at you."
I roll my eyes, but as we head to Beans & Books for our coffee, I keep thinking about my talk with Gavin, how he pushed back when I wrote off psychology, how he seemed to see right through me.
The way my heart rate increased when he stood close.It doesn't mean anything… he's just… crap.
I tell myself it's just a weird fluke, a random reaction that doesn't mean anything, just like I tell myself I'm not dreading my tutoring session tomorrow at 3 PM.
Some things are better left alone, and some feelings are better off never starting. Whatever's going on between Gavin Robins and me definitely fits that bill.
No, there's nothing happening.
Chapter 4
Statistical Probability of Family Approval: 17%
Sebastian
Istare at the overflowing plate of lasagna my mamma has just placed in front of me. The portion is enough to feed two people, maybe three, but saying so would only result in a fifteen-minute lecture about how I'm "wasting away" at college.
"Mangia, Sebastiano," my mamma urges, already turning away to serve my father, who sits at the head of the table patiently waiting for her to feed her bambinos. "You're too skinny."
"I'm exactly the right weight for my height and age, Mamma," I answer automatically, knowing it's pointless.
"Medical books," she dismisses with a wave of her hand. "What do they know about an Italian man's proper size?"
I catch my sister Gabi's eye across the table, and she smirks. At twenty-six, she's taken over most of the office management for Moretti Construction, and despite her petite frame, can intimidate men twice her size with a single raised eyebrow, a trait she's currently directing at me as if to say, "Just eat the food."
My other sister, Sophia, seven months pregnant with her first child, is already halfway through her portion. She winks at me as she reaches for more garlic bread. Pregnancy has givenher license to eat whatever she wants without our mamma's incessant monitoring, a freedom I'm jealous of.
"So," my father says after his first few bites, "Perkins Development called today. We got the bid for their new office complex."
"That's great, Dad," Sophia says, ever the diplomat.
"Twenty units, plus underground parking," he continues, pride evident in his voice. "Biggest contract this year."
"I negotiated an extra five percent over our initial quote," Gabi adds, and I can see she's pleased as she tries to sound casual. "Plus materials."
