Only then did the guy acknowledge that Chessly wasn’t alone. His eyes widened and the smirk dropped right off his lips.
“Oh, uh, sure. Sure. No problem.” Clearing his throat, he added with a gesture at the carrel, “You go ahead.”
“Thank you,” I said. Then, to be certain he’d picked up the hint, I stepped around Chess and pulled her chair out for her.
With a bemused smile at me, she sat down, and I nearly had to step on Ichabod to move him away from the opposite side of the table so I could sit across from her.
“Have a good session or whatever,” the guy said as he backed away. As quickly as he’d materialized, he disappeared.
As I set my backpack on the floor beside the table, I said, “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that guy sits at your favorite table.” I shot her my best smile. “Can’t say I blame him either.”
Her brows came together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Ichabod has a crush on you.”
“Ichabod?”
“Yeah. Like the character from ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.’ I thought everyone read that story in high school.” I grinned.
Her face relaxed into a smile as my meaning dawned on her. “Oh, the grad student.” She giggled. “He does look a bit like Ichabod Crane, doesn’t he?”
“Not your type at all, huh?”
She unzipped her jacket, shrugged out of it, and draped it over the back of her chair. I had to work my ass off to keep my eyes on her face as she revealed her luscious rack in a tight green turtleneck sweater.
“I don’t have a type,” she said primly as she reached down and opened her backpack. She pulled out her laptop and a notebook and set them on the table in front of her, momentarily distracting me from her gorgeous figure.
“Sure you do, or you would have caught on that ol’ Ichabod has a thing for you.” Taking a chance, I added, “And you wouldn’t have let me join you.”
“You think you’re my type?”
I could tell she was trying to inject a load of disbelief into the question except it came out kinda breathy.
I grinned. “If those kisses were anything to go by”—I leaned forward—“and they were”—I dialed up the heat in my smile—“I’m definitely your type.”
“I’ve been trying to work out if you have an ego or not.” She gave a sage nod. “It seems you have a rather big one.”
Laughter barked out of me. “Nope. It’s not ego talking here.” I snagged her eyes with mine and held them. “It’s the scientific method. Make a hypothesis, test the hypothesis, draw a conclusion.” Sitting back, I crossed my arms over my chest and didn’t miss the way her eyes toured my biceps and shoulders. “Hypothesis: Chessly Clarke is interested in Finn McCabe.”
She sucked in air but said nothing.
“Test: Finn invites Chessly to a party and finds a way to spend time with her alone. They have a nice conversation. Chessly leaves the party wearing Finn’s hoodie. Will she return it or burn it?” I dropped my forearms to the table and leaned in. “Not only does she return it, but she also spends the evening talking to Finn, drinking hot chocolate, and kissing on the couch.” I winked. “Conclusion: Chessly Clarke is interested in Finn McCabe.” I gave her a second to refute me. When she remained silent, I whispered, “And Finn McCabe is very interested in Chessly Clarke.”
Clearing her throat as she laid out her pencils, she said, “But you’re also interested in Tory Miller and the girls in her group.” Glancing up at me, she added, “So I’m not seeing your interest in me as special.”
Reaching across the table, I covered her hands with mine. “I have zero interest in Tory Miller or any of her little friends.” Beneath mine, her hands stiffened. “But my mom raised me to be polite to people, so when they talk to me, I acknowledge them. When they show up at my house unannounced with a tin of fresh-baked cookies, I say thank you and enjoy their hard work.” I rubbed the pad of my thumb over the soft skin on the back of her hand and took a big chance. “I’d also way rather hang out with you than with a bunch of freshmen whose only interest in me is that I play football.”
“How do you know that’s not my only interest in you?”
Giving her hand a tiny squeeze, I leaned forward, “Because I’ve kissedyou.” I sat back with a small smile and enjoyed the pink flush sliding up her cheeks.
She tugged her hands away, and I let her.
“I have a project to research for quantum physics. Don’t you have any homework?” Her prim tone confirmed what her flushed cheeks had already told me.
My interest in Chessly Clarke wasn’t one-sided.
But I let her get away with her deflection. Pulling my laptop from my backpack, I set it on the table and opened it to the syllabus for my physical chemistry class. With a sly glance at my study partner, who studiously ignored me, I navigated to the homework that required some physics, pulled up a couple of problems, and after giving it a few minutes, said, “Since you’re a physics major who wants to be a doctor, maybe you can help me with some physical chemistry homework.”
