I push the thought into the recesses of my mind, go back inside, finish making that damn sandwich, and pull up my game tape.
4
Gen
“I should’ve known you’d chicken out,” Jean chides under his breath as we jot down notes in the liberal arts seminar we have to take this semester.
“I told you,” I whisper shout. “I didn’t! He did. Believe me, I was ready to go.”
“Sure you were,” he says, clicking his tongue. “I just can’t imagine why he wouldn’t hop on the chance for a no strings attached situationship.” He chews on the tip of his pen, genuinely pondering how Grant could’ve turned me down after saying yes.
I haven’t mentioned the date to Jean yet because Iknowhe’ll make a bigger deal out of it than it is. But his brows are so adorably furrowed, his mind probably painfully twisting, trying to solve this riddle I have the answer to.
I slowly lean to the right, dipping my head so that he can hear me better as I whisper, “He wants a date.” I might as well have spoken normally because his obnoxious gasp has more than a few heads turning. “Can you chill? This is why I didn’t tell you,” I chastise him, settling back into myseat. He leans my way now, crowding me with his overzealous zest for playing cupid.
“Halle-fucking-lulljah!” he exclaims, keeping his voice at a whisper. “You’re welcome,” he quips, popping a shoulder.
“It’s just a date,” I tell him, rolling my eyes.
“Gen and Grant, kissing in a tree?—”
“Keep singing, and I will cut your tongue out,” I stop him, hyperaware that anyone could hear us, could send a tip tohisboyfriend’s gossip column.
“So lethal. He probably likes that.”
I can’t help but laugh as our professor dismisses us, and I kiss him on both cheeks as he struts away in the opposite direction, having rejected my invite to lunch with Will.
Campus is over crowded, the way it always is this early in the semester. We’re all still figuring out just how strict the attendance policy will be for our new classes, soeveryoneis here—including me. So it isn’t surprising that I notice Grant’s broad back and indecently corded muscles as I leave my seminar. What is surprising, is the way it feels like adrenaline was just injected into my bloodstream at the sight of him.
It’s wanting Twizzlers when you’ve never tasted them, never even knew your store carried them, but suddenly wanting them because someone promised them to you. And it’s all you can think about—eating this fucking candy you never once considered even tasting.
I’m stalking down the hallway without even half a thought, already high off the idea of him smirking at me. It’s not that no one’s ever looked at me with feral lust; it’s that I’ve never felt it back. That we’re attracted to each other is clear to me now, and it’s why I can’t pinpoint whyhe’s dragging his feet. Why won't he just do what Iknowhe’s done with countless other women here.
I scan the hallway for anyone else I might know and am satisfied by the unfamiliar faces I see. Just to be safe—because there are eyes and earseverywherethanks to Ian—I glance around for a seemingly empty room, not really knowing what I’m doing. I just want to talk to him, I think. We haven’t, since he added this unnecessary condition to whatshould’vebeen a casual thing.
Once I catch up with his long, powerful strides, I wrap my hand around his arm and tug just slightly until he sees me, his eyes flaring with surprise. I pull him into an empty practice room, suddenly realizing he’s in the Fine Arts building.
“Wait—what are you doing here?” I ask him, like I didn’t approach him.
“In this practice room? Well, this extremely intimidating girl yanked me?—”
“No,” I interrupt, rolling my eyes. “In this building?”
“Oh,” he chuckles. “Andy needed my help carryin’ some set pieces over here.” Worry flashes across my chest at the thought that Andy could’ve seen me, but I push it away. “Why arewein here?”
“Prying eyes, prying ears,” I shrug, like it’s obvious, and he just nods. “I just wanted to see if you made any progress on our date?” I ask it like we’re doing a group project. Like I need his write up before I can make a pie chart.
“Progress?” he asks, the corners of his eyes creasing in amusement.
“Honestly, I’m very low maintenance, so if you’re trying to plan some elaborate date?—”
“Are you now?” His smirk is disarmingly sexy, and I find myself unable to focus on my thoughts when he does it. Imove closer, changing tactics, sensing he’s trying to distract me.
“I’m just saying,” I start, looking up at him through my lashes, “that you really don’t need to woo me.”
“Are you trying to seduce me?” Still that smirk, but even more disastrous than before, and it feels like I’m losing. “We both know how well hitting on me went last time.”
“I recall it going very well, actually. I’m following up. I’m closing the deal,” I tell him, my tone more impatient than I mean it to be. But of course it is, and of coursehemeans for me to be, otherwise he wouldn’t look at me likethat.
