“Is there some impending deadline I should be aware of?”
Footsteps sound outside the classroom and we both freeze, hyper aware that we could be caught any second, despite the fact that we aren’t doing…anything.
“No,” I say, hushed and defensive.
“What’s the rush, Genevieve?” His voice rasps against my skin, despite the distance still between us, and I’m acutely aware of everything. His woodsy scent, the deep, almost indigo blue of his eyes, the hint of stubble on his face that somehow highlights the tantalizingly masculine cut of his jaw. It’s unfair how attractive he is, because once you’ve noticed, I don’t know how you’re meant to operate. “Why are you so…bothered?” Amusement dances in his eyes.
“Well you can’t just tell me you’re going to…dosomething like that and then leave it all open ended,” I explain, glancing away.
He steps closer, just as my chest slightly heaves.
“I’m sure you can take care of yourself in the meantime.” He’s having fun with this, I realize—at my expense.
I narrow my eyes, letting a coy smirk of my own bloom when he drags his teeth over his bottom lip. Because ifI’mfeeling like this, there’s no way he’s not feeling worse.
“I can…but can you?” I step back. “I like sushi, pizza, and middle eastern cuisine. Pick one so we can move on with our lives.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but my hand in the air stops him.
“And don’t say we could just not and say we did. Your crotch would say otherwise.”
Something heated crosses his gaze, and I struggle to school my features the way I usually do. “Checking me out, Dupont?”
“Obviously. You didn’t think I wanted to hook up with you because of your personality, did you?” I start to smirk at my own joke—Jean would’ve—but stop when he doesn’t. He just nods, lips pressed firmly together, almost like I offended him. “I didn’t mean?—”
“No, I know,” he hurries to agree, and I want to take it back. “Don’t worry, Gen. Couldn’t get the wrong idea here if I tried.”
He opens the door, his hand having been on the handle for longer than I realized, and walks back into the now empty hall. I hang back for a minute before leaving, really wanting to avoid attention. Last year was pretty silent, but freshman year was just a barrage of Will and Gen rumors in the paper that did nothingto improve things between Liv and I. Anything insinuating that I’m sneaking around, with anyone, would be a distraction from my work at the Boston Conservatoryandwould make Will uneasier than he already has been.
By the time I’m back at the freshly cut lawn that sits at the center of our sprawling campus, I see him, his goldenlocks glistening in the harsh midday sun, a black iced coffee in his hand. He waves me down, this face splitting smile on him that reminds me of being thirteen years old and seeing each other for the first time in weeks after summer camp.
“Thought we were meeting here at noon?” he says when I reach him, pulling me in for a brief hug, Andy leaning against the pillar beside him with a curious glint in his gaze.
“I was just chatting with my professor,” I smoothly lie, catching Andy’s head tilt when I do.
“Why?” His brows dip as his lips curve into a disbelieving smile. “It’s not like you’re going to be there that often.” His laughter skates across my skin as he slings an arm around me, guiding me toward the lot he’s parked in, and I relax into his touch. Andy’s eyes flick over our multiple points of contact, but I can’t decipher it. He’s always seen Will and I like this; there’s something new in his perceptive gaze. But he doesn’t comment—that’s not who he is. I feel my phone buzz in my pocket and reach for it without thought, alarm piercing through me when I see Grant’s name very clearly displayed on it.
“We should try the new pita bar off campus,” Andy says, specifically to Will, and I take the opportunity to shrug out of his hold and check the text.
Grant
Nickelodeon or Disney kid?
My lips press hard against each other, my best attempt at neutrality when really, I want to smile. I shoot back a text.
If you weren’t watching George Lopez at midnight, don’t even speak to me.
Grant
Thank god. Because for me, personality is a deal breaker.
A small laugh escapes me, trying to wrap my head around Grant Fielder subtly telling me he thinks my personalityisn’ttrash. Doesn’t thinkI’mtrash, the way so many others do.
Andy glances back at me, having noticed, so I tuck my phone away and slide into the back bench of Will’s car, packing Grant and every little glance and text away for later.
5
Gen
