“Have dinner with me.”
She blinks. “What?”
“I said, have dinner with me.”
She gives me the wary look she might give a feral—and possibly rabid—dog. “Are you high?”
“No.”
“No.”
When she doesn’t elaborate, I say, “No what?”
“No, I’m not having dinner with you.”
Did she just turn me down?Girls never turn me down, no matter how angry they are. “I’m paying.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not eating.”
“It’s a free dinner.” The magic words that would make most college kids ecstatic.
“And?” She scoffs. “What am I? A charity case?”
“I just want to thank you for the A+.”
She shrugs. “It didn’t cost me anything. And I already said you’re welcome.” But the tightness in her voice betrays her annoyance. I bet she ground her teeth as she added my name to the paper. “If you really want to thank me, show up for class. That way, the next time I’m forced to do a project with you, I won’t have to track you down to some polo field.”
Chapter Five
Aspen
I huff as I hurry to Culture and Music in History. I don’t believe for a second that Grant really wanted to thank me for putting his name on the assignment. It isn’t like he cares about what grade he gets. If he did, he wouldn’t have ridden off after hearing that we had to work on the paper together. For all I know, some of his polo buddies gave him shit about the scene I made and he wants revenge.
He could take me to an expensive restaurant and conveniently forget his wallet. It happened on a date with a guy last year. He acted embarrassed and contrite, promised to pay me back and then ghosted me. I was out nearly three hundred bucks I couldn’t afford, not just for the meal but the valet parking for his car, too. In retrospect, it’s obvious he pulled the move because he realized halfway through the dinner that I wasn’t going to sleep with him. He wasn’t special enough to punch my V-Card. The right guy is going to be someone who makes me feel like the center of the universe.
Anyway, what that jerkwad didn’t count on was how much I wanted that money back. I hounded him, then embarrassed him in front of his frat brothers to the point that he had to cough up the parking and his portion of the meal and drinks. His buddies call me That Cheap Bitch, but the money mattered more than their opinion, especially since I’m not going to see them again after I graduate.
With Grant, if he pulls something similar, it’ll be impossible to get a hold of him. I was only able to track him to the polo field because somebody posted where he was. I’m not going to count on being lucky again.
Besides, even if I did manage to corner him again, there’s no guarantee he’d pay. If our personalities were tattooed on our foreheads, his would read SHAMELESS. He’s the type who never understands why what he did is bad because how could he be in the wrong? He’s led a charmed life where everything’s been handed to him, including girls. A guy who looks like that doesn’t go without.
I read the comments Professor Taylor left directly on the paper. He kissed Grant’s ass so hard, it wouldn’t shock me if his mouth smells like ass for the next decade.
Let it go,I tell myself. I have the grade, and I only need to suck it up for two more years and one semester before I get my econ degree. Then I’m going to get a job as a stockbroker. It seems like a doable career, and it pays well. My grandparents have sacrificed so much, and I need to pull my weight. Move out and let them finally have their retirement.
I walk into the lecture hall with its huge stage, from which Professor Taylor lectures. I take my usual seat in the front, second from the aisle. Nobody else sits on the row, which is perfect. No distractions.
I pull out my textbook, tablet and papers and position them just so on the fold-out desk, then lay down my plain black ballpoint pen, ready for class.
“Hello, Aspen.”
I jerk my head up. The greeting is smooth, said in a low voice that makes my skin prickle—probably with unresolved rage.
“What are you doing here?”
Grant smiles. “You told me to show up if I wanted to thank you.”
I stare, trying to process.He’s actually following through?This guy doesn’t strike me as the type to be nice to anybody. Plus, why does he look so damn good? All those bold lines, the high cheekbones and surprisingly full lips. The bridge of his nose is straight. I guess he never got smacked in the face with a polo mallet. His shoulders look even wider this close, and he smells nice—some expensive, spicy cologne.
