“Wait, you’re done with all your midterms?” I ask, stunned and envious.
“I’m done studying. Two more tests tomorrow, but I’m not worried about them.”
“How come?” I give him a flinty stare. “They aren’t group projects you ditched, are they?”
He rolls his eyes but has the decency to look slightly abashed. “No. But they’re easy. I don’t really have to study.”
“Atall?” Color me skeptical. He has one undemanding course—Culture and Music in History. But he couldn’t be takingalleasy classes. It wouldn’t meet the minimum requirement to graduate. On top of that, although someone like Taylor might dole out good grades to him, most professors aren’t like that. There are those who are proud of their reps as super assholes who rarely grade on a curve.
“I already know everything.”
“Either you’re super arrogant or super smart. Which is it?” I ask jokingly, expecting him to say super smart.
“Do I have to pick one?” He laughs and shrugs. “I’m serious—I already know most of what they’re teaching here.”
Even though he said “most of,” I have a feeling what he really means isall of. “Then why are you here? This place costs a fortune.” Maybe he honestly doesn’t care about money because his family’s rich. “Are you here to just screw around for four years before you have to get a job or something? Take over your dad’s business?”
“I’d rather die than work in Hollywood with Dad. Ugh.” He shudders, his face scrunching. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Sick?”
“Sick. Puking. Body parts dying, falling off. Nah, I just need a piece of paper that says I graduated from some college. So I’m here to have fun.”
It’s amazing how different we are. For him, college is a lark, something to kill four years. But for me, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that I can’t afford to waste. There’s a weird mixture of feelings welling in my chest. Not anger or resentment. Just…sadness? And some slight envy, maybe? Part of me wonders if things could’ve been different for me, too, if my parents hadn’t died when I was just three years old. I doubt my parents would’ve been able to treat my college education as “killing time and having fun,” but maybe I’d feel less pressured to be perfect because I’d have a little margin for error.
I shake off the tightness in my heart. Life isn’t fair, and my wonderingwhat ifdoesn’t change anything.
“We can have fun together as soon as these exams are over,” Grant adds.
“Right. The break,” I say with a smile, happy he ended one of my rare moments of self-pity. “What do I need, since you said there’s no horseback riding?”
“Some toiletries if you want. Some clothes. Oh, and a bikini if you have one.”
“We’re going to the beach?” I didn’t think we’d be hanging out in Napa for three days, but I didn’t realize we’d be heading to someplace that warm.
“Yup. It’s probably too cold to swim, but there’s a hot tub.”
“That sounds like fun.” I finish the last bite of the croissant and wash it down with the coffee. “Now I need to go back to this.” I gesture at the textbooks on the table. I have an econometrics class to study for. Not something I’m looking forward to, since it’s my weakest subject.
“Study away. I’ll just sit here with my mouth zipped.”
Chapter Twelve
Grant
I shouldn’t have told Aspen I was screwing around here at school, even if it was true. Her eyes dimmed a little, damn it.
I’m just not used to opening up about the reason for my being at Napa Aquinas College. It isn’t a bad place—it’s one of the nicer liberal arts colleges. But it can’t teach me anything I don’t know already. Mom pressured me to start skipping grades at age seven—and my teachers were certainly amenable, since I was years ahead of my peers—but I resisted. I didn’t want to be ahead of my brothers. I liked hanging out with them at boarding school. Even though we’re at different colleges now, I enjoy the fact that we’re all going through the experience at the same time.
But after being a dick about the group paper, telling Aspen that my college education is more or less a joke doesn’t put me in the best light. Most of the guys I hang out with generally admire that I don’t have to do much and still set the curve, because that’s whatthey’dlike to be able to do. But Aspen is different.
I bite into the croissant and watch her pore over the econometrics textbook. She frowns, then checks her notes, then frowns again.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that econometrics is ridiculously easy, and she shouldn’t act like the book is written in Latin. But her opinion of me matters, so I keep my mouth shut. Only econ majors take econometrics—it’s boring as hell, although my brother Griffin loves it because he’s weird like that—so I should let her frown all she wants.
She lets out a frustrated breath and taps the page with her pen.
“Problem?” I ask tentatively.
