“Why are you looking at us like we’re trying to screw with you?” Heath says.
“Because that’s how it looks?” My mind is going three hundred miles an hour to figure out a way to stop these two morons. “Okay, look. If you absolutelyhaveto do this, which—again—youdon’t, do it on Tuesday at ten.” Aspen has a class that starts then, and even if Will and Heath move like slugs, they’ll be done by the time she comes out. Hopefully, she won’t notice them. And if somebody posts pictures of them online, she’ll just laugh it off without realizing what it’s about.
“But you have a class at that time, don’t you?” Will asks.
“Yes, but I have no doubt that you two will do the right thing.”
They both nod gravely, staunch men considering an important matter, while my sarcasm flies right over their heads.
Part of me says I need to come clean now, but the smarter part disagrees. There are girls who would just laugh and not care as long as they got to date me. But not Aspen. She has too much pride. She’d cut me out of her life and never speak to me again. I’d rather die.
What if she finds out on her own?
She won’t. And even if she does, it will be after a lot of time has passed. After she gets to spend more time with me and know me better. By then, she’ll know for sure I’m not an asshole and be able to laugh it off as some dumb thing I did when I was too immature to know any better.
I’ll make sure of it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aspen
Grant and I don’t get to hang out after returning from Malibu. One of the baristas comes down with mono, and I end up taking her shifts. He comes by several times to buy coffee, but given that I’m supposed to be working, we don’t get to chitchat much. But I’m happy to see him, and I decide I might’ve overreacted to what happened at the airport. Except for the first time we faced each other on the polo field, Grant hasn’t done anything without a good reason—almost all to benefit me. It’s possible his roommate is Sadie’s secret admirer or something and would’ve gotten nasty with me. Besides, Grant is even more bummed than me that we can’t spend all our free time together. I shouldn’t ruin what’s good between us.
My next paycheck’s going to be sweet. I want to treat Grant to something nice, even if it’s not as fancy as what he’s used to. It’s the thought that counts, and he’ll probably like whatever I come up with. Despite his background, he isn’t a snob. The way he interacted with my grandparents proved that.
–Grant: Please tell me your coworker’s fully recovered. It’s already Tuesday.
–Me: I haven’t heard anything yet. Make it up to you later?
–Grant: How? Tell me more.
–Me: Haha! Use your imagination.
–Grant: Are we doing whatever my imagination comes up with? *wink emoji*
–Me: Maybe. *suggestive emoji* I gotta get to class now. Talk to you later.
Smiling, I slip my phone into the gorgeous burgundy bag Grant gave me in Malibu and head to Native Myths and Legends. It’s an elective I’m taking to fill a humanities requirement. But as I near the class, it seems like there are a bunch of students walking toward me and away from the class. A piece of paper is taped to the classroom door.
Native Myths and Legends is canceled until next week.
No reason given, but then, Dr. Mazen isn’t the type to explain himself. The man looks like a goat, with tufts of white hair and a pointed Van Dyke, and he’s as stubborn as the animal, too.
Nice, making everyone walk all the way over here.Of course, there was no email notice or anything. He’s as anti-tech as you can get. I actually saw him using a clamshell phone a few weeks ago.
Well, nothing to be done about now.I turn around and go back outside. Too bad Grant has a class right now. We could’ve hung out. But I really should go over to the library and spend some time with my notes from econometrics. It’s amazing how much more enjoyable the class is now that I understand it better.
As I walk across the huge lawn in the center of the campus, I see people turning and looking at something, pointing and laughing. Almost everyone has their phone out.
I start to go over to see what the deal is—and then I can’t help but see it. Two guys, nude except for sneakers, dash right past me.
Oh my God! What the heck? I heard that streaking was a thing on some campuses, but I’ve never seen or heard of anybody streakinghere.
On their chests and backs is written in a bright scarlet red:Grant Lasker is the bigger man.
What the…? My head swivels. They’re running, but not too fast. Probably pacing themselves a bit. Everyone’s laughing and yelling encouragement and other stuff I can’t make out in the noise.
I recognize both of them—Heath the dickhead who tried to grab me and Grant’s roommate from the airport. The latter is doing a better job at maintaining his speed than the former, who’s falling behind.
