Weston raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Are you offended?”
“No,” I denied quickly and held up my hands as if I was telling someone to slow down. “Why would that offend me?”
“Because you’re the best designer in the class,” Weston offered with a shrug. His eyes were scanning my hair now. The three-week-old box braids hung around my shoulders, perfect for hiding behind when I felt like I was drowning. I let my hair fall across my shoulder as I turned back to our professor for an explanation.
“If I’m being honest,” Professor Ida said while shaking her mouse to wake up her computer. “You two are on opposite sides of the spectrum.”
She could say that again. And differences didn’t stop at graphic design. Weston Briggs was a quiet, athletic, blonde and blue eyed junior. I'd only ever seen him in football sweatshirts and jogging sweats. I’d seen his face around campus a handful of times on posters. Weston was one of Westbrooke’s highly marketed football players. Up close, he looked even better than the glossy photos. He looked kinder in the dim light of the office and far less intimidating than the twelve foot banner that hung over the student cafe.
“Design wise,” she quickly added. “I’m not talking about appearance or personality… I wouldn’t compare students like that… Crap. Do either of you feel uncomfortable right now? It’s not my intention to make students feel weird.”
“I definitely wasn’t uncomfortable. Not until the rambling and then I started wondering if I should be,” Weston teased.
Professor Ida blushed with a smile on her lips.
I swallowed a laugh at his words. “No, professor. No discomfort on my end.”
Weston glanced at me. “Just curious, are you being polite or honest?”
My skin burned for the second time under his gaze. It took me forever to force the word out of my mouth, “Both.”
“Good,” Professor Ida said. “Because you two are my best students this semester. And I desperately want to see what you can create together.”
“Is our pairing final?” I chewed on my lip. I had fully planned on teaming up with a girl who sat in front of us. She seemed smart and actually participated in class discussions. Weston only spoke up when called on and only offered one-sentence comments on critique days.
“Yes,” Professor Ida added and then adjusted her monitor so I could see her spreadsheet with our names. “It’s in writing.”
“Unless that makes you uncomfortable,” Weston joked but didn’t smile. He watched me closely, waiting for my response.
“Of course,” Professor Ida agreed, but she didn’t look as willing to hear my reply. I would ruin her carefully mapped out spreadsheet if I refused to work with Weston and making anyone’s day harder was never my goal.
“I’m fine.” My voice sounded annoyingly perky. I cleared my throat, trying to play off the tone as a fluke.
“Are you really?” Weston asked. His hand was still on his chin, and his fingers covered his mouth so I couldn’t get a full read of his expression.
“Definitely. It’ll be… fun.”
Professor Ida smiled at the response.
Weston chuckled. “Sure, sure.”
“I mean it,” I said while nodding my head. I turned to him, ready to smooth over any lines I’d caused by my original hesitation. “We’ll create something amazing, I’m sure of it.”
He smiled. It was small and intimate like something you’d only give to a person you knew. “I agree.”
I let out a strained laugh. I originally wanted it to sound light. And then, I said something soincrediblyalluring, I’m sure Weston couldn’t wait to work with me: “Cool.”
“Meet you tonight,” Weston decided. “Library. Second floor. Six-thirty?”
I nodded numbly. “Sounds like a plan.”
He stood up to grab his bag from the floor. Weston gave our professor a nod. “Thanks for setting this up, Ida.”
My breath froze in my lungs when Weston turned to me and in a low voice said, “See you tonight, Covee. Try to relax. I only bite upon request.”
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. Weston left the room before I could gather myself. I could feel my skin heat from his words. Throughout the meeting, I thought I’d done a decent job at hiding how nervous I was but he’d seen through my flimsy attempt at appearing calm. And his comment about biting… was it flirting or teasing? I could handle teasing. It was the flirting that made me sweat and wish I’d said something smooth.
“Is he always…?” I started but couldn’t find the right word.
