For the entire first half of the lesson, he was sending me messages through a Word doc, same as before. I tried not to respond, to remain strong in my conviction, but he knew what buttons to push to get me to say something in return. I get it. He wants to get to know me. But I don’t think he understands the magnitude of how much I’m afraid to get to know him.
Jacob ended up sitting next to Ivy for the class, leaving the two of us in our own little bubble. It was hard to breathe without smelling him. I’d love to know what he wears, or even if he wears anything at all because I could bottle that up and sell it for millions. It made it hard to concentrate on the professor, even when we weren’t talking in our new method, when we were actually trying to pay attention and take notes.
Every movement he made had me keenly aware of him. His long fingers typing notes. His powerful chest heaving when he sighed because the professor got long-winded. The way he leaned forward to read something the professor put on the whiteboard and his muscles stretched against his shirt.
There was a moment when our legs brushed, and although we had jeans keeping our skin from touching, the contact lit up my nerves. I was on edge and turned on at the same time for the entire hour, and when we parted ways, him going to…wherever he goes after Spanish, and me going to the apartment, exhaustion settled in.
Wisely, Ivy didn’t say a word the entire way home. But now?
I peep open an eye to see where she went, but she’s still standing next to the door. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and a look of annoyance pinches her features.
A lecture is coming. I can see it all over her expression. It’s practically her aura.
Before she can get going, I try a ploy tactic that has never worked in the past, but I’ve never stopped trying: A subject change before the subject can even be brought up. “Are you working tonight?”
One of her eyebrows rises, and I frown. I wish I could do that. “No, but seriously, Avery?”
I groan and cover my eyes. “Don’t start.”
She crosses the room, lifts my feet, and plops down on the couch, settling my feet back on her lap and patting my leg. “I feel for you, girl. This can’t be easy. I honestly don’t know how you’re resisting him, but”—she sighs dramatically—“you two would make an adorable couple.”
“No. Stop it.” I point at her. “No adorable coupling.”
She giggles. “What did you two talk about anyway?”
“A never-ending quiz on all my favorite things on the planet.”
“And?” she asks.
I frown again. “And what?”
“And did you spend the entire time answering, or did you ask questions too?”
I blush and look away. “He may have given me his answers to the same questions.” It was hilarious when he told me his favorite flower was a dandelion. I didn’t have the heart to remind him that the dandelion was a weed, mostly because the dandelion reminded me of me. Unwanted. Easily destroyed. And then it reminded me of him. Persistent. Pretty.
A bright grin spreads across her cheeks. “That’s kind of adorable.”
I run a hand over my face. It was. I’ll never admit it to Ivy, but I soaked up everything he told me about himself. Honestly, I feel kind of bad that I didn’t ask a single question, but he never really gave me a moment to think of one before he popped another question.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I murmur behind my hand. “What are you doing tonight if you’re not scheduled to work?”
She squeezes my leg. “Dustin and I were going to grab some supper together.”
“That’s nice.”
“Want to come?”
“No.” Being a third wheel is fun and all, but I’ll pass.
“Oh, come on,” she hisses. “All you’ve done is study since you arrived. Come hang out with me and your brother.”
I drop my hand back to the couch cushion and glare at her. She’s already texting on her phone, no doubt to Dustin about the extra body that will be sitting next to their romantic bubble in a few hours. His response is almost immediate because her phone vibrates, and her face lights up. She holds the phone out for me and waves it in my face. “See? He doesn’t care.”
“Do I have to?” I whine.
“Yes!”
“Fine,” I grumble. “Where are we going?”
