“All of them. I mean, obviously not likeSpartacussince she’s not ancient”—What the hell isSpartacus? But she hardly takes a breath, so I don’t have time to ask—“but modern ones, you know? Do you like movies about ancient Rome? I think they’re so much fun. My dad and I always watched them growing up, so maybe they hold a special place for me. But there are other things we do, just the two of us, and the Rome movies are still my favorite, so who knows? What do you do with your dad?”
It’s my turn to blink at her. I don’t know if I can keep up with this girl, but I’ve never wanted to do something more.
“God, I’m sorry. I’m doing it again, aren’t I? My brothers tell me I’m a lot. I’m working on it. I can leave you alone. You probably didn’t expect to get cornered by a chatterbox on the first day of class.”
“No,” I cut in, a bit too forcefully. This conversation may be hectic, but it’s the first time since I arrived in Boston that I haven’t been fixated on all the ways I don’t fit in. I’m not ready to give that up, so I take a breath to steady myself. “No, I like hearing you talk.”
She bites her lip to hide her smile, but she can’t keep it from her eyes. They crinkle into perfect crescent moons.
I don’t know exactly what it is. Her stream of consciousnessthat’s weirdly relaxing? Her complete, unfiltered excitement to be at Chadoin? The embarrassment on her face when she thought she talked too much? But suddenly, I feel like I can breathe again. Like I’m not the only one adrift in this new and terrifying world. She’s chaos incarnate, and I want to exist solely in the whirlwind of her enthusiasm.
“Great!” she says. “Because I’m in desperate need of some friends. I don’t know anyone at Chadoin and I can already tell my roommate won’t be my person. So, friends?”
I don’t want to be friends. I want to drag this girl back to my dorm and kiss her until neither of us remember our names. My dick twitches and I try to think of anything I can to stop it. I don’t want to scare her off. And I need friends, too.
“Sure. I’m Colt.”
She reaches over to shake my hand, but before she can tell me her name, Dr. Cassia comes through the side door by the board. The mystery girl was right. She’s cool. She does all the same syllabus bullshit as every other professor, but she also shows pictures of different sites and tells us stories about the things we’ll learn about that semester. It’s a frivolous class I’m forced to take to graduate, but it’s the first lecture I’ve sat in that feels inspired.
When she lets us go for the day, my mystery girl twirls to face me.
“That was great, wasn’t it?” She pulls her long blond hair up into a ponytail, and my eyes home in on her graceful neck, leading to the thick, tempting curves of her body. “This is gonna be the best semester ever. I literally came to Chadoin to learn from Dr. Cassia and I got her in the first semester. I’m going to learn so much from her. God, I’m hungry. I was late this morning because everyone in my dorm decided to shower at the same time.”
Don’t picture her in the shower, Colton.
“I didn’t have time to go by the dining hall. I need to find agrocery store to get some breakfast food to keep in my room. Want to go grab lunch, Colt? Oh, shit. I never introduced myself.” She laughs loudly, and I find myself grinning along.
“Don’t worry about it, Chaos,” I say, the nickname slipping from my tongue, and I run a hand over my smile at her indignant face.
She narrows her eyes at me, but a smile plays on her full lips. “It’s Quinn. Quinn Riley.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Chaos.”
She lets out a delighted laugh and nudges me with her shoulder, which only hits about halfway up my biceps. “I’ve never had a nickname before!” She slips her arm through mine, and my stomach jumps at the contact. “So, tell me. You got a state to go with all that twang?”
I fight back the groan climbing up my throat. I’ve been in Boston for a week and have already heard all the asshole comments about Southern accents. They think my voice means I’m not as smart as them, which is rich coming fromBoston, of all places. Plus, my accent isn’t even Southern. Not like they care to differentiate anything below the Mason-Dixon line.
I pry my arm out of Quinn’s grasp. “West Virginia.”
She grabs my hand and forces me to face her.
“Did I say something wrong?”
I shrug like it’s no big deal when in reality, this has been eating me up. “People here hate on accents is all.”
“Oh my gosh! I didn’t mean to make you think that! I don’t have one, but I’m from northern Florida, which is pretty much southern Georgia. We’ve got plenty of Southern accents there, so it’s like a warm slice of home. Although yours is different. I couldn’t have placed it, but I guess it’s West Virginia.”
I fight the twitch of my lips. “Yeah, people lump together the Southern and Appalachian accents, but they’re not the same.”
“Appalachian,” she repeats, mimicking my local pronunciation, biting off thelatchlike she’s savoring the syllables in hermouth. She smiles that crescent-moon smile again. “I love it. Forgiven?” She looks up at me with hopeful eyes.
“Nothing to forgive, Chaos.”
She loops her arm back through mine and tows me toward the dining hall. When I look down at this hectic, exciting, overwhelming girl, I decide I’ll let her tow me anywhere.
6
COLTON
