“No need to hide. I got a good look at the makeup-free Amy. You almost look harmless like that.”
I wiggle a hand out from under the sheets and flip him the finger.
“You’re a heavy sleeper, by the way,” he continues. “I was counting on you to have my back in case of emergency, but you were out cold. I went running, came back, and you haven’t even moved. Absolute disgrace, dude.”
Who even says that?
I watch him slip a tee over his head, his abs rippling as he squirms, and my mind goes totally blank.Oh my God, put the damn T-shirt on, already!I tuck myself back under the covers, silently screaming into the pillow. He must think I’m insane…
“Breakfast?” He pauses. “Don’t tell me you just fell back asleep.”
I count to five before untangling myself from the sheets and jumping out of bed.
“I’m starving,” I say, dropping to my knees and rummaging through my bag. “Let me get dressed. We can grab a bite to eat and then hit the road.”
“Sir yessir!”
I pluck clothes out of my bag—each piece carefully chosen for the occasion—and slip into the bathroom. Black jeans, block-heel boots, a cropped turtleneck, and I’m good to go. Once I’ve done my hair and my winged eyeliner, I check myself in the mirror.
There she is—the girl I left behind me when I moved to Sycamore Heights. If Raven could see me now, she’d be losing her shit. I’m about to go see the people I grew up with, and though they mostly remember me in sweatpants, tonight I need to be Amy Hitman, badass extraordinaire. They’ve met that version of me before, too, and though it’s been months since I was last in town, I doubt they’ve forgotten. This would’ve been a nice little ego boost, if I hadn’t promised mysister I was done with this whole world. This isn’t about me, though, I remind myself. I’m doing it for…
“Amy, I’m hangry! Let’s go already!”
Lewis.Who’s currently screaming through the keyhole like a whiny little baby. I slip my red lipstick into my pocket and whip the door open to find him standing right there in front of me.
“Don’t you think we—”
He stops mid-sentence, taking in my makeover. He breathes out with a sigh, and when I raise an eyebrow at him, he just shuts his eyes and shakes his head.
I wince. Yeah, I know what I look like. This Brooklyn vibe is worlds away from what preppy guys like him are used to, and that’s exactly why I wanted him to stay back at SHU.
I brush past him and head outside, striding along the walkway, ignoring the catcalls drifting up from the street, waving my middle finger at the three guys sprawled on the sidewalk.
In the breakfast room, I pour myself a swampy coffee and grab two pastries before settling down in a booth that feels sticky, to say the least. When Lewis slides in across from me, I keep my eyes on my plate.
I’m upset.
Because I know I shouldn’t care what he thinks—but the truth is, I really, really do.
9LEWIS
I follow Amy down the hall, my eyes glued to the sway of her hips.
Ninety-eight percent of my headspace is taken up with the Dodge, but there’s a hyperactive two percent that’s obsessing over this girl. Over her butt, if you want to get specific. If I’m being honest, she already had a sexy vibe back on campus, but this is on a whole other level.
When she swung open the bathroom door and I saw her standing there, I nearly told her just how hot she looks right then and there, but I had two good reasons to stay quiet. First—definitelynot a good idea at all to mix business and pleasure. And second—she’s been in a crappy mood since she woke up. I don’t want to poke the bear. Because you never know when the bear might just turn around and smash your face in.
I pile my breakfast plate up high, help myself to the world’s grossest coffee, and join Amy in the booth, where she’s busy ripping her pastries to shreds without even taking a bite. What the hell is her problem?The girl’s a freaking psycho.
“Hey.”
When I toss a packet of sugar at her forehead—slam dunk, baby!—she purses her lips and looks up.
“Not a morning person, huh?”
I sip on my coffee, ignoring the way she’s narrowing her eyes at me. She’s not an afternoon person, either. Or an evening person, come to think of it.
“Morning, Mr. Perky.” She throws a chunk of pastry at my face and smirks. “You’re in a good mood for someone who just had their ‘baby’ stolen.”
