“Romance.” He flicks through the pages. “Interesting.”
“Give it back!”
I swipe it off him and stuff it into my bag, making sure I tuck it away in the padded sleeve I always carry with me. I’m half expecting a dig from him, but when I glance back up at him, he’s watching me in silence.
“Why do I feel like you’re plotting something?”
Slowly, he smiles, and a chill skitters down my spine. Not the spicy kind. More like a shiver of fear—or horror. He scrapes his chair back and walks around to sit at the table next to me, leaning back and slinging an arm around my chair. I am not liking this at all.
“Listen, Carrie.” His voice is hoarse. “This might surprise you, but…”
I slap a hand over his mouth, and he jolts back, his eyes widening as a single high-pitched laugh bursts out of me.
“Pleasetell me you’re not trying to flirt with me right now.”
He tries to shove my hand off, so I press it harder over his mouth.
“Listen carefully, okay? It’s never going to happen. Like, ever.”
He frowns, breathing out through his nose. His mouth has stopped moving under the weight of my hand, and suddenly he starts to laugh, as if I’ve just said the dumbest thing he’s heard all year. Wrapping his fingers around my wrist, he eases my arm away.
“I’m not trying to hook up with you, I swear.” He sighs.
Praise the Lord!
“Okay, good. So what the hell?” I ask.
He still hasn’t let go of my arm.
“I have a favor to ask.”
Now that doesn’t sound good. Still, if there’s one thing I am, it’s curious.
“I’m listening.”
He always looks so free and confident. Cocky, almost. Right now, though, he seems suddenly unsure. It lasts only a split second, but I swear I see a flicker of doubt dance across his features, so fast I barely register it.
“Becca says you know a lot about guy stuff,” he starts slowly.
Aha! Here we go. Now I get it!
“Okay, well, ‘guy stuff’ is pretty vague.” I smirk, crumpling up my sandwich wrapper and tossing it onto my tray. “If you’re wanting me to wax your balls, you’ve come to the wrong place.”
“Wait—what?! Who said anything about ball waxing?”
I shrug. “Considering the weird look on your face, I’m guessing the favor is something freaky. I only do chests, backs, and legs,” I add.
“What the fuck are you even talking about?”
He seems really confused by the whole conversation.
“If Becca sent you, then it’s got to be about hair stuff.”
“Sorry, but you lost me at ‘wax’ and ‘balls.’?” He frowns. “Why would I want to talk to you about that?”
“Because that’s how I pay my bills—by waxing all the cracks on campus.”
He blinks several times, puffing out his cheeks.
