“Hello?” I ask, snapping my fingers in his face.
“Sorry, I was just picturing…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. That’s not what this is about. I stay away from that shit.”
I stare at him. “Okay. So, spill.”
“I need help getting better.” He blurts the words out.
“You want tutoring?” I frown. “But we don’t even have the same classes.”
“Not like that. Not for college.”
Of all the crazy shit I was expecting…
He sighs. “I need help learning how to be a good boyfriend.”
…this definitely wasn’t on the list.
I’m half waiting for a “Just kidding!” or something, but he’s staring at me, dead serious.Shit. He’s actually for real.It feels like getting the words out took some serious effort, too, and I can understand that. His requestispretty ridiculous, after all.
I burst out laughing, and his eyebrows shoot up.
“I’m serious,” he growls. “Stop laughing, people are staring!”
“I thought you loved it when they did that?”
When he first came up to me, I was pissed—but it turns out this conversation has been worth it. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard.
“So, is that a yes?”
I reach for my tray and push back my chair. Am I dreaming, or is Donovan Wolinski actually asking me for private classes in Boyfriend Basics 101? Does he know that I’ve never even dated anyone long enough to meet their parents? That coupley stuff breaks me out in hives? Realistically, of course he doesn’t. And he doesn’t need to, either.
“Is that a yes?” he asks again.
“It’s a no. Sorry, but I promised some junior I’d teach him how to wipe his own ass—it looks like I’m all booked up.”
I give him my most regretful pout and turn on my heel.
I’m still laughing to myself by the time I get to my next class.
4DONOVAN
I’ve spent the past two days replaying that epic fail. Two fucking days obsessing over my talk with Carrie, trying to understand how exactly I messed up and why she was so mean to me, when we don’t even know each other. I was trying to play it cool and kind, and she just looked at me as if I was the biggest piece of trash on campus. Okay, maybe I could have been a little smoother in how I started the convo, but who cares whether her name is Carrie or Cassie?
I pull over for my next client, and it doesn’t take me long to spot her across the street.
“Laura?” I call out, raising a hand.
She comes trotting over to the car. She’s cute. Tiny orange shorts.
“It’s Lena,” she pants, sliding onto the back seat.
Fuck. What is wrong with me?
“Sorry.”
“No worries, Donny.”
Fangirl radar activated.I glance at her in the rearview mirror. Nope. Don’t remember her.I am so messed up.
