Me: This isn’t exactly a good time.
The reply came in seconds.
QB10: Make time. Where are you?
Me: I’m at the dean’s house at a dinner!
QB10: Sounds like something to skip. Meet you at the library?
My pulse kicked, and I wasn’t sure if it was irritation, curiosity, or both.
I shouldn’t.
I knew that.
Me: See you there.
I slipped my phone back into my clutch, smoothed my skirt, and stepped into the guest bathroom. A quick glance at my reflection — polished hair, careful makeup, the exact Savannah my father expected. She wouldn’t slip out of a dinner to meet a boy in the library.
But I wasn’t that Savannah tonight. Dante Spence made me react recklessly. React tohimrecklessly.
Ten minutes later, I’d made my excuses about a student I tutored, not knowing there was a test the next day, and they were underprepared and panicking. My dad bought it because I’d never given him a reason not to. Soon I was walking across campus, heart thudding as the lights from the house faded. Somewhere between here and the library, I needed to decide if I was going to lecture Dante... or demand to know what he’d seen in my art shed.
Either way, I already knew this wasn’t going to be a normal conversation.
I also knew... I was looking forward to it.
Chapter 8
Dante
I was sitting on the table in meeting room C, my legs swinging casually back and forth, when she walked in.
“What are you wearing?” I looked her over. Navy dress, navy flats, pearl earrings, and her long blonde hair tied back in a low ponytail. “You’re dressed like my mom.”
Savannah halted as she closed the door, then, shooting me a flash of irritation, she closed it firmly.
“I’d say your mom has excellent dress sense,” she said coolly as she walked farther into the room.
I grinned. She was so easy to annoy, it was rapidly becoming my new favorite pastime.
“My point is, that you’re what? Twenty? Twenty-one? My mom’s in her forties, so... you’re dressed like a forty-year-old woman.”
“Again, your mom must have excellent taste in clothes. The classic look never goes out of style.”
I looked at her, saw the narrowed determination in her glare, and shrugged. “Fine.”
She inhaled deeply, and then, in her prim and proper dress, she sat down, her legs crossed at the ankle, and I couldn’t hold back my smirk.
“What?” Thenowwas implied.
“You’re just very . . .conservativethis evening.”
“Did you call me out of my father’s dinner to tell me you don’t like how I’m dressed?”
I shook my head. “No, but since you brought it up, I don’t like this dress on you—”
“I don’tcarewhat you like on me, Dante. You have absolutely no input whatsoever into anything I wear!”
