I like girls who are easygoing, fun, uncomplicated.
Delilah is none of those things.
Which is why I refuse to acknowledge the way-too-inconvenient thought that she looked hot as hell when she climbed out of that Jeep—hair windblown, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed from the cold.
We reach the engineering building, find an empty study room, and Delilah immediately pulls out her laptop, flipping to her notes, setting up in record time.
I watch her, amused.
“You always work this fast, or are you trying to distract yourself from the fact that your taste in men is horrendous?”
Delilah freezes mid-scroll.
“Excuse me?”
I tilt my head at her phone, which is face up on the desk.
A new message just popped up on the screen.
Jared.
Had fun earlier. When am I seeing you again?
I raise a brow.
“You seeing him?” I ask.
Delilah’s jaw tightens.
“No.”
“Good.”
She snaps her laptop shut. “Why do you get a say in this, exactly?”
“I don’t,” I say easily. “If you want to make a mistake, that’s on you.”
Her eyes flash. “Oh, so now you have control over my decisions?”
“Nah,” I say, leaning back in my chair, stretching lazily. “I just think you could do better.”
She stares at me for a long second, then exhales, rubbing her temples.
“If I tell you why Jared picked me up, will you drop it?”
I tilt my head. “Depends. If it’s a shitty reason, I’m gonna keep giving you shit for it.”
Delilah groans. “Fine. My bike broke. I was stranded on the side of the road. Jared happened to be driving past while I was trying to fix it, and he offered me a ride.”
I gulp. “Oh.”
She folds her arms. “Yeah. Oh.”
“You break your bike a lot?”
“No, it just hates me,” she mutters.
I grin. “Yeah, that tracks.”
