Page 25 of The Casanova Complex

“Okay?” I look back at Bennett, and his brow is pulled tight. “Just okay?”

I lift my shoulder. “You did what I asked of you and what’s required reading for the project, so… okay? What do you want from me? A “Good boy”? A pat on the head for doing what you’re told?”

His mouth twitches in amusement, but he says nothing, only shrugs, like he wants to say more but isn’t.

Once again, I can feel his eyes on me as I’m typing, so I glance past my computer over at him.

He’s leaned forward on the table, his thick, tanned, and corded forearms resting on the top, staring at me intently. “Why do you look so familiar? I feel like I know you from somewhere, but I can’t figure it out. Just can’t put my finger on it.”

My eyes narrow. “I don’t know, Bennett, probably because we’ve been in the same class twice a week for the last two and a half months or so?”

Oh, that’s right, he can’t place me because I’m not a five-foot-two, blonde-haired, blue-eyed sorority girl who throws herself at his feet.

But I keep that to myself.

I have zero desire to revisit the mortification of that night, ever again, preferably.

All I want to do is finish this project.

Move on.

Back to a world where he has no clue that I even exist.

“Nah, it’s not that.” He leans back against his chair, book still in hand, and eyes me.

I heave out a sigh when my phone screen lights up, and I see another text from my ex come through.

The third one, I think, for the day.

Which I promptly ignore… again.

I’m going to have to do something about him too, but right now, I have enough on my plate without having to be a raging cunt to my ex to force him to finally leave me alone for good.

That’s a problem for future me.

My current problem is the man sitting in front of me.

I open up the document on my computer that I worked on a bit over the weekend. Essentially just transferring over the brain-dump notes I’d taken in my notebook so I could create a more organized plan for the next two months.

Color coordinated, obviously.

“Okay, so this project is actually divided into two different parts. Basically, we have to read the book and then create our own story from the overall theme. Whatever we choose. We’re supposed to write it from different points of view.”

Bennett nods. “Okay, and so we write… what, exactly?”

“Whatever we want. I was thinking…” I trail off, tapping my nail on the tabletop. “It would probably be easiest on us both if I write the woman’s point of view, and you write the man’s. Obviously, we know our gender the best. And it is a love story, after all. That should probably be the theme that we go with. A modern-day Jane Eyre love story, and we can show the parallels of now and then with how far feminism has come in today’s society.”

Did I already start reading the CliffsNotes version of Jane Eyre? Yes.

And I don’t feel the least bit guilty about it.

It wasn’t an AI site. Just a random college student who thankfully left a summary.

I’m not even fully convinced that he actually read it, honestly, despite his adamant protests.

I quickly jot down a note in my notebook to check out a copy too, in case he questions it. I’m going to read it, obviously. I just haven’t had time yet.

Glancing back at my computer, I scan the rubric that Professor Hart sent over.