Page 71 of The Casanova Complex

“Okay, Goalie… but do you have to work on them right now?” Her dark brow arches. “Because you know, we’re supposed to be working on this project, remember? The whole reason I’m here.”

True.

But then again, maybe if she didn’t look so damn good spread out on my bed, I could focus on literally anything else besides how badly I want to join her.

I thought opting for my desk would be the safe bet, the distance enough to keep my dick from perking up at the first whiff of her cherry-scented lotion. But alas, apparently, the only safe distance is from a few state lines away.

“I’m cookin’, woman.” I reach up, tapping my temple. “Stay out my kitchen and let me work.”

“You know what? This is hopeless,” she groans, slamming her notebook shut, and rolling onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

I toss the ball onto my desk, then stand and walk over to the edge of the bed, sitting down beside her.

“Not hopeless. It’s just late, and neither of us are really focusing much tonight anyway. Kinda seems counterproductive to stare at a piece of paper and not put anything on it, yeah?”

After another stuttering sigh, she tears her gaze from the ceiling and turns to look at me. “Yeah. I guess you’re probably right. I can tell that I’m starting to squirrel.”

A bemused laugh seeps out of me.

“Squirrel?”

“An ADHD gremlin one, yeah.” Merritt laughs too, and I desperately try to ignore the way my heart flutters. For fuck’s sake. “My meds have worn off, and my brain is bouncing in a hundred different directions.”

She picks up her phone and taps the screen, checking the time. “It’s getting late anyway. I should probably head home.”

It’s almost eleven, and I’m not tired at all, but I know she’s probably been up since six and running on a scary amount of caffeine. A normal day for her.

And it’s not like we’re getting any work done anyway.

She sits up and gathers her books, shoving them back into her backpack. “Do you want to try again tomorrow night? We’ll have to do it at my house, though, because my dad works.”

I shake my head. “Can’t. I’m having dinner with my parents. They’re coming into town for the night because my sister is visiting from San Diego. Wednesday?”

Merritt stops shoving things into her backpack and stares at me. “They’re coming in for one night only? Don’t you have a game Friday?”

My stomach tightens at her observation, something heavy pooling in the base of my throat. I swallow roughly and lift my shoulder nonchalantly. “Yeah, my dad’s the head oncologist at a children’s hospital in New Hampshire, and he has a really insane work schedule, so they can only come in for a night. Not a big deal.”

The lie tastes bitter as it spills past my lips. I don’t know why, but for some reason, I want to tell her the truth, about how shitty it actually makes me feel that my parents do this, about how I fucking hate that they don’t ever prioritize or seem interested in the most important thing in my life or that I wish for one second they cared about what I wanted instead of what they think is best for me.

I don’t even talk to Zach and Tyler about my parents, but with Merritt… it feels like she wouldn’t judge me. That she’d just listen.

Sometimes that’s all I want.

Just for someone to listen. Not give advice or to try and figure out a solution, but just to be there while I unload the shit off my shoulders.

That’s it.

“So…” I say, pasting on a smirk. “Wednesday?”

For a beat, she’s silent, but after a few seconds that seem to drag by, she blows out a sigh and shakes her head, her perceptive stare penetrating the expanse of my chest, like she can see directly through the front I put on.

It’s Oscar-worthy after years of practice, but it suddenly feels flimsy beneath the weight of her gaze.

“Can’t. I’m teaching an evening class at the pottery studio right after my shift at the bookstore.”

Shit. “I can’t do Thursday because I have a thing with Tyler and Zach.”

“We can just work on our own writing, and then I guess over the weekend, we can try and meet up to review?” She pulls the zipper closed on her backpack.