“Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously, Trent. I’m not just going to give you all the answers.”
He flips his book open with feigned annoyance.
“So, what do you need help with?”
“Everything.”
“Okay. How about we start with consumer sovereignty?” We both turn to that section in the chapter, and I quickly explain how consumers are the ones who influence production decisions. We go through a few paragraphs, and I point out the key terms he’ll need to know for the quiz. If he notices my specificity of those terms, he doesn’t show it. When I have him read over a section so I can explain a command economy, I find myself completely distracted. For the first time, I see him in a different light—serious. I catch myself gazing his way, noticing how his bottom lip twitches when he’s concentrating. I wonder if he’s aware that he does this or if it’s an absentminded tick.
I shouldn’t be looking at him like this. It wasn’t but last week when we were all surfing at the beach that I watched him pick up a bunny right in front of me. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t burn, but I played nonchalant since I’d pretty much shot him down that night in the club and hadn’t given him any reason to think I’d changed my stance since.
A lock of his over-grown hair falls down onto his forehead, and when he flicks his head to sweep it back, he catches me watching him and smirks.
“Like what you see?” he teases, but I just let out a huff of annoyance.
“Are you done reading?”
“I can slow down if you want to look more.”
His cocky smile melts my bones and strengthens my irritation. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
I could ask, but why bother? I already know his answer. “Never mind.”
“I’m serious . . .” He scoots closer to me and slips his arm around my shoulders. “You know you want to give me the answers.”
Having him this close to me, touching me, has me flustered. On one hand, I want this, but on the other, I don’t because it’s insincere at best—he’s only doing it to get the answers for the quiz.
“We could do something else with this time instead of studying.”
“Really?” I exclaim, taking his arm and flinging it off me. “Is that all you think about?”
He laughs. “Relax. I figured we could have some fun if you wanted to. Apparently, you don’t, so no foul, man.”
My look narrows to a glare. I hate that he’s so flippant.
“Do girls actually fall for . . .” I wag my hand in front of him, “this?”
His brows cinch. “Dude! Why you gotta be so insulting?”
“Me? I don’t think so. You’re the insulting one, assuming I’m a low-moral girl who’ll put out at the drop of hat.”
“Nice backhanded insult.” He shoots me a wink. “Just give me a chance, and I’ll show you my morals.”
I grab one of the pillows on the couch and smack him with it, but he’s quick to yank it out of my hands, grab my wrist, and pull me toward him.
A weak piece of me is screaming for him to kiss me. His lips are close enough that it wouldn’t take much effort at all, but he kills it when he snarks, “I’d be the best you’ve ever had.”
I push him away. “God, you are so full of yourself.”
His laughter grows, and it’s hard to tell if he’s just kidding around or if he’s an actual egotistical douche. If only he weren’t so damn hot, it would make it easier to slap him in the latter category.
“You can consider me off limits.”
“You sure about that?”
No.
“Completely.”
He settles into the couch and grabs his text. “That’s a shame.”
It really is.
I shake my head and go back to the book, explaining the section he just read before moving on to the next, which covers market economies.
As he reads, I attempt to compartmentalize the swarm of emotions flitting through me. I’m entirely distracted, and I can’t seem to pull myself together. Next thing I know, I’m again sneaking glances his way while he studies.
“None of this shit makes sense,” he says after a while. “I mean, who the hell even cares about this stuff?”
“You need to care if you want to pass.”
“Or you can just slip me the answers.”
“Not a chance.”
With a huff, he slacks back into the couch and starts to read through the next section. I watch as his eyes skitter across the pages, mesmerized by the conflicting colors. I drift back to last month at the dance club. When I think about that night, I can’t help but wonder what our relationship would look like today if we had hooked up. Even though I am so far from a one-night-stand girl, I find myself imagining what it would be like to be with him in that way. It’s a lustful thought that I shouldn’t even entertain, but I keep doing it.
The next hour passes, and I manage to catch him up on the chapter, but just barely. I take the time alone with him for what it’s worth, which for him, probably isn’t anything more than him wanting to improve his grade.
Crushes suck.
As we’re going through the review questions at the end of the chapter, his cell phone rings. He picks it up, reads the screen, and stands. “I got to take this. Give me a second.”
He walks to his bedroom, which is in earshot of the living room, and kicks the door shut. It doesn’t latch closed, so I can still hear his voice as he asks, “What’s going on?”
I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but when he tells the person on the other end, “Calm down. Just tell me what happened,” my curiosity piques.
He’s quiet for a moment, and then his voice raises in anger. “He did what?”
He’s clearly pissed, and I’m clearly intruding on a private conversation, but it feels weird to just up and leave. Whomever he’s talking to is upset. Trent attempts to calm the person down, asking questions that make no sense to me as I try to dissect what the conversation is even about.
Uncomfortably, I sit, because to do anything else would only feel more awkward.
“How did you not know?” he asks, followed by a short pause before adding, “He’s a piece of shit.” Another pause. “No! He is. I don’t even know why you’re defending him.”
This stern side is yet another facet of him I hadn’t come across before this morning, and I wish I could see his expression. I bet his eyes would be bright with anger.
“Do you need me? Just say the word, and I’m there.”
Beneath my unease lays jealousy, which is an emotion I’ve become all too familiar with since meeting Trent. I have no idea who he’s talking to, but there is a fierce protectiveness in his tone that is generally only afforded to people you care deeply for. What is it about this person that has him so concerned and attentive the way I wish he would be with me?
I shake the thought away, but it doesn’t go far when I realize that he’s ended the conversation. There’s nothing but silence coming from his bedroom. I wait for him to reappear, but he doesn’t.
Tension mounts, and a big part of me considers bailing. It’s the same pull that keeps me coming around that’s telling me I should stay.