She looks at me tentatively. “Ready to get started?”
Kissing? Yes.
But then I glance down at all the books in front of her.
Studying. Right. Not really, but I nod anyway.
I try my best to focus on what she’s saying, I really do, but it’s so hard to concentrate with all the wildly inappropriate thoughts running through my head.
Finally, I lean forward, placing my elbows on the table. “Finch,” I say, cutting her off and nudging her foot with mine under the table.
She looks up from her textbook at me. “Yeah?”
I bite my lower lip, trying to suppress a grin. “We never discussed the wager for the next test.”
She blinks, looking perplexed. “You want to make another bet?”
I lean back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest and giving a casual one-shoulder shrug.
She gives me a pointed look. “Depends. What are you thinking?”
“Hmm,” I hum, thinking of a way to make this interesting. I’ve been thinking about it pretty much nonstop since Delilah and I talked this morning, and I think I’ve come up with the perfect plan. “If I pass the next test, you have to go to The Library with me.”
Her face screws into a cute, confused expression. “But we’re already in the library . . .” She trails off, acting like this is some sort of riddle or trick.
I can’t help but chuckle. “Not this library, Finch.TheLibrary.”
It takes her a moment but eventually it clicks, and her eyes grow wide in realization. She shakes her head. “No, Bronx, I can’t. I’ve never been tothatlibrary,” she sputters adorably.
“There’s a first time for everything.” I grin.
The Library is the local nightclub that’s popular among the college crowd, and I’m not surprised she’s never been there. Which is exactly why I want to be the first one to take her.
She shakes her head again. “That library’s not really my scene,” she admits, her nose crinkling adorably.
“And you thinkthislibrary is my scene?” I tease playfully. “Come on, Finch, it’ll be fun,” I try to coax her.
She gives me a tentative look, anxiously nibbling at the corner of her bottom lip.
Damn, those lips . . .
“You’d have to get a nearly perfect score for that to happen,” she says.
“Fin—” I begin, planning to persuade her, but she holds up her hand, silencing me.
“A ninety percent or above.”
“B plus,” I counter, knowing there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to pull off an A.
She shakes her head. Now she’s the one leaning back in her chair, arms folded over her chest, looking uncompromising. “I’ll accept nothing less than an A.”
I mull it over, trying to think of some sort of compromise, but she doesn’t look like she’s going to budge.
I lean over the table. “You know, you’re pretty sexy when you take charge.”
Flustered by my boldness, Olivia lets her authoritative mask slip for a moment. But she composes herself by sitting up straighter, her folded arms tightening across her chest. “Those are my terms,” she says with finality, only the tiniest nervous wobble in her voice.
I grin, leaning back and getting more comfortable in my chair. “You drive a very hard bargain, Finch. You must really not want to go with me.”
