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“Thank you, Bronx,” I tease, melodramatically mimicking a high-pitched female voice before stuffing my mouth with a bite of pancakes.
Olivia purses her lips together, trying her best not to laugh. She picks up a grape from her fruit bowl and throws it at me from across the table.
I manage to catch the tiny fruit deftly, and pop it into my mouth as soon as I do.
Olivia’s jaw drops in amused astonishment. “You’re unbelievable,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head.
“Thank you.” I smirk, causing her to roll her eyes.
Currently, we’re sitting at Patricia’s Pancake House, a small local favorite among the college crowd. Especially when you’re hungover. Not that I would know anything about that. . . . Nope. Not at all.
Patricia’s is about a five-minute drive from campus and actually has really good food. Better than anything served on campus anyway. Hence why I brought Olivia here.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything else?” I ask, pointing with my fork at her measly waffle, fruit cup, and yogurt.
She giggles, shaking her head. “I’m good. I’m not a massive football player,” she teases, eyeing my full plate of pancakes, bacon, sausage, ham, eggs, and toast.
I place a hand to my chest in mock offense. “Are you calling me fat? At least I don’t eat like a bird,Finch,” I joke.
She scowls at me, snatching a strip of bacon from my plate and munching on it. “Excuse me for watching my cholesterol levels.”
I laugh. “Like you need to. Hey, when’s your next class?”
She looks at her watch, frowning. “Eleven.”
“What class is it?”
She swallows her last bite of bacon, looking anything but enthusiastic. “Art appreciation.”
“You’re skipping, right?” I ask.
“No, why would I?” she asks, serious.
“You can’t be serious. It’s an elective you can totally afford to skip. I took it three semesters ago and all the professor did was drone on and on about art pieces. I maybe showed up to class ten times total the whole semester and still passed. The final is an essay, writing about a piece you’ve gone over during the semester and bullshitting what it’s about and what it’s supposed to represent.Ipassed the class.Me, Finch. If I can pass it, you sure as hell can.”
“You sure endorse skipping, don’t you?” She smirks.
“Come take a nap with me instead.”
She blinks, surprised. “What?”
“Skip and come take a nap with me,” I repeat, hoping she’ll say yes.
“I don’t know . . .” She trails off.
“Come on, we can take an hour nap, and both make it to our one-o’clock classes. Then I’ll meet back up with you for a quick lunch and we can go to English,” I say, trying my best to persuade her. “Please.” I give her my best puppy dog eyes, turning on the charm full throttle.
She worries her bottom lip, contemplating.
“You know the doctor filled out that excuse slip for two days, right?” I say, trying to sway her. “So if you’re really feeling that guilty about skipping class, you can email the professor that you have an excuse. Not that he’s going to care anyway. No offense.”
She lets out a sigh, seemingly coming to a conclusion. “Fine.”
“Yes!” I cheer, throwing my fists up in the air triumphantly, causing her to giggle. “Patricia, give me the check, its nap time!” I call, a huge grin on my face.
After finishing up our food and paying the check, Olivia and I hop into the truck and drive back to campus. I lead her to my room, glad to find it semi-clean, given this was unplanned.
