Page 6 of The Obvious Check
“Yeah, I’m, uh… sorry about that.”
It’s the closest we’ve come to talking about it since I broke his nose, but I don’t have time for a heart-to-heart right now. I need to get into that classroom and see my girl, even if she doesn’t think that’s what she is.
“Not sorry enough to stop dating her,” I tease, turning on my heel and heading to the class door.
“Do you want me to?” The self-righteous motherfucker actually sounds like he'd fall on his sword if I commanded it. As if breaking up with my sister would somehow erase the mental image of them together that's permanently seared into my brain. But who am I to play God with my sister's happiness? Even if watching them together makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon.
“No, of course not.” I wave him off. “You make her happier than I’ve ever seen her, and I suppose your miserable ass is slightly less unbearable now.”
His lips quirk on one side, that delirious look shining across his face. “Thanks, I think.”
“See you later.” I leave him there like abandoned luggage and stride toward my class. When I open the door, I feed the professor some half-assed apology about practice running late and head straight for my seat.
The same seat that’s been mine since I bribed the dude sitting in it last semester to switch.
Next to her. Savannah Barnett.
She doesn’t look up when I pull out my chair, doesn’t flinch when I drop into it with a quiet, “Hey.” As if my entire day hasn’t been building to that single syllable.
Too busy. Too focused. Too fucking perfect.
Her pen scratches furiously against the page, ink smudging at the base of her palm, and I can’t help but stare. Why doesn’t she bring a laptop like every other person born in this century? She persists in writing everything out, and it’s goddamn infuriating because it gives me zero excuse to interrupt her bubble of concentration.
I lean back, settling in like a predator who knows exactly how long he can wait.
Fine. The after-class ambush it is. She can't ignore me forever.
The class dismisses and, right on cue, she’s the first one packing her shit away like the room’s on fire. Too bad I’m a six-foot-two roadblock.
“Excuse me,” she murmurs, her gaze glued to the floor. She refuses to give me even a millisecond of eye contact.
Graciously, because I can be a gentleman when it serves me, I stand, giving her an escape route. “I’m sorry about that, Savannah.” Her name tastes sweet on my tongue as I blast her with a million-watt smile that’s gotten me into more beds than I can count.
She doesn’t fidget, but I do catch the way her fingers curl into the sleeves of her oversized hoodie. Rome U. Odd choice considering it’s not the actual college she attends and that college is across the country, but the logo is worn to hell and the holes look deliberate rather than desperate, so she probably thrifted for it.
“It’s okay.” Her voice is barely audible and she offers me a pathetic excuse for a smile before attempting to slip past.
Not so fucking fast.
“Are you coming to the study group tonight?” I ask, as if I give two shits about economics.
She stops but still refuses to look up at me. When I slipped one hundred bucks to that same idiot to switch study groups, I thought I’d finally cracked the code to get her talking. Boy, was I wrong. She doesn’t talk in it. Only focuses on her notebook and rushes to the computers straight after.
“Not tonight. I’m busy.” And by busy, she means she’s dancing atBehind Closed Doors.Though I wonder if she actually realizes I know that.
“Ah, that’s a shame.” I tap my chin, pretending to think. “Maybe I should speak to the rest of the group and see if we can change it to a more convenient time for you.”
Her head snaps up in surprise and for the first time today, she actually looks at me. Green eyes wide, panic pooling in them like I just threatened to expose her biggest secret.
She shakes her head so hard I’m worried she’ll give herself whiplash. “No. No. Please don’t change anything for me. I’ll be sure to make the next one. I just—” Her head drops again, her eyes crushing shut before she says, “I just need to cover my friend’s shift at the diner.”
Diner? Is that codeword for Burlesque Club, or is she working more than one job?
I nod, attempting casualness and probably failing spectacularly. “No problem. I could take notes and send them to you if you’d like. All I need is your email.” Fuck. I’ve officially become a simpering idiot. Not only am I voluntarily sitting through mind-numbing study sessions just to breathe her air, but now I’m offering clerical services like I’m a pining secretary.
“Thank you for the offer, but I’m okay.”
Why won’t she look at me for more than a few seconds?
