“You’d be surprised,” she says, the smile faltering just enough to feel real.
“Well, that last girl? She was an idiot. I’m not.”
Brooke tilts her head, the teasing returning. “So… you’re giving us a shot?”
I meet her gaze, heart stammering. “Yeah. I think I am.”
She takes a step forward, rocking on the balls of her feet as a dazzlingly pearly white smile spreads across her face.
“I can’t do anything exclusive right now,” I blurt, before I can overthink it. “I have this thing with Landon and I can’t call it off…he’s basically my roommate.”
“Roommate slash bodyguard?” Brooke raises an eyebrow.
“It’s complicated.” I shrug.
She nods, her grin spreading even wider. “That’s perfect.”
My brow furrows. “Perfect? Why?”
She leans in, brushing invisible lint off my sleeve like she hasn’t just short-circuited my entire nervous system. “We don’t have time for that conversation right now. You’ve got—what? Twenty seconds to make it to class?”
My eyes widen. “Oh shit!”
I surge forward and kiss her. Quick. Firm. Electric.
“I’ll pick you up at eight on Saturday!” I call over my shoulder as I sprint toward Thomas Hall like my life depends on it.
I reach the door just as Professor Kilgore starts up the steps and slide into the back row beside Landon, my chest heaving from the run—and, okay, maybe the kiss too.
Landon doesn’t look at me right away. He waits a beat, then tilts his head with that slow, maddening grin. “So,” he murmurs, voice low and full of amusement, “how’s the girlfriend doing?”
I give him a sidelong glance and tug my backpack into my lap. “Nothing theside dudeshould worry about.”
He chuckles, deep and dangerous. “Damn. That mean I still get Tuesday nights?”
“Only if you bring snacks.”
“Peach,” he purrs, leaning just a little closer, “Iamthe snack.”
I roll my eyes, biting back a laugh—and that’s when Professor Kilgore clears his throat.
“Miss Rivera,” he says sharply, gaze flicking toward me like he’s already counted how many times I’ve blinked since entering the room. “Since you're clearlywide awake, perhaps you can tell us what factor most often compromises the integrity of trace evidence at a crime scene?”
I don’t miss a beat. “Improper handling—usually by first responders or poor collection techniques. Fibers and residue can be lost with a single misstep.”
Kilgore’s brow lifts, and for a second—just a second—I swear the corner of his mouth almost twitches. “Correct.”
I bask in that for all of three seconds before I feel a warm breath hit my ear.
“ThinkKilgorelikes you,” Landon whispers, low and teasing.
“Fuck off,” I mutter under my breath.
He grins wider. “You’ve got a dirty mouth, Peach.”
I keep my eyes on the front of the room. “And you’ve got a death wish.”
“I couldproveit,” he says, and before I can fire back, his hand brushes the inside of my knee.
