His index finger traces the spine of the book I’m holding.Risk Management: An Exploration of Actuarial Science.
“That’s, like, math on steroids, right?” he asks.
Now I’m the one smiling. “More or less.”
“Maybe you can answer this, then. What’s the statistical probability that we’re?—”
“Going to have another night together?” I ask, cutting him off. “That’s easy. Zero.”
He winces. “Ouch. How about friends? Can we be friends?”
“I have friends,” I say, sidestepping around him and striding toward the checkout counter. It’s not crowded or anything, but there is one person ahead of me in line. And one person behind me: JT.
“I’m not the best at math,” he says, “but I don’t think I ever learned anything about a ceiling on the number of friends it was possible to have.”
I glance in his direction, letting my eyes do a quick sweep. Objectively, he’s good looking as hell with his dark hair and lightly tanned skin. There’s a day’s worth of stubble on hisface, which only serves to make him look hotter. His eyes are a mix of brown and green and I do my best to avoid getting lost in them again. He’s taller than most guys, and I’m guessing he has a solid foot on my short stature. His body is lean and sculpted, which makes me wonder if he’s a runner, or maybe a swimmer. Anyone in this bookstore, or even on this campus, would be a fool to turn down his flirtation. So maybe I’m a fool. I can make peace with that. I’ve certainly done worse.
“They cover that in Stats,” I say, stepping up to the counter and placing my book down. The clerk scans it, and I tap my card, waiving the offer of a bag. Slipping my receipt between the pages like a bookmark, I turn toward JT. “Lunch-time companions, maybe? There’s no cap on that.”
I don’t look back to see if he’s smiling. I just walk through the doors, out of the store, and onto the main path that winds through campus. I’m pretty sure I don’t even blink until I reach Cauller Hall. It’s a good thing I have class in a few minutes, or I’d be tempted to retrace my steps to the bookstore and recant my stance on the idea of Night Number Two with JT.
The idea is intoxicating, but it’s also off-limits.
I can just picture my uncle’s face if I told him I’d be missing curfew to hang out with a guy I just met, a guy whose full name I still don’t know. A guy who gave me what was arguably the best night of my life.
Ascending the stairway, I laugh at the thought. Uncle Hudson would surely lose his mind.
CHAPTER 15
MAGGIE
Two weeks later,I’m sitting on a bench in the quad when I spot JT through the wall of windows that lines one side of the café.
“Are you hiding from me?” JT asks as he makes quick work of the patch of grass that stretches between the entrance to the café and the row of benches where I’m sitting. “I thought we were lunch buddies.”
“We are,” I insist. “I couldn’t resist the sunshine, though, so I decided to eat outside.” That’s true, though it’s not really the whole story. It rained for a week straight, so, like everyone else on the lawn today, I’m taking advantage of the break in the weather. But I’d probably be out here even if in the middle of the thunderstorm. Just walking through the café a few minutes ago made me nauseous. As soon as I stepped inside, I was hit with an onslaught of competing smells and a wave of thick, humid air. I didn’t even grab a salad. I just hightailed it out here and snagged a seat.
I’m feeling a little rundown today, and I’m betting that all my late-night study sessions are to blame. My sleep cycle is off, and I had no time for breakfast, which means I should be starving. Instead, I just feel queasy, tired, and gross.
Thankfully, there’s no study group tonight, so I should be able to get some good rest and shake whatever nasty bug is trying to descend on me.
JT drops his bag next to mine and sits down, tilting his head up toward the sun for a moment. While he soaks up the mid-September rays, I have no shame in taking a minute to admire his profile. I’m not in the market for anything more than the loose friendship we’ve struck up over the past few weeks. But if I were, then he’d be at the top of my list. And the bottom. And every entry in between.
He’s handsome, no doubt, with his warm hazel eyes and dark hair that’s started to curl a bit at the ends, like he’s overdue for a trim. His lashes are long, his teeth are a little crooked, and his jaw is perpetually covered in a day’s worth of stubble that I really want to trace with the tips of my fingers.
I don’t, of course. I keep my lusty thoughts to myself and steal glances whenever I can. He sighs and lets his eyes drift close, so I allow myself another second of ogling. The sleeves of his gray hoodie are rolled up to reveal corded forearms, and it’s a lovely view. My eyes trail over the vee of his waist and down to his muscular, denim-clad thighs. What this man does to a pair of jeans should be illegal. I’m hoping he gets up to grab his lunch soon just so that I can watch him walk away.
“Are you done?” he asks, and I blink at his question.
“What?”
“I’m hungry,” he says, patting his abs. “I want to grab some food, but if you’re not finished ogling me, I can hang in for a few more minutes and let you get your fill.”
My cheeks heat and I open my mouth in protest. “I was?—”
“Eye-fucking me,” he finishes. “No judgment. Hell, I can’t even claim I don’t do the same to you every chance I get.”
As if to prove a point, his gaze sweeps over my body, starting at the top of my head and making its way slowlydown to the tips of my toes, greedily taking in every inch in between.
