Taking Mine (7 page)

His eyes harden. He takes measured breaths before responding. “You might want to reevaluate your own morals the next time you need money for a
computer
.” He spits out the last word, knowing my excuse is a farce. “Or better yet, I’ll let Kip know you’ve resorted to old habits for kicks.”

We have a stare-off, neither one of us speaking. My teeth are clenched as tight as his are, mine from sheer will to keep my mouth shut. He slowly eases the tension from his jaw and sits back. I mirror his body language and cross my arms. He digs in his desk drawer, retrieving a white envelope and setting it on his desk. It’s familiar, much like the ones I used to receive on a regular basis.

“This is for the Chevelle. It didn’t get much.”

The excitement that had blossomed in my chest deflates. I unfold the envelope and flip through the twenties. It’s enough for a down payment at the bursar’s office. That’s the important part—buying time.

I’m getting up to leave when Taylor says my name, stopping me. “I only took twenty-five,” he says, his voice softer than before.

“Thank you.”

“Do I need to be anticipating another late-night drop-off?”

I’m still hesitant to tell him, especially with frustration still simmering inside him, but I need at least two more sells to pay for this semester alone. Depending on how the meeting with my advisor goes, maybe for the rest of the year. So I need him to be on my side.

“Yeah.”

He nods like he already knew my answer. “Can you give me a heads up so I can have the shop ready?”

“Sure.”

He nods one last time, dismissing me.

I flip through my money again, cussing under my breath. Dan passes by, snatching the only hundreds from the stash.

“Hey,” I call after him.

He turns, walking backward. “Next time you call me away from my family in the middle of the night for no reason, do your research. This is for the tow.”

I PUSH THE REMAINDER
of my books to the side, making room as the waitress drops off my turkey panini and coffee. I'm at the cafe. It's Friday and it's lunchtime. I agonized over whether or not to show up. Showing up would mean I care. I don't want to care. So I figured I would do homework, at the cafe, during lunch. And if he shows, he shows. I mean, it was his suggestion. If not, I'm doing homework. Win, win. Bonus, the high-back booths are optimum study spots.

I'm shoving half a sandwich in my mouth at the exact moment he shows up, and I'm positive it's another way the universe is screwing me.

Justin taps his chin, indicating I have something there. His smile grows as I wipe off a long string of Parmesan cheese.

“Whatcha studying?” he asks, sliding in across from me.

“Quantum Physics.”

He squints at the binder of my book. “Looks an awful lot like Criminal Studies.”

“Close enough.”

“Criminal Studies. Political Science. I thought you were undecided.”

“I am.”

“That's funny, because those courses are usually reserved for students interested in political science or law.”

I take another bite of my sandwich, smaller this time, and hopefully more gracefully. I shrug. “I thought I was going to apply for law school. Not anymore. I had already reserved the courses. Whitticker has a two-year wait list on his class, so I felt like I shouldn't drop it.”

“Was?” he asks, confused. “Not anymore?”

“Losing academic favor doesn't look very good on an application. That's beside the fact my GPA has fallen below a three-point-eight, which is almost unheard of to be accepted with. The time and money it would take to bring it up pushes me past the five-year extent law schools like to see students have their undergraduate completed by. Long story short, I made a plan B.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Ready to hear it.”

I pause. “I'm working on it.”

He stands, reaching over the table and pulling my backpack into his lap. “Philosophy and Human Rights. Looks like there isn't a plan B, only A.”

“Like I said, my classes were already scheduled.”

He digs through my bag, making me self-conscious. He picks up little scraps of paper I've written reminder notes on, only to never look at them again once they reached the endless pit that is my backpack. He finishes his perusal and stuffs everything back in.

“With the classes you're taking, with the credits, you could bring up your GPA two or three points by next semester.”

He makes it sound easy. “I could, but I won’t.”

“Why not?”

There are plenty of things in my life that should make me feel ashamed that I won’t. As a matter of fact, there are a lot of things I've been kind of unrepentant about. But right now, sitting in front of Justin with him watching me so intently, I'm embarrassed to say I'm struggling. I'm struggling so hard. I've always been a straight-A student through high school and the start of college. If there's one thing Kip did not waver on, it was my education. He paid for the best, drilling me with note cards and studying way into the night with me. It's the one thing I felt pride in, that I made him proud, too.

Somehow Justin can sense all of my frustrations without me voicing them. “Hey,” he says slowly, brows cinched. “What's wrong?”

I run my hands over my hair, pulling my ponytail back and trying to gather my emotions. “It's the second week of school and I already feel swamped.”

Justin relaxes a little, partly relieved that I'm not going to break down right in front of him. “What do you need help with? If I can help, I will. And Lance is pre-law. I bet his study group might help.”

I laugh. “That damn study group. Since when is Lance pre-law? I can't see him being a lawyer.”

“He swears there's a million strippers who are ready to file a sexual harassment suit somewhere.”

“That actually makes sense.”

“So, will you think about it?” After a moment of silence from me, he says, “Don’t think of it as a study group. Think of it as a group of people who study…together.”

“Oh, thanks for the wonderful insight. Since you put it that way…”

At this point, what can it hurt?

Justin's looking at me with such sincerity that I want to turn away. His brown eyes are so dark. Depending on the shadows, his pupils almost bleed into his irises. It reminds me of the deepest parts of the oceans, the dark pools of water where no one really knows what's waiting at the bottom. It's alluring. And just like those deep pools, I'll probably never know what's in them.

The stubble on his cheeks is a little bit longer today, possibly due to a missed day of shaving. It only accentuates the definition along his neck. He swallows, and I watch his throat bob with the motion. He clears his throat and I snap my eyes back to his. There’s an intensity in them that floors me. I suck in air, trying to ground my senses. The only thing I can focus on is the look in his eyes. It’s like he wants to reach over the table and kiss me. Self-consciously, I bite the inside of my bottom lip. His eyes move from my eyes to my mouth and back again. And yet, at the same time, it looks like he’s uncomfortable.

Justin runs his thumb over his bottom lip, at a loss for words. I haven’t seen this Justin before. I’ve watched him strip in front of hundreds of students, I’ve watched him stand his ground and punch someone in the face, and I’ve watched him hold his own in front of my brother, but I haven’t seen cautiousness in him until now. And damn it all to hell it if it doesn’t intrigue me more.

SO WHEN I FIND MYSELF
sitting in one of the café’s bright orange armchairs at nine at night, unable to study because of the person sitting next to me, I blame no one but him. I’m beyond fucking irritable. I’ve watched him bite the stupid cap on his pen for the past hour straight, and the only thing I can tell you about Criminal Justice is that it’s not flipping fair how he is so casually good looking.

Study group
, they said.
It’ll be good for you
, they said. This is not good for me. If anything, this is very, very bad for me.

Want to know what the weirdest part of my attraction is? We’re going to call it an attraction even though at this point it’s bordering along the lines of something else—my desire to yank that pen out of his mouth and stab him in the eye with it. My reaction to him is uncontrollable, and it drives me to want to do something about it, but I don’t know what. I’m mad at him for making me like him, even though it’s not really his fault.

Twisted, I know.

Lance has spent the past two hours on his phone, randomly smiling at a text here and there. The only people actually doing anything productive are Courtney and Blake sitting across from me. They’re both Psychology majors, so they’ve been trading notes all night. Justin shifts in his chair, pulling the pen out of his mouth to jot something down in the margin of his textbook. I look down at the chapter in front of me and let out a deep breath. I am so screwed.

“Ha!” Lance rapidly sits forward, eyes glued to his phone.

“What?” Courtney asks, derision in her voice. She handles Lance about as well as Kaley does.

“Ashley is mocking up pop quizzes for Whitticker. She thinks it’s going to be distributed on Monday.”

Blake drops his pen into the binder of his notebook and Courtney mumbles something akin to a curse on Whitticker's children. I, on the other hand, am absolutely baffled as to who Ashley is.

“Lance has been dating Whitticker’s student teacher,” Justin says. “This is why study group is important.”

If someone had told me straight that study group is code for insider knowledge on pop quizzes, I wouldn’t have protested so much. Knowing the day a pop quiz is going to land on my desk is a catch twenty-two, though. I can walk into class knowing I’m not going to be ambushed, great, but I also have no idea what to study. We cover a chapter a day, and since our first quiz, we’ve covered two more. A new anxiety takes root in my chest.

“I’ll finish today’s chapter and draw up a mock test. Basics and key points. I’ll email them to everyone tomorrow,” Blake says.

“I don’t want to put more work on you,” Courtney says.

“I’m already going to do it for myself so I might as well share,” he says. “And I think it might help Lilly, who looks like she’s about to pass out.”

I don’t argue a good point because I do feel a little light-headed. “I don’t see why Lance can’t con his way into grabbing the answer key,” I say.

Blake smirks. “The answer key isn’t in Ashley’s pants. That’s why.”

“Isn’t he in her pants for academic purposes?”

He gives me a condescending look. “He’s a guy. He’s in her pants because he wants to be.”

“I feel like that’s not a wise use of time.”

Justin smiles, amused. “You don’t think sex is a wise use of time?”

I can feel the heat crawling up my neck and into my cheeks. This is the second time he’s made me blush, and I hate it even more than the first time. I fumble for words. “No, I mean, yes.” I pause, taking in a breath. “What I meant to say is that if I had the opportunity to squeeze some test answers out of Ashley’s pants, I’d do it.”

Blake smiles. “Girl-on-girl action.”

I barely get a chance to roll my eyes before Lance chimes in. “Trust me when I say nothing else is going to fit inside Ashley’s pants. I can guarantee you the test answers aren’t in there.”

I drop my forehead into the palm of my hand. “I’m not saying anything else.”

Justin laughs, pulling my hand away from my face. “Guys, quit teasing her.

I puff out a breath. “You’d think I’d be used to it. Kaley has zero filter.”

“I’ve gathered that,” Justin says. “Last week she told me satin underwear feels like slipping into soft butter.”

“Imagine my brother and her in the same room for longer than ten minutes.”

After a few minutes, everyone turns back to their own musings. The café is busy. There’s a mixture of patrons, half of them studying and the other half waiting until it’s socially acceptable to venture out into one of the surrounding bars. It’s loud and crowded and grating.

The book in my lap snaps shut, and Justin pulls it away and shoves it in my bag.

“What are you doing?”

“You haven’t studied all night,” he says.