11. Bridgette
Bridgette
D utton holds the door for me as we walk into the library.
The main floor is buzzing with people, so reach for his hand and lead him up to the quiet study rooms on the third floor.
I unload my laptop and flashcards before taking a seat in one of the cushioned chairs.
Dutton sits next to me after setting his backpack on the empty table.
“Where should we start?” I ask.
The look he gives me is hot enough to make me want to peel off the sweater I’m wearing. And possibly my dress, bra, and panties, too.
“Hmmm,” he says, pretending to think about my question when all he’s probably thinking about is whether the door locks and the walls are soundproofed.
When we woke up in my bed the morning after our date at the dance hall, I was afraid things might be awkward.
I worried he might ghost me, or just thank me for a good time and then walk out of my dorm and my life like our night never happened.
My dating history is pretty short and lackluster, but I’ve seen and heard enough from friends to know that college guys are usually allergic to commitment.
Dutton is not like other guys.
We’ve seen each other daily since our date a few nights ago, and even though it’s way too early to have a serious conversation or put labels on anything, we’ve fallen into an easy rhythm of spending time together despite our busy schedules.
That’s why I thought a study date would be perfect.
We’re taking the same business seminar course, even though we’re in different sections, and we have a test next week.
Being study buddies is a productive use of our time.
I meet Dutton’s eyes again and realize we might have differing opinions on the word “productive.”
“I’m serious,” I say, swatting his hand away when he rests it on my thigh. “Keep your hands to yourself, or we won’t get anything done.”
He frowns. “Are you sure about that? Because we got a lot done in the shower this morning and I had my hands?—”
“Studying. We won’t get any studying done. And I’m not tanking my GPA for a hot piece of ass,” I tease, giving him a wink.
“You think I’m hot. Or that my ass is hot. Or both?” he asks hopefully.
“I think you better start quizzing me. I only have an hour before I need to leave, and if I’m not ready for that exam when it’s time to go, then I’ll have to study later tonight.
And I really don’t want to do that. I have plans for tonight,” I tell him, crossing my legs and leaning back in my chair.
He’s not even hiding the fact that his gaze is raking over every inch of me right now. I’m playing his game because it’s fun to flirt with him, but I really do need to get to work, especially because I have a feeling he’s going to occupy a lot of my free time in the near future.
Dutton sighs and takes the notecards from me. “Fine. I’ll be responsible. But only because I have plans tonight, too. And they involve you and me and nothing else. Except a bed. Possibly sheets. They’re nice, but not necessary. We can fu?—”
“We can,” I agree, cutting him off. “If we start studying now.”
When the timer on my phone beeps an hour later, I’m a little amazed that our time went by so quickly. I zip my flashcards into my bag, and when he reaches for my hands and pulls me into his lap, I go willingly.
“You were right,” he says. “We needed to study. But now I feel pretty good about tomorrow’s test. How about you?”
“I’m ready for it,” I say honestly. “You are a better study partner than I thought you’d be,” I admit.
“What? You thought I only had a one-track mind?” he asks with mock outrage as he slips his backpack onto his shoulders before holding the door open for me. “I’m insulted, Bridgette.”
I roll my eyes at him.
When we make it out of the library and into the parking garage, I give his hand a squeeze before pressing my lips to his.
“Are you heading back to the salon?” he asks as I click my key fob to open my door.
I shake my head. “Nope. I only had a few appointments today, so I decided to treat myself. I’m heading back to the dance hall to take a ballroom class.”
“Oh, yeah? Do you want some company? Or would you rather be paired up with Howard?”
I laugh. There’s no contest. “Aren’t you busy? I thought you said you were going to the gym?”
He waves me off. “I need to workout, yeah. But I think I can meet my cardio goals if I go dancing with you and if we hang out after.”
“That sounds like a pretty good workout to me,” I say. Dutton said he had fun the other night, and I have no reason not to believe him, but I’m a little surprised he wants to go back. I’m not complaining, though. The only thing better than a dance partner my age is a tall one who knows how to lead.
“We could grab dinner after, if you want,” he says, suddenly looking a little shy. “I mean, we haven’t been on many dates, unless you think ordering pizza last night counts?”
“Hmmm… I think it gets half credit. We did eat, but we were also naked.”
“Well, tonight, we could dance and eat. And then get naked. You know, if you want to. I mean, don’t get me wrong, naked time is my favorite time, but I also like hanging out with you and talking.” As he says the words, a strange look washes over his face.
“You sound surprised,” I say, unlocking my car doors.
“I am,” he says, his laugh sounding a little rusty. “Hanging out and talking to people is not generally on my list of favorite things to do. But it’s fun when it’s you.”
I take his statement for the compliment it obviously is as I turn the car on and drive out onto the main road.
“We’ve got half an hour,” I say. “Since you like talking to me so much, maybe we should start now.” It’s fun to tease him, but when I chance a quick glance at him, he’s nodding, like my suggestion makes perfect sense.
“So, uh, what do you want to talk about?” he asks, sliding his phone from his pocket. I swear, if he’s looking up tips on small talk, my heart is going to melt a little.
“Let’s start with something easy. What do you like to do in your free time? Do you play any sports?”
“Sports?” he asks, his voice an octave higher than usual.
“Uh, yeah. I love anything with a scoreboard. And I play golf with my dad when we both have free time. I just transferred to BU after living out of state for two years, and my folks are local, so I’ll probably play a few rounds with my dad before my schedule gets too crazy. ”
I’m about to ask him where he transferred from, but he opens his mouth before I have a chance.
“What about you? I know you’re a dancer, and that you can skate. What else do you do for fun?”
“Hair, nails, and skincare,” I say, unable to keep the smile off my face.
“I know that’s also my job, but it’s fun for me.
That’s why I went to beauty school in the first place.
I love helping people look and feel good.
And, honestly, I just love playing around with all the products.
I used to love playing dress up as a kid.
I’d always pretend I was in a beauty pageant or that I was a famous celebrity on the red carpet.
I guess I never really grew out of that. ”
“You’re really good at it, so it’s easy to see why you love it so much. That scalp thingy? That was awesome. And you gave me the best shave of my life. My face was as smooth as a baby’s ass.”
I laugh. “Should I put that on my business cards?”
“Obviously,” he says in the deadpan style I’m starting to associate with him. “Do you want to have your own place someday? Or do you like it where you are?”
“Mane Street is a great place to work. The other stylists are great and we have a steady clientele. I’m happy there now, but owning my own place is my ultimate goal.
It’s what I’ve been working toward for the past two years, and it’s why I’m getting my business degree.
It’s not a requirement, exactly, but I feel like it will give me an edge.
I want to be involved in all aspects of my business. ”
“That’s what brought you to Bainbridge?” he asks.
“Yep. That and my brother. We’re pretty close, and he’s always been my biggest fan.
He’s a student here, too, and he practically begged me to choose BU over the college back home.
Not that I minded. It was honestly weird living at home without him.
We’re twins, so we’re used to doing everything together. ”
“He’s the reason you transferred? I might just have to thank the guy when I meet him,” he says, a teasing tone woven into his words.
I pull to a stop at the red light by the studio. “Nope. That was way too cheesy. I might just have to kick you out of this car,” I tell him.
Dutton James just shrugs. “Fair. But you’ve got to cut me a break. I’m new to this whole “conversing with other people” thing.”
“You’re, what? Twenty-one years old and you’re a novice when it comes to basic conversation?”
“Yeah,” he admits. “I wasn’t joking when I said my social circle had a total of five people in it, including me.”
“Well, your social circle is about to get even bigger. Look who’s here,” I say, pointing to the front of the building as I park my car. Howard and Marty stand by the doors, waving when they see us.
When we make our way over to them, they both wrap me in hugs and offer their hands to Dutton. It’s a little formal, but these guys are old school.
“Are you guys here for the class?” I ask as we head inside.
They both give noncommittal shrugs. “We may stick around for the class, but when we saw your name on the sign up sheet, we had a feeling you might bring your fella back. And since we didn’t get to have a proper chat with him the other night, we thought now might be a good time.”
These guys are so sweet, but I cringe inside. If anything is going to send Dutton running for the hills, it’s my two self-appointed bodyguards who happen to be in their seventies.
“That’s not necessary,” I say, fully aware that my cheeks are probably burning.
But Dutton, this stoic, reserved guy who’s working his way into my heart, gives me a peck on the lips. “I can take it,” he assures me. “You want to get your shoes on and warm up while I talk to the guys?”
I nod and find a chair to sit in while I strap my heels on. Dutton James is full of surprises, and I like it.