18
Valentina
For some reason, the last thing I expected was to see Huxley every day. There are days I don’t even see Birdie or Ava, and we live together. But ever since our first date, Huxley has been with me for some portion of the day, every day. Like right now.
We’re sitting at a table under a tree on campus while Huxley looks over both of our schedules. I didn’t ask why he needed my schedule; I was just happy to be with him. Even for whatever this is.
“Wait, you are?” His eyes lift to me. “Why are you here then?”
He winks at me. “Priorities, Love.”
I’m grateful he looks immediately back at the paper because my face still heats up every time he calls me Love. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to it or if my face will eventually become permanently red. God, I hope that’s not the case.
“So if I actually attend my class during this time, that gives us just enough time to see each other before your next class at 10:30.” He writes down something quickly. “Which means that I won’t be there after that class because I have one starting at 11.”
“Wait.” There’s no way he’s saying what I think he’s saying. That would be crazy. He stops writing and looks at me. “Are you trying to be there after all of my classes?” I ask anyway.
“Yeah,” he answers calmly, like all of this is no big deal.
“Why?”
“Isn’t a boyfriend supposed to walk his girlfriend to class?”
Are they? I guess maybe I’ve seen that happen in movies, but that’s usually in high school. College is a completely different story with different classes and majors. Getting your schedule to line up with someone who is in an entirely different major than you sounds impossible.
But that’s what Huxley is trying to do right now. He’s trying to be at all of my classes so he can walk me to my next one. I can’t help it, my heart starts doing a little happy dance in my chest.
I really thought he would only want to be around me when we were doing stuff for the deal, but this feels like he wants to spend as much time with me as he can. I don’t understand why, but I’m not going to push it.
“After my class, there will be some time before your last class, and then we’ll be set.
” He cuts off my thoughts as he draws a line on the paper and starts looking over our classes for Tuesdays and Thursdays.
“Okay. You have a class at 8, but since it runs longer, my class at 9 will be during that time. Then you have a class at 9:30.” He jots that down quickly. “And that should be it.”
I quickly count his classes in my head, but something isn’t right. “You are not taking only three classes this semester.”
“But I am.” He doesn’t look up as he continues to write. While he’s distracted, I reach over and grab his schedule.
“Valentine,” he warns, but I’m already reading.
I scan his schedule, first Monday, Wednesday, Friday, but all those classes he mentioned.
I move to Tuesday and Thursday, finding a class from 12 to 1:20 he didn’t mention.
I open my mouth to say something, but stop when the class registers in my mind.
“You’re taking College Algebra II?” I ask, still staring at his schedule.
“You know me. Math genius.” He pulls the paper from my hands and gathers the rest of the papers together.
“I can help you if you want,” I offer softly. “I’m not the smartest at math, but I did manage an A average in high school and got a solid A- during my college algebra classes Freshman year.”
He scoffs, still pulling the papers together. “Wow. Thank you for making it even more embarrassing.”
My shoulders slump. “Why is it embarrassing for me to help you?”
“You know what?” he snaps, finally looking at me. Though I almost wish he didn’t. The look in his eyes makes me shrink further into my seat. “Forget it. I’m going to class.” He shoves the paper into his bag and is about to stand.
“You’re 20 minutes late.”
He freezes and turns to glare at me. “I can tell time, Valentina,” he grits out. “I’m not that stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.” I want my voice to sound comforting, but it comes out small and weak. And his glare doesn’t fade.
“Whatever.”
He gets up from the table and heads off in a random direction, leaving me with my thoughts and how I’m already fucking all this up.
And when he doesn’t show up after my next or my last class, my mind starts sinking to lower places.
Where the voices in my head tell me I’m not even good enough for a fake relationship.
I’ll look for Huxley tomorrow, and I’ll fix this. I have to. It’s the only chance I have.
Idon’t see Huxley after my first class. But before my mind can take a total nosedive, I remember that he said his class would overlap with mine, so he won’t be here. With a little bit of hope, I head to my next class, telling myself he’ll be there afterward.
A few hours later, I walk out of Martin Hall, the main arts facility on campus, and I feel like I can breathe again.
Huxley is leaning against a tree while reading over some papers. Of course, he could be here for another reason, but I really hope the reason is me.
I walk up to him slowly until I’m standing in front of him, but he doesn’t look up.
“Hi.”
His eyes rise from his papers, staring at me. No glare or happiness shows in his expression, so I clear my throat and say, “It is kind of nice to see a familiar face after class every day.”
That finally gets him. He reaches for my arm, pulling me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he whispers in my ear.
“Me too,” I whisper back.
He leans back to look at me. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says firmly. “I was a dick about the whole thing. You were just trying to be nice.”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, holding in a smile that wants to break through. Huxley catches on and glares at me. Before I realize what he’s doing, he pinches my side.
“Hey!” I yelp, but he immediately runs his thumb over my side, soothing the spot he pinched. My heart races in my chest at the subtle touch, and I just pray he can’t feel it.
His eyes suddenly widen, and I think for a second he can actually feel my heart beating fast until he quickly pulls his hand away.
“Is this okay? This wasn’t a place you allowed before,” he rushes, fear filling his eyes quickly that he might have touched me where I don’t want him to.
A soft smile lifts on my lips as I reach forward and grab his hand again, placing it on my side. He lets out a deep breath, and his thumb starts to move again.
“I have a question,” he says softly, calm now from his mini freakout.
“Okay.”
His eyes move away from mine, watching his thumb move back and forth. “Can you help me with math?” His voice somehow gets quieter, his shoulders tensing with nerves.
I honestly never thought someone like Huxley Adams would get nervous. I guess I don’t know him like I thought I did.
“Of course.”
He finally meets my eyes again, and a smile lifts on his lips. The new one. My favorite one.
“Is that what this is?” I point to the papers in his hands. Huxley stands up straighter, removing his hand from my side, and I hate how much I miss the feeling already.
“Uh, yeah.” He shuffles his papers together into a more uniform stack. “Today’s material.”
He hands them over to me, and I quickly scan them. “Oh, logarithms. These aren’t too bad.” His glare is back when I look up at him, but it’s not as intimidating now. I place my hand on his cheek, and his face softens immediately.
“You’re going to be okay,” I softly assure him. He relaxes under my touch, so I move my hand to his shoulder. “I’ll make sure you pass by a full 1% this time.”
“Wow. Thanks,” he deadpans.
I laugh, and that lifts a smile on his face.
“What time’s your class?”
“12.”
I check the time on my phone. “We have a little less than an hour then.” I put my phone back in my pocket as I ask, “What do you want to do?”
He takes the papers from me and shakes them. “Burn these.”
My face scrunches. “I don’t think that’s allowed on campus.”
“Damn.”
I know we’re okay when Huxley smiles at me. I know we’re okay when he puts his arm around my shoulders, and we walk to Albert's Hall, where his class is located. And I know we’re okay when he kisses my forehead, letting me know that he knows we’re okay, too.