Chapter 7
WEST
I’ve never been so aware of my phone as I have been since that weird as hell text exchange went down last night.
After getting that message from my old number, I spent the rest of the night trying to think about anything other than those texts, so naturally, they were the only things I thought about.
I barely managed to get through dinner without anyone noticing that I was a million miles away, and I spent the entire meeting zoned out and not listening to a single thing that was said. In fact, the only part of the meeting I actually remember is when they announced next year’s leadership team.
My cheeks flush as the memories of walking back to the lobby with Anthony come flooding back to me.
That was…unusual. We may have been frat brothers and lived in the same house since first year, but we’re not really friends, and that conversation is the longest one we’ve ever had.
But beyond it being strange because we were talking at all, it also felt completely natural, and I forgot to second-guess myself or freak out that I might be sending my very straight frat brother some mixed signals that could get my ass kicked.
I even found myself making cracks about my dad when I never talk about him to anyone other than Damon and McKenna. And I still have no idea why I felt so comfortable while I was talking to him, or why I let my guard down without even realizing it.
Then I went back to my room, and instead of unpacking or getting ready for school to start up again, I spent hours pacing around and trying not to spiral into a panic attack.
All that confusion and pent-up energy triggered my impulsive side, and after hours of freaking out and working myself up into a mental frenzy, I went against my better judgment and texted that asshole back to try and figure out what he wants or what his endgame is.
But instead of giving me answers or any sort of mental clarity, that exchange messed with me more than I want to admit.
I’m one of those people who can get along with pretty much anyone as long as we stick to small talk and don’t go beyond polite chatter. I’ve learned how to network and schmooze with the best of them, but I’m hopeless when it comes to having real conversations with people.
I get too intense too fast and say things that make people uncomfortable because I end up being too honest for a surface-level conversation.
I also have a really bad habit of oversharing, and my filter disappears when I’m nervous, so I’m always putting my foot in my mouth and saying things I wish I could take back.
I’m also terrible at reading social cues, and I don’t always realize when people are trying to change the subject or end the conversation entirely.
One of the best ways I’ve learned to deal with that over the years is to let the other person, or people, do most of the talking. I can’t overshare if I keep my mouth shut, and it’s easier to just listen and go along with things. The path of least resistance and all that.
But even with my gift for small talk, I’ve never had a cold conversation with someone I’ve never met flow that easily before, and I almost forgot why we were texting in the first place.
And even after messaging with him, I’m no closer to figuring out who he is, why he’s doing this, or what his endgame is.
I’m so deep in thought that I jump a mile and almost knock my textbook off the small tray table attached to my chair when someone slides into the seat next to me.
“Howdy, partner.” Anthony’s voice low and raspy as he drops his backpack on the floor at his feet.
“Hey,” I say as I reach down to grab the pen that rolled onto the floor when I was saving my textbook. “What are you doing here?”
“Going to class,” he says with that sexy-as-fuck smirk of his.
I roll my eyes as my neck flushes hot. “I know that, genius. I mean, what are you doing here, like in that seat?” I motion toward the left side of the room. “Don’t you usually sit over there?”
He unzips his backpack and pulls out his textbook. “Usually.”
“So why are you sitting here?” I ask again.
He pulls a water bottle and a small package of what looks like trail mix out of his bag. “You don’t want me to sit next to you?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.
“I didn’t say that,” I say quickly, probably too quickly. “I just mean it’s almost the end of the year and you’ve always sat over there, so I thought…”
“You thought?” he prompts, smiling at me like I’m a puppy in a pet store window.
“Never mind.” I give him what I hope is a casual smile that doesn’t give away that I feel like I’m on the edge of losing it. “I’m just distracted today.”
“Did you eat lunch?” he asks.
“What?” I blink at him, confused by the abrupt shift in the conversation.
“Did you eat lunch today?” he asks again.
“Oh, um. No. Why?”
He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a can of cold brew, another package of trail mix, and a pouch of applesauce, like the ones my nieces and nephews like, then places all three items on the corner of my desk.
I look between him and the items. Are those for me?
“Hazen and Connor always forget to eat when they’re distracted,” he says, his voice low as more and more students fill the lecture hall.
“And they’re both nightmares to deal with when they get hangry.
You were pretty out of it after the meeting last night.
I figured you might be the same and forget to eat since you’ve been so distracted lately. ”
“You brought me food just in case I needed it?” I ask slowly, like I suddenly lost half my IQ points.
He pulls a second can of cold brew out of his backpack and pops the tab on it. “Yup,” he says, then lifts the can to his lips.
My eyes immediately, and without my permission, flick from his mouth and his Adam’s apple, and I watch his throat muscles work as he swallows.
My stomach tightens as heat gathers low in my body, and I finally lift my gaze to his when he lowers the bottle, only to find him watching me with amusement in his amazing eyes.
For the first little while that I knew him, I assumed Anthony’s eyes were just a really cool shade of bright blue, but it wasn’t until we had our first real conversation that I saw his eyes up close and realized he actually has a ring of ice blue mixed with the most unusual shade of yellow around his pupils that make his eyes even more magnetic than I first thought.
And right now, those eyes are doing things to me they have no business doing.
I tear my gaze from his and look back at the food he brought for me. “Thanks,” I say, my voice way too gruff for no reason at all. “For the…” I pick up the cold brew and pop the tab.
He stretches his long legs out in front of him. “So, why have you been so distracted lately?”
“No reason in particular,” I say quickly.
He gives me a long, assessing look, but doesn’t call me out on my obvious lie.
Feeling way more rattled than I should from his simple question, I take a sip of the coffee he brought me so I have something to do with my hands. It’s ice cold and sweet, exactly the way I like it.
“Good?” He takes a long swallow from his own coffee, his eyes never leaving mine.
An unfamiliar warmth moves through my chest as he keeps eye contact with me, then slowly lowers the can.
“Yeah, it’s great. Thanks,” I say, belatedly answering his question.
The corner of his mouth tips up in a little smirk-smile, and my entire body goes on high alert as he leans closer. “Want to come to my room tonight?” he asks in a low voice, his lips dangerously close to my ear.
Tingles erupt deep in my body as his warm breath fans over my skin.
“Your room?” I practically squeak, my brain and body glitching out from both his proximity and his question.
“To work on the project,” he says in that sexy tone, his lips still right next to my ear.
“Oh, um, yeah,” I stutter like a moron. “Sure. That sounds good.”
He sits back in his seat, his trademark sexy smirk firmly fixed on his lips. “Is eight good?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“It’s a date.”
I know he’s just saying that because it’s a common turn of phrase and it doesn’t mean anything, but my body apparently didn’t get the memo, and more of those tingles explode deep inside me.
Thankfully I’m saved from having to answer him when the door to the class swings open, and everyone immediately quiets as Professor Morris walks into the room.
Now I just have to pay attention for the next ninety minutes and not focus on the mess that is my life right now.
It feels like my heart is in my throat as I knock on the door to Anthony’s room at exactly eight o’clock.
“Come in.”
Drawing a quick, deep breath, I push the door to his room open and step inside.
I’ve never been in his room before, and I’m not surprised to see it has the same layout as mine—and every other room on our floor—only the decor is completely different, which is par for the course in Montague House.
But it isn’t the heavy velvet drapes or the high-contrast damask accent wall that captures my attention as I close the door behind me.
Nope, that would be Anthony standing at the foot of his bed looking like a damn snack in nothing but a pair of low-slung sweats and slides.
His dark hair is damp and hanging around his face in long strands that make him look even hotter and more rugged than usual, and his golden skin is slick and glistening under the soft lights.
Instinctively, I drag my gaze up and down his frame.
Anthony has an incredible body, and it’s obvious he puts a lot of work into it.
His shoulders and arms are broad and corded with muscles, framing his flat stomach and narrow waist. His legs, like his arms, are thick and strong, and he has one of the best bubble butts I’ve ever seen on anyone.
But the thing that sets him apart from most guys around here is that instead of having a chiseled and sculpted look that you get from lifting and bodybuilding, he has the build of an elite athlete.
“Hey,” he says, giving me a quick upnod.