Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Later, when my session is over, I stop by the restaurant in the hotel to get dinner. Midway through the lecture, I realized how hungry I was, and then it was practically all I could think of.
I order a burger and fries to go and carry the food to my room, the smell taunting me.
When I reach the hall outside our rooms, Will is standing at his door. He looks over his shoulder. His gaze lingers on my face for half a second before dropping to the grease-stained paper bag. “What’s for dinner?”
“Burger. Did you eat at the restaurant? I heard someone saying they’re pretty good.”
“I wouldn’t know,” he says. “I had the world’s best pizza.”
“What makes it the world’s best?” I stop in front of him.
“The sign out front, apparently,” he says, stepping closer to peer into my bag. His arm brushes mine, sending static across my skin.
“Get back.” I swat at him.
“Don’t worry.” He rubs my hair, and I jerk away. “I’d never eat your food. I learned my lesson during the Great Finger Biting of ’06.” He lifts his pointer finger so I can see the pale scar just below his knuckle. A delicate imprint of the curve of my tooth.
I didn’t even bite that hard, he just jerked away too fast. It was the perfect storm.
Still, I lift my chin with a flash of pride. Something in me likes knowing I’m permanently part of him.
I’d never admit that out loud.
“Good. Serves you right.”
He shakes his head, fighting a grin. “Are you going to bed now, Grandma? Or do you want to hang out?”
I swallow. How does one hang out with Will Kendricks? Why would one want to? I was looking forward to disappearing into my room, pigging out on this food, and watching Shark Tank.
“You want to hang out with me?” I ask him skeptically. “What, so you can dip my pigtails in ink?”
“We’re in neutral territory, Sullivan.” Both hands go up in surrender. “And fake friends, don’t you forget. Maybe we should practice.”
“Practice being friends?”
“You could use the practice.”
I eye him, already annoyed. But it’s just after six, and Will is the only person I know here. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing, even if it’s the second worst thing.
“Fine. What did you have in mind?”
Will’s face flashes with shock, and it’s obvious he didn’t expect me to agree to this. “Um, right. Well, there’s an escape room down the street. Have you heard about those? I was thinking of trying it out.”
“Do we need a full group?”
“I think they’ll just put us with other people,” he says, because of course he’s done no research into this. Will just shows up. I need to know everything before I arrive.
“Okay, but I need to eat first.”
He gestures for me to go ahead, and I move toward my door, flashing the keycard at the sensor. When it blinks green, I turn the handle and step into my room.
Will follows so closely that when I stop short, his chest bumps my back. The door clicks shut behind us, reminding me we’re alone. On purpose.
I turn, and he’s right there. Close enough that I have to tilt my head up to meet his eyes.
“Personal space,” I mutter.
“We’re practicing,” he says lightly. “Friends, remember?”
“Do friends rub chests and share air?”
His eyes fall to my collarbone, skating downward and lingering without embarrassment. “Best friends do.”
He doesn’t move for a beat too long. Then he steps away and makes himself at home on the bed closest to the door like nothing happened.
I drop my bag on the bed near the window and unpack it, spreading the food out before sitting down to dig in.
“How was your session?” he asks, flipping through the channels.
“Predictable,” I say, and he smiles when he gets the joke.
“Mine was cool. I’ve always imagined I’ll do something with insurance, an actuary or something, but it was interesting to hear about the different jobs available.”
“You want to work in statistics?” Why didn’t I know that? “I thought you were going to school for business.”
“I don’t know what I want to do yet. That’s what I was talking to Gene about. I’ve always liked numbers, and I’m a wizard with an Excel sheet, so it seems like a decent path.”
I stare at him, shocked. Will reads occasionally. Mostly fantasy stuff. He’s constantly on his computer. Or gaming. But I’ve never thought of him as particularly nerdy, at least not since he gave up the glasses for contacts in fourth grade.
“Are you…secretly smart, Will Kendricks?” I pop a fry into my mouth, watching him.
He glares at me. “Nothing secret about it, believe it or not. If you paid any attention to me at all, you’d know that.”
“You get far too much attention as it is. It’s my job to keep you grounded.” I wrinkle my nose in his direction. “And anyway, if you’re so smart, then why do you need to volunteer? You’re good at this stuff. I suck at it.”
“Because I still need to impress whatever program I try to get into. I can’t just be good.” His jaw tightens. “I need to be the best.”
I roll my eyes, kicking off my shoes and scooting farther back on the bed.
“So how’s Banksy-poo?” Will asks. “You two set a date for the wedding yet?”
I keep my eyes on my dinner, refusing to look his way. “It just kills you that someone actually likes me, doesn’t it?”
“So he does like you? I was right.”
I can’t help it, I snap my gaze up to glare at him. “Believe it or not, yes. He does. In fact, he’s taking me out when we get home.”
His smile falters. It’s quick—almost invisible—but I see it. The light in his eyes dims before he forces it back. “So, I guess I’ll have to start calling you teacher’s pet.” He fixes his eyes on the TV.
I take a bite of my burger, sneering at him. “He’s not my teacher.”
“But he is a teacher.”
“He’s a teaching assistant, Will. Please stop pretending they’re the same thing.”
He shrugs, crossing his arms loosely over his chest, remote still gripped in one hand. “Whatever. If you want to have boring teacher sex all your life, don’t let me stand in your way.”
My cheeks heat. “Our sex will not be boring.”
He goes very still. The chatter from the TV fills the silence, his gaze locked straight ahead.
“Oh?” he says, so softly I barely hear it.
His head turns toward me. His eyes drop to my mouth. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he wants to see my response rather than hear it. He lifts his chin with defiance. “You think he knows what to do with you, Opal?”
“Maybe I’m the one who knows what to do with him.”
His gaze snaps back to mine. Something sharp flickers there. No longer teasing or playful.
After a few quiet minutes, he says, “Maybe I’ll hook up with a teacher. Professor Evans is kind of hot.”
My stomach flips at the casual way he says this. “Well, I’m sure you’ll get to her eventually. You’re working your way down the roster.”
He shakes his head with a cocky laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I really, really wouldn’t.”
His jaw tics, eyes dancing over my face. They drag down my throat, lingering on the collar of my shirt, then return to meet mine. “Are you going to hook up with him, then? Really?”
“Why are you so obsessed with this? I am not talking about sex with you, Will.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” He tosses the remote on the bed and leans forward, elbows on his knees. He’s so close to me now, I can see the tiny scar above his left eyebrow, the one he got from a sparkler when we were eight. “I wasn’t talking about sex with me. You’re not ready for that.” He winks.
I tap my finger to my forehead, chest, then each shoulder. “And may I never be.”
He chuckles, the deep sound vibrating across the space between us. “Don’t be so sure. I don’t hear many complaints.”
“Only because you’re too busy closing the door on their way out.”
“Always a comeback.” He clicks his tongue. “I’m a gentleman, you know? Truly. I can give you references.”
I throw my head back with a laugh. “I’ll pass.”
His next words come sharp, almost defiant. “You deserve someone who knows you, Opal. Someone who can see through your bullshit and hear the things you’ll never say out loud. Because you damn sure won’t tell them what you need. You’ll be too worried about keeping him happy to ever put it out there.”
Whatever I expected him to say, it wasn’t that. My next joke dies on my tongue.
“You don’t know me, Will.”
“Better than Money Bags.” He slides forward off his bed and comes to sit next to me, crowding my space. “Someone who can tell what you like without you ever saying a word?”
His hand lifts, like he’s going to brush it across my cheek, but he stops midair. “Someone who knows just what buttons to push?”
I feel his phantom touch low in my stomach.
He lets his hand fall, a devastating smirk spreading on his lips. “Someone like that could blow your mind.”
The room falls silent again.
The smile on his lips evaporates.
I swallow, my throat dry. “I’ll take your word for it.”
He watches me like he’s waiting to see if I’ll flinch. Or ask him to move. It’s what he wants, but I won’t give it to him.
His gaze passes over me thoughtfully as I eat another fry, a million silent calculations flashing in his eyes. Heat crawls up my neck under the weight of it.
Finally, he says, “How many people have you hooked up with, anyway?”
My pulse stumbles. “Like I would ever tell you that.”
“I’ll tell you mine.”
“Can you count that high?”
He just presses his lips together, eyes narrowing. “Twelve. It’s not even that many. Two of those were girls I was dating at the time.”
“I didn’t ask, Will.”
“Can I guess?” He pushes up from the bed abruptly and crosses the room, only to return just as fast. I’ve barely breathed. The mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge of my bed again facing me, with his back toward the TV. His thigh brushes my knee.
Neither of us moves.
“Two?” he murmurs. “Bradley Scott, I know. And I’m thinking…Noah.” His gaze sharpens, pinning me in place. “Junior year. Am I right?”
I don’t blink.
“Higher than two? Lower than five? Come on, Opal.” His voice drops lower, rough around the edges. “You’re not a virgin.”
“I’m not a virgin,” I confirm quickly. “But it’s really not any of your business. Why do you assume it’s so much less than your number?”
“Okay, final guess.” He taps his finger on his chin. “Eighty-seven.”
“Statistics is really going to be great for you,” I murmur.
He groans. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”
“I wasn’t going to.” I push his leg off the bed, then stand and dust off my fingers.
He doesn’t move. He’s still sitting there, staring up at me.
“What?” I ask.
He stands slowly, steps closer. I don’t move, not even as his thigh slides between mine, nudging me back a fraction of an inch. I just lift my head, staring back at him. Defiant as ever.
He thinks he can rattle me. I’m trying so hard not to let him.
For a second, it feels like the air shifts. I’m barely aware of the TV in the background anymore. Everything tilts. The room. Us. My thoughts.
His hand lifts—almost touches my waist—then drops.
“Nothing,” he says, his voice steadier than his eyes. “You ready to go?”
And then we’re off.