MERRITT
CHAPTER SIX
There’s something in the air today, and nothing or no one could convince me otherwise.
I’m having the worst Monday of my life, and it’s only just beginning.
An even shittier-than-normal Monday, I mean.
Probably because not only is next weekend Halloween, but it’s also a full moon. A double whammy of chaotic energy that’s got me feeling overwhelmed and off-kilter and scattered.
One hundred percent the reason to blame my ultra-shitty day on.
I’m barely resisting the urge to beat my head onto the desk in front of me, even though every cell in my body is screaming to do it.
Elliott left his lunch at home this morning after nearly missing the bus.
He’s the world’s pickiest eater, which meant that even though I was on the other side of town on campus, I had to run home, grab his lunch, and drop it off to him at school, then rush back across town to campus for my morning Political Science class.
I was a minute late, and everyone in the auditorium stared at me as I made my way to the back and found a seat.
Then I discovered that the strawberries I packed for my own lunch had mold on them.
I probably should’ve checked that this morning, but I was running late and trying to get Elliott out the door while also making sure dinner was in the Crock-Pot for when we got home.
Needless to say, I skipped lunch today… and breakfast.
I’d rather miss a meal than pay twelve dollars for a ridiculously overpriced sub from the dining hall.
My stomach will just have to rumble for the rest of the day.
I nearly bled through my skirt when my period randomly started after lunch, and by the time I made it to the library for the most dreaded part of my day, I was ready to scream. Or cry.
Or both. At once.
Only to find out that the dates that I prebooked for a private study room had somehow been erased from the online scheduling system.
A glitch, the library aide said.
Thankfully, I still had today booked, but after this? Nothing available until next semester.
Because of course, that’s exactly the way my luck would be. Not at all surprising after the disaster today has been, honestly.
This is fine.
I’ll figure it out. I always do.
I’m mentally giving myself the pep talk of a lifetime when the study room door creaks open, and Bennett Legros strolls in, wearing a lazy grin and a backward baseball cap that covers his blond hair. The hair at his nape and ears curls around the edges, and for some reason, it’s hot.
Which makes me want to kick myself for even thinking it.
My God, I am losing my mind.
I’m genuinely surprised to see that he showed up, and clearly, he reads that on my face because his easygoing grin widens into a smile as he pulls out the chair across from me and drops down into it.
Thankfully, not directly beside me like last time.
He flattens his large palm over his heart as he shoulders off his backpack and sets it on the table in front of him. “You know, I’m wounded that you really didn’t think I could do it, Mer.”
“Merritt,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Ah, yeah, sorry, my bad. Merritt.” Only he doesn’t look sorry the least fucking bit.
And I think I might actually chuck my pen directly at the center of his forehead.
It won’t solve the issue of being chained to him, but it would probably make me feel a lot better.
“Why are you doing the stabby stare right now?” he asks.
My brow arches. “Stabby stare?”
He lifts his thick shoulder in a shrug. “You do this thing where you look like you’re plotting my death or world domination while you’re glaring at me. The stabby stare.”
I almost laugh.
Almost.
It’s the way that he says it with so much serious intensity that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop the laugh from escaping.
“We’ve met once. For like thirty minutes.”
“Yeah, and you looked like you wanted to kill me the entire time.” He chuckles as he reaches into his backpack and pulls out Jane Eyre and drops it onto the table between us. “Incredible book, by the way.”
The corner of my lip lifts into a smirk, and I lean back against the chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “It is, isn’t it?”
Bennett nods. “Yeah, I mean, Jane is such an incredible heroine. She refused to be treated as anything less than the men around her. And to be so fierce about it in a time where women weren’t treated equally is honestly so fucking badass of her.
The slow burn nearly killed me, but I loved that through the entire messy shit with Rochester, she stayed true to herself. It was really dope.”
My jaw nearly falls open.
No way.
Literally no fucking way.
There’s not a shot in hell that this guy actually read this entire book since the last time I saw him.
Not only that, but completely understood the themes of the story?
“Yeah, oooookay,” I scoff, pinning him with a hard stare. “We both know that you didn’t read that book, but clearly, you did read the CliffsNotes, so congrats on that. Or did you watch the movie?”
“False, actually. To both. I read the entire thing in less than twenty-four hours.”
Right.
And I’m going to end the world’s shittiest day by winning the lottery, even though I haven’t played a day in my life, and then all of my problems will suddenly be solved.
“’Kay,” is all I say back, dragging my gaze back to my laptop screen, which is open to a random email, and pretending that it’s suddenly the most interesting thing I’ve seen all day.
“Okay?” I look back at Bennett, and his brow is pulled tight. “Just okay?”
I lift my shoulder. “You did what I asked of you and what’s required reading for the project, so… okay? What do you want from me? A “Good boy”? A pat on the head for doing what you’re told?”
His mouth twitches in amusement, but he says nothing, only shrugs, like he wants to say more but isn’t.
Once again, I can feel his eyes on me as I’m typing, so I glance past my computer over at him.
He’s leaned forward on the table, his thick, tanned, and corded forearms resting on the top, staring at me intently. “Why do you look so familiar? I feel like I know you from somewhere, but I can’t figure it out. Just can’t put my finger on it.”
My eyes narrow. “I don’t know, Bennett, probably because we’ve been in the same class twice a week for the last two and a half months or so?”
Oh, that’s right, he can’t place me because I’m not a five-foot-two, blonde-haired, blue-eyed sorority girl who throws herself at his feet.
But I keep that to myself.
I have zero desire to revisit the mortification of that night, ever again, preferably.
All I want to do is finish this project.
Move on.
Back to a world where he has no clue that I even exist.
“Nah, it’s not that.” He leans back against his chair, book still in hand, and eyes me.
I heave out a sigh when my phone screen lights up, and I see another text from my ex come through.
The third one, I think, for the day.
Which I promptly ignore… again.
I’m going to have to do something about him too, but right now, I have enough on my plate without having to be a raging cunt to my ex to force him to finally leave me alone for good.
That’s a problem for future me.
My current problem is the man sitting in front of me.
I open up the document on my computer that I worked on a bit over the weekend. Essentially just transferring over the brain-dump notes I’d taken in my notebook so I could create a more organized plan for the next two months.
Color coordinated, obviously.
“Okay, so this project is actually divided into two different parts. Basically, we have to read the book and then create our own story from the overall theme. Whatever we choose. We’re supposed to write it from different points of view.”
Bennett nods. “Okay, and so we write… what, exactly?”
“Whatever we want. I was thinking…” I trail off, tapping my nail on the tabletop.
“It would probably be easiest on us both if I write the woman’s point of view, and you write the man’s.
Obviously, we know our gender the best. And it is a love story, after all.
That should probably be the theme that we go with.
A modern-day Jane Eyre love story, and we can show the parallels of now and then with how far feminism has come in today’s society. ”
Did I already start reading the CliffsNotes version of Jane Eyre? Yes.
And I don’t feel the least bit guilty about it.
It wasn’t an AI site. Just a random college student who thankfully left a summary.
I’m not even fully convinced that he actually read it, honestly, despite his adamant protests.
I quickly jot down a note in my notebook to check out a copy too, in case he questions it. I’m going to read it, obviously. I just haven’t had time yet.
Glancing back at my computer, I scan the rubric that Professor Hart sent over.
“It has to be a minimum of 30,000 words, hence the reason we have the rest of the semester to work on it, and submitted in MLA format. I emailed you a copy of it so you can see how we’ll be graded on the assignment,” I say, pulling my attention back to him, trying to ignore the anxiety gnawing in my stomach.
I have no idea if it’s the fact that the only thing I’ve had to eat today is a protein bar or if it’s my nerves of handling a project of this size with someone like Bennett.
“Got it. Hey, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll get it done.” His voice has gone soft, and I swallow down the lump that’s forming at the base of my throat.
Does he realize that I’m actually still worrying?
My brow bunches together in confusion.
“That ring… what’s it for?” He jerks his head to where I’m spinning my fidget ring around my pointer finger. I quickly shift and move them back to my laptop and clear my throat.
“I have… ADHD. It helps me focus.”
I honestly have no idea why I even just admitted that to him, but now that I have, it’s out there.
I can’t take it back.
“I like it,” Bennett says, tossing me an easy grin.
“Shit,” I mutter mostly to myself. I forgot about the study room issue.
“We’re going to have to work on this somewhere else after our next session.
I prebooked a room for us here at the library to work on the project through the remainder of the semester, but there was a glitch in the system, and the reservations have been canceled.
And since they’re down five rooms because of the plumbing leak, the remaining rooms are booked through next semester. ”
Bennett shrugs. “We could work in the main part of the library?”
“Uh… It’s really hard for me to focus…” I clear my throat again, feeling a flush work its way up my neck. God, my brain is so embarrassing sometimes. “When I’m around a bunch of people.”
“Okay, well, I’m cool with wherever. Just tell me where to be, and I’ll be there.”
I appreciate the fact that he didn’t make a big deal out of it, and the irony isn’t lost on me that I’m actually thankful for his blasé, go-with-the-flow attitude right now.
Unlike every other second of the day.
I nod as I pull out my planner and choose the tab for October, then flip it open. “I know your hockey schedule is probably a lot right now too. When are your games?”
“Fridays and Saturdays, usually. Sometimes midweek, but I could keep you updated on when I have a midweek game, and we can plan around it?”
There’s a spot in my brain that’s currently twitching at the fact that I won’t have these sessions pre-blocked in my calendar, and there’s a chance that some of them will have to be last minute since I’m guessing it’s going to be hard for our schedules to align.
I thrive on routine and a set schedule. It’s the only way I can keep track of everything happening in my life simultaneously.
Class, both of my jobs, Elliott, Dad’s turnaround schedule.
Elliott was just a baby when Mom died. Not only was Dad suddenly a widower, but he had both me and a baby to take care of all on his own.
I had to step up to help from a young age.
And I quickly learned keeping everything organized and on a routine is the only way I can manage my responsibilities and not lose my mind in the process.
So this is fine.
Everything is fine.
Exhaling, I close my planner. “I guess we should exchange numbers so we can keep in touch about the project?”
“Sure. But you don’t have to pretend it’s about a project, Merritt. I would’ve given you my number regardless.” He smirks.
I’m going to throttle him.
I would punch him in his smug mouth if I wasn’t worried I might break my hand from his obscenely chiseled jaw.
“In your dreams, Legros,” I mutter, closing my laptop next and avoiding his gaze.
Two months.
Two months, and I can be done with this.
Two months, and then the distraction in the form of a six-foot-five, blue-eyed hockey player will be out of my life, and everything can go back to normal.
He chuckles. “Give me your phone, and I’ll put my number in.”
Begrudgingly, I do after unlocking it.
I watch as he taps away at the screen. “Damn, who’s DICKFACE? He’s texted you like six times. In like an hour.”
My eyes widen, and I reach to snatch it away, but he holds it above my head, and the asshole has like a whole foot on me, so it’s pointlessly out of reach.
“Are you freaking going through my phone right now?” I screech, lunging for him again.
Still pointless, and all that happens is I’m suddenly flush with every hard plane of his muscular front, warm body heat seeping through the fabric of my clothes, and now my heart is racing for reasons that it absolutely should not be.
“Woah, killer.” He laughs, and I can feel the vibration of it against my skin.
I’m doing my best not to breathe right now because then I’ll be surrounded by his inherently masculine cedar scent, and my head is already swimming.
I need food, obviously.
That’s it. I’m just light-headed from not eating.
“Just seems a little desperate, is all I’m sayin’. And no, I was texting myself so I’d have your number too.” He dangles my phone in front of my face, and I quickly snatch it out of his hand.
I shove it into the back pocket of my skirt and force myself to step back, separating us with a roomful of distance.
Because if not, I might end up in prison for assault.
Asshole.
“Whatever,” I grit out as I make my way to the door. “Just do me a favor and keep Wednesday open so we can work on this.”
When he gives me a salute with his signature smirk, I pull the door open and walk out.
It’s not until I get to the bookstore for my evening shift that I have a second to even breathe. I open my phone and pull up my messages, scrolling right past the thread of messages from my asshole ex.
Realizing that Bennett saved his contact in my phone to:
GOOD BOY.
Of course he did.