Seven
When the knock sounds on her apartment door, Charlie startles, her hands twitching with a violence that sends the pencils she just straightened clattering to the floor.
Get a fucking grip, Charlie.
She gathers the pencils, slams them on the table, rolls up the sleeves of her forest-green Archwood crewneck sweatshirt, takes a deep breath, and opens the door.
Wes stands in the hall. When his gaze roves down the length of her body, he bursts into laughter.
Charlie glares at him, deeply regretting every decision in her life that led to Wesley Quinn standing outside her apartment, wearing a matching forest-green Archwood crewneck sweatshirt.
“Well, thanks for stopping by.”
She moves to slam the door in his face, but he stops her, applying enough force to keep it open.
“Oh, c’mon, Rogers.” He steps into her apartment, grinning as her face heats with fury and mortification. “You have to admit it’s cute.”
Charlie shuts the door behind him, ignoring his comment, and stalks to her kitchen table.
The day after she agreed to tutor him in exchange for talking to Theo, he caught up to her in Cortez Hall after her last class of the afternoon.
“Theo will meet with you,” he said. Students filed past, and Charlie glanced at him with mild surprise from where she knelt on the ground, shoving her laptop into her bag.
“That’s great.” An unexpected thrill of excitement fluttered in her belly. “When?”
“He’s here until Sunday evening, so if you have time between now and then, you can come over to my place and pitch him your idea.”
She tapped a finger against her lips and nodded. Now she needed to create a presentation, professional and concise, to show she meant business.
Wes continued. “When do you want to do our first tutoring session?”
Someone called his name, and he lifted his hand in greeting before returning his gaze to hers.
“Oh.” She hesitated, the reality of the situation hitting her. He’d fulfilled his part of their arrangement, so now she needed to fulfill hers. “I’m free Saturday morning. We can study at my apartment.”
He grinned. “You’re giving me a glimpse into the life of the elusive Charlie Rogers?”
She rolled her eyes, but her nerves spiked at the idea of allowing him into her space. “I’m not elusive.”
He hummed thoughtfully. “I’m honored.”
Now, he removes his shoes at the door, taking in the apartment she shares with Syeda.
Picking at her cuticles, she watches him scan the small and simple kitchen, the living room with the comfortable, well-used sofa, a pink-and-white hand-crocheted blanket thrown over one of the cushions.
Condensation circles stain the secondhand coffee table, and there’s a medium-size flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
An array of photos of Syeda and Charlie over the past three years are arranged across the room.
Before Wes arrived, Charlie spent more than an hour tidying the main room, her anxiety eclipsing her denial that she actually cared what Wesley Quinn thought about where she lived.
When he faces her, he smiles. “This is very you.”
Charlie leans a hip against the table, arching a brow. “What’s that mean?”
Dropping his bag to the floor, Wes extends a finger to touch a leafy tendril of the spider plant hanging above the table.
“It’s cozy.” He glances at her. “Cute and comfortable.”
Charlie slides into one of the kitchen chairs, straightening the stack of LSAT prep books for the hundredth time.
“It’s not Avalon Place,” she concedes with a touch of derision.
Wes snorts quietly. “But it’s mine.” She gestures to the table, where she laid out a stapled practice test, sharpened pencils, and a mechanical timer before he arrived.
“I thought we’d start with a practice test. I printed a physical copy, and when you’re done, we’ll go through the answers so I can assess your strengths and weaknesses. Have you taken any practice tests yet?”
Wes takes the seat beside her. His knee brushes hers, and she jumps, straightening her shoulders and shifting her legs out of his reach.
He frowns, flipping through the papers. “I have.”
Charlie presses her lips together, annoyed by his sudden reticence. “Okay. Do you mind telling me what you scored?”
He stares at a spot on the table, scratching at the wood grain, his brow furrowed.
Charlie sighs. “Quinn. This’ll only work if you trust me. I told you I would actually try to tutor you and not half-ass it.”
His lips twitch like he wants to smile before he runs a hand through his hair. “I took it last year.” He raises his gaze to hers, his expression serious. “I got a one thirty-five.”
Charlie blinks but otherwise doesn’t react. She’s not sure what she expected from him, but it wasn’t that. While a 135 isn’t terrible, it’s not high enough to get him into one of the law schools she anticipates he’s aiming for—such as one of the Ivies—even with his father’s influence.
He shrugs. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t study.”
“That’s fine.” She flashes a small, reassuring smile. “There’s obviously a lot of room for improvement, which is why I think taking a practice test would be beneficial so we can see what we need to work—”
The apartment door opens, and Sy enters.
“Hi, babes,” she says, then freezes at the sight of Wes and Charlie sitting next to each other.
Charlie meets Sy’s dark eyes, her friend’s usual smile replaced by a look of surprise.
Sy arches a finely shaped brow. “What’s going on here?”
“We’re studying,” Charlie says, but that’s not what her friend is asking.
Because Syeda knows what happened between Charlie and Wes; she was the one who held Charlie while she cried after that horrible night three years ago.
Therefore, her skepticism and apprehension regarding his presence in their apartment is valid.
Sy tilts her head. “I see. Charlie, love, do you mind helping me with something in my room?”
Wes peers at Syeda curiously. He waves. “Hi. I’m Wes—”
“I know who you are,” Syeda says brusquely. Sliding past him, she disappears into her bedroom.
Wes glances at Charlie with raised brows. Charlie presses a pencil into his hand and sets the timer for two hours and thirty minutes. “Ready to get started?”
Wes scowls at the test. “No.”
Charlie starts the timer before following Sy into her room, shutting the door behind her.
“So.” Sy’s voice comes from inside her closet.
Her queen-size bed is made, the white duvet crisp and folded back neatly, but various items of clothing litter the hardwood floor.
Sunlight filters through the gauzy drapes hanging over her windows.
She steps out of her closet, pulling on a pink T-shirt. “I thought we hated him.”
Charlie tilts her head. “We do.”
Gathering her long, silky black hair into a high ponytail, Sy peers at her. “So, why are you studying together?”
Charlie rubs a finger over her eyebrow and sighs. “He’s going to introduce me to Theo Fox so I can ask if Victoria can go on his podcast to talk about the clinic.” She shrugs. “I think it might help drum up more publicity.”
Sy’s expression softens. She knows how much the clinic means to Charlie.
Sy was the one to suggest Charlie make an appointment to get help with her painful periods when she was forced to miss class because of debilitating cramps back in freshman year, a regular occurrence she thought was just a normal part of being female.
Earlier that week, the two of them spent a long, wine-filled evening brainstorming ways to save it. However, Charlie failed to mention her arrangement with Wes.
“Okay, that’s all well and good, but where does studying with Wesley Quinn come in?”
“He only agreed to make the introduction after I said I’d tutor him for the LSAT.”
Sy places her hands on her Lululemon-clad hips. “Why doesn’t his dad pay for a tutor?”
Charlie throws her hands in the air. “That’s what I said! He won’t tell me!”
“But we’re okay being in the same room with him? No…murdery thoughts?”
“Only a few.”
Sy winks. “I’ll take that.”
Charlie slumps on the end of her friend’s bed. “It’s fine. I only agreed to three sessions.”
Sy sits on the floor, pulling on her running shoes. “All right. I trust you, and you know I’m constantly telling you that you’re the most rational person I know. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
Charlie doesn’t want that either.
“That’s not what this is,” she insists.
Shoes tied, Sy stands, tucking her phone in the pocket of her leggings and tapping her Apple watch.
“I believe you. I’m off for a run with Bri, but I’ll be back in an hour. Sooner if you send an SOS or shoot up flares for help.”
Charlie grins. “Thanks.”
“Also.” She plucks at the sleeve of Charlie’s sweatshirt. “His shirt matches—”
“God, I know.”
Sy leaves without saying a word to Wes, and Charlie escapes to her bedroom to change out of her sweatshirt. Pulling on a simple black tank top and a chunky purple cardigan, she braces herself once more to be alone with him, repeating the mantra she started that morning before he arrived.
She is in control. She is cool, calm, and collected.
When she exits her room, her mantra flies out of her head, replaced by a surge of shock that quickly morphs into rage.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Wes’s gaze snaps to hers. He’s standing at the kitchen counter, scanning her Experiment Journal that was on the counter with her own study materials she planned to work on while he completed his test.
He holds it up. “What is this?”
She storms up to him, but he dodges as she tries to grab the journal. The practice test lies abandoned on the table, the timer still running.
“I told you, it’s nothing!” She swipes for it again, and he flees to the other side of the kitchen. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, Quinn, snooping through my things.”
“I needed some extra paper to take notes. It doesn’t look like nothing—”
She stands on her toes, reaching for it. “Then you should have asked! Give it back!”
Holding it above his head, he grins down at her. “It looks like a sex list—”