Page 16 of Unspoken (Woodlands 2)

Finn cursed a bit and put the jar back into the refrigerator. He ate his sandwich but was clearly unhappy about it.

I watched this whole debacle with open-mouthed amazement. Bo had to cover his mouth with his arm to prevent his snickers from giving him away.

“Two more,” Bo said to me and pulled out his phone. He texted something to someone and when I heard his phone ping, I knew he’d received a reply.

“Mal,” Bo called, “where’s Adam?”

“He’s playing.”

“Wait, speak of the devil,” Finn said as another roommate came strolling in through the French doors separating the patio from the living space.

Bo introduced us and Adam, all tattoos and wild hair, wandered into the kitchen, where he proceeded to make another sandwich. Adam’s efforts to open the mayo were brief. A few twists and the defective jar was returned to the refrigerator shelf. He ate his sandwich in about three gulps and disappeared from whence he came.

“One more,” Bo said, sounding confident. Noah came in with a pretty girl with long brown hair. Noah introduced her as his girlfriend, Grace, and handed Bo a grocery bag with a small mayo jar.

“Thanks,” Bo said. He got up and took the old jar out, put it on the counter, and put the new jar in the refrigerator.

Noah picked up the tampered jar of mayo and held it toward Bo. “What the hell? This thing is totally full. Why’d I have to get a new jar?”

Bo shrugged and said, “It’s broken.”

Noah gave him a questioning look and Bo elaborated. “No one could open it.”

Noah shook his head in disgust, and I think muttered something like pussies or pansies under his breath. He took the jar and proceeded to try to twist the top off. Noah, like Bo, was ripped. His muscles have muscles, and they all stood out in relief as he twisted the jar cap. Finally he gave up and threw it in the trash.

Bo turned to me. “Four out of four.”

Chapter Fourteen

AM

THE NEXT DAY BO AND I made plans to meet at the museum to start the second lab experiment. The time we were spending together was intoxicating. The ride home from his house after the mayonnaise experiment was fraught with sexual tension. If his long game was getting me so worked up that I’d attack him, it was a good plan. Part of me wanted to rip his clothes off right there in the parking lot. Another part wanted desperately to invite him up to my bedroom. I’m not sure how I got out of the car without so much as a kiss.

Our sleepover seemed like a distant memory, and I was confused about what was going on between us. I knew he enjoyed spending time with me. We hardly went a day without seeing each other or e-mailing. Bo would even text me, despite his previously mentioned distaste for it.

When he suggested the museum, the “yes” came out of my mouth so fast that I think it surprised us both.

On my drive down to the museum, my phone rang, and I answered it. “What’s up?” I’d turned down a ride with Bo, afraid of what I’d do to him if we were alone in his car once again.

“AnnMarie, are you driving?” my mother said reprovingly. The background noise of the road must have seeped through the phone.

“You called me,” I pointed out.

“I’ll make this short because you shouldn’t be driving and talking on your phone. Are you driving with one hand? You know that’s unsafe.”

“You’re extending my unsafe period by continuing to talk to me,” I teased.

“Yes, yes, well, I spoke with Ellie’s mother at the supermarket today and she mentioned that Ellie and you are planning a trip over spring break. Is that true?”

I grimaced. I knew what was coming, and it was the very reason that Ellie and I were planning on doing something this year over spring break, but I wasn’t ready to discuss the issue with my mom.

“It’s too early to think about spring break,” I lied, ignoring the tug on my conscience.

“Darling, you know your father wants to see you. He mentioned something about Italy this year, and you know he didn’t get to see you much over the holidays.”

“Whose fault is that?” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.

A small pause skipped by as my mother swallowed whatever retort she wanted to make and instead replied gently, “I’m sorry.”

I immediately regretted my lack of restraint. It wasn’t my mother who deserved my venom. She’d suffered enough, and she didn’t need me to add to it.

“No, I’m sorry,” I apologized. No one can make you feel lower quicker than your mother. “But I plan to spend spring break with my friends this year.” I could almost hear her biting her lip in dismay. “I’ll come home the weekend before, though. You can tell Roger that.”

I’d never called him Dad, and he’d never asked me to. My mother took all her cues from him, and for the most part, so did I. Roger’s appearances in my life were infrequent albeit regular, a week after Christmas, around spring break, and a few weekends in the summer. I hated upsetting her, and any harsh word against Roger upset her. She would never say this out loud to me. Instead, she would gently urge me to take what little scraps of affection he threw out, like she did.

By the time I’d reached the Natural History Museum, my mood was bleak. I sat in my car for a few minutes in the parking lot, leaning my head against the headrest with my eyes closed.

Mom had stayed with Roger because she loved him, but maybe if she hadn’t had me, she would have discovered the courage to leave him and find a new and better man to love. Saddled with a kid, she stayed, and because of that she’d provided me with a stable home life and a free college education. I had to respect and appreciate that. Of course, telling myself to feel appreciation was one thing. Actually feeling that way was entirely different.

I loved my mother, but I had a hard time understanding her decisions. We both deserved better, and even if she was content being the “other” woman, I was going to find someone who would love me and only me. I had my doubts that it was Bo. All of the reasons that I shouldn’t be with him flooded in. He was a Central student. A jock. He had a reputation for multiple conquests. Did I really want to be another statistic?

Having allowed myself a five-minute pity party in the toasty warm car, I killed the engine and stepped out into the cold afternoon. Snow was piled up in small hills against the sides of the parking lot, making it seem like a fortress. The once-pristine white mounds were discolored with engine exhaust, rubber refuse, and dust, making them the color of dirty socks—dingy and gray.

I was grateful for my rubber-soled and lined boots. They were ugly but serviceable, keeping my feet and calves warm and dry. But my skinny jeans weren’t much proof against the chill wind, and so I scurried inside as quickly as possible, clutching my notebook to my chest.

I paid the admission fee and asked for directions to the North American plant life and was instructed to go up to the third floor.

A text message alert chimed, and I pulled my phone out to read it.

Where are you?

At the entrance, paying.

Get your ass upstairs. I NEED YOU.

The museum wasn’t terribly crowded. There were a number of schoolchildren, but few of them were on the third floor by the plants. No surprise, though. Who wanted to look at plants when there were dinosaur bones and wild animals or even bugs?

When I got into the North American botany section, I noticed that it was completely empty save for Bo, who was seated with a notepad in his lap, and a museum employee, who stood over him talking animatedly with her hands.

My entrance wasn’t noisy but something caused Bo to jerk his head around. Even from here, I could see the wild expression in his eyes. I swallowed a laugh and tried to school my face to show no emotion. Clearly Bo felt like the hunted here, with the museum employee playing the role of the predator. My earlier depression flew away, and I felt my pulse kick up as he rose from the bench.

He called out rather loudly, “Sunshine, I thought you’d never get here.” By the end of his greeting Bo had reached me, his long legs eating up the room one lengthy stride at a time.

The honey blond museum employee followed behind, almost running to keep up. Bo’s hands pulled me close to him, and I could feel the notebook he still held in his one hand pressing into my shoulder blade.

“Um, hey,” I smiled weakly to the museum employee whose look of dismay was clearly etched on her face. Apparently she was hoping that Bo might be interested in some private tutoring. I snuck an arm around his waist and leaned my head against the side of his chest. It was firm and broad and lovely. If I were in the shoes of the museum employee, I’d be offering things to Bo, too, all sorts of things. But her attraction to him was a reminder of how many women were at the ready for Bo.

The young lady bit her lip and glowered.

“Thanks for all your help, Marissa,” Bo said, offering his hand. “Really appreciate it.”

Marissa took it and gave him a sloe-eyed glance, one that said clearly that she had more assistance to provide if only he would ask. “Any time,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it with both of hers.

When she didn’t immediately release Bo’s fingers, I took pity on the both of them and pulled Bo’s captured appendage out of her grasp and said in my best jealous, affronted girlfriend voice, “Let’s go, honey buns.”

Marissa wisely decided that she should move on and gave us a little finger wave as she walked past us to the exit. I turned to watch her leave and, as if sensing this, Marissa put a little extra swing in her hips. I had to hand it to her; looking sexy in khakis was tough to pull off, but she kind of had it going on.

Bo, on the other hand, did not watch Marissa’s show but was intent on pulling me toward the exhibit he’d been sitting in front of. We stopped at the bench he’d previously occupied and he gestured for me to sit.

When I did, he dropped down close beside me and stretched his legs out, throwing his notebook on the floor. His large thigh was only a palm’s width away. I knew the exact measurement because my hand was resting on the bench between us, and if I moved my pinky just slightly, I could be stroking the denim covering his leg. His hands were braced on the back of the stone bench, giving him a lazy, comfortable appearance, as if he was lounging in the grass instead of on a stone bench. “Thanks for saving me.”

I glanced at the empty doorway through which our resource had disappeared. “Aren’t you supposed to be pumping a worker here for information for our lab project?”

Bo rubbed his forehead. “I’m all for doing the least amount of work for the most amount of gain, but I’m not up for selling myself for a good grade.”

“Was that what was on the table?”

“I think we were headed there before you got up here. I barely was able to text you my SOS message.”

“What’s our plan now?” I asked.

“Don’t know. I spent my time fending off Marissa.”

“I’ve some ideas.” I opened my own notebook. “Professor Godwin is into disasters. Last year he had people write about weather-related apocalyptic events. This year he started class with a lecture about how we’re all going to die.”

“So we do some crossbred plant that would be a hardy food source and maybe something that would be a tradable commodity, like a sugary substance.” Bo offered. He smiled approvingly at me. “We do think alike.”

This time it was my turn to rub my forehead, but I was doing it to hide my surprise. Bo’s attention to this project was serious.

“You’re surprised, aren’t you? Why?” Bo asked, nudging me.

Because you’re too good-looking to be a serious student, I thought but didn’t say out loud. Instead I gave him a vague truth. “It doesn’t fit the image I have of you, I guess.”

“Think about me a lot, do you?”

I hoped I wasn’t blushing because I had thought a lot about him; I’d fantasized about him. Although my cheeks remained pale, my silence gave me away, and Bo’s response was a wicked grin. He winked and said, “Probably not as much as I’ve thought about you.”

This response did send blood rushing to my cheeks. I mentally slapped myself. Lots of guys thought about me, I’d learned early on, and none of it was good. Mercifully, Bo did not mock me further but instead reached down and picked up his notebook and flipped it open.

“So stevia and soybeans are both plants that grow well in the Midwest. Together they’d provide a filling bean that could be ground for its sweetness.” He showed me a sketch in progress of two plants, one leafy and one with bean pods.

“You draw?” The sketches were in fairly good detail.

“Again with the shock and awe.” He shook his head at me. “Anyone can draw a leaf, Sunshine.”

“What’s with the sunshine?” He kept using it like he didn’t know my name.

“What’s with the honey buns? You couldn’t think up a better nickname than that?” He gave me a sideways grin. “Besides, I thought I was Thor?”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com