I’m bringing you a croissant so you’re legally obligated to spill your stories. I don’t make the rules.
Jade.
I click my phone off, slumping back down in my chair. 9:45 a.m. Maybe he just doesn’t have a morning class.
Mac pokes me again, and I check the teacher’s location. She’s with a student, so I reluctantly turn back around.
Mac is easy on the eyes, with chestnut-colored hair that’s shorter on the sides and just long enough on the top to be styled back or to swoop down into his rich brown eyes. He’s smirking at me, and for a second I’m a little dazzled by how handsome he is.
“Did you have fun at the Halloween party last night?” he asks, leaning forward. His tone is playful, but his eyes hold an unfamiliar intensity.
Did he see me at the party last night?
“Yes…?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“ATZ has great parties, huh?”
I guess he did see me. What is this? We never socialize.
“Sure?” I say with a shrug.
He cocks his head to the side, a bit like a puppy. A confused puppy. A confused puppy who can smirk. “I was at the party too. Had a really great time.” He pauses meaningfully, as if it’s my turn to ask a question or share a story. But I don’t have any stories to share with Mac.
Broad hands gripping my ass, pulling me against him, hard as his tongue slips across my neck…
Or, rather, I have stories, but I won’t be sharing them with Mac.
“Cool?” I shrug again, shaking my head a little, and start to turn back around, but a hand on my arm stops my swivel. It’s not an aggressive touch, but it surprises me.
My eyes dart between his hand on my arm and his face.What is happening right now?
“You okay?” he asks. He looks like he genuinely wants to know.
I give him my best “What the fuck?” face.
“You guys are dismissed,” Professor Campbell announces from the back of the classroom.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, yanking my arm away and sliding out of my seat to wait by Professor Campbell’s desk. I relax only after Mac leaves without trying to talk to me again.
That was so fucking weird.
I pull my phone out of my pocket to text Jade back, but I’ve only composed half the text before Professor Campbell approaches. Butterflies go wild in my stomach and chest. I’m always worried I’ve done something wrong, especially with teachers.
“Jessie, thanks for staying back a few minutes.”
“No problem.”
Can she hear the way my voice just shook?
“Have you considered being a research assistant?” she asks.
My shoulders relax an inch away from my ears. “Um, not really. What does it entail?”
“You would assist with some experiments I’m working on, code the data. I can go over it in more detail if you think you’re interested. It is an investment of your time, but I think you’d be well-suited for it. I’m not sure what path you’d like to take after you graduate, but it looks good on the résumé and gives you some experience if you’re interested in research at all.”
I’m not interested in research, but I also don’t want to rule it out completely.
“Is it paid?” I ask, and instantly my cheeks heat. I hate even having to ask, but I don’t know if I could take on being a research assistant without giving up my work-study job, and I need that job. My full-ride scholarship means I don’t have to put any of my work-study money toward school, books, my meal plan, or housing. But I do need money for gas.
