Oh perfect. Sixty hours of forced quality time with Alfie “I’m too mysterious for emotions” Spencer. Just what my summer needed. Getting caught making out inthe geology department like some ditzy cliché. I can already picture the knowing looks - the blonde party girl who can’t be trusted to take anything seriously.
Never mind that I got straight A’s last semester, or that I’ve already lined up this amazing job at Luzia. Nope, one moment of poor judgment and suddenly I’m Elle Woods before law school. God, Alex would never end up in this situation. She’s probably doing something incredibly mature and professional in California right now, while I’m sitting here trying to explain why I was caught kissing a boy after hours.
Beside me, Alfie’s jaw is clenched so tight I can practically hear his teeth grinding. If he’s trying to look innocent, he’s failing spectacularly. Though honestly, Alfie Spencer has likely never tried to look innocent in his life. I wonder if he came out of the womb with a frown.
“Do either of you have any questions?” the dean asks, already reaching for his phone like we’re yesterday’s news.
“Yeah,” Alfie speaks for the first time, voice all dark and stormy. “What if we can’t work together?”
I whip my head around so fast I probably give myself whiplash.Seriously? After everything we went through to keep each other’s secrets? After I lied to the dean’s face.
The dean’s eyebrows shoot up like they’re trying to escape his forehead. “Then I suppose we’ll have to revisit the more serious consequences. Academic probation and possible suspension?”
Alfie retreats back into his sullen silence, which is apparently his default setting. I resist the urge to kick him again.
“Wonderful!” I jump in with my best ‘student bodypresident’ smile, the one I usually reserve for parent weekends and trying to convince Troy I definitely didn’t borrow his car. “We’ll make it work. Right, Alfie?”
He grunts something that could generously be interpreted as agreement. Or possibly he’s choking on all thatenergyhe’s radiating. He’s got this intensity that makes it hard to breathe sometimes. His every move is laced with controlled power. His hands are large and I get momentarily distracted watching him twist one of his rings. I catch myself wondering how those fingers would feel on my skin. Not that I should be thinking about my brother’s best friend that way. Especially when he’s being a dick.
“Excellent.” The dean waves us toward the door like he’s shooing pigeons. “Janine will be expecting you. And Miss Hawkins?” I pause at the threshold. “Do try to keep Mr. Spencer out of trouble this time.”
I want to protest that I wasn’t the one who started the trouble—thattechnically, none of this was my fault. But looking at Alfie’s tense shoulders as he storms ahead down the hallway like he’s auditioning for a dramatic exit, I know there’s no point. We’re in this mess together now, whether we like it or not.
And boy, do we not like it.
“Hey!” I call after him as he makes his escape. “We need to figure out when to start this.”
“Later.” He cuts me off without turning around, because obviously eye contact is too much to ask from him.
My sandals slap against the polished floor as I chase after him. Very dignified. Though, they do look cute with this outfit. “You can’t just walk away. We need to sort this out!”
He doesn’t slow down. Of course, he doesn’t.
“Sixty hours, Alfie!” I catch up to him outside, slightly out of breath. Damn his stupidly long legs. “That’s like... that’s like...” I do quick mental math while also trying not to die from impromptu cardio, “ten hours a week! We need to coordinate schedules! We could make this fun to be fair, spend some time together. It could be great!”
He stops so suddenly I almost crash into his back. A pained expression crosses his face when he turns; it’s as if my very existence is giving him a migraine. “Can you not do this right now?”
“Do what? Try to be responsible about our punishment?”
“Be so”—he waves his hand vaguely at my entire existence—“youabout everything.”
I cross my arms. “Well, someone has to bemeabout it, since you’re being soyouabout it.”
That gets me the ghost of a smile. It’s gone so quick I might have imagined it. He runs a hand through his already messy dark hair and sighs like the weight of the world rests on his very broad shoulders. “Fine. Coffee?”
“What?”
“Coffee. CC’s. We’ll talk schedules.” He’s already walking again.
I hurry to catch up, again, cursing both his long legs and my choice of sandals. “You know, normal people wait for an answer before walking away. They also make eye contact and use complete sentences, but I guess we’re not aiming that high today.”
“You were going to say yes.”
“That’s not the point?—”
“You’re following me, aren’t you?”
I groan—somewhere between frustration and a dying whale. Very attractive.
