Page 9 of Paper Horses

“You don’t strike me as a business major.”

“Eh,” he said with a shrug. “My mother has her plans.”

I glanced at him, seeing the resentment flicker in his eyes and wondering if his mother was anything like my father.

“That’s where you have class,” he said, pointing to the building we were approaching.

I stopped and looked back at where we’d been, then back at him. “Why didn’t you just point to it?”

“Figured it was an excuse to talk to a pretty girl longer.”

He really thought I was pretty? That was the second time he’d called me pretty. I was confident and secure in my looks, but this boy was hot. The kind of hot that had no trouble getting girls.

I swallowed, shifting my backpack.

“Is that a pickup line?” I asked.

“Only if you want it to be.”

My cheeks warmed, but I forced myself not to break contact.

“It can be,” I said.

His grin was mischievous. “Good, then you won’t mind if I ask you out, Olivia.”

Gaping was something my father would have scolded me for, but I did it anyway. For a moment, I awaited his belittling words or the smack of his hand against Gabe’s head for my infraction, but it didn’t come.

“Is that a yes?” Hudson asked. “This weekend? There’s a new movie playing. We could go if you want.”

I nodded, saying yes when I finally found my voice.

His grin turned to a beaming smile.

“Nice. What dorm are you in?”

“Butler,” I answered.

“I tell you what. Meet me at Campus Center tonight at six, and we’ll make plans.”

“Tonight? But that’s two dates.”

“Gotta go. Nice meeting you, Olivia. Don’t stand me up tonight.”

He jogged away, and I stared at the square shoulders and muscular legs before I checked out his tight butt. Blinking and turning away once the heat rose in my cheeks, I wondered how I’d just made plans for not one but two dates with a guy I’d just met.

“You get lost up there, Olivia?” My name came out clipped, jerking me from the memory.

“No,” I snapped, stalking to the bathroom.

Oh God. There was only one bathroom. His things were in the corner of the large sink. A towel hung haphazardly over the shower curtain. I tried not to imagine him drying himself with it while I washed my hands.

Glimpsing at myself in the mirror once I dried them, I smoothed my hair down, checking my makeup before I adjusted my dress and headed down the stairs.

Hudson was leaning against the island, his arms crossed.

“You’re slower than molasses.”

“Who did the tacky decorating in your guest room?” I retorted.