Page 25

“We still on for tonight?” Caleb shoves his hands in his front pockets as we walk out of the math building together, accentuating the muscles in his forearms.

“Looking forward to it. Honestly, I’m a little nervous. I’m not a strong swimmer.”

“We won’t be racing.” Caleb smiles and bumps me with his shoulder. “We can swim for a while. Maybe hit the hot tub.”

The butterflies are back. Smile and nod, I tell myself. Keep it simple. “Sounds great.”

“Pick you up at seven thirty?” Caleb stops walking and turns toward me.

Nerves snake around my insides as I stare into his honey-brown eyes. “Can’t wait.”

“Me, either.” Caleb kisses my cheek, then sprints toward Spangler Hall.

A short, curly-haired redhead mutters a vile slur as she squeezes past me.

Before I can formulate a reply, she vanishes into the crowd.

“Making friends everywhere you go, I see.”

I spin around and confront my arch nemesis, Jordan Keller. “Are you following me?” I snap, trembling with suppressed anger.

He laughs. “Why would I follow you?”

“You tell me. I swear I’ve seen you more times this week than I have since freshman orientation.”

He rolls his eyes. “Are you always prone to exaggeration?”

“I’m serious.” The way he’s watching me makes me nervous, and I hug my spiral notebook for moral support. “What do you want?”

“Peace in the Middle East,” he deadpans.

“Funny.”

“Who’s joking?”

“I’ve got to get to class.” I turn my back on him and weave through the quad.

He keeps up easily, flashing a poisonous grin. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

My stomach bottoms out. Why does that sound like a threat?

8

Sitting beside Caleb in calculus has nothing on sitting beside Caleb in the front seat of his shiny black sports car. He smells amazing up close—a lethal combination of expensive leather and exotic spices. It’s almost too much in the tight space. And every drop of the shyness he displays in class has evaporated like dewdrops in the sun.

I run my fingers over the polished dash. “This is nice.”

“It’s vintage,” he purrs.

“Is it yours?” I shift my gaze to his caramel eyes, my fingers itching to touch the loose brown curl falling across his forehead.

“Yeah. It was my dad’s. And my granddad’s before that. It’s been in the family since the day it rolled off the lot.”

“I like it.”

The engine growls, and he shoots me a crooked grin as he shifts gears. “You know how to drive a stick?”

“Um, no.” The underlying subtext in his question catches me off guard. “I’m lucky I can drive an automatic.”