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Then he folded it up and flicked it back.
It took every ounce of self-control to not watch her unfold it.
The paper landed back on his desk in record time.
I have a theory about boys who prefer writing to texting.
He put his pen against the paper.
I have a theory about girls with theories.
Then he waited, not looking, fighting the small smile that wanted to play on his lips.
The paper didn’t reappear.
After a minute, he sighed and went back to his French essay.
When the folded triangle smacked him in the temple, he jumped a mile. His chair scraped the floor, and Beamis paused in his lecture, turning from the board. “Is there a problem?”
“No.” Hunter coughed, covering the note with his hand. “Sorry.”
When the coast was clear, he unfolded the triangle.
It was a new piece of paper.
My name is Kate.
Kate. Hunter almost said the name out loud.
What was wrong with him?
It fit her perfectly, though. Short and blunt and somehow indescribably hot.
Another piece of paper landed on his notebook, a small strip rolled up tiny.
This time, there was only a phone number.
Hunter felt like someone had punched him in the stomach and he couldn’t remember how to breathe.
Then he pulled out his cell phone and typed under the desk.
Come here often?
Her response appeared almost immediately.
First timer.
Beamis was facing the classroom now, so Hunter kept his gaze up until it was safe. When he looked back, Kate had written again.
I bet I could strip na**d and this guy wouldn’t even notice.
Hunter’s pulse jumped. But this was easier, looking at the phone instead of into her eyes.
I would notice.
There was a long pause, during which he wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. Then a new text appeared.
I have a theory about boys who picture you na**d before sharing their name.
