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An hourlater and my brain is officially fried from all the bits of knowledge.
We’ve been studying American Lit and Calculus, because those are the classes we all have in common, and apparently, I’m the only one who enjoys school and has reviewed the syllabuses before the start of the first week. Our professor had assigned an assignment before the semester started. It was to write a paper on the most influential American authors’ novels and why we think these works are still deemed classics. I, of course, choseThe Scarlet Letter, one of my favorite classic novels.
No one else here read any of the suggested material or even looked at the reading assignment, so we’ve spent the majority of the time going through the different authors and poets on the approved list. Glad our professor clarified, because the moment Emree heard we had to write about an author, she ran to grab herFifty Shades of Greycollection. I don’t think our middle-aged male professor would enjoy an erotica novel. Or maybe he would. Who am I to judge? Plus, the author isn’t American, but I doubt Emree knows that.
Emree leans back from her seated position on the floor and lets out a dramatic yawn. “All right, guys, as much fun as it’s been having you here, I’m exhausted.”
Conrad leans forward and bites her shoulder. “You kicking me out already?”
She giggles, and I swear I have never heard anything close to that sound come out of her mouth before. “You’re more than welcome to stay, but I really am tired,” she tells him honestly.
He pouts.
I just witnessed a grown man pout for the very first time.
“Fine, fine. We’ll get out of here.”
Everyone starts packing up their things, and I can’t help but notice Camden. He’s sitting on the couch alongside me, but on the opposite end, leaving a cushion of space between us. While Mateo and Jules, his other friends I was introduced to earlier, load their backpacks up with books and notes, he doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking down at his phone.
Without breaking eye contact from his device, his position changes from sitting upright to lying on the couch. With the shift and his closeness, I get a whiff of his scent. It’s spicy and I get the faintest smell of sunscreen mixed in.
His head is right beside my leg and the top of his hair is tickling my lower thigh that is exposed in the shorts I am wearing. I try to move away from him, but I’m already practically hugging the armrest. “Blaire, darling, what’s your last name?” he asks me, still not looking away from his phone.
Confused by the random question, I ask, “Why?”
He lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Because, Blaire, I need it.”
“No.”
The phone he has glued to his face lowers, and he looks into my eyes from his upside-down position. “Did you just say no?”
I nod.
“What do you think I’ll do with your last name? Honestly, what kind of crap can I do to you with just knowing your full name?”
Good question, and I don’t have an answer for it. “I don’t know, but I’m not giving it up unless you tell me why you want to know it.”
He lifts his phone and shows me the screen. “I’m looking you up on Facebook, dork.” On the screen is a list of girls named Blaire in the search bar. None of them are me.
“I’m not on Facebook.”
The phone falls from Camden’s hands and lands on his stomach. “You’re joking,” he states.
That’s basically what every person’s reaction is when I tell them this. Apparently, you can’t be normal if you don’t have some form of social media. I mean, I get it because I used to be glued to my phone, but love the freeness I feel now without that.
“Nope, so you can stop searching the millions of Blaires you’re going to come across. I’m nowhere there.”
He sits up and stretches. “Fine, don’t tell me your last name. I’ll just have to woo you into giving it to me.” He sits up, tucking his phone into the front of his jeans.
“Woo me?” I ask, confused.
He runs his hands down his thighs and stands. “Yep, woo. You know, impress you and stuff. You’ll be completely wooed.”
“You’re crazy,” I tell him, stifling a laugh. I have never met anyone like Camden before. He oozes confidence, but not in an arrogant way. He makes me feel somewhat relaxed, and it’s been a long time since I have felt that way around a guy. Trusting men has gotten me into trouble in the past and I have put up these walls to protect myself for so long, I forgot what it is like to feel…normal.
“Let’s go, Camden,” Conrad calls out.
“You’ll be wooed by my crazy in no time, Blaire ‘no last name.’” He winks, then slings his backpack over his shoulder, heading toward the front door with his friends.
