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“Why would you even want to learn that?”
Um, what woman wouldn’t? “Well, I told you about what happened when I was younger. With my mom.”
He nods, sobering.
“This could help me. And he’s a boxer. I mean, who better to teach me how to defend myself?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”
There. That’s more the Joel I know.
“Are we still on for Thursday night to go over the study?” he asks.
“Yep. Now I’ve got to crank out a paper for Behavioral Genetics.”
He doesn’t follow me as I trek down the hallway, but calls my name a moment later, standing in the open doorway of my room.
“You didn’t drink your coffee,” he calls out, holding the untouched cup.
Crap. I forgot about that.
I smack my forehead lightly, heading back toward him. “Sorry. Forgot all about it.”
I move to take it from him, but he holds it out of reach. “And thank you Joel for getting it for me?” he says, a playful note in his voice.
Seriously? After that weird interrogation, he’s going to act like this?
Better not make a big deal of it, though.
“Thanks,” I mutter, forcing a smile.
He hands it to me and I speed walk down the hall, dumping the cup in the trash can right outside the Psychology building. What was with him today?
I put Joel out of my mind as I hike over to the campus library, ready to spend a few hours on research. This paper on epigenesis won’t write itself.
But even as I should be focusing on school, I can’t help the bubble of nervousness and excitement that runs through me thinking about what the end of the week holds.
Only three more days till Friday.
CHAPTERSEVEN
AUSTIN
I checkthat my wallet’s in my pocket for the third time, confirming it’s there, and let out a sigh. It doesn’t even matter if I have it. I’m only going across the hall.
To Tessa’s.
Why the hell did I blurt out that I would teach her self-defense? What do I know about teaching someone? After doing some looking around online, it isn’t anything like boxing.
But Tessa saying she wanted to learn it combined with what Mia had said earlier in the week made me feel like… I don’t know. I should help her out.
The clock over the stove reads five till seven, but fuck it. I’m wearing the carpet down with my pacing.
I grab my keys and lock up, taking the three steps over to her door and knocking twice. Sticking my hands in the pockets of my basketball shorts, I have a split-second of doubt, wondering if I should have dressed up more.
No, no. It makes sense to wear something comfortable. We’ll be moving around.
I breathe a sigh of relief as she opens the door wearing yoga pants and a long-sleeved tee.
