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“I’ll be up late.”
“I’m busy. All night.”
He cocked his head, and I flushed.
“Tomorrow,” I said.
“Tomorrow I’m busy.All day.”
“Fine.” I threw up my hands. “Wednesday.”
He jerked a thumb toward the English building. “Are you doing okay in that class? You should participate. Participation is a key part of the grade.”
“I’m doing great!” I chirped, and hustled off.
I turned into the B-School, where my study group was meeting. When I reached the second floor, everyone was already in the lounge. Allison from Student Senate was setting her books on the table, and Nate tickled Kyla as she curled up in a ball on the couch.
“I’m napping,” she grumbled, pulling her coat over her head.
I dropped my tote bag on a chair. Nate stopped tickling Kyla.
“Christina, I need to copy your notes from Principles of Finance. I missed class yesterday.”
“Hi, Nate.” I took out my textbooks. “It's nice to see you too.”
Kyla rolled over on the couch, scolding him. “What's wrong with my notes?”
“Nowshe's awake.” Nate strolled to the table and began pawing through my tote bag. A pen fell out and skittered across the floor.
“Hey.” I mock-slapped his hand away. “You want something, you ask for it.” Lord help me, I sounded like Patrick.
Nate raised his eyebrows at me. “I don't want a ‘something.’ I want snacks. You always bring them.”
Kyla perked up. “Snacks? Where?” She raced to the table.
“I didn't bring any today.”
“ID, please.” Nate held out his hand. “You can't be Christina Ramirez.”
“No snacks?” Kyla complained. “You always bring snacks.”
“I didn't, okay?” I flushed. “I'm trying to save money.”
Nate guffawed. “Okay, now Ireallyneed to see your ID.”
Doors slammed and footsteps echoed on the stairs across the lounge; class was over on the third floor, and people streamed down the stairwell.A lean figure jogged down the last of the steps, his smooth gait all too familiar to me.
“Dexter, my man!” Nate called.
Dexter swung into the lounge and slapped Nate on the back. When he saw me, he held out his arms for a hug.
Everyone was watching. I didn’t want to raise any rumors that we weren’t on good post-breakup terms. It would look mean not to hug him.
Reluctantly, I obliged, trying a quick arm-around-the-shoulders maneuver, but he pulled me in close.
“You look tired,” he murmured, one hand drifting down my back. “I haven’t stopped worrying about you.”
“I’m fine.”
