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Fuck. Talk about a terrible first impression.
“I gotta go.” I abandon my beer and dinner, grabbing my phone and practically sprinting toward the door.
Only to realize…I don’t have a car.
I pivot and rush back over. “Can I borrow your keys?” I ask Conor.
Hart’s texting someone on his phone, and from the wide smile on his face, I’m guessing it’s Harlow, who couldn’t have left more than ten minutes ago. If I wasn’t in such a mad rush, I’d tease him about it.
He glances up, frowning. “Why?”
“Because I don’t have my truck back yet and I need to get somewhere fast. It’s important.”
I silently plead with my eyes, close to just shouting that I have a tutoring session for the whole world to hear. If I get kicked off the team, the entire campus will find out anyway.
“Must have been one hell of a tit pic,” Robby comments.
“Probably a full frontal,” one of the juniors, Jake Brennan, says.
I flip them both off, staying focused on Conor. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his keys, and tosses them to me.
“Not a fucking scratch, Phillips,” he calls after me.
I’m already out the door.
CHAPTER SIX
RYLAN
He’s late.
I tap my pen against the wooden tabletop. Glance at the watch on my wrist, each tick of the second hand adding to my irritation.
Phillips is eight minutes and thirty-three seconds late, to be exact.
I feel like a fool, sitting alone at the table closest to the main doors so I can’t possibly miss him. Professor Carrigan’s email said to meet on the first floor of the library. No one has walked into the library since I arrived—five minutes early—so I couldn’t have missed him passing by.
I dragged myself out of my warm, cozy bed and walked here, all for him to not even show up. I have a pile of my own work to get done tonight, which, fine, is my fault for procrastinating.
Not all of my classes from Boston and Oxford fulfill Holt’s school-wide requirements. Meaning I’m enrolled in the maximum number of credits possible, which is a hefty course load.
I lean down to grab my laptop out of my backpack. If I’m here, I might as well get some work done.
At least I’ll be more productive in the library than I was snuggled under blankets on my bed.
“Hey,” a male voice says.
I glance up. Freeze.
For two reasons.
One, the guy standing a few feet from me isextremelygood-looking. The sort of attractive that immediately makes you pause to take notice. Light brown hair that’s either styled or naturally ruly. Green eyes that manage to look shadowed and mysterious, even beneath the harsh fluorescent glare of the library’s lights. A tall, muscular frame fills out the sweatpants and lightweight navy jacket he’s wearing.
Two, the déjà vu. I’ve experienced this jolt before, during a cold night on a Colorado mountain.
I know exactly what’s underneath his casual clothes.
Memorized that secretive shade of green when it was reflecting the stars.
