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“You read?” I respond quickly. And wow, that insult did not land with the satisfaction I thought it would. Cutter blinks a few times and rolls to his other side.
“Never mind.”
My stomach knots as I stare at his bare back for a few seconds. He takes a heavy breath and holds out an arm, palming his phone. His forearms are somehow more defined than his chest. I squint to read his screen but the words are too small.
“Sorry,” I utter, barely audible.
I look back at my computer and delete the last row of THIS IS NOT WORKING. I’m not worried about falling for Cutter, but I’m sure not making it easy for him to fall for me. Not if I keep snapping at him like that. I glance back at him just as he swipes the screen to a new page.
“What are you reading?”
His head shifts and his eyelashes flutter as he stretches to glance from his periphery.
“It’s for my marketing class. It’s a study on Coke’s branding.”
Branding, huh?
“Any good takeaways?” I could use some branding of my own. Maybe I can get something out of these insufferable few days together in this room.
“I’m not sure yet. I mean, Coke is kind of like a brand beast. It’s hard to apply what they’ve done to newer products and ideas because they’ve been around so long. But the fact you can’thelp but think of them when you see red and white is pretty impressive.” He shifts to sit up, leaning against the wooden headboard as he palms his phone and flips back a few pages.
“Like this part . . . it was pretty cool. And maybe, I could see how this would work for athletes.” He hands me his phone and I glance through the section about partnerships. I have made a few deals with Midwestern companies, but nothing major. There was a car dealership that used my likeness last year. I got a free lease for a year out of that deal, but then I got hurt—hence, no renewal and no car this year.
“It’s easier for you guys,” I say, handing back his phone.
His body shakes with a short laugh.
“How so?”
I give him a sideways look but he’s serious.
“Well, for starters, men’s sports get way more attention from the media. Your potential for TV deals is bigger regardless of your performance. And that equates to cash in your pocket. Meanwhile, we can go twenty games undefeated and come out of it with BOGO coupons for the burger joint.”
Cutter studies my face for a few seconds, and I notice small details around his eyes. His lashes are copper-tinged, and he has faint freckles that fall into the creases when he talks or smiles.
“You know I had nothing to do with the locker room bullshit, right?”
I snap out of my temporary hypnosis and jerk back an inch or two. I never expected him to bring that topic up with me. My brow draws low and I pull my lips in tight, willing away the tight feeling growing in my gut. I can’t tell if he’s trying to piss me off by bringing that up or what, but I’m not going to let it fire me up and turn him off even more.
“You personally? Yeah, I know. Butyouas in . . . hockey player, male athlete, campus hot boy? You had more to do withit than you let on.” I turn my attention back to my screen, mostly to shut myself up.
“Campus . . . hot boy?”
My eyes flutter closed. My computer screen follows.Why did I say that?
“I can see I’m going to have to get up early and finish this paper without you hanging around.” I lean to my left and plug my computer in to charge overnight. I’m going to need to get up at 4 a.m. if I want enough time to finish this thing.
“I can be quiet. Sorry. Lips zipped. Promise.” He shifts his weight and our arms touch. We both jerk away on contact. Bare skin to bare skin. His body is hot.Why is his body so hot?Hot and . . . well,hot?
“It’s fine. I’ll finish it tomorrow. My brain isn’t in the right space.” I wriggle my feet to pull my socks off as I tug my blanket up my body and sink down into my pillow. I’m not normally a still sleeper. I tend to flop from side to side, stomach to back. Tonight, though, I’m going to do my damnedest to sleep like a corpse.
I bury my head into my pillow enough that the sides form a cradle around my head and close my eyes.
“You know it’s only eight-thirty, right?”
My eyes pop open. I shift my gaze to Cutter, who is also in the corpse position but seems way more relaxed. He holds his phone up and shows me the time on it as if I need proof.
“I go to bed early,” I lie. Ishouldgo to bed early, but I’m a horrible insomniac. I usually start the process around nine, and somewhere around one or two I drift off. You’d think with the crazy routine I put my body through, I’d collapse by the end of the day. My mom says it’s my busy mind. I’m pretty sure it’s the thousands of problems I seem to save for bedtime, when my brain likes to catalogue them.
