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“Blake!” Amanda whirls around and lets out a yelp that echoes off the walls. Books cascade to the floor in a papery waterfall. Her arms flail, a futile attempt to catch them mid-air. “You scared me half to death!”
A flush climbs my neck, heat prickling under my skin. Great job, Captain Smooth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go all jump-scare on you.”
She bends down, quick fingers snatching up titles, and I drop to my knees to help gather the scattered textbooks.
“It’s okay,” she says, though her voice is a pitch higher than usual. “I was just … really into the restocking zone.”
“Looks intense.” The words tumble out, trying to sound light-hearted, but inside I’m cringing. Who knew book restocking could be a full-contact sport?
“What time is it?” She pulls out her phone and cringes. “I’m running so late. I’m sorry. It’s just that the shipment came late, and now Jess is out sick. I’ve got to get this done before I head out.”
I catch the edge of panic in her voice. My offer tumbles out before I can stop it. But I’d do anything to ease her worry. “Let me help with these. That way, you can get ready.” I gesture toward the unmarked boxes toppled around us. “How about I start with those?”
She glances up, her big green eyes widening in a mix of surprise and relief. My heart stutters at the sight of her disheveled appearance—the flush on her cheeks, the strands of dark hair framing her face. Even in this state, she’s still the most beautiful girl.
Her teeth drag along her bottom lip. I want to bite that lip gently, soothing the nerves that tangle inside her. Focus, Blake. This is not the time to let your thoughts wander into dangerous territory.
Amanda finally gives a hesitant nod, almost imperceptible. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Wanting to calm her down, I attempt to inject some humor. “This relationship is all one-sided, with you always helping me. Let me help you for a change.” I flash a grin, hoping it covers up the fact that my heart’s doing some weird acrobatics routine. Yeah, Blake Morton is totally unaffected by a pretty girl and a pile of books. Sure.
“Thank you. I owe you one.”
I raise an eyebrow playfully. “Oh, I can think of a few ways you could repay me.”
“I bet you could.” She fights a smile while shaking her head. “Okay, but you may want to save those boxes for me. I could come in tomorrow and get those.” She points to a couple just out of reach.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve got this.” I step toward the boxes in question and lift the flaps, pausing as my gaze lands on the rows of period care products stacked neatly inside. Oh, fuck. This was the last thing I expected to find in a campus bookstore.
“Looking kind of white there, Morton.” There’s an undertone of humor in her voice.
“Go get ready,” I tell her, waving a hand dismissively. “I can handle tampons and whatever the fuck this is.” I hold up a box with a silicone-shaped dome inside.
Her shoulders relax and start to shake. “That’s a menstrual cup.”
“You shove this inside you?” Now, it’s my voice that’s squeaking.
“Something like that.”
Jesus, I’m glad I’m not a girl.
She points toward a few rows over. “They go over there. But I was serious. I can come back tomorrow.”
“No, I’m good. Go get ready.”
“Blake Morton, you just became my hero for the day.” Her lips tilt up ever so slightly, and there’s a flicker of something like respect in her eyes. That look sends a strange kick through me, and I’m suddenly determined to stack these shelves like a champ.
As I watch her go, something warm unfurls in my chest. Not because of the thank-you or the hero comment but because she trusts me enough to leave me with this task, however small and bizarre it might be. And honestly, I’m kind of proud to take it on. I like knowing I’m helping her out.
I was serious before about this being one-sided. Sure, the relationship is arranged, but I want her to gain something from it. She isn’t like other girls. She’s smart and driven, with a quiet strength that draws me in. The more time I spend with her, the more I realize she’s not just a pretty face or a convenient arrangement; she’s someone I genuinely want to get to know.
That’s the only reason I want to help.
Just admit you like her, asshole.
And isn’t that a trip? I, Mr. Anti-relationship, am done in from a fake relationship that feels more honest than anything I’ve ever had before. It’s just I don’t know how to move forward. She’s as busy as me and is not looking for anything permanent. I have a hockey career to pursue while she has years of schooling left. I don’t even know what her plans are afterward. It’s best I keep my urges in check and stick to the plan.
I grab a box and tackle this mission like it’s the playoffs. I’m down to the last few boxes when the door chimes sing out, slicing through my concentration. Two girls stroll in, laughter trailing behind them like the tail of a comet. My hands freeze over a box of menstrual cups. They’re headed right for me.
