Page 65 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
I know it’s old-fashioned and stupid, but I’d always been one of those girls that thought that a kiss should mean something, not a token to be given away in a game.
I try to catch Corrie’s eye, but she’s busy ripping open a bag of M&M’s, and not looking at me.
But someone is.
Zach.
He’s crouched on the ground as though he was about to sit down, but then his eyes lock on mine as he freezes. He knows I’m not into this.
I don’t know how, but this guy I’ve only known for a few short months, and who’s been my favorite part of college so far, knows me.
He gives a little wink. And then.
“Shit!” he says out of nowhere. “Shit!”
Everyone looks at him. “What’s up?” Tammy asks.
He puts a hand to his forehead in annoyance. “I just remembered I never finished my stats assignment.”
“Do it later,” Ian says, throwing a Chee-tos at him.
“I can’t,” Zach says as he flings the chip back and wipes the fake-cheese powder off his gray T-shirt. “Stats takes me forever.”
He’s already moving toward the door to loud boos. Sorry kids. Gotta call it a night.”
He pauses then and turns back, as though it’s an afterthought. “Um, Annie. I hate to even ask this, but did you understand Friday’s lecture?”
My mind goes blank for a second. “Friday? Lecture?”
“Yeah, I took a ridiculous amount of notes, and I still didn’t have any clue what Professor Mayors was talking about.”
Ohhhhh . . . “I—um—I’m good at stats,” I blurt out.
Everyone laughs, but Zach just gives me a private little smile. “Think you can walk me through one homework problem? I’ll be a fast learner, promise.”
Ian mutters something under his breath and Corrie’s eyes are narrowed at me, but I don’t care. I’ll take the out.
“Sure,” I say, probably a little too quickly. “No problem.”
Before anyone can respond, I step my way around the knees and chip bags on my floor, and a second later, I close the door behind me.
It’s quiet in the hall since it’s a Sunday, with only a handful of people’s doors open, and most of them are probably vegged out, watching TV.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, leaning back against the wall, and feeling a little shy. I always feel shy around Zach. Probably because he’s ridiculously good-looking, funny, and, I should mention, really good at stats. “I’m not really a big fan of the whole spin-the-bottle thing. Especially with Chee-tos going around.”
“Not crazy about it myself,” he says, leaning one shoulder on the wall next to me. There are a few inches between us. But not many. “I like those things to matter, you know?”
My eyes fly to his. What things? Kissing?
And now I want to know if he too is thinking about that moment a few weeks ago . . . that too-good-to-be-true moment when we’d almost kissed.
After months of flirting and accidental touches, we’d been finally been alone in the laundry room (romantic, I know, but I’ve learned that in college, you have to take alone time where you can find it), and we’d been in one of those romantic comedy–worth positions, with me sitting on top of one of the washers, waiting for my clothes to dry, and him standing, a hand on either side of my hips . . .
He’d leaned in . . .
And then Corrie had barged in, demanding to know if I’d seen her green tank top.
The moment was over, and the next morning I’d flown home to Arizona and him to Boston.
