Page 66 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
But there was no Corrie now, and no plane to catch tomorrow.
I lift my chin slightly, wishing I would have at least swiped on some mascara today, but he’s not looking at my eyes. His gaze is locked on my mouth.
“Annie,” he says huskily, his eyes dark behind his glasses.
“Yeah?” I whisper, my attention now devoted to his mouth.
“I really want to kiss you . . .”
There’s a but. I know there’s a but.
“. . . but I don’t want it to be in a dirty dorm hallway where Corrie could interrupt at any moment, anymore than I want it to be in a dumb game of spin the bottle.”
“Oh.” I don’t know whether I’m embarrassed, or relieved.
“When I kiss you, I don’t want to be listening to Tammy’s cackle,” he says. “I want it to be special.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering a little as I nod.
“Okay,” I say.
Okay? Okay, Annie?! That’s all you’ve got?
“You wanna hang out? Kill some time until they’re done with their game?”
“Nah, I actually need to call Danielle back,” I say, grasping at the first excuse that comes to mind. And really, it’s not a totally unreasonable one. Danielle is my best friend from high school, who I try to talk to once a week.
He nods, looking as awkward as I feel. “Okay, well. Night?”
“Night, Zach.”
His eyes drop to my mouth again, and for a second I think he might change his mind. But then he’s backing away, and the heat in his eyes is replaced by his usual playfulness. “Thanks for the stats help.”
I’m smiling as I scroll through my contacts and find Danielle’s number.
She picks up immediately. “You better have an update on The Guy. I’m not keen on that Christmas break cliffhanger you left me with.”
I grin, biting my lip. “I’ve got an update on the guy.”
Two
BY TUESDAY, MY good mood has declined.
I saw Zach yesterday in class, but I was late for class, and by the time I’d gotten there, some gorgeous blond girl was in my usual seat. She has that perfect-skin, perfect-makeup, plus tiny-dainty-reading-glasses look going on that would have made me look like a little kid playing dress up, but on her, looked like Smart Barbie.
And we don’t have any classes together on Tuesday, and on top of that I have my work shift at the president’s office today. Normally I don’t hate my job, but the past couple months have been hectic. There’s a President’s Gala on February 2, and the student workers have been assigned the majority of the boring, time-consuming tasks.
Today’s riveting assignment? Name tags. And not the easy, print-a-billion-at-a-time-on-a-sticky-sheet name tags. No, these are fancy-have-to-be-printed-indidviually-on-card-stock-and-cut-by-hand name tags. Then they need to be put into these plastic things, which won’t go with anybody’s gala outfit, but I guess that isn’t my problem about.
My problem to worry about had just walked in the door.
I groan at the familiar face. “I thought you had a different shift this trimester.”
Garrett Reed tosses his bag onto the table and drops into the seat across from me. “Anners. You think I’d miss out on our bonding?”
I ignore the nickname. I’ve learned from experience that letting Garrett Reed know you don’t like something is a surefire way to ensure he’ll do it for life. “We’ve been back for over a week. Where were you last Tuesday and Thursday, waxing your chest?”
He sticks a finger in the collar of his striped button-down and glances at his chest. “Wanna see?”
In response, I shove a stack of paper toward him. “We got more RSVPs. Your turn to update the list.”
