Page 13 of Don't Be in Love

“Guilty by association?” she questioned.

“Exactly.”

“But he’s really cute,” she stressed.

“Good thing we’re in a country filled with them.”

“So, we can’t invite him over for dinner?”

“Mia.” I glared at her. She would be the one to let her pen “slip” on a piece of paper that just so happened to write our address and find its way into his pocket. “I will never tweeze your eyebrows again.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Would.”

“Fine. I’ll let you think about it.”

There was no way in hell I was letting a co-conspirator of Dorian’s into my apartment. I was already getting more involvedwith men in the past ten days attending this university than I had in the past three months I’d been here.

Not over my dead, rotting, decaying body.

“Where’s your flat?” Dorian asked.

“Excuse me?” I flipped my head up from where I was hunched over pulling a stack of books from a box as I had Dorian start on research for his target market. He picked a company that sells anonymous antique paintings. As odd as it was, I didn’t feel like having a conversation about it, so I didn’t ask.

My nails scratched the bottom of the cardboard box as I tried to get a grip on the books. Our latest shipment was a set of clothbound classics, so they were twice as beautiful, and also twice as heavy. My back ached from carrying books. Carrying books around campus. Carrying books to and from the bookstore. Carrying them from campus backto the apartment.

I wasn’t expecting to frolic around England while studying here. I knew academics came first. But gosh, I didn’t realize I was signing up for early-on back problemson top ofeverything else that came with attending a university that enjoyed its low acceptance rate and seeing students drop out the first week in.

A shadow bled over the stack in my arms. Before I could look up, Dorian was lifting half of the books out of my hands.

“I was just wondering how far you have to walk from here every night,” he clarified, standing up.

I stood with him, turning out of the backroom. He followed me towards the Classics aisle. Hoisting my books up, I slid them one-by-one into the correct spots on the shelf. Dorian stood on the opposite side of the bookcase, pushing books beside mine.

“Plan on leaving a series of mouse traps in my bedroom?” I asked, sliding a book in front of his face.

“Bear traps, actually. Mouse traps aren’t nearly as effective.”

“Get the idea from the gift I left on your stoop?”

“Is that what the trickle of blood running down my leg is from? I thought I tripped on one of the steak knives you carry around in your pockets.”

“That’d be my set of fountain pens. Very sharp. Easy to mix up. Happens all the time.”

A quick laugh came through the books. It sounded like a spoon tapping a teacup with one swiftring. Then he steered the conversation in the other direction. “You really shouldn’t be walking home by yourself.”

“Ah, a protector all of a sudden,” I replied.

“Funny.” I jumped back as his head popped up across from me. He slid a book beside the one I added. “I just can’t stand to fail this class. Losing my tutor probably wouldn’t do me any good.”

“My walk home is perfectly safe.”

“How far is the walk?”

“Not far.”

“Do you get some high from arguing with people?”