His head jerks back in surprise. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Rose Calloway?”
“Sister.”
He grins again. I wish I could tell him to stop. After years of pretending and lying, nothing screams “fake” more than overzealous smiles. “She’s on the Academic Bowl for Princeton, right? We compete against them all the time. She’s wicked smart. I’m surprised you didn’t ask her to tutor you.”
I laugh dryly. “I think you’d have to be built of armor to learn anything from Rose. She’s a tough teacher.”
His eyebrows rise as he finishes off his coffee. “Is that so?” He’s too curious for his own good.
I decide to save him and turn back to my books. “So are you really prepared to lose a thousand dollars?” He may be keen on racking up hours for his resume, but I actually need to learn this stuff.
“My pride is on the line. It costs more than a thousand dollars.” He checks his Rolex watch again. “Do you have a Red Bull at your place?”
Wait? Is he inviting himself over to tutor me?
He sees my confusion as he starts stacking textbooks together. “Library closes in ten minutes. I wasn’t kidding about cramming for the next forty-eight hours. It’s either your place or mine. But I have to warn you, my cat hates girls, and I haven’t cut her nails in a few weeks. So unless you want to be jealously assaulted by Sadie, I suggest your apartment.”
I prefer the Drake anyway. With Lo around, I have less chance to do something moronic. Like listening to my lower brain.
“My place is fine.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder as we leave. “But I live with my boyfriend, so we’ll have to be quiet.”
He whistles. “A junior and shacking up already. That explains a lot.”
He holds open a glass door for me, but I freeze before stepping onto the campus quad. “How so?” Do I wear everything right on my chest? Or is Connor Cobalt so arrogant he believes he has me all figured out in a short study session?
“A lot of girls here are from family money—”
“Wait,” I stop him before he continues. “How do you know I have money?” I glance at my wardrobe. Nothing on me screams distastefully wealthy. I wear a pair of Nike sneakers, track pants and a Penn sweatshirt. If Rose saw my style, she’d have a hernia.
“Calloway,” he says my name with a laugh. “Your daddy is a soda mogul.”
“Yeah, but most people—”
“I’m not most people, and I make an effort to know names, especially ones that matter.”
Uh, I have no idea how to respond to that conceitedness.
He leads me outside into the chilly night. “Like I was saying, most rich girls all tend to do the same thing. Find a guy at an Ivy League who will be incredibly successful, marry early, and have their future set without having to do the extra lifting—straight As, stellar recs, full CVs. I’m not judging. If I was a girl, I’d probably be on the same path. Hell, I’ll end up marrying the type.”
What a horrible generalization. Not all women would throw away their careers at the chance of being taken care of by a man. I could punch him or vomit. Either one seems like an appropriate reaction. I bet he also believes women should only pop out babies. God, Rose would scratch out his eyes if she heard him.
But I’m not as bold as Rose, and it’s too late to find another tutor. So I bury my thoughts and follow this asshole outside.
*
“Lo!” I shout, walking through the door with Connor trailing behind. “Lo!” When he doesn’t answer the third time, I presume he’s left the apartment entirely. I shoot him a text and hope he’s not too sloshed to feel the vibration.
We set camp at the bar counter. I pour through three different books, making slight progress but not enough to count as a success. On the problems Connor dishes out, I get twenty-five percent correct. That number has yet to fluctuate.
Two cases of Red Bull and a pepperoni pizza later, it’s eleven o’clock and Lo still hasn’t returned home. My phone sits lamely on the counter, and I glance at it, expecting to see a missed call. I told Lo about my tutoring session, and we went wild this afternoon. Maybe he thought he satiated me enough, so he planned to ditch me tonight and do his own thing.
I bite my lip. Worry starts to set in a few minutes later, and concentrating on the problems becomes near impossible.
“Maybe he just lost track of time,” Connor says, watching me check my phone repeatedly. “I think someone is throwing a highlighter party on campus tonight. Lots of the underclassmen I tutor were talking about it.”