I spring to my feet, unable to wait any longer. He’ll either have to follow me into the locker room or I’ll find a way to appease myself without cheating.
“I’ll be back,” Lo tells Connor. He races after me.
I relax. Maybe this isn’t easy, but we’ll have to make it work.
{19}
It’s inhuman to require a general science credit for all majors. In two years, I’ll forget everything I learn anyway, and my plans don’t involve going into business for some pharmaceutical company. When will I ever need to know about mitosis? And if I have to read one more case study about Drosophila—the fancy word for fruit flies—I may seriously consider switching to Fungi, Foes, and Friends.
But the ingeniously named course has a horrible rating on RateMyProfessors.com. A student review called the instructor a hard ass for making everyone memorize the scientific names of all fungi discussed in class. And my brain can barely retain the names of my neighbors. Now I’m stuck in another ring of hell: Biology 1103 for Non-Bio Majors, meaning the scientifically challenged. It doesn’t make the class any easier; it just allows more students to share misery.
Library lights dull as time ticks on, tugging my eyelids down and down and down. I yawn, about to employ Connor’s study technique and buy a Red Bull. Maybe I should make flashcards.
So far I’ve only been distracted once, and it wasn’t even to fantasize about the cute guy with glasses two tables away. Some student beat a Fizzle machine to death when it refused to deposit his Cherry Fizz. He gave up after realizing the big plastic box is indestructible—at least against a pair of Vans.
Lo texted me twice. The first to ask if I’m going to be home to drive him to the liquor store. The second to tell me to pick up condoms. I almost choked on my Diet Fizz with that comment, never believing we’d be so intimate and comfortable about it.
At the end of my long table, a girl in a navy Penn sweatshirt leans across to whisper to her friend.
“Do you see him?” she hisses. “He’s walking this way. Oh my God.”
The tiny, muscular blonde with a Gymnastics hoodie cranes her neck, trying to look past the eight foot bookshelves.
“Don’t be so obvious, Katie,” the girl hyperventilates.
Who the hell could be good looking enough to incite such dramatics? Now I’m curious. I bite the end of my pencil and glance around, not seeing what they do. Damn. Less subtly, I lift my butt from the uncomfortable wooden chair and angle my body to peek around the bookshelf. Unless this guy is a ghost, he’s acquired my favorite superpower and literally vanished from thin air.
“Who are you looking for?”
I jump, my spine hitting the wood slates with a thunk. Uh…I lean back and look up as he towers above me. They cannot be talking about him.
Ryke, aka Green Arrow, has a hand on my table, a smug look plastered to his face. He must know I was trying to spy on him—but that was before I knew the hot mystery guy was the same one who carried my boyfriend into my apartment.
The athletic girls press their noses to their notebooks, taking pretty obvious glances at him. He follows my gaze and bridges the gap between our chairs, but turns his back on them. They shoot me the worst looks imaginable.
“I think your friends want you,” I tell him, staring at my textbook.
To appease me, he actually rotates. “Katie, Heather.”
Katie acts surprised. “Oh. Hey, Ryke! I didn’t notice you there.”
“You guys have practice today?”
“Yeah, conditioning. Will you be in the gym?”
Ah, yes, they know each other through athletics; it all makes sense now. Since I don’t necessarily belong to any group at Penn, especially one that involves bouncing balls or tumbling in the air, Ryke’s allure is quite lost on me. Maybe he dazzles them when he stretches his quads.
I glance at his calf muscles, sadly hidden beneath jeans. I will not cheat on Lauren Hale, especially not with him. I really need to stop thinking about other guys. It’s not as if Lo isn’t enough. He is, so far, but when there’s someone else lingering, my mind starts wandering to sinful places.
“I’m running outside today.”
“That’s too bad. Well, if you ever want to work out together, you know where we are.”
He nods and then shifts back towards me. No. Go away. He skirts around to the other side of the table, and for some reason, I think he may obey my mental order. Instead, he scrapes a chair and sits down. He leans in, setting his elbows on the wood.
And I lift up my textbook to block his view.