But there’s no time for that. Time is a concept that doesn’t exist in my life, and John Tucker is too big a distraction.
“I’m paying for your lunch because that’s the way my mama raised me,” he says quietly. “Call me old-fashioned if you want, but that’s how I roll.”
I gulp down another rush of guilt. “I’m sorry.” My voice shakes slightly. “Thank you for lunch. I appreciate it.”
We edge to the other end of the counter, waiting in silence as a curly-haired girl prepares my ham and Swiss sandwich. She wraps it up for me, and I tuck it under my arm while uncapping the Diet Coke I’d ordered. Then we’re on the move again. Tucker follows me out the door, watching in amusement as I try to juggle my drink and messenger bag and unwrap my sandwich at the same time.
“Let me hold this for you.” He takes the bottle from my hand. There’s a gentleness on his face as he watches me sink my teeth into the lightly toasted rye bread.
I barely chew before I’m taking a second bite, which makes him laugh. “Hungry?” he teases.
“Famished,” I admit, and I don’t even care that I’m being rude by talking with my mouth full.
I quickly descend the wide steps. Again, he keeps up with me.
“You shouldn’t eat while you walk,” he advises.
“No time. My next class is all the way across campus, so—hey!” I exclaim when he takes my arm and drags me away from the path. “What are you doing?”
Ignoring my protests, he leads me to one of the wrought-iron benches on the lawn. It hasn’t snowed yet this winter, but the grass is covered with a silver layer of frost. Tucker forces me to sit, then drops down beside me and plants one hand on my knee, as if he’s afraid I might bolt. Which I was totally considering doing before that big hand made contact. The heat of it sears through my tights and warms my core.
“Eat,” he says gently. “You’re allowed to give yourself two minutes to recharge, darlin’。”
I find myself obeying, same way I obeyed the other night when he told me to ride his face, when he ordered me to come. A shiver shimmies up my spine. God, why can’t I get this guy out of my head?
“What did you text me?” I blurt out.
He gives a mysterious smile. “Guess you’ll never know.”
Despite myself, I smile back. “It was something sexy, wasn’t it?”
He whistles innocently.
“It was!” I accuse, and then experience a jolt of self-directed recrimination, because, damn it, I bet it was filthy and delicious and wonderful.
“Listen, I’m not going to take up much of your time,” he says. “I know you’re busy. I know you commute from Boston. I know you have a few jobs—”
“Two,” I correct. My head tips in challenge. “And how would you know that?”
He shrugs. “I’ve been asking around.”
He has? Crap. As flattering as that is, I’m kind of scared to know who he’s been asking and what they’ve been telling him. Aside from Hope and Carin, I don’t spend much time with my peers. I know I come off as aloof at times—
Fine, bitchy. Aloof is just a nice word for bitchy. And while I’m not thrilled that my classmates think I’m a bitch, there’s not much I can do about that. I don’t have the time or energy to make small talk, or to grab coffee after class, or to pretend that I have anything in common with the wealthy, elitist kids that comprise most of this college.
“The point,” he finishes, “is that I get it, okay? You’re swamped, and I’m not asking you to wear my varsity jacket and my class ring and be my steady girl.”
I have to laugh at the Pleasantville picture he’s painted. “Then what are you asking me?”
“For a date,” he says simply. “One date. Maybe it’ll end with us fucking again—”
My body sings in delight.
“—or maybe it won’t. Either way, I wanna see you again.”
I watch as he rakes a hand through his reddish hair. Damn, who would’ve thought that gingers could be so hot?
“I don’t care when. You want to grab a bite late at night, fine. Early in the morning, cool, as long as I don’t have practice. I’m willing to play by your rules, adapt to your schedule.”
Pleasure and suspicion war inside me, but the latter wins out. “Why? I mean, I know we rocked each other’s worlds, but why are you so hard up on seeing me again?”
I gulp when he fixes me with a steady, intense gaze. Then he freaks me out even more by asking, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”