Too Late
Page 3
I've been through college before. I know how it is with the late nights, the partying, the studying and never having time for it all. But this girl seems stressed to the max. I'm curious if it's due to a heavy load, or way too much partying.
I reach down into my backpack and pull the energy drink out that I picked up on the way here this morning. I'm thinking she needs it more than I do.
"Here." I set it on the desk in front of her. "Drink this."
She slowly pries her eyes open as if her eyelids weigh a thousand pounds each. She looks down at the drink, then quickly grabs it and pops the top. She gulps the contents frantically; like it's the first thing she's had to drink in days.
"You're welcome." I laugh.
She finishes the drink and sets it back on the table, wiping her mouth with the same sleeve she wiped away the drool with earlier. I'm not gonna lie, her unkempt, sloppily sexy demeanor is a major turn-on, in a weird way.
"Thanks," she says, wiping the hair out of her eyes. She looks at me and smiles, then stretches her arms out behind her head and yawns. The door to the classroom opens and everyone shifts in their seats, indicating the entrance of the instructor-but I can't take my eyes off of her long enough to even validate his presence.
She combs through the strands of her hair with her fingers. It's still slightly damp and I can smell the floral scent of her shampoo when she flips her hair back over her shoulders. It's long and dark and thick, just like the lashes that line her contrasting light-blue eyes. She glances toward the front of the room and opens her notebook, so I mirror her movements and do the same.
The professor greets us in Spanish, and we return his salutations in collective, broken responses. He begins giving instructions on an assignment when my phone lights up on the table between us. I look down at the incoming text message from Dalton.
Does this hot piece of ass you're sitting next to have a name?
I immediately flip the phone over, hoping she didn't read it. She brings her hand to her mouth and quietly laughs.
She read it.
"Hot piece of ass, huh?" she says.
Mental note: Kick Dalton's ass tonight.
"I'm sorry," I say. "My friend... he thinks he's funny. Also likes to make my life hell. "
She arches an eyebrow and turns toward me. "So you don't think I'm a hot piece of ass?"
With her facing me head on, it's the first chance I've actually had to get a good look at her. Let's just say I'm officially in love with this class now.
I shrug my shoulders. "With all due respect, you've been sitting down since I met you. I haven't even seen your ass."
She laughs again. "Sloan," she says, extending her hand. I take her hand in mine, failing to shake it. The sheer softness of her skin takes me by surprise and I look down at her hand clasped in mine. There's a small crescent shaped scar on her thumb. I run my finger across it and twist her hand back and forth, inspecting the scar.
"Sloan," I repeat, letting her name roll off the tip of my tongue.
"This is usually the point during introductions that one would reply with their own name," she says.
I glance back up at her and she pulls her hand away, looking at me inquisitively.
"Carter," I reply, keeping in character with who I'm supposed to be. It's been hard enough calling Ryan by the name of Dalton for the past six weeks, but I've gotten used to it. Calling myself Carter is another story. I've more than once slipped up and almost referred to myself by my real name.
"Mucho gusto," she says in an almost perfect accent, turning her attention toward the front of the room.
No, the pleasure is mine. Believe me.
The professor instructs the class to turn to the closest partner and state three facts about the other person in Spanish. This is my fourth year of Spanish, so I decide to let Sloan go first so I won't intimidate her. We turn toward each other and I nod my head at her. "Las Senoras primera," I say.
"No, we'll take turns," she says. "You first. Go ahead, tell me a fact about myself."
"Okay," I say, laughing at how she just took control. "Usted es mandona."
"That's an opinion, not a fact," she states. "But I'll give it to you."
I tilt my head in her direction. "You understood what I just said?"
She nods her head. "If you intended to call me bossy, then yes." She narrows her eyes, but a tiny smile forces its way through. "My turn," she says. "Su compañera de clase es bella."
I laugh. She just complimented herself by telling me one of my facts is that my class partner is beautiful? I nod in unabashed agreement. "Mi compañera de clase esta correcta," I say.
I reach down into my backpack and pull the energy drink out that I picked up on the way here this morning. I'm thinking she needs it more than I do.
"Here." I set it on the desk in front of her. "Drink this."
She slowly pries her eyes open as if her eyelids weigh a thousand pounds each. She looks down at the drink, then quickly grabs it and pops the top. She gulps the contents frantically; like it's the first thing she's had to drink in days.
"You're welcome." I laugh.
She finishes the drink and sets it back on the table, wiping her mouth with the same sleeve she wiped away the drool with earlier. I'm not gonna lie, her unkempt, sloppily sexy demeanor is a major turn-on, in a weird way.
"Thanks," she says, wiping the hair out of her eyes. She looks at me and smiles, then stretches her arms out behind her head and yawns. The door to the classroom opens and everyone shifts in their seats, indicating the entrance of the instructor-but I can't take my eyes off of her long enough to even validate his presence.
She combs through the strands of her hair with her fingers. It's still slightly damp and I can smell the floral scent of her shampoo when she flips her hair back over her shoulders. It's long and dark and thick, just like the lashes that line her contrasting light-blue eyes. She glances toward the front of the room and opens her notebook, so I mirror her movements and do the same.
The professor greets us in Spanish, and we return his salutations in collective, broken responses. He begins giving instructions on an assignment when my phone lights up on the table between us. I look down at the incoming text message from Dalton.
Does this hot piece of ass you're sitting next to have a name?
I immediately flip the phone over, hoping she didn't read it. She brings her hand to her mouth and quietly laughs.
She read it.
"Hot piece of ass, huh?" she says.
Mental note: Kick Dalton's ass tonight.
"I'm sorry," I say. "My friend... he thinks he's funny. Also likes to make my life hell. "
She arches an eyebrow and turns toward me. "So you don't think I'm a hot piece of ass?"
With her facing me head on, it's the first chance I've actually had to get a good look at her. Let's just say I'm officially in love with this class now.
I shrug my shoulders. "With all due respect, you've been sitting down since I met you. I haven't even seen your ass."
She laughs again. "Sloan," she says, extending her hand. I take her hand in mine, failing to shake it. The sheer softness of her skin takes me by surprise and I look down at her hand clasped in mine. There's a small crescent shaped scar on her thumb. I run my finger across it and twist her hand back and forth, inspecting the scar.
"Sloan," I repeat, letting her name roll off the tip of my tongue.
"This is usually the point during introductions that one would reply with their own name," she says.
I glance back up at her and she pulls her hand away, looking at me inquisitively.
"Carter," I reply, keeping in character with who I'm supposed to be. It's been hard enough calling Ryan by the name of Dalton for the past six weeks, but I've gotten used to it. Calling myself Carter is another story. I've more than once slipped up and almost referred to myself by my real name.
"Mucho gusto," she says in an almost perfect accent, turning her attention toward the front of the room.
No, the pleasure is mine. Believe me.
The professor instructs the class to turn to the closest partner and state three facts about the other person in Spanish. This is my fourth year of Spanish, so I decide to let Sloan go first so I won't intimidate her. We turn toward each other and I nod my head at her. "Las Senoras primera," I say.
"No, we'll take turns," she says. "You first. Go ahead, tell me a fact about myself."
"Okay," I say, laughing at how she just took control. "Usted es mandona."
"That's an opinion, not a fact," she states. "But I'll give it to you."
I tilt my head in her direction. "You understood what I just said?"
She nods her head. "If you intended to call me bossy, then yes." She narrows her eyes, but a tiny smile forces its way through. "My turn," she says. "Su compañera de clase es bella."
I laugh. She just complimented herself by telling me one of my facts is that my class partner is beautiful? I nod in unabashed agreement. "Mi compañera de clase esta correcta," I say.
