Rachel Lawrence
I scanned the student center as I pushed open the heavy door. My class had gotten out five minutes late, so I was pretty sure he’d beaten me to the table by the coffee kiosk where we’d agreed to meet.
Heartbeat quickening at the sight of his dark curls bent over his phone, I paused a moment to remind myself that I was simply here to collect on a bet I’d won.
If he hadn’t looked up at that exact moment and met my eyes, I might have remembered not to smile. I quickly redirected my gaze to the chair across from him and proceeded across the room like a girl who cared about being right but definitely did not care about the boy who often made her question if she was.
“Tori.” He set his phone aside and offered a lopsided grin.
I pulled out my chair and replied curtly, “Meyer.”
“How was biology today?”
He was trying to throw me off with small talk, likely because he hadn’t upheld his promise. I wouldn’t let him off the hook, not even if he was wearing the sweatshirt that made his eyes look like the ocean. “Fine. We were finishing up some lab work. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No worries.” He lifted his cardboard coffee cup and gestured to the other one sitting on the table.
“What’s this?” Even I cringed at the ridiculous level of skepticism coating my voice.
“Hot chocolate,” he answered with a chuckle. “You don’t drink coffee, right?”
Did he seriously think his charm was going to work on me? Still, it’d be a shame to let a perfectly good cup of cocoa go to waste.
“Thank you,” I mumbled as I took a sip, careful not to let my expression betray my attempt at nonchalance. It was delicious and exactly what I needed after the chilly walk across campus, but he didn’t need to know that. “So,” I started, ready to shoot down any excuse he was about to make.
But he silenced me by pulling my battered book from the backpack at his side and placing it on the table between us. “Finished.”
That wasn’t going to cut it. “Well?” I prompted. “What did you think?”
“Well for one, I think I’ve learned to be more careful about making wagers with someone who always needs to prove a point.” The way he said it made it feel more like a compliment than an insult, and I fought a smile, remembering the night two weeks ago when our calculus study group strayed to the topic of favorite book series. He’d scoffed at my choice and commented that it sounded like “some kind of YA paranormal romance fluff that only werewolf-obsessed teen girls enjoy.” So I’d made him promise that if I could find another guy on campus who had read the series, he’d read the first book before the end of the month. The irony was that it ended up being his roommate who shocked us both by being a fan.
“Very wise,” I said. “Definitely don’t make the mistake of underestimating me again. But what did you think of the book itself?”
“Hmm.” He rested his hand on top of the worn cover and drummed his fingers as he gathered his thoughts. It was infuriatingly hypnotizing.
“Did you even actually read it?” I accused because I needed to say something to break the spell.
His mouth dropped open in feigned offense. “Of course I did. It’s not like it was a difficult read. Any middle school girl could have devoured it in less time.” He added a wink like a cherry on top of his insult, which I was struggling to pretend was cruel rather than flirtatious.
I sipped my drink again, then said, “If you read it, then you must have some opinions you’re dying to share.”
Clearing his throat and clasping his hands together atop the table, he scooted forward enough that our knees touched. I didn’t move away. “I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.” His gaze held mine, and all the motion and noise of the student center around us fell away.
“That’s it?” I prodded, grasping for anything that would keep him talking, keep him sitting here with me. “Nothing about the plot twist in the last chapter? The mastermind who wrote it? The cliffhanger?”
He squinted and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure I’d go so far as to call the author a mastermind.”
“You would if you saw how she was setting things up for book three,” I countered.
He shook his head. “The hints were a little obvious. I definitely saw that reveal coming.”
“Wait a minute.” I sat up straight and narrowed my gaze. “You’ve already read book three?”
He rolled his eyes. “I read the whole series, Tori. I couldn’t leave the story unresolved.”
“Ha!” I slapped a hand on top of the book like a lawyer closing an argument. “I knew it. You love them. Admit it.”
He sighed and placed his hand back on the book too, dangerously close to mine. “In theory, these aren’t books I’d be drawn to. They’re the kind I’d write off and make snide remarks about.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“But…” His voice dropped. “They’re also cute, fun, surprisingly deep, sweet, and easy to get lost in, and once I got started, I was hooked. I wanted more.”
He looped his pinky finger around mine, and I was sure we weren’t talking about books anymore.
“My roommate has the whole set on our shelf,” he continued. “He’s been trying all year to get me to read them.”
I gasped. “You’re—”
“The real mastermind? Because I do have a lot of great ideas about what could happen next, if you’re interested in finding out.”
I returned his sheepish grin. “I have a feeling I might like this story.”
He leaned in and whispered, “I’m betting on it.”
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