“Okay class,” I hear the professor say from the front of the room. “Settle down, settle down. Find your seats.” Everyone starts to quiet down. “Okay, I hope you’ve all spent the last few days figuring out your topic. Let’s have someone from each group share the issue they came up with to make sure no one is solving the same world problem.” He glances around the room, zeroing in on me and Mia. “Ms. Collins and Mr. Hunter, it appears that the third member of your trio is absent today.”
“Sick with the stomach bug,” I respond without thinking, covering for Zach on autopilot.
“Of course he is,” he replies drily before moving on. “Okay, group one, tell us what you’ll be fixing?”
A short redheaded girl stands up and says, “My group wants to focus on access to clean water.”
“Wonderful! Water is crucial to life. Did anyone else think of the same topic?”
A group a few rows from us raise their hands.
“You will need to pick out a new problem. Water is already taken.” A collective groan fills the room. I hope no one else has chosen our topic, not that I think they will because not too many college students think of child sex trafficking as a problem that still exists.
The professor goes from group to group and minutes later, Abby stands from her chair to present hers.
“We will be talking about sexual education.” She turns to look in my direction and winks as the class laughs.
“Ms. Brown, how does this fit with the assignment?”
“Well, easy Prof, the world needs sex education to prevent the spread of sexually transmitted diseases, unwanted pregnancies and so on.”
“Great. Moving onto the duo.”
I look at Mia, waiting to see if she’s going to stand up and state what our topic is. She scoots lower in her chair and I take that as my cue to speak.
I stand up, hating how every single females’ eyes in the room rake my body. “We’re talking about human sex trafficking, specifically focusing on the trafficking of children.”
“That is a very heavy topic, Mr. Hunter,” the professor states, seemingly impressed.
“Yes, sir, very important, too,” I reply.
“Okay, wonderful. So together this semester, we’ll be trying to find solutions to problems like access to clean water, hunger relief, women’s rights, child brides, clean energy, climate change, poverty, sexual education, and child sex trafficking, and one team will need to revisit their topic and get back to me by next class.”
We continue to talk about the parts that make up a research paper for the millionth time since I started college. We discuss every part of the paper from the introduction to the conclusion, and the professor gives us a piece of paper with the deadlines for each part. We review thesis statement formats, and well just about everything that has already been reviewed in our English classes before.
“Okay, now that we’ve run through that, let’s talk about your homework.”
Right on cue, heads hit desks and groans come to life. You’d think people would complain less. It’s been years of the same and their complaints have changed nothing.
“Don’t sound so excited. Remember in this class, you are heroes. Your homework is to find ten articles on your topic. These articles must come from primary or secondary sources. They must be peer-reviewed, and it goes without saying, but Wikipedia and Buzzfeed do not count. You have five minutes before class ends, so figure out how you want to tackle this assignment with your teammates.”
The energy in the room rises along with the volume of chatter.
I turn to Mia. “So, how do you want to do this?”
“Well, we could meet tomorrow? I’m free if you are.”
“I can’t,” I respond, and I see her turn her face away, hiding her red cheeks. “I have practice tomorrow,” I add, feeling the need to explain myself.
“All day? Because I didn’t tell you when I’d be free,” she says smiling like a smartass who thinks she just caught me in a lie.
“I have class, and when I don’t have class, I have practice. We have homecoming this weekend, which is also family weekend, so there’s a lot of pressure.” I don’t understand why I continue to explain myself. If anyone else were asking, I would have walked away already.
“Oh,” she states while nodding in understanding. “I guess I’ll do the assignment then.”
“Clift says he wants ten. Zack and I will do seven. You can do three. We’ll work on it, and I’ll text you when we finish so that we don’t end up with the same ones.”
“Okay, that works. Just…” She stops.
“Just, what?” I urge.
“Just don’t forget to text me this time.”
I’m about to remind her why I ‘forgot’ the last time when Abby wedges herself between us.
“Hey, handsome,” she purrs, and I’m immediately consumed with rage. When will she finally get it?
“Abby,” I say shortly “Can’t you see I’m busy talking to—” I turn to where Mia is and her name dies on my lips. She’s gone. Nowhere in sight. I look at the door, briefly catching a glimpse of her walking out.
“You’re not busy anymore,” Abbigail says smugly.
“Abby, I’ve told you a million times—”
“Yeah, I know,” she says, cutting me off. “Don’t worry. I don’t want a relationship with you, but can we at least keep doing what we used to? You know I can be a lot of fun.” She runs her hand up my arm as she leans in for a kiss. I back up, causing her to stumble.
“Not interested,” I respond without hesitation. I don’t want to keep doing what I used to. I want something else—someone else.
“Not possible,” she counters.
“Fuck off, Abbigail.” I know it’s rude, but I’ve tried being nice. I’ve even tried being assertive, and she’s still not getting it. I pick up my playbook, throw my bag over my shoulder and stalk out.
MIA
I’ve been trying not to think about what happened after class on Monday. The blonde who’d inserted herself into our conversation and demanded all Colton’s attention was the same girl from the party—the same girl he claims isn’t his girlfriend.
“Someone should tell her that,” I mutter to myself, letting out a sigh as I lounge on my bed. My phone pings and I grope around for it blindly. When I look at the screen, I see it’s a text from Colton.
‘Zack and I got the sources and I’ve emailed them to you.’
I respond faster than I should, overpowered by my excitement. I’d given up hope of him texting me altogether.
‘I’m surprised that you remembered to text me [this time].’
Anxiously, I await his response, watching the icon that shows he’s typing a reply. The dots start then stop. This happens again and again. Irritated, I drop the phone on the bed and start looking through my drawers for my most comfortable pajamas. I open the lowest drawer on my bureau and find my favorite pair of pants. Yes, they have Anna and Elsa’s faces pasted on them, but what can I say? I really enjoyed the movie.
I glance at my phone, biting my lip. I hope he’s taken my jab as a joke. I don’t want to rub him the wrong way. Despite my initial impression of him, I’ve discovered I don’t actually hate him. He’s a good guy, he’s a good group member and he has his shit together.
As I’m pulling on my pajamas my phone starts to ring.
It’s an unknown number. I press the button, answering the call.
“Hello?” I say, using my rehearsed super professional voice—you never know who could be calling.
“I told you why I didn’t text last time.” Colton’s voice comes over the line, a little rougher on the phone than in person. If it’s possible, he sounds even sexier now.
“Because you’re a hibernating bear. Also, why aren’t you texting me now?” Not that I’m complaining. His voice is better than any text.
“I’m as big as a bear, but I don’t know about the cuddly part. I told you; I slept because I was exhausted, and I called because I hate t
exting.”
I move over to the bed, lying on my back and getting comfortable. I hope this conversation is a long one. “Hmm, I’m sure you’re likely a closet cuddler. And yeah, no one is going to buy that excuse. You slept a whole day? Also, no texts means you’re a grandpa,” I say even though I personally hate texting too.
“I guess I could be into cuddling. Want to find out?” he says and my breathing hitches.
“I’d rather not.”
“You sure about that?” he says his voice dropping down lower.
I imagine being wrapped in his arms and a sigh escapes my lips.
“So, why do you need to sleep a whole day?” I ask, evading the topic.
“I have classes, and then football practice, followed by mandatory gym sessions twice a day.”
“These all sound like excuses to me.”
“You would think differently if you had to do it yourself.”
“Too bad I don’t play football.”
“Even then, I bet you wouldn’t be able to keep up with my schedule for a day, let alone a week, without football.”
“So, gym and class? What makes you think I don’t already do that? Are you insinuating I’m unfit?”
“I’m saying your gym routine isn’t as regimented as mine.”
“I don’t go, if you were wondering, but I’m sure I could keep up without needing a full day of sleep to recover. And without forgetting to text,” I add, baiting him.
“Okay, I’ll pick you up next Monday.”
“For what?”
“For the gym. Have you been listening to this conversation at all, Collins? Am I boring you?”
“I never said I was going to the gym, and yeah, you’re a little dry.”
He chuckles. “So, you can’t keep up. I guess I was right. That was easy, Collins. I thought you were better than that. And you’re funny, you know I’m the highlight of your night.”
“I can keep up, and I’m definitely not easy, Hunter.”
“So, we’ll start Monday then. You’ll join me for at least a week.”
“I have to spend a whole week with you?”
“Don’t sound so bothered by the thought of spending time with me. Any other girl would jump at the chance.”
Right, thanks for the reminder of the many girls in line waiting to get their claws in you.
“I’m not one of them,” I reply a little too sharply. “Why would I even agree to this? What’s in it for me?”
“From what I remember of your embarrassing loss at beer pong, you’re quite competitive. The chance to redeem yourself should be motivation enough, but if it isn’t, I’m happy to do whatever you want.” His voice has become progressively huskier, and the sound of it tightens the muscles in the lower half of my body.
“Beating you is enough, but getting you to do what I want might come in handy. What’s in it for you?” I ask, already coming up with all the things I could get him to do.
“The same. I’ll get to redeem myself for not texting you, and you’ll have to do anything I ask.”
“I can agree to that, so long as nothing sexual is involved.”
“I wouldn’t need a bet for that,” he says.
If he could see my face right now, I think I’d die. “You sure you want to do this?” I ask again, trying to ignore the cause of my racing heart.
“What’s up, Collins? You worried?”
“No, you should be though. I’ll have to start thinking about what I’ll have you do when you lose.”
“You haven’t known me for long, but you should know I don’t lose, especially when I have an incentive to win.”
I can just imagine him smirking. “We’ll see, grandpa.”
“I’m sure you will, Mia.”
There was a pause in the conversation, his breathing the only sign we were still on the phone.
“What are you up to?” he asks.
“Lying in bed. You?”
“Same.”
“That’s kind of lame. Aren’t you supposed to be out partying, getting wasted and getting laid?”
“You think that little of me?” He sounds a little hurt.
“Just repeating what everyone else says.”
“Do you always listen to what others say?”
“Not really.”
“Good.”
“Make sure you wear workout clothes. No heels necessary,” Colton says to me.
It’s Sunday night and we have been on the phone for roughly an hour, talking about everything and nothing at once. This is the second day in a row that we’ve talked on the phone, and it feels like we’ve been doing it for years. We have plans to go to the gym tomorrow, per our agreement. All morning, I’ve been thinking about what I got myself into with this stupid bet. I hate the gym, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to resist Colton if I maximize my time with him.
“I’ve been to a gym before. It’s not a foreign concept, you know.”
“Booty shorts and a sports bra sound good to me.”
“Yeah, in your dreams, Colton.”
“Every night.”
I feel my cheeks heat up.
I struggle to find a response and Colton speaks again. “So, I’ll be picking you up at five.”
I shoot up from my bed like it’s lava and I’m burning. “Excuse me, you’ll be what?”
“Yeah, you said you could keep up. Are you getting cold feet, Collins?”
“I can keep up, Hunter. But really? 5 a.m. is an ungodly hour. I can barely get up for our 8 a.m. class.”
“It’s what I do, babe. You’ve got to walk a week in my shoes. That was the deal.”
I ignore the fact that he calls me babe because I refuse to go to a place where this is more than just flirting.
“Your shoes stink,” is my response then add, “I’ll be ready for five, but don’t expect me to be happy about it. I won’t be. I will not be chirpy; I am not one of those people.”
“Wasn’t expecting you to be. I didn’t think you were the chirpy type.”
“You annoy me,” I respond as a giggle escapes my mouth.
A giggle, seriously?
“But you like me anyway.”
He has no idea how true his words are. I know he doesn’t really mean it in the way I take it, but I can’t help acknowledging the feelings I have for him have surpassed hate, and friendship, and are moving to a less safe territory. They have been since the day I met him.
“I hate to break it to you, but I’m not one of your groupies,” I tease.
“I know. Trust me, I know,” he says, seeming almost content to acknowledge the difference.
“Anyway, I’ll let you go. If I have to get up at the ass crack of dawn, I better hit the hay now.”
“You’ll be fine. I mean, seeing me first thing in the morning sounds like more than enough motivation to get you up.”
“You think really highly of yourself, don’t you?”
“Not high enough, I’d say.”
“Hunter, you are swimming in an ocean of humbleness,” I say sarcastically.
“Care to take a dip?”
I can imagine his eyebrows raising toward the sky suggestively. “Not a fan of swimming in oceans. Good night, Colton.”
“We can change that. Good night, Mia.” The way my name rolls off his tongue hits me straight in the stomach, resuscitating the butterflies I find myself trying to silence. It’s almost like he’s claiming me, and I find myself wanting nothing more than for it to be true. I want to be his. I want him to be mine and that scares the shit out of me.
“Hey, Mia?” Colton’s voice breaks my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I croak in response, unaware he’d been on the line. Thank God I hadn’t said any of this out loud.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“My thoughts are worth more than pennies, Colton. Go away.”
“Okay, Okay. You hang up.”
“Gladly,” I say, ending the call. There’s no way I’m playing the ‘you hang up, no, you hang up�
�� game. I’m already hanging, or at least my heart is.
13
MIA
“I hate you,” I say as I hop into the passenger side of Colton’s car. It’s five in the morning. Who gets up this early?
“Good morning to you, too.”
“Still hate you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Of course you do. Here.” He hands me a cup of coffee and I grab it from him like I’ve been denied caffeine for a year. I sniff it, feeling myself coming alive.
“I guess you love me now. It’s a pleasure to deal you drugs,” he says, shifting into first.
“Please stop. I’m not ready for you yet.” I take a sip of the coffee only to realize it’s just the way I like it: no milk, enough sugar.
“I’ll keep it down until we get to the gym then,” he says with a laugh.
“The coffee hasn’t kicked in, but thanks for getting it just how I like it.” I can’t believe he remembered how I’d ordered it at the diner.
“Wouldn’t think of getting you anything else.”
“You’re quite perceptive,” I say, voicing the thought running through my mind.
“I have to be. On that note, I’ve got to say I’m kind of disappointed you decided to skip the shorts and sports bra.”
“I’m still wearing a sports bra, Colton. Not that it’s any of your business, but I keep it under my shirt. Now drive before I go back inside and drop into bed.”
“Is that an invitation to join you?” he asks.
“You wish.”
“You keep saying that. Maybe you’re the one that’s wishing it.”
“Nope, never. No thanks.”
“You are just a peach in the mornings. We should do this more often,” he says. I stare at him ferally. “Okay, okay. I’m driving, Miss Daisy.”
Ha ha, very funny.
A few minutes later, we arrive at the athletic center. I’m a little shocked it’s not the general gym near the quad; this one is situated near the football field, and is typically reserved for athletes. The rest of us ‘normal’ people go to the Murray Center.
Bragan Boys (Bragan University Boxset) Page 9