Page 12 of The Deal

Hey, it’s Garrett. Wanted to hammer out the deets re: tutoring sched.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I don’t know whether to laugh or groan. The guy’s tenacious, I’ll give him that. Sighing, I quickly shoot back a text, short and not at all sweet.

Me: How’d you get this number?

Him: Study group signup sheet.

Crap. I’d signed up for the group at the start of the semester, but that was before Cass decided we had to rehearse on Mondays and Wednesdays at the exact time the study group meets up.

Another message pops up before I can respond, and whoever said it isn’t possible to detect a person’s tone via text was totally wrong. Because Garrett’s tone is full on irritable.

Him: If you just showed up to study group, I wouldn’t have to text you.

Me: You don’t have to text me at all. Actually, I’d prefer if you didn’t.

Him: What’ll it take to get you to say yes?

Me: Absolutely nothing.

Him: Great. So you’ll do it for free.

The groan I’ve been holding slips out.

Me: Not happening.

Him: How bout tomorrow night? I’m free at eight.

Me: Can’t. I have the Spanish Flu. Highly contagious. I just saved your life, dude.

Him: Aw, I appreciate the concern. But I’m immune to pandemics that wiped out 40-mil people from 1918 to 1919.

Me: How is it you know so much about pandemics?

Him: I’m a history major, baby. I know tons of useless facts.

Ugh, again with the baby thing? All righty. Clearly it’s time to put an end to this before he gets his flirt on.

Me: Well, nice chatting with you. Good luck on the makeup exam.

When several seconds tick by and Garrett doesn’t respond, I give myself a mental pat on the back for successfully getting rid of him.

I’m about to walk out the door when my phone meows and a picture pops up. Against my better judgment, I click on it, and a moment later, a bare chest fills the screen. Yep. I’m talking smooth tanned skin, sculpted pecs, and the tightest six-pack I’ve ever seen.

I can’t help but snort out loud.

Me: FFS. Did you just send me a pic of your chest?!

Him: Yup. Did it work?

Me: In icking me out? Yes. Success!

Him: In changing your mind. I’m trying to butter u up here.

Me: Ew. Go butter up someone else. PS--I’m posting that pic on my-bri.

I’m referring, of course, to MyBriar, our school’s equivalent of Facebook, which ninety-five percent of the student body is on.

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