Page 39 of Tell Me You Like It

“I’ve informed food services that all your meals are to be charged to my account.” He pauses like I’m supposed to thank him or something, but I just blink at him instead.

“So, what, is this the treatment you give all your girls? Free meals and an excuse to ditch class?”

He’s watching me closely, and it makes me twitch a little. “Among other things.”

I hold out my Danish-free hand. “Well, I’m here, having coffee with you—against my will, I might add. Hand over the schedule.”

He hands it over without an argument, thankfully. At least, he keeps his word. One very small point in his favor. I open the schedule and make note of her next class. “Three o’clock,” I say. “That’s her next class. Edmund West building.”

“Great,” Roman says dismissively like he doesn’t give a damn. And I guess he wouldn’t. Bree isn’t his friend, so why would he care? Whatever. I’m just glad I got Bree's schedule.

What this does prove, though, is that finding Bree will be a whole harder without Roman’s help. So, fuck, I guess I need to play along with this consort shit for a while.

Still, it doesn’t mean I need to hang out with him for any longer than is necessary, so I suck my coffee down as quickly as possible.

Roman is leaning back casually, his arm slung over the chair next to him, watching me intently. And if I didn’t know better, I’d think he hated me. The look on his face is pure contempt, the edges of his lips curled up, his brows pinched. But a second later, it’s gone, replaced by that cold indifference I’ve come to know so well.

“There’s a get-together tonight. I want you there,” he says evenly. He hasn’t touched his coffee or the pastries, and I wonder why. Maybe he already ate? But then why invite me to what amounts to an entire continental breakfast buffet? I mean, damn, everything on this small table could feed at least fifteen people.

I take another sip of my coffee. “I’ll have to check my schedule,” I say evasively. I have to play nice with this guy, for now, but that doesn’t mean I have to be his puppet.

Besides, shit might be going on with Bree that I need to be available for. I mean, hopefully, she’s fine and just hungover somewhere, but…I have no real idea, so I don’t want to make any promises.

“I want you there,” he says flatly, another command.

Everything in me wants to get up from the table and tell him to fuck off, but he was able to get his hands on Bree's schedule when I was told that it was impossible just minutes before. He has the connections I need.

I smile tightly. “Where?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ll pick you up.”

I push out a breath–and search my brain for any possible excuse I can throw out there that he would accept. But, I’ve got nothing. “What time?”

“Eight.” He pushes back from the table and stands. “In the meantime, don’t go to the police about your friend. That would be a bad idea.”

I don’t even have a chance to ask him why, because he’salready out the door. He just left me here alone at the table, so I do what any starving student would do, I flag down a barista and ask for baggies to go—then I pack all that shit up and head back to my dorm room.

But the whole time I’m walking, one question keeps circling in my mind like a record on a turntable—why shouldn’t I go to the police about Bree? What does Roman know that he’s not telling me?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Roman

After leavingLux at the coffee shop, I head over to Rush House. When I walk into the living room, Lucas, Christian, and Jackson are already there, playing pool. The living room is the only area of the house I renovated the minute my grandfather signed the house over to me, and it’s the main spot where we hang out. Like the rest of the house, it looked like it was plucked right out of an episode of Downton Abbey.

Our schedules are so crazy that it’s rare we’re all here together, but today, I guess we all have gaps in our schedules–either that or the guys are ditching their classes. Either scenario is just as likely.

“Yo!” Christian says as I toss my backpack next to the couch.

I walk over to the mini fridge and pull out a soda. I crack it open but don’t take a sip. Instead, I set it down on the side table next to the couch. I drop my full weight onto the couch with a groan—the day isn’t even close to over, andalready I feel drained. When I glance up, all three of my friends are looking at me.

“So, what happened?” Lucas asks. He looks exactly like his twin brother, blond, tan, with crazy blue eyes. The only difference between them is the length of their hair—Christian has longer wavy strands, and Lucas’ hair is shorter.

Also, their personalities are completely different. Christian is fucking crazy, down for anything, and a legit genius at anything tech related. Lucas is quiet, artistic, and completelyuselessat anything tech-related—so, basically, the exact opposite of his twin.

I tilt my head back and blow out a breath, then look back at them all through narrowed eyes. “What do you mean ‘what happened?’ We had coffee. All part of the plan.”

Jackson was on his phone, texting someone, but he looks up when I say that. “So she’s coming tonight?”

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