Page 49 of Leashed

Chapter Nineteen

Sage tossed her textbooks onto the floor and fell facedown onto her bed, groaning for a moment before she rolled over and powered her phone on. Nixon’s flight itinerary popped up first, complete with parking instructions and a suggestion about when she would need to leave the house to get there on time. The lounge wanted to know if she was interested in picking up another shift. The library’s automated system reminded her she had three books due back Friday.

And then there were the texts from Bo.

She scrolled through them, alternating between rolling her eyes and stifling a laugh as she looked through over a dozen college memes he’d sent her during her exams.

Deciding to deal with Nixon first, she thanked him for the information and saved it into her note app before she declined the lounge shift and pushed herself to her feet to gather the library books, placing them on her desk.

Her phone buzzed and she lay down, tapping Bo’s number. “I survived,” she announced, holding one hand into the air in victory. “Two down, two to go.”

The whirring sound of a machine in the background began to fade as Bo’s feet crunched loudly on the snow. “From what I read today during my college research, you’re supposed to be selling your textbooks off for beer money right about now. How’d you do?”

“Aced both,” she stated with certainty. “Tonight I’m putting the finishing touches on that paper, then I’m taking a night off of schoolwork to treat myself to something greasy and delicious.”

The swish of a lighter came through the speaker. “Am I still good to meet up with you to read it over after work?”

Without hesitation, she nodded into the empty room. “I’d love that.”

*

Bo shoved aload of laundry into the dryer and filled the washing machine with another, glaring at the countdown timer when he realized his favorite jeans wouldn’t be ready before he had to head out. Resigning himself to wearing the only clean cargos he had left, he pulled a button-down from Ryan’s closet and put it on to hide the profane image on the back of his tee. With his jacket in hand, he locked up and headed downstairs to his truck, wrinkling his nose at the state of his vehicle and making a mental note to clean it out on the weekend.

His phone dinged, the address to the burger joint Sage was heading to lighting up his screen. He tore onto the street, his foot a little heavier on the gas than usual.

He wanted to read over the elusive essay she’d been working on for almost two months.

It was the only reason he was anxious to see her.

It had nothing to do with the beast reaching for her from deep inside every time she was near. Nothing to do with the rush he felt in her presence. Definitely had nothing to do with Clotho’s comment about Sage being his soul mate.

When he pulled into the parking lot, he cringed at the amount of white smoke coming from Sage’s exhaust.

If her engine block was done, her car was essentially toast.

He parked beside her and got out, holding his arm out to take her laptop bag while she struggled with her purse, oversized mitts, and scarf. “You need to get that car in the shop,” he warned, hefting the bag onto his shoulder. “I know a few decent guys who could look at it for cheap.”

“That’s next on the overtime pay list,” she said, giving her dilapidated car a quick look of frustration. “My last term’s tuition is due next month, then my life really begins. And it will begin with an awesome job and a new car. In that order.”

The hostess sat them in a back booth and took their drink orders, leaving them in relative peace with their menus and coffees. He waited impatiently as Sage flipped her computer open and located her essay, hesitating before she turned it toward him.

“I stuck with the most commonly held interpretations,” she said, pursing her lips. “So it’s not original or anything.”

He pulled it closer and started reading it over, looking over at her when he finished the second page. “What the hell? Ruben didn’t paint it? Lying bastard.”

“He did, but not the eagle,” she said, flipping a small packet of sugar in her hands. “The first half is pretty much just a breakdown of technique and textures. Kind of dry.”

Continuing on, he made it to the tenth page, stopping only to give his order to the waiter. “It’s really goddamn impressive how much can be said about one picture,” he muttered, leaning forward as he got to the interpretations of the art. “I’d give you an A.” She remained silent until he finished and sat back. “You’ve almost convinced me this is how it went down, so I’d say you did a good job.”

She smiled and closed the laptop, slipping it back into the case and tucking it in the corner of the booth. “Almost, hey?”

“I’ll never buy into Hercules being a good guy,” he said, moving his coffee to the side while the server set his burger down. “So you lost points with me on that. But since almost everyone is convinced he’s a hero, I can’t really fault you for pushing that agenda.”

With a laugh, she squashed her burger with the palm of her hand. “Pushing the Hercules agenda. I should add that to my resume and get a bumper sticker.” She lifted her burger and pointed it in his direction. “You have a very strange dislike for a mythological man.”

“What I have,” he corrected, “is a strong dislike for an asshole who weakened an animal through poison and then lied about it, acting like he subdued the beast with his bare hands. In a fair fight, he would’ve been a chew toy.” Lessening the truth with a wink, he hunched over his meal. “Enough shop talk. We getting buzzed tonight?”

*

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