Page 12 of Elusion

Callie stops with the books and turns toward me, her eyes soft and kind. I use the same look anytime I let a girl down easy.

“Look, between school and everything else, my life is complicated enough. I can’t handle anything else right now.”

“Your life’s complicated…” I repeat.

An interesting yet vague deterrent—also an excuse I used until last year when it backfired. Sweet Leah took it upon herself to help me in overcoming my “complicated life.” She wanted to help me study and run errands for me. It took weeks to get rid of her.

Well, Callie’s met her Leah.

“So, you need someone to make your life easier.”

“Yeah,” she says dryly, “because it’s that simple.”

What makes an eighteen-year-old freshman’s life difficult? An overwhelming class load? Poor time management? A dislike of the food on a meal plan? She underestimates my abilities if she doesn’t think I can help with all those.

“I accept this challenge.”

She frowns. “What challenge?”

“You need someone to make your life easier. I can help. And when I do, and you end up finding me irresistible, we can work something out.”

“Actually, I’m saying—”

“You already find me irresistible?”

“No,” she says.

I shrug, stepping toward her. “You will.”

She stares at me, and I swear, she’s fighting off a smile.

“I’m not going to find you irresistible,” she says.

“Of course.” I overemphasize a wink. “All right, beautiful, as much as I’d love to stay and chat about you falling for me, my cab should be here any minute. You get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Confusion washes over her face, and to throw her further off-balance, I kiss her forehead on my way out of her room. I bid farewell to the ladies on the couch, who seem more curious about my short stay than my original entrance. The one’s stare tracks me across the room, only falling away when our eyes meet.

I have the cab take me home instead of to the party. I need to charge my phone and strategize. With the challenge in place, I’m willing to admit, I was bored. But not anymore.

Once back at the house, I take the stairs three at a time to my room. I plug in my phone, and as soon as it powers on, I text Felicia.

If Jordan wanted to find himself in Callie’s good graces, how might he go about it?

Her number flashes on my screen within a few seconds.

“Felicia,” I answer.

“Coffee,” she says. “Lots and lots of coffee.”

A morning person once told me, “Everyone has the capability of being a morning person.”

He lied.

Hard.

I work on draining the last drops of my coffee as Felicia answers the door—perky and bright-eyed. I hate her. She ushers me in, and without waiting for an invite, I sink onto their couch.

“Please tell me this is her only early morning class.”

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