Page 27 of Elusion

I’m ending it.

How exactly does one end a fake challenge set up as a scheme to get a girl to put out? I ask myself this when I take Callie coffee in the morning. Again, when I show up to offer her a ride after class. And once more, knocking on her door fifteen minutes before her afternoon class. The one I won’t be waiting outside of when she comes out.

“Right on time, Jordan,” she says.

I stare at her, waiting for the answer to come.

When I don’t respond, her eyebrows pull together. “This is where you say, ‘Do you need a ride to class, beautiful?’ Then I say, ‘No, Jordan, I don’t, but thank you.’”

I smile because I’m supposed to, but I have no idea what to say. How do I let her know I won’t be bothering her anymore? Maybe I don’t. Maybe I just stop bothering her.

She tilts her head to the side, studying me. “Are you okay?”

Snap out of it, Waters.

I slap on a more confident grin, forcing out an answer. “Of course I am. I just forgot my lines. Thanks for reminding me.”

A split second of a smile precedes an eye roll. “Whatever. I’ll see you later.”

The door shuts, and she’s gone. And it’s over. The end.

I walk to my Jeep. No more trips to the coffee shop or running around campus. I drive home. I won’t see Callie anymore or Felicia or Jess or Cam. I park under the tree. When’s the last time I committed to something this wholly and failed? Not even failed. Gave up.

I go inside and up the stairs. How long will she wait for me when she comes out of class? Will she? Or will she return to life as usual, grateful the guy trying to screw her finally moved on?

I pace the length of my room. My big, beautiful master bedroom with an en suite bathroom and more closet space than I can fill.

Most of the time, she doesn’t act like she gives a shit about my presence. Then she mind-ninjas me with smiles or questions about my well-being or says she’ll see me later. Why would she say that? Of all the days. The one time she will without a doubtnotsee me later.

Goddamn it.

I head down the hall and kick open Benji’s half-ajar door the rest of the way.

“Benj, I—” I stop at the sight of his room. His teeny-tiny, already-packed up room. Boxes on the floor. Dresser drawers empty. Even his mattress is propped up against the wall for easy removal.

“Well, well, well,” he says from behind me, “look who’s standing at my door, ready to fold.”

My chin lowers to my chest as I once again question what the hell I’m doing.

“Six months, and we trade back?” I turn around, and he meets me with the most irritatingly cocky grin—and that means something, coming from me.

He nods and extends his hand. “Deal?”

Dustin flirts with a coed the next table over. I love my brother, but wow. If I act anything like him with women, I’ll need to reevaluate. He stares directly at her tits, and his hand finds her knee within five seconds of introducing himself. Thigh by twenty. And he’s whispering in her ear just under the one-minute mark.

Other than his short blond hair, his approach to girls and recreational habits are the most glaring differences between us. We both sport the same green eyes and our father’s strong jaw. Trait-wise, we share the overly competitive nature and a tendency for the dramatic. He strikes an odd balance between being the least restrained person and most motivating force in my life.

I can’t bear to witness more of his surprisingly effective methods, so I check my phone. My eyebrows shoot up when I see a message from Callie.

I like Benji.

He check out your rack?I text.

Immediately.

Sorry.

I set down my phone, thinking she won’t respond, but she does.

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