Page 30 of Elusion

“Older?” she asks.

“Three years.” I sound distracted, trying to determine if she’s closer now. “He’s in law school at UPenn.”

“Same age difference as Connor and me.”

“Dustin’s a complete asshole.”

“You two get along then?”

I laugh at the dig. “Most of the time. Do you and Connor?”

“He’s one of the best parts of my life.” The corners of her mouth turn up a little. “Do you have class this afternoon?”

“No,” I tell her. “Tuesdays, I have class at ten and one right after lunch.”

She pulls her legs up, facing me with her bent knee on my leg. “A class at ten?” She sets her jaw and glares. “If you have a class at ten, why were you at my door this morning, offering to take me to my ten-fifteen class?”

I grimace, realizing my mistake.

“Pull up your schedule right now,” she commands.

The return of Bossy Callie equals frickin’ hot. I quickly comply even though she might come at me swinging once she sees all the conflicts between our classes. She shakes her head, scanning my schedule, and when her mouth opens, I safely assume she sees Friday’s conflicts—the entire day.

“You’re not doing this anymore.” She tears a piece of paper from a notebook and begins writing. Now and then, she huffs to remind me how frustrating she finds me. Once she finishes, she shoves the paper at me. “These are the only times acceptable from this point on.”

I read through her proposal. With Friday as an end date, her way allows me to see her four more times. I slide the pen from her hand to make adjustments and use her thigh to write on. She doesn’t pull away, so I write slowly to further stretch out our contract contact. I fold the paper in half and hand it over.

Negotiations continue after she refuses my amendments. She leans over to cross out a few of my suggestions, and her hair falls between us. I stop myself from reaching out to tuck it back, not wanting to ruin our moment together.

She resubmits a counterproposal stricter than the first.

I scoff and rip up the paper. “No. I reject your proposition and end our mediation.”

In a dramatic display, I toss the paper in the air, and the pieces rain down on us.

Her lips twitch. “You realize you’re picking up all this paper, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I collect the scraps scattered all over the couch and notice a piece on her shoulder. As I retrieve it, she casts her eyes up to mine and smiles. Genuine and without any attempt to hide the expression.

And then I feel it. Everything. Shifts. A millimeter at most but an undeniable alteration nonetheless. Callie’s different or I’m different or we’re different, and maybe in a few minutes or hours or days or eventually, everything will gain a clearer meaning, but right now, I have no explanation other than something has changed.

“Jordan, is this still an elaborate ploy to sleep with me?” she asks.

The question knocks me further off-balance until I no longer feel like I’m in control. Seconds ago, I would have lied and feigned offense at such an accusation. Whereas now, spouting a bullshit line to save face seems inconceivable. She waits for an answer I lack. Expects honesty when I’m not sure of the truth anymore. Of all the times for my confidence to waver.

I finally respond with the only word that fits, “Unknown.”

Those two syllables make her face fall, and I want to crawl into traffic for being the reason.

Her chest rises with a deep breath. “Five seconds,” she says, exhaling. After a beat, she leans forward for a book. “I really should study.”

It’s a polite hint for me to leave, and who can blame her after I essentially confirmed her suspicions?

I stand up, not wanting to do any more damage. “I’ll stop distracting you.”

Halfway to the door, something hits me in the back. When I turn around, a pen lies on the floor by my shoe.

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