Page 2 of False Assumptions

Chapter Two

Evan couldn’t decide whether to be amused, irritated, or flat out pissed. The way she’d sashayed out of the classroom, that extra sway in her step obviously for his benefit, pulled him toward amusement. But the way she acted toward him the rest of the time had his irritation bubbling towards full-on anger.

He followed her across the brick center mall of campus to the library, his Marycliff Football sweatshirt not quite enough to block the early February chill. Layla glanced at him over her shoulder a few times to make sure he still followed, but he kept his distance a few feet behind her. She’d made it abundantly clear that she didn’t value his company. If they didn’t need to figure out when to meet next about the project, he’d bail. Maybe he should anyway. He could catch her in class the next time.

His breath puffed in front of him as he let out a sigh. He had to get the book anyway. Might as well go to the library and get this over with. Plus, he wanted to prove her wrong about her assumption that she’d be doing all the work and that he would be just a lackey along for the ride. He got the dumb jock assumption a lot. It came with the territory. If he did well at football, then he must not be good at school, right?

Wrong.

He took advantage of the team tutors during the season because it was easy to get behind in classes, and borrowing notes was always a crapshoot. Some people took good notes that made sense. Others … not so much.

He’d always thought Layla looked like the type to take good notes. They’d had classes together twice before. He’d managed to sit next to her once. She’d caught his attention, both because of her looks—long, straight black hair, smooth, golden skin, and large, dark eyes—and because she seemed so focused in class. But the next class, she’d been surrounded by other students and never met his eyes any time he tried to catch her attention. He’d thought she must be shy.

With the way she’d treated him today, he wasn’t so sure. She didn’t seem shy. For some reason she’d decided she didn’t like him. When he’d offered her his usual smile and a handshake, she’d looked at him like he was some kind of unidentifiable slime she’d found on her shoe after exiting a public restroom.

That was new for him.

He flirted a lot. He knew it. Not all girls responded the same. Some flirted back. Some threw themselves at him. Some expressed their disinterest, but remained polite and friendly. Disgust had never happened before. It wasn’t like smiling and shaking hands was an offensive move.

Layla yanked the library door open with more force than necessary, and Evan didn’t bother hiding his grin. He was behind her, after all. She couldn’t see him. Ever the gentleman, though, he caught up to her in two quick steps and held the door for her to enter. She glanced back at him, and he let his smile grow wider.

She scowled.

He stifled the laugh that threatened to escape, turning it into a cough just in time. Christ, she was easy to needle. He made the decision to go with amusement instead of irritation or anger. It’d be fun to see how much his usual behavior pissed her off. So flirting, smiling, fun Evan was back in action. Not the full force that he used to get in a girl’s pants. Just his usual. He could always turn it up later if he felt the need.

With that being the case, he didn’t hang back like he had since leaving the classroom. She stopped at a computer station to look upThe House of the Spiritsin the online catalogue, glancing at him as he leaned against the counter next to her, his eyes never leaving her, his customary smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Usually it happened without thought. Today, he was extra aware of it, wanting to make sure it never faltered, but didn’t veer into creepy territory either. Flirting was definitely not the same as creeping.

She let out a frustrated sigh, hitched her backpack higher on her shoulder, and headed for the stairs without a word. Rubbing a hand over his face, Evan stifled another laugh, catching up to her at the bottom of the stairs, being sure to stay close behind her. With another quick glance over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed as she saw him right behind her. Flinging her hair over her shoulder, she caught him in the face, his nostrils filling with a citrusy scent. This time he laughed out loud. Oh, this was going to be fun.

Evan followed her through the stacks, more determined than ever to see how far he could push her. If smiling at her and walking close behind her provoked this kind of reaction, what would she do if he actually flirted? Run screaming back to Dr. Rankin demanding an assignment change? Even if she did, he somehow doubted Dr. Rankin would go for that. The woman had a reputation of being unbending, rarely granting extensions except in cases of University-sanctioned absences (which he’d taken advantage of more than once) or a documented crisis. Not getting along with your assigned partner didn’t qualify as either of those. Unless Layla got appendicitis or had a real family emergency, she was stuck with him.

She stopped in front of a shelf of books so suddenly that he couldn’t stop before running into her, catching her by the shoulders to keep her from falling. She glared at him. “What are you doing? Don’t touch me.”

He let her go, holding up his hands palms out. “Yes, ma’am. I apologize. Just trying to keep you from falling.”

She huffed. “I wouldn’t’ve been in danger of falling if you hadn’t run into me.”

“Give a guy a little warning next time before you stop, and I’ll be sure not to run into you.” He smiled.

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t follow so close behind me.”

“Right. I’ll walk next to you from now on.”

A little growl of frustration came from her throat, but she turned to the books before she could catch him grinning. While she examined the books, he took another opportunity to examine her.

He considered himself something of a connoisseur when it came to women. He’d heard one of his old teammates use the term, back before he graduated and got pussy-whipped by some chick he met at a party. Evan felt it fit him even more than it had Lance Kane. As much as he liked to sample women, he also enjoyed watching them, figuring them out.

Layla didn’t fit in the neat classifications he’d come up with for the majority of the female population on campus. He had the most experience with the jersey chasers, for obvious reasons. They kept themselves made up and primped to the max, with regular salon appointments to keep up with the hair color, nails, and waxing. Then there were the female jocks, who he came in contact with nearly as often as the jersey chasers. They were lower maintenance, which he appreciated when he was waiting for a girl to get ready, and more aggressive in bed, which he liked when he was in the right mood as well.

There was a large subset of outdoorsy types around here. Layla almost fit that description, but not quite. She didn’t look like she’d stepped out of an L.L. Bean catalogue like he thought of those types of girls. Nor did she embody the hipster chick that dominated the English department. She had a similar wardrobe, but lacked the ironic air that went with it. And today, for example, with her fitted skinny jeans that clung to her legs and showcased her ass, and solid purple long-sleeved T-shirt with its deep V that gave just a hint of the swell of her breasts, she didn’t look like either of those. Since he’d seen her in shorts or a skirt a few times, he knew she shaved her legs, so she couldn’t be a hippie.

No, she was in a class all her own.

A book slapped into his chest, and he grabbed it reflexively.

Layla stood in front of him, brown eyes flashing. “Here. There’s only one copy. I’ll see if I can get it from the public library or buy it somewhere.”

“Uh, okay.” He pulled the book away from his chest and glanced down at it. “Is this a good translation? Wouldn’t it be easier if we got the same one? If you’re going to buy it, I can buy it too.”

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