Page 92 of Fostering Chemistry
“The what?” That part of the conversation with Diego was coming back to me, how he’d basically just created a job for himself.
“It’s a resort way up in the mountains. Very exclusive. If she could get an internship there, I’m sure she could write her own ticket anywhere she wanted after she graduated.”
“Thanks, that’s a good idea.” I made a mental note to look up that resort and mention it to Zoe. “You make a good minion.”
He grinned. “High praise, indeed.”
I was feeling betterby the next afternoon, when there was a soft tap at my door, though it was open. I looked up to see Cody.
“Hey,” I said, gesturing him in.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better, I think.”
I sat up and scooted back against the headboard, only wincing a little as I dragged my leg along the mattress.
He came in and took off his jacket. It was actually black leather, not his usual hoodie. It looked really damn good on him. Underneath it was a long-sleeved gray Henley shirt, buttons open in the front, that hugged his muscles.
“Let me help,” he said. Without any hesitation, he pulled aside the covers and repositioned the pillow under my leg.
“Like that?” he asked.
“A little higher… yes, perfect, thanks.”
He nodded and sat down in the desk chair, like he was used to being in my room. I was glad because I wanted him here.
He pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen. “Sent you something.”
I picked up my vibrating phone and opened a message with an attachment. Then my jaw dropped. “These are… are these notes from class?”
“Yep.”
“You listened in class and took notes? In chem class?”
“Yes.” He gave a half smile. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes,” I echoed. Wow, he’d done that for me. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything.”
I laughed. “And I’m betting a last time, too?”
“Unless you miss Friday’s class.”
“No, I don’t think I will. I’m feeling better. The scrape is even starting to itch a little, so I think that means it’s healing.”
“Yeah, probably, although that part’s a pain in the butt—well, pain in the leg.”
“Exactly.” I paused. “I’m glad you’re here, because there’s something I need to ask you.” His only response was a cocked eyebrow, and I flushed. “I mean, I’m glad you’re here anyway, it’s not just because?—”
“Just ask.”
Nodding, I talked to him about my project for my digital advocacy class and how I needed to assemble a team.
“Well, that’s a fucked-up assignment,” he said, when I was done explaining. He kicked off his shoes and put his feet up on the edge of the bed, his ankles crossed.
“Better than some. Remember all those stupid ones they’d give us in grade school where you had to write about your parents? I hated those. It was like the teachers had no concept that maybe some kids came from difficult backgrounds.”
