Page 36 of Fall From Grace
Logan is already packed up, and he tosses his bag over his shoulder and stands with me, saying, “Wait. Really? I was expecting a fight from you.”
Of course he was expecting a fight, because who in their right mind would want to partner with him for anything academic? It’s pretty clear he won’t do a lick of the work. Most people wouldhate that, but I’ve grown so used to doing all the work I think I prefer it.
When it comes to anything with groups, I’d rather do it all, so I at least know it was done right.
I walk with Logan toward the podium, where Professor Scott waits. We are the first to approach him, as everyone else is still deciding their groups. When he watches us come toward him, he eyes us both up, although I think his gaze lingers on me more, and his earlier warning echoes in my mind.
What else can I do? Tell Logan I want to work with someone else, people I haven’t said a single word to so far? If this can keep my bubble small, I’m all for it. Talking to new people is exhausting, from an introvert’s perspective.
“Got our group,” Logan proclaims with a smirk. “Me and Wren.”
“Is that right?” Unless I’m mistaken, which maybe I am, I swear I detect a hint of challenge in his voice. Maybe he’s challenging me. Maybe he only wants to make sure I’m okay with this. When I nod, he jots something down on a paper as he says, “Wren and…”
“Logan,” the guy beside me finishes for him, and Professor Scott writes his name beside mine.
“All right, Wren and Logan, I look forward to hearing the topic you choose.”
Logan doesn’t say anything to him as he turns around and heads for the stairs on this side of the room, and I go to start after him—not to follow him, just to leave class—but Professor Scott says something to me, something quiet, once Logan is out of earshot: “If you ever need anything, come see me. I want you to have everything you need.”
I give him a smile and a nod of acknowledgement before I march up the steps and leave the auditorium, and then, when what he said really hits me, I wonder if he’s going to say the samething to everybody, or if he’s singling me out because he thinks I’m something special, something he needs to help cultivate or something.
Logan waits for me just outside the auditorium, in the wide hall. “What’d he say?”
“Nothing,” I quickly say, and thankfully he lets it drop. He does not, however, let his idea for the night drop, because as I keep walking, he tags along with me.
“So, when do you want to get together and pick a topic?”
“You know, we don’t need to do this.” We make it to the side stairwell, and I push open the door and head down with pep in my step.
“I didn’t think you’d let us bomb this—”
“That’s not—obviously, that’s not what I meant.” I shoot him a dirty look. Once we’re on the ground level, we exit out into the bright sunlight. The temperature is nice, but we’ll only have a few more weeks of okay weather before it starts to rain every day and running between classes turns miserable. Then it gets chilly, snowy. Yuck.
Logan sounds curious, and totally dumb when he asks, “Then what did you mean?”
“We don’t need to pretend. I know you’re not going to do any of the work, so why don’t you just let me handle it? I’ll choose the topic, I’ll do the research, I’ll write the paper and plan our presentation. I’ll even write down what you’ll have to say in front of the class—all you’ll need to do is practice it a few times. Hopefully you’re not awful at public speaking.”
He frowns at me. “I can handle myself in front of a crowd just fine.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“And, you know what? No, I’m not going to sit back and let you handle it. We’re in this group together, so we’re going to doit together. Suck it up, buttercup, because you and I are going to start seeing even more of each other.”
I can’t hold in the sigh of exasperation. “Why? Why are you like this?”
“Maybe if you let me come over tonight, I’d shut up about it.”
“Say I let you come over. What do you think will happen?”
“I told you. I’d bring food. We’d make popcorn. Watch a movie. Share the same blanket—”
I lift my eyebrows. “And you’d be okay if nothing happened?”
“You really think you’d be able to share a blanket with me and keep your hands off me?” The arrogance. The cockiness. He might wear them well, but I do not find them attractive at all… even if I do kind of like it when he smirks.
I don’t know how long I gaze up into his eyes, but it’s a while. Thirty seconds, at least, and as I do, he doesn’t say another word more. It’s like he’s wordlessly begging me to prove him wrong. God, this guy is the very definition of hot and cold.
Finally, I ask him, “Would you keep your hands off me?”
