Page 3 of Too Late

I immediately flip the phone over, hoping she didn’t read it. She brings her hand to her mouth to cover her laugh.

Crap. She read it.

“Hot piece of ass, huh?” she says.

“I’m sorry. My friend … He thinks he’s funny. Also likes to make my life hell.”

She arches an eyebrow and turns toward me. “So youdon’tthink I’m a hot piece of ass?”

With her facing me head-on, it’s the first chance I’ve actually had to get a good look at her. Let’s just say I’m officially in love with this class now. I shrug my shoulders. “With all due respect, you’ve been sitting down since I met you. I haven’t even seen your ass.”

She laughs again. “Sloan,” she says, extending her hand. I take her hand in mine. There’s a small crescent-shaped scar on her thumb. I run my thumb across it and twist her hand back and forth, inspecting the scar.

“Sloan,” I repeat, letting her name roll off the tip of my tongue.

“This is usually the point during introductions that one would reply with theirownname,” she says.

I glance back up at her and she pulls her hand away, looking at me inquisitively.

“Carter,” I reply, keeping in character with who I’m supposed to be. It’s been hard enough referring to Ryan as Dalton for the past six weeks, but I’ve gotten used to it. Calling myself Carter is another story. I’ve more than once slipped up and almost used my real name.

“Mucho gusto,” she says in an almost perfect accent, turning her attention toward the front of the room.

No, the pleasure ismine.Believe me.

The professor instructs the class to turn to the closest partner and state three facts about the other person in Spanish. This is my fourth year of Spanish, so I decide to let Sloan go first so I don’t intimidate her. We turn toward each other and I nod my head at her. “Las señoras primera,” I say.

“No, we’ll take turns,” she says. “You first. Go ahead, tell me a fact about myself.”

“Okay,” I say, laughing at how she just took control. “Usted es mandona.”

“That’s an opinion, not a fact,” she states. “But I’ll give it to you.”

I tilt my head in her direction. “You understood what I just said?”

She nods her head. “If you intended to call me bossy, then yes.” She narrows her eyes, but a tiny smile forces its way through. “My turn,” she says. “Su compañera de clase es bella.”

I laugh. She just complimented herself by telling me that my class partner is beautiful? I nod in unabashed agreement. “Mi compañera de clase esta correcta.”

I can see the blush rise to her cheeks, despite her tanned skin. “How old are you?” she asks.

“That’s a question, not a fact. And in English, no less.”

“I need to ask a question to get to the fact. You look a little older than most sophomore Spanish students.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Twenty-three? Twenty-four?” she says.

She’s not too far off. I’m twenty-five, but she doesn’t need to know that. “Twenty-two,” I say.

“Tiene veintidos años,” she says, stating her second fact about me.

“You cheat,” I reply.

“You have to say that in Spanish if that’s one of your facts about me.”

“Usted engaña.”

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