Page 17 of Gingers Can Do Maths

I shake my head and then eye the door. “What will you wear? You can’t walk out like that.”

“I don’t have tits,” he says, grabbing my wrist, and slipping it into a sleeve that swallows the length of my arm. Before I can protest, he’s already working my other arm in, then buttoning it.

“But you have eight abs,” I blurt.

“So do most of the boys at Bradley. It’s nothing they haven’t seen before.”

As he reaches for the doorknob, something fiercely protective overwhelms me as I grab his wrist to stop him. A buzz shoots up my arm although we still aren’t touching skin to skin thanks to the access of fabric.

I know I’m being irrational, but I don’t care. I don’t want anyone gawking at him the way I shamelessly am. Boys or girls.

Girls.

Hortace girls.

Girls who’ve been feral for dick for at least a year.

Girls who think they can put dibs on any male, right down to the sanitation workers who come to campus twice a week. How the hell would they react to my Han?

Rohan.

“A lot of girls are here from Hortace. We came on the trolley together.”

I can’t look at him as I say it.

“You don’t want them looking at me?” There’s a smile in his voice and when I chance a glance up at him, I see that he’s smirking cockily.

“You didn’t want anyone to see me either. I just think it’s only fair. Equality and all of that,” I finish lamely, knowing we probably had very different reasons for wanting each other covered.

Han hadn’t touched me, so maybe old habits die hard, and he can’t fight his protective streak despite his clear coldness towards me. Is it brotherly protectiveness?

I feel another tug as he pulls my wet blazer from my grasp and slips it on. It’s like a crop top with sleeves so short they stop at his elbows. He buttons it, though the single, silver button does fuck all to hide much before he grabs my bag, settles it on his shoulder and unlocks the door.

The hall’s busy with Bradley boys and Hortace girls breaking from their tutoring sessions in a rush. Hortace’s trolley would leave at eight-thirty a.m. sharp as per the strict rules enforced by the exchange program. Anyone who misses it will be banned from next week’s session.

From the looks of it, all the newly paired couples had tried to squeeze out every last second that they could. I glance at the clock above the receptionist’s desk. Three minutes to eight. Great. The walk’s no less than five minutes away.

“Where’s the trolley?” Rohan asks.

I wince as a shoulder bumps into my arm given the crampedness.

“I can get there myself,” I say, jogging to keep up with Rohan’s long legs, and grasping for my bag, but he turns so it’s out of my reach. “Seriously. You don’t need to walk me.”

“But I do.”

I miss a step and nearly trip as I gaze up at him.Why?

“I need the blazer back. Bradley has a rule that they can’t leave campus until graduation. It’s a reputation thing so no current student’s spotted in one off-campus acting an ass.”

Oh.

OH!Another shoulder bumps into my back knocking the wind out of me while a bag hits my shin.

For one second I’ve lost Rohan’s orange head as a group of Hortace girls separates us as they sprint by. I need to sprint too. I can’t afford to miss next week’s session.

Why? Because of Presley University? Or because you don’t want to miss a chance to see Rohan again?

“Rohan!” I call into the crowd, my fingers already working the buttons of his blazer. “Give me my bag! I have to—”

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