Logan Kade (Fallen Crest #5.5) (9 page)

“Oh.” His eyes shifted to me, then back to her. “You know that’s only open to students in the top two percent of their classes. You…” He faltered, letting out a small sigh. His hand curled around his bag strap. “You know you’re not in that two percent.”

She stepped back as if he’d hit her. Her sultry smile disappeared. I expected her to snap, but all she did was murmur, “Oh, okay.” She hung her head and pulled her hands away from the table. “I’ll just have to get there then.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice cheery. He cleared his throat, glancing to me again. “We can see where you are after midterms. We add new students mid-semester anyway.”

“Okay.” She peeked back at him, a glimmer of a new smile wafting over her face. “Thank you, Jeremy.”

“Uh, sure.” He moved back from the table, holding his bag in front of him like a shield. “If you don’t mind, Sarah…” He nodded in my direction. “I need to talk to the new transfer.”

She looked at me, and the transformation was remarkable. Her eyes chilled. Her smile remained, but it became menacing. And I swear the room grew cold. A shiver moved up my arms, but I refused to cross them over my chest. I lifted my chin as she continued to look at me.

Her eyes narrowed.

So did mine.

Jeremy cleared his throat again. “Sarah, if you can go ahead? I’m going to lock the room behind me.”

“Yeah. Sure.” She cast one more glance over her shoulder before accepting defeat. She readjusted her backpack, gripping the strap where it lay over her shoulder, and scurried out the door. I stepped out behind her, with Jeremy bringing up the rear. I was cautious as I moved into the hallway. If she could’ve slung her bag to hit me, I think she would have, but she didn’t.

My stomach relaxed as I saw her hurry down the hallway to the main entryway.

“Sorry about that.” Jeremy closed the door and locked it. He stepped around me with a smile and extended his arm to lead the way. “Professor Gayle lets me use her office in between classes. We can go there.”

I followed as he went to the back hallway where professors had their offices. He paused in front of the last one.

“Am I in trouble?” I asked.

He opened the door, but looked back, surprised. “Why would you be?”

“Because I was late.”

“Oh.” He laughed. “No, not at all. I want to talk to you about what that other student asked about.”

I tilted my head. “The Honors thingy?”

He laughed a second time as he placed his bag on the cluttered desk and sat down in the chair. He motioned to the door. “If you don’t mind, do you want to close that?” As I did, he pointed to the empty chair across from him. “You can take a seat.”

Once I sat down, he leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “We tell students that the Honors Study Group is only for those in the top two percent, but that’s not entirely true. It’s for whomever we choose. But more than likely the top two percent are among them. The group consists of the best students in the nursing program. We get together every other Thursday evening to do…” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Just about anything. We study together, give each other pointers, help with papers and study guides, or just hang out. The last time we went bowling, and the time before that, one of the girls had us over to her house.” He paused, a secretive smile on his face. “That was an interesting night indeed.”

I felt like I was going to be inducted into a secret society of nerds—the kind who were entitled, self-righteous pricks who got off on how smart they were. If Claire were sitting where I was, she would be drooling at the exclusiveness. This guy was either going to invite me in or tell me how to apply. I bit my lip. I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with this, whatever it was, but a voice in my head kept me from outright saying no. It reminded me that sometimes it pays to put up, shut up, and see if there are benefits to being asked.

I kept quiet, hearing him out.

“Anyway.” He clasped his hands together and rested them on the desk. “Gayle wanted me to ask if you’d be interested in joining us.”

Gayle, as in Professor Gayle.

I frowned. He’d said the day before that she’d called in some favors because of my dad. Understanding flooded over me. This was because of my dad. “She’s doing my dad a favor?”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Uh…yeah, but it’s not all because of your dad. Before your, uh, before what happened last year, you were in the top five percent of your class. Professor Gayle feels you’d fit in perfectly with the group, and…” He leaned closer and dropped his voice, though no one else was in the office. “Between you and me, it’s worth it. Any extra time it might take, and even dealing with some of the egos, it’s all worth it. We really do help each other, and you’ll get to know the professors on more of a one-to-one basis. It’s good to have a professor know your name and care about what happens with your future. It’s really good.”

I chewed on the inside of my lip. My eyes wandered around the room and found a picture of a stunning woman: Long, beautiful golden hair. White teeth. Perfect smile. Sparking blue eyes. She was slender with a heart-shaped face. I nodded to the photograph. “Is that Professor Gayle?”

He followed my gaze. “Yeah. That’s her.”

“Is she married?”

“No.”

His answer was quick, quick enough that it seemed Mr. Fuller had a little crush himself. Professor Gayle looked to be in her thirties, and I got the same let-down feeling that filled me whenever someone used me to get to my dad. Maybe I shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but I was betting Professor Gayle wanted to date my dad, or she already was and was looking out for his kid. Either way, I knew my answer.

I stood up, gathering my bag. “I can’t.”

He stood with me, looking surprised. “Are you sure?”

I nodded, going for the door. “Thanks for the invite, but I just can’t right now.”

“Oh.”

I glanced back before opening the door. He stared at the desk, his mouth turned down.

My answer had stunned him. “Thank you again,” I said.

“Yeah.” His head bobbed up and down. “Uh, let me know if you ever change your mind.”

People didn’t turn chances like that down. That much was obvious. But I had to.

Women used to come to our house to see my father, and I was used to them fawning over me because they thought it would get them closer to him. My dad had a great job. We had money, and also an inheritance from my mother, which included money she’d received from her parents when they passed away five years ago. These more recent women could tell there was money somewhere,
and
my dad was handsome.

I resigned myself to the fact that he was going to date, but I didn’t like it. I didn’t have to like it, and I certainly didn’t want it having an impact on my academic life.

My studies were mine alone. No dad. No wife wannabes. I wanted my dad’s identity and mine to be separate. That meant keeping my head down, trying to keep quiet about my last name, and doing what I knew how to do: study my ass off and make my mom proud.

Thinking about living my own life reminded me of Jason, and I pulled out my phone to send him a text:
You still mad at me?

I’m not replying to you.

You just did.

To tell you that I’m not replying to you.

So you’re mad?

I waited a beat. No text came. But just as I slid my phone back into my bag, I heard it buzz again. I pulled it back out to see that Jason had replied,
Yes
.

I dropped it back in my bag with no reply. There was no point. When Jason got mad, I had to let him stew. He’d get over it, eventually. I was on my way to the food court for lunch before my next class when another text came. Jason again:
I won’t be mad by the weekend. We should hang out.

I replied with a smiley face, then really put my phone away.

The food court was set up like the ones at a mall. Fast-food booths lined the outside walls, and tables, chairs, and couches covered the middle. A large fountain filled the area next to the main entrance, and a river wound from it down through the center of the eating area. Potted trees and foliage added to the atmosphere. Doors to the side of the fountain led into the actual cafeteria for students with a meal plan. They just needed their ID card to get inside. I had a meal plan, but I still grabbed an empty table in the far corner of the food court, right next the windows. It was out of the way, and I could see all the students outside.

It was perfect.

Plopping down with my salad, an apple, and a water, I pulled out my laptop. I had an hour and a half before my next class. I’d just started checking my email when I heard a familiar voice. Claire came in through a side door near me. She was with a bunch of others, all of whom Jason would’ve rolled his eyes at.

Some of the guys wore pastel polo shirts over slim khaki shorts, their hair gelled and combed to the side. Other guys had their hair sticking up in a mess, but it was no doubt meticulously put together. Claire and a few of the other girls wore dresses, while two others wore jeans and T-shirts. Those two trailed behind, and I wondered if they were actually part of the group.

When they all found a table, those two girls sat at the end. Claire landed smack in the middle, right next to the guy who looked like the leader. He wasn’t the tallest, but he had the most charisma and a wide smile. Everyone seemed to be talking to him, or waiting for whatever he had to say before continuing their conversation.

I could’ve called out or raised a hand, and she would’ve come over. Actually, seeing how snug she looked next to that guy, she probably would’ve called me over to join them. She sat with her back to me, so I knew she wasn’t going to see me. I kept quiet. Sometimes being alone was too lonely, and sometimes—like now—it was a welcome break.

Then I heard, “It’s my mindfucking partner in crime.”

REGULAR NICE GUY

LOGAN

Taylor wanted to be alone. That was obvious.

I saw her from outside before I came in. She was watching her friend, her cute face scrunched up. I could’ve done a play-by-play of her thoughts:
Should I call out to her? Do I want to? Then I’ll have to deal with the douchebag pricks with her.

Then her face cleared. She stopped nibbling on her bottom lip and shifted in her seat, turning away from the table with her friend. Yep. Taylor made the right decision.

And I made my grand entrance, dropping into the seat across from her. “It’s my mindfucking partner in crime.”

Her entire body went rigid, her apple frozen inches from her mouth.

I smirked. “Any time you spend with those sphincters is wasted time. Good call ignoring your friend.”

Her cheeks flooded with color, and she straightened in her seat. “I’m not ignoring—” she started. She took a breath and looked around. “I didn’t even see her over there.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t lie.” I waved at her face. “You turn purple when you try to bullshit. It’s a bad look for you.”

“I’m not purple.” Her cheeks went from red to a lavender color.

“You are. It’s kinda cute, if you want a guy that’s into the whole Barney look, but I’d assume those guys aren’t going to be looking your way unless you’re nine and like black, nondescript vans.”

“What?”

“Okay. I’m stereotyping.” I grabbed her water. “But I don’t care.”