The Learning Hours

Not even close.

I’m out with Alexandra and her two best friends, Gretchen and Kari, and we most certainly aren’t anywhere classy; in fact, the place is a dive.

It also happens to be the home of a fraternity fundraiser—a bar and a frat party all in one place, imagine that.

For the third time tonight, I give Alex a nudge, tugging on her sleeve and leaning in, peering into her plastic beer cup. It must be bottomless since it never seems to be empty.

“Come on, Alex, it’s getting late. You said we weren’t going to stay long.”

“I know, but Johnathan’s been behind the bar for an hour, and he’s almost done with his shift. I want to see him before we go.”

John is the president of the Sigs, one of the university’s largest fraternities. The biggest partiers. The deepest pockets.

The worst reputations.

My cousin has been fucking him behind her boyfriend’s back for weeks. “Alex, I’m sure John won’t know if you leave a bit early. He will live—you both will.”

“I’m his ride home.” She flips that long black hair over a bare shoulder. “Sober driver.”

“What! You promised him a ride home?”

“That’s not all I promised him.” Her laugh is flirty and borderline obnoxious.

“Are you shitting me right now? What does Dylan think of that?”

Her bottom lip juts out. “Who cares? And why do you care? I’m sorry Laurel, I’m not leaving. If you want to go, go.”

“It’s freezing outside!”

The temperature is glacial and I’m already freezing my ass off in tight black capri leggings and a mid-drift top, no jacket, half-boot heels.

What the hell was I thinking coming out dressed like this?

Oh, that’s right—I was hoping Rhett would change his mind and come out once the team rolled back into town.

My cousin rakes her stony eyes up and down my outfit. The tight black top might be long-sleeved, but it’s paper thin and flimsy.

“Laurel,” she scoffs, irritated. “It’s not my fault you didn’t bring a jacket.” When she crosses her arms, I know we’re done with the discussion, so I can do one of three things: stay, walk home, or call someone to come get me.

I rack my brain—Donovan is on a date with some new guy he met last weekend at a student senate retreat, and Lana picked up an extra shift at the banquet hall she waitresses at. There’s a wedding tonight and she didn’t want to pass up the tips.

“Well?”

I wave her off. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure it out.”

This isn’t the first time she’s chosen a guy over her friends, and it won’t be the last; Alex makes a habit of putting beaus before bows.

Despite the date rape talk we always have before stepping out for a party—or any night where there’s alcohol being served—no one leaves alone. We come together, we leave together.

That is, unless she wants to hook up.

Then? All bets are off.

I narrow my eyes. “Whatever. I’ll figure it out.”

Her smile is satisfied, the spoiled brat. “Text me when you get home so I know you got there safe.”

“Because if I’m not, you’re going to come riding to my rescue?”

She scrunches her face up, insulted. “Of course I would!”

“Then why are you letting me leave here? Alone?”

“God Laurel, then stay. Don’t be such a bitch about it.”

I throw my hands up. “I’m done. I’m going.” Giving my head an exasperated shake, I walk away dreaming up a thousand snarky tidbits I’m going to tell my mother in the morning when I call home.

“Okay. Be safe!” she calls out. “And text me when you get home!”

Right. Like that’s going to happen.

Outside, I find a corner, brace myself against the brick wall. Unlock my phone and scroll through the contacts, trying not to fool myself.

There is only one person I want picking me up, and he’s at home, probably in bed, unwilling to come out and spend some time getting to know me.

I nibble on the inside of my cheek, uncertain. What if he doesn’t answer?

But what if he does?

“Screw it.” The words rise on a puff of breath, the weather so cold my bravado turns to steam.

Rhett’s name lights up my screen, the counter ticking at the top.

One second.

Three.

Eight.

“Hello?”

“Rhett?” I hear rustling, like he’s in bed and unwrapping himself from a mess of sheets. For a brief second, I imagine he must be shirtless, barefoot, and only wearing boxer briefs, his hard body tangled in nothing but blankets—

“Hello?”

Does he recognize my voice? “Hey. It’s Laurel.”

“Hey, what’s up?” He yawns.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” I roll my eyes; how stupid do I sound? It’s obvious he’s in bed or something.

Shit. What if he’s not alone?

Pfft.

Duh, this is Rhett we’re talking about—of course he’s alone.

“No, you’re not interrupting anything.” He pauses. “I thought you were going out tonight?”

“I was. I am—out, I mean.” I continue babbling. “We’re out—my cousin and I, and her friends.”

I clamp my lips shut.

“Are you drunk dialing me?” he asks slowly, cautiously.

I laugh uneasily, shaking slightly from a combination of cold and nerves. I wrap myself in a hug, wishing I had coat, or even a sweatshirt—anything to ward off the chill.

“No, I’m sober. One hundred percent sober.” Okay, more like ninety-six percent, but who’s counting? “It’s freezing out, and I’m standing against a brick building. It’s so loud inside.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a teensy bit stranded.”

Silence. “Uh…”

“Is there any way you can you come get me?”

More silence.

I can hear him squinting, narrowing his brown eyes. “You sure you’re sober?”

“Positive.”

More rustling. It definitely sounds like he’s in motion. “Where are you?”

I press myself against the stone and smile. “Duffy’s.”

“Duffy’s, Duffy’s…” He’s trying to place the coordinates of the bar. “Okay. Give me ten.”

“All right.”

“Go back inside to stay warm. I’ll text you when I’m a block away.”

“Okay, I will.” I bite back a grin. “And thank you.”

Rhett grunts. I imagine he’s stepping into athletic pants, sliding them up his lean hips. “Be right there.”

And he is—right here I mean. I spot him within eight minutes, his familiar black Jeep pulling up to the curb in front of the rundown bar.

I push through the door, take the steps and eleven paces to the curb, purse hanging from a chain over my right shoulder.

Rhett has already hopped out of the car, jogging around to my side, beating me to the passenger door, his eyes giving my body a quick, barely perceivable scan.

I shiver again, but not from the cold.

“Hey.” He smiles down at me, giving me wide berth so I can hop in.

I pause before climbing in, giving him a breathy, “Hey,” and my own perusal of his figure: gray athletic pants hang low on his hips. Dark gray Iowa t-shirt pulls tight over his broad shoulders. Brown leather flip-flops despite the cold temperatures.

His toes stick out over the ends. Cute.

I brush against him, grabbing the door to steady myself, leaning in unnecessarily close; Rhett smells freshly showered.

Clean.

Masculine.

Like cologne and soap and fresh air.

Or maybe it’s just the fresh air…

I can’t tell if his eyes are glued to my ass as I climb in, but just in case they are, I give my hips a slow swivel. Inch my way unhurriedly onto the seat. Buckle up. Watch as he makes the jog back to the driver side.

Bite back a smile when he checks for traffic before pulling open his door.