The Studying Hours
Page 39“What… Why’d you do that?” Even to my own ears my voice is barely audible, throaty. I want to press a finger to my lips, but my hands are otherwise occupied, pressing into the solid, corded muscles in his back.
“Because I wanted to. Now chill out and take a nap with me. Be my calm.”
Be his calm? Be his calm.
“I’ll try,” I say breathily.
Oz’s head angles up and our drowsy eyes meet. “You’re cute.”
He’s always saying that.
Cute.
I hate it.
Feminist or not, I still hate that I’ll never be hot, or sexy, or coy.
Inept at flirting, I say nothing, let the moment pass until his gentle snores fill the small space we’re occupying for our ride home.
The first to wake, I’m able to sit up when Oz shifts, his legs spread wide and arms crossed as he rests.
I study his profile, eyes faltering on his handsome face, letting them travel the fine line of his nose, up his strong jawline, my perusal tracing his earlobe with every sweeping pass.
His lip twitches. “Are you watching me sleep?”
Ah, so the beast is awake.
Yes. “No.”
“Liar.” A smile tips his lips but his lids remain closed. “You’ve been watching me sleep all weekend, haven’t you, you little creeper?”
“Did you watch me sleep all weekend?” I tease, not expecting him to agree with me.
Seriously? “Seriously?”
His head lolls to the side, toward me. “Seriously. You’re gorgeous when you’re asleep.”
Okay then.
“So wait. You didn’t watch me sleep?” His demand jars me from my slumber and he gives me a nudge with his elbow. “Hey, wake up.”
“Leave me alone.” I don’t even crack an eyelid, just swat blindly in his direction. “I already told you this at least five times.”
“Right, but I just assumed you were full of shit.”
A groggy smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
Sebastian
Is it weird that I miss her?
She’s not a fuck buddy. Not a girlfriend. And if I’m being perfectly blunt, she’s not even a friend.
And yet…
I want to see her. Talk to her. Give her shit just to see her face turn red with embarrassment.
I sent her the first text at dawn this morning after a conditioning jog around campus, knowing she was probably still in bed but wanting to message her anyway. Not having a legit reason to message her, I went with:
Did you make it home okay?
I stop running when the phone in the pocket of my athletic shorts buzzes, pacing around the cement jogging trial to keep my muscles warm but wanting to see if it’s her.
Jameson: We got home two days ago, weirdo… But more importantly
Jameson: DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?!?
Oz: Yes. 5:47 and I wasn’t expecting you to actually answer, so you can’t get mad. Don’t you have your phone on silent when you sleep like a normal human being?
Jameson: NO!
Oz: Since you’re up, want to join me for a run? I know where you live…
Jameson: Don’t even think about it. I will murder you if you show up at my door. Murder.
Oz: Or I could climb into bed with you. I’ve gotten used to sharing a bed with you and your tower of cockblocking pillows.
Jameson: Those pillows did their job. Wait. Why am I awake? Why are YOU awake?
Oz: I’m standing on the jogging path near campus, texting you.
Jameson: The sun hasn’t even come up yet…
Oz: It’s just coming over the rise. I should keep moving. I have to get to the gym in 5
Jameson: When’s your next wrestling meet? Match? Rumble? Throw down…? WHY DID YOU WAKE ME UP
Oz: Lol it’s called a match, and it’s Thursday, so we leave late Wednesday night.
Jameson: Sigh. Where is it?
Oz: Pennsylvania—Penn State
Jameson: WOW! I mean, I’m really tired so all I can say is WOW but… WOW
Oz: LOL. Will you be at the library today?
Oz: Me
Jameson: Well in that case
Oz: Yes? I’ll text you after class tonight, yeah?
Jameson: Sure, but only because you caught me at my weakest. I’d say yes to anything right now to be left alone.
Oz: ANYTHING?
Jameson: Dream on pal. Anything but THAT
Oz: One of these days you’re going to change your mind Jameson Clark.
Jameson: I’m going back to sleep.
Sebastian
“So you leave tomorrow night, huh?” James asks while tapping on her keyboard, her lithe fingers flying over the small black letters at a rapid pace.
I look up from the ethics textbook flipped open in front of me. “Yeah. We have to be on the bus at nine. Which is going to suck. We lose an hour with the time change.”
The room is quiet as we both go back to our homework. But then…
“Do you ever get nervous?”
My eyes stop running along the rows and rows of text, and I pause to consider her question. Do I ever get nervous? Hell yes. All the time in fact—the adrenaline rush before a match combined with everything I have riding on my wins has had me nauseous on more than one occasion.
But no one has ever asked me, so I consider how I want to respond. I go with a simple, “Yes.”