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“It’s for you,” I say.
Another beat passes. Then, finally, he reaches out and wraps his massive, powerful-looking hand around the cup. He takes a sip, and his Adam’s apple bobs in the thick column of his neck. I try not to let my eyes bulge at the sight.
A low, pleased sound draws from his throat, and it’s enough to make me feel chills all over. “Thanks,” he says, turning his gaze back to me.
If I’m not crazy, I think I can actually read gratitude in his steely eyes. I smile back at him. “You’re welcome.”
Maybe I actually will be seat buddies with the brooding, grumpy goalie after all.
Now that his guard seems at least somewhat down, I decide to keep the conversation rolling.
“Like my sweater?” I ask. I lift my right arm and angle it like I did early to show Olivia. “See? It’s a goose.”
Hudson’s lips purse, his expression blank.
Then, before I can stop myself, the stupid sounds spew out of my mouth just like they did to Olivia this morning.
“Honk, honk,” I say with a big, dumb smile.
Hudson blinks once. Again. He continues to level me with his deadpan stare. It dawns on me that Olivia might be right: I probably am the biggest dork in the world.
Honking like a goose before English class? Who does that?
Probably what Hudson’s thinking right now.
Luckily, our professor, Dr. Ferrara, walks into the room and gets class started. Hudson turns his head towards the front of the room, mercifully releasing me from his gaze.
I let out a quiet sigh, my cheeks burning. Hudson probably thinks I’m a total weirdo now. Oh, well.
6
HUDSON
That was the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my fucking life.
I’ve never had a problem with academic eligibility before, but sitting next to Summer might change that, because for the second class in a row, the professor’s lecture goes in one ear and out the other.
I think he’s talking about a poem, but right now I’d fail a pop quiz even if the only questions were what the title of it is and who the author was.
All my thoughts are on the cute violin player in her cute goose sweater sitting next to me.
I take another drink of the coffee she brought me, hoping that maybe the caffeine will let me focus.
Fuck, this is the best tasting coffee I’ve ever drank in my life. So flavorful and rich. So smooth. The perfect temperature. I didn’t know they made coffee this good.
Alright, with some caffeine flowing through my blood I’m able to follow the professor’s lecture for the first time today. Even though I missed a big chunk of it, I can still catch up. He’s talking about Robert Frost, the poet. He just mentioned?—
Suddenly, my thoughts are a million miles away from the lecture again, because in my peripheral vision I see Summer pulling her goose sweater over her head.
The last thing I need for my concentration is the visual of Summer removing her clothes.
Though it makes sense that she’d want to take the sweater off, because it’s gotta be a hundred degrees in here, hot enough to make sweat crawl down the back of your neck.
It’s not just me, right?
I try to chase out the thoughts that flood into my head, but it’s futile. My imagination is full of images of Summer removing a lot more than just a sweater.
Images of her grabbing the hem of her t-shirt and lifting it up, slowly exposing her honey-golden stomach; of her skirt dropping down her long, toned legs and falling to her ankles; of her reaching behind her to unclasp her bra …
