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“Who?”
I cringe as soon as he asks. “Just a girl from my class.”
He finishes and zips up his fly. “It wouldn’t happen to be the one with all the tattoos in the red bikini?”
My chest heats at his description. I don’t answer.
He chuckles. “Hmmm. Well, have fun, big bro.”
He slaps my back as he walks by. My jaw clenches, and I close my eyes. I will not hit him for this. He was just describing her to clarify who it was because he didn’t get her name. Blowing out a calming breath, I swing my backpack on and leave.
Why do I care if my brother looked at Harley that way?
I arrive at her dorm a few minutes later, right on time. She’s sitting on the steps, but she doesn’t have her books.
“Hey.” She stands and smiles as I approach.
My stomach feels tight. Her shorts barely cover anything.
“Hi.” I smile back. “Where are your books?”
She turns to walk up the steps, and I immediately avert my eyes down to my shoes.
“In my room." She uses her key card to open the door.
“Oh, okay. Well, I can wait while you get them.”
“Well, how are we going to study if you’re down here and I’m up there?” She juts a hip out.
I freeze in place.
I clear my throat, glancing over my shoulder.
“We could go to the library,” I suggest, hoping she agrees.
“You have to have a group of four to get a study room, and you can’t talk at the tables.” She turns to walk into the dorm, but my feet stay rooted to the cement.
I cannot go up to her room.
She looks over her shoulder. “Listen, I promise I won’t steal your chastity belt. Come on.” She waves a hand, gesturing toward the entrance.
Another girl walks up behind us, passing by to get in. Feeling a little ridiculous, I follow her. She’s right; we’re just studying. This is probably the best place to do it.
My heartbeat is so loud in the elevator that I’m embarrassed, thinking she can hear it. We finally step onto her floor, and I follow her over the gaudy red carpet to a door with a number thirty-four on it. Her room is a disaster on one side with an unmade bed and clothes and shoes strung everywhere.
In the center, beneath the window, is a variety of thriving plants. I notice an ivy and a monstera from here, but the others I can’t name.
The other side of the room is tidy but less colorful. She sits on the clean bed with a muted purple comforter. I begin to pull out a chair, only to find it covered with a mountain of clothes. The item on top is a tiny green triangle of silk and straps. My mind immediately places it on Harley, contrasting with her skin and ink beautifully. The heat in my face is painfully obvious, but she doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Sorry, I need to do laundry. Just sit on the bed.”
She’s sitting near the middle with her back against the wall, her legs crossed and a notebook in her lap. I slowly sink onto the very end. This is my first time alone with a girl I’m not related to.
“So, I thought what he said today about regions and the different compositions in—” She looks up at me, her voice cutting off. “What’s wrong?”
“Uh, nothing. Why?” I slide my backpack to the floor and take out my notebook.
“You’re clinging to the edge like I have some kind of disease,” she says.
