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“What can I say? My mom was an English lit professor. Emerson was her favorite. Other kids got Goodnight Moon before bed. I got that and an Emerson quote.”
“Leave it to you to pick the chauvinistic one out of the bunch.”
“What?” His brows rise in outrage. “There’s nothing chauvinistic about that quote.”
I repress a grin. He’s too easy. And if teasing distracts him from his pain, more the better. “Right. Whatever. ‘Whoso would be a man.’” I make quote gestures with my fingers for emphasis. “Why not ‘human’?”
Unfortunately, Drew is too quick. His growing scowl suddenly breaks into a knowing smile. “‘Man’ is generic, and you know it.”
“It is also sexist,” I retort, having way too much fun.
“I highly doubt they viewed it as such in 1841, Jones.”
I’m about to rib him further, but then I take a good look at Drew. He’s getting paler, a light sweat breaking out on his high forehead. A pang centers in my chest.
“Come on.” I take him by the elbow and guide him down the hall. “Let’s get you settled, before you fall on your face.”
Upstairs we head for the campus radio station booth. It’s a large glassed-in area, manned by Floyd Hopkins most afternoons. He’s there now, taking a break by the looks of the sandwich and soda he has on the desk outside the inner DJ booth.
He sees me coming and breaks into a smile. Tall, thin, with a bushy dark blond halo of curls and a scraggly goatee, he’s a modern day Shaggy. But there’s no denying his charisma. There’s always been something charming about the way he carries himself. A lazy confidence.
Floyd was the guy who introduced me to weed sophomore year. We got high and had sex. It was that eventful. But we remained friends. Well, ‘friends’ is kind of stretching it. More like acquaintances with carnal knowledge. Not that this stops him from hugging me for a bit too long. Or maybe he does so because of Drew standing next to me; Floyd’s eyes stay on him for too long as well.
“Anna Jones, how you doing?”
I break free of Floyd. This was a bad idea. One of many. “Fine.”
“Yeah...” Floyd looks between Drew and me as if waiting for an explanation. Drew appears ready to flee.
“Look,” I say, “can I use your back room...” Horror has my voice fleeing, as Floyd’s instant creepy grin and Drew’s raised brows hit me like a brick, and it fully registers how my request sounds.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” I snap, flushed and wanting to die.
Thankfully Floyd laughs. “I’m just messing with you, Anna. I know you’d be the last girl to ask to borrow my couch for sex.” He glances at Drew. “Even with Battle Baylor here. She’s too discreet, you know?”
Drew merely looks at him, and Floyd kind of deflates like a day-old balloon. As for me, I want to hit something. Floyd runs a finger along his hairy chin. “It’s cool. Go on and take your seven minutes.”
“We really need more like an hour...” Again, my voice dies on a gurgle.
Floyd’s grin erupts full force. At my side, Drew makes a smothered sound like he’s choking.
“God, just...” I tug Drew past Floyd and storm into the lounge, shutting the door on Floyd’s amusement.
Not on Drew’s. He bursts out laughing, even as he clutches his head. “Ow, shit.” He laughs again. “God, you should have seen your face.”
“Funny.” I’m pleased to find the lava lamp is already on. Yes, the room boasts one, which I found cheesy the time I visited, but it serves a purpose now.
“I mean, that was not very subtle, Jones.” His eyes are both bleary and twinkling. Bastard even looks good in pain.
“You’re going to be sorry you teased me.” I turn off the overhead light and plunge us into a darkened world of dreamy blue moving shadows. “And if you make a crack about sex one more time...”
“You’ll get very angry?” Drew asks as he plops down onto the couch. A sigh leaves him as he leans his head against the padded back. He’s hurting but he seems pleased. “Thank you for finding me a place to lie down. I needed this.”
Carefully, I sit next to him. “I’m just happy he didn’t notice the oil.”
Drew bursts out laughing again, but it ends with a groan. “Anna.”
The underlying emotion in the way he says my name makes my grip unsteady as I uncap the oil and rub a bit between my palms. “Give me your hand.”
