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I blow out a huff. “I can’t believe Brumehill decided to send you to represent the college.”
Tuck tilts his head, eyebrows bouncing. “You’re telling me. I’d have chosen Lane.” He shrugs. “Not complaining, though.”
“Don’t worry, I’m complaining enough for the both of us.”
He lets out a booming laugh, tossing his head back so that the locks of hair spilling from his cap bob luxuriously. “Glad you haven’t lost that sense of humor of yours since we last spoke.”
Since we last spoke. He just breezes past a reference to the fight we had—that we’re still having—without hesitation, without even a twitch in his expression. I wonder if Tuck’s even capable of feeling awkward.
Speaking of breezing past our fight without a hitch …
“Have a good drive up?” he asks. I don’t miss the stress he puts on the word drive.
I narrow my eyes on him. “A lovely one. I was still under the impression I’d be spending a weekend in a different state than you, so my mood was fantastic.”
His utterly unruffled grin only climbs higher. “We never know what the future holds, do we?”
Something flashes in his eyes, a spark of heat in the crisp ocean blue of his irises. It’s like he’s asking me: at the beginning of the semester, you wouldn’t have guessed the things you’ve already let me do to you, would you have?
A shudder rolls up my back as a muscle between my thighs pulls tight.
“By the way,” Tuck continues, his tone suddenly a register lower. More serious. “I’m sorry. If I overstepped my bounds. About your car.” There’s a beat of silence while his apology sinks in, before he continues, “But I’m not sorry that it helped you. I heard you went to that second round of auditions. I bet you fucking killed it.” He grins, genuine pride beaming from his smile. “And I don’t care if you’re still mad at me, I’m coming to watch your opening night in Burlington, because I know you’ll be on that stage.”
My chest swells with a glad feeling. I can’t stop the edges of my mouth from pulling up. Even when I try to flex the muscles into a frown, it’s useless, like the sides of my lips are tethered to two birds soaring upward towards the sun.
Then Tuck turns around, and I realize it’s already his turn at the check-in desk. The line’s been moving along, and I’ve been so wrapped up in this interaction with him that I didn’t even notice my own feet shuffling forward.
He shoots me a wink after the guy behind the counter hands him his keycard. Then, instead of walking to the elevator, he steps to the side of the lobby. Waiting for me.
I wish he wouldn’t.
I give my name. The guy behind the counter taps away at his computer. “Oh, you’re booked with the gentleman,” he says.
My expression pinches. “Excuse me?”
“Olivia Lockley. You’re in room 419. That room is also booked to Mr. …” he hits a couple buttons on his keyboard. “Tuck McCoy. You’ll be sharing the room.” His brow draws down, clearly noting my displeasure. “At least, that’s how it’s booked in our system. Is that an issue?”
“Absolutely!” the word pushes from my lips. My shoulders are tense, my stomach tight, and infuriatingly, there’s a traitorous tingle between my thighs as those words rattle in my brain—you’ll be sharing the room.
With a force of will, I banish that feeling. I will not be sharing the room with Tuck.
After checking to see if there are any free rooms—there aren’t—he suggests I contact Brumehill, as the room bookings were all taken care of by the college administration.
I don’t even know who to call. I wander into the lobby, feeling like I’m on one of those terrible reality shows where they play cruel pranks on people just to film their reactions.
Tuck’s still there. And he overheard.
“Sharing a room, huh?” I know Tuck isn’t the best actor, so the surprised expression on his face keeps me from thinking he’s somehow behind this. “Wow. Someone screwed up.”
“They sure did,” I say through grit teeth and a clenched jaw. I sigh as I reach for my phone. “I don’t even know who to call about this.”
“Probably not much they can do,” Tuck shrugs. His surprise is quickly giving way to amusement.
I gnaw at my cheek as I throw an annoyed glance at him. “I’ll be fine taking care of this. You can go to your room now.”
“Our room.” Delight dances in his eyes.
I guess I’ll try Dr. Werther. I don’t have her saved to my contacts, so I have to search through my email app for a message from her and hope against hope that the phone number in her signature is her personal number and not just her office phone.
