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“What’s that about?” Piper whispered.
“I don’t know. They get like fifty bucks an hour, you think they’d be fine with sitting on their ass.”
“Why would they be like that though?” she pressed. “I thought you did all your homework.”
“I did enough of my homework,” I corrected her.
“What?”
I held up two markers. “Should I use the blue or the blue-blue? All of this shit looks the same to me.”
I thought Piper was going to drop the issue but her eyes flashed to the tablet, with my picture and my grades on it. I could see the wires connecting under that blonde hair. All my records were on that tablet.
“Piper…” I warned her.
It didn’t matter.
My RA snatched it off the table and shoved herself off the chair, weaving between the other tables before I could get off my seat. She was tall, but I was a massive fucking dude and it was a hell of a lot harder for me to stomp after her than it was for her to duck and dodge between the tables.
“Piper!” I called after her, trying to grab the tablet. “Goddammit—”
“Adam Russell, what is this?!” she demanded.
“Nothing. That’s what the hell it is,” I told her and found myself surrounded by football players with their mouths open. My jaw tightened. “All of you jackasses, mind your own goddamn business.”
Everyone’s eyes conveniently went back to their papers.
Before I could locate Piper again, she already returned to the table, with the tablet set neatly on top of her door decorations.
47
Piper
Waste Of Seven Thousand Dollars
I waited for Adam to return to the table and he did, walking slowly back like a cop in a hostage situation. Like he was expecting me to denote a bomb in front of him. Which he wasn’t completely wrong about. I drummed my fingers on the wood while he eased out the chair and took his seat, watching me with narrowed eyes.
"Ice princess," he began. "I could get you in a whole lot of trouble for—"
"So, we’re two weeks into spring and you’ve decided to embarrass me like this?" I asked.
Adam froze. His frown deepened. "Embarrass you?"
"Yes. Embarrass me. Because this is embarrassing."
"Hold on." He threw up his hands. "You were the one jumping around and shit!"
"We’re not even a quarter into the semester, why are your grades this low?" I tapped the tablet and his eyes flickered down to it. "They made me sign a contract saying I would keep you out of trouble and you’re this close to getting there with your grades? All those lunches I was getting my coding projects done and what were you doing?"
"I’m still above a two-point-three."
"A two-point-three?!"
Adam frowned, genuinely confused. "Yeah. I can still play football with that."
"Wow." I pushed the tablet off to him. "So, you're telling me that’s the best you can do? That’s it?"
"I’m becoming a professional football player," Adam reminded me, like I had my brain sucked out before lunch and couldn’t remember the only thing I was informed of every single day. "I don’t need this shit. I keep my grades above seventy-five in every class. I do enough to get by. None of this is going to apply to jack-shit that I do in the future."
