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“What is your major?”
She rolls her eyes, turning away from me.
Yep, a kid.
“Communication and Economics.”
“Fascinating. You’ll have to tell me more next time.”
She pauses for a moment, but when she catches on that there won’tbea next time, she gasps, laughing and punching me in the arm.
“Could you have picked a more boring degree?”
“Fine, what did you major in?”
I side-eye her. “College wasn’t for me.”
“Don’t like school?”
“Don’t like shelling out unnecessary money.”
She shakes her head as we pull onto a busy campus street. For the end of the year, it’s packed with people leaving or partying away their last days before summer break. To our right, Greek Row has houses lined down the street that all look like some poor attempt at replicating the Parthenon, each one with the trademark Greek symbols above the door.
“So, whatdoyou do Mr . . .”
“Carpenter,” I finish for her, spotting Kappa Nu and pulling to a stop between a Beamer and one of those new electric cars that look like a toaster. “I’m a mechanic.”
“You don’t strike me as the glamorous party-type like the rest of your family.”
“Andyoudon’t strike me as the type to allow a Marshall to push her into a swimming pool.” I lean across her, ignoring her gawking face and mouthwatering perfume and push the passenger door open. “Your stop.”
She pauses for a moment and I hang there, balancing on the center console and holding the door open for her, our faces inches apart.
“Thank you for the ride, Mason Carpenter.” Slowly, she exits the truck. I don’t bother to ask for my flannel back. It looks better on her.
I chuckle darkly, for no other reason than dry amusement. If she knew what was going through my head at the sight of those pretty eyes, soft red hair, and a smattering of light freckles across her cheeks and nose, she wouldn’t think I was her knight in shining armor, coming to rescue her from walking the twenty miles back to college.
“You’re pretty, Hannah,” I say quietly and her mouth parts over a soft breath. “But stupid. Don’t get in the car with strangers.”
And with that, I shut the door on her and she stumbles back a few steps. She stares through the tinted glass for a moment, glaring at me before finally, she turns and marches up the stairs to Kappa Nu.
I watch her go inside before I pull away, all the while my skin crawling and my nose filled with the scent of her perfume. Sweet and honey-like. The soft southern accent that’s barely noticeableunder that California exterior. Perfect body hidden under a sopping wet dress.
Yeah . . . whoever she is, she’s going to be a problem.
And that, my friends, is what I get for trying to play hero.
Hannah
September
Ihate the tramps at these fucking parties.”
“Missy,” I scold, surveying the people around us to make sure none of them heard. “Keep your voice down.”
She shrugs. “Look at them.” She nods to where the three Carpenter sisters are laughing, completely oblivious to my sister’s death glare from across the room.
Must be nice. Laughing with your sisters. Mine always seems to be pissed off or sneaking out.
