The Deal (Off Campus #1)(19)

"Oh my God, imagine not knowing that your husband is cooking meth? Poor Skylar."

"She's definitely going to find out."

Hannah gasps. "Hey. No spoilers!"

"That's not a spoiler," I protest. "It's a prediction."

She relaxes. "Okay, good."

She picks up her Coke can and takes a deep swig. I've already demolished  my pizza, but Hannah's is only half done, so I steal a piece and take a  big bite.

"Ohhhh, look who's eating my boring pizza. Can anyone say hypocrite?"

"It's not my fault you eat like a bird, Wellsy. I can't let food go to waste."

"I had four slices!"

I have to concede, "Yeah, that actually makes you a total pig compared  to the girls I know. The most they ever eat is half a starter salad."

"That's because they need to stay rail-thin so guys like you will find them attractive."

"There's nothing attractive about a woman who's all skin and bones."

"Uh-huh, I'm sure you're so turned off by skinny women."

I roll my eyes. "No. I'm just saying I prefer 'em curvy." I swallow my  last bite before reaching for another slice. "A man likes having  something to grab onto when he's … you know." I arch my eyebrows at her.  "It goes both ways, though. I mean, wouldn't you rather sleep with a guy  who's built over one who's a twig?"

She snorts. "Is this the part where I compliment you on your super hot bod?"

"You think I'm super hot? Thanks, baby."

"No, you think you're super hot." She purses her lips. "But I suppose you have a point. I'm not attracted to scrawny guys."

"Then I guess it's a good thing Loverboy is shredded like lettuce, huh?"

She sighs. "Would you stop calling him that?"

"Nope." I chew thoughtfully. "I'll be honest. I don't know what you see in him."

"Why, because he's not Mr. Big Man on Campus? Because he's serious and smart and not a raging manwhore?"





  

Shit, I guess she's bought into Kohl's act. If I had a hat, I'd probably  tip it off to the guy for successfully creating a persona that drives  women wild-the nerd athlete.

"Kohl isn't what he seems," I say roughly. "I know he comes off as the  smart, mysterious jock, but there's something … slimy about him."

"I don't think he's slimy at all," she objects.

"Right, because you've had a plethora of deep, meaningful conversations with him," I crack. "Trust me, he's putting on a show."

"Agree to disagree." She smirks. "Besides, you're in no position to  judge who I'm interested in. From what I hear, you only date airheads."

I smirk right back. "You're wrong."

"Am I?"

"Yup. I only sleep with airheads. I don't date."

"Slut." She pauses, curiosity etching into her face. "How come you don't  date? I'm sure every girl at this college would kill to be your  girlfriend."

"I'm not looking for a relationship."

That perplexes her. "Why not? Relationships can be really fulfilling."

"Says the woman who's single."

"I'm single because I haven't found anyone I connect with, not because  I'm anti-relationship. It's nice having someone to spend time with. You  know, talking, cuddling, all that mushy stuff. Don't you want that?"

"Eventually. But not right now." I flash a cocky grin. "If I ever feel the need to talk to someone, I've got you."

"So your airheads get the sex, and I'm the one who has to listen to you  babble?" She shakes her head. "I feel like I'm getting the short end of  that deal."

I wiggle my eyebrows. "Aw, you want the sex too, Wellsy? I'm happy to give it to you."

Her cheeks turn the brightest shade of red I've ever seen, and I burst out laughing.

"Relax. I'm just kidding. I'm not stupid enough to bone my tutor. I'll  end up breaking your heart, and then you'll feed me false information,  and I'll fail the midterm."

"Again," she says sweetly. "You'll fail the midterm again."

I flip up my middle finger, but I'm grinning as I do it. "You taking off now or should I put on Episode 3?"

"Episode 3. Definitely."

We get comfortable on the bed again, me on my back with my head on three  pillows, Hannah on her stomach at the foot of the bed. The next episode  is intense, and once it's done, we're both eager to watch the next one.  Before I know it, we're done with the first disc and moving on to the  second. In between cliffhangers, we discuss what we've just seen and  make predictions, and honestly? I haven't had this much platonic fun  with a girl in … well, ever.

"I think his brother-in-law is on to him," Hannah muses.

"Are you kidding me? I bet they save that reveal for the end. I think Skylar's gonna find out soon, though."

"I hope she divorces him. Walter White is the devil. Seriously. I hate him."

I chuckle. "He's an anti-hero. You're supposed to hate him."

The next episode comes on, and we shut up immediately, because this is  the kind of show that requires your full attention. The next thing I  know, we've reached the season finale, which ends with a scene that  leaves us wide-eyed.

"Holy shit," I exclaim. "We're done with the first season."

Hannah bites her lip and steals a glance at the alarm clock. It's nearly  ten o'clock. We've just watched seven episodes without so much as a  bathroom break.

I expect her to announce it's time for her to go, but she sighs instead. "Do you have season two?"

I can't control my laughter. "You want to keep watching?"

"After that finale? How can we not?"

She makes a good point.

"At least the premiere," she says. "Don't you want to see what happens?"

I totally do, and so I don't object when she gets up to load the next disc. "You want a snack or something?" I offer.

"Sure."

"I'll go see what we have."

I find two microwave popcorn pouches in the kitchen cupboard, nuke them  both, and head back upstairs with two bowls of popcorn in my hands.

Hannah has stolen my spot, her dark hair fanned on my stack of pillows,  legs stretched out in front of her. Her red and black polka dot socks  make me grin. I've noticed she doesn't wear designer clothing or preppy  getups like most of the females at this school, or the trashy party  clothes you see on Greek Row and at the campus bars on weekends. Hannah  is all about skinny jeans and leggings and tight-fitting sweaters, which  might look elegant if she didn't always throw in a flash of bright  color. Like the socks, or the mittens, or those quirky hair clips she  wears.





  

"Is one of those for me?" She gestures to the bowls I'm holding.

"Yup."

I hand one over, and she sits up and shoves her hand inside, then  giggles. "I can't eat popcorn without thinking about Napoleon."

I blink. "The emperor?"

She laughs harder. "No, my dog. Well, my family's dog. He's in Indiana with my parents."

"What kind of dog?"

"A huge mutt crossed with a gazillion breeds, but he mostly looks like a German shepherd."

"Does Napoleon like popcorn?" I ask politely.

She grins. "He loves it. We got him when he was a puppy, and this one  time-I was about ten-my parents took me to the movies, and he broke into  the cupboards when we were out and managed to get into a box of  microwave popcorn packets. There were like fifty of them in there. My  mom is all about sales, so if there's ever a great deal at the grocery  store, she'll buy up the entire shelf of whatever product is on sale. I  guess that month it was Orville Redenbacher's. I swear, that dog ate  every single one of them, packaging included. He was pooping out whole  kernels and bits of paper for days."

I snicker.

"My dad was freaking out," she says. "He thought Napoleon would get food  poisoning or something, but the vet said it was no biggie and that it  would all come out eventually." She pauses. "Do you have any pets?"

"No, but my grandparents had a cat when I was growing up. Her name was  Peaches and she was batshit crazy." I shovel a handful of popcorn into  my mouth, chuckling as I chew. "She was sweet to me and my mom, but she  fucking hated my dad. Which isn't surprising, I guess. My grandparents  hated him too, so she must have been following their lead. But man, she  terrorized the old bastard."

Hannah grins. "What'd she do?"

"Scratch him any chance she got, piss on his shoes, that kind of stuff."  I suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh shit, the best thing she ever did?  It was Thanksgiving and we were at my grandparents' place in Buffalo,  and we're all gathered at the table about to eat when Peaches comes in  through the cat door. Right behind the house was this ravine, so she  used to prowl around there. Anyway, she waltzes inside and she's got  something in her mouth, but none of us can tell what it is."

"Oh God. I don't like where this is going."

I'm grinning so hard it hurts. "Peaches jumps up on the table like she's  the queen of the castle or some shit, strolls along the edge of the  tablecloth, and dumps a dead rabbit on my father's plate."