The Studying Hours(14)

The entreaty travels across the silent room to its intended target, drifting listlessly, weaving its way into Jameson’s black leggings. She shifts again in her chair, lifting her rear off the seat uncomfortably.

“No.”

“You know you’re breaking my heart, don’t you, Jim?”

“Yes.”

Yes, yes, yes.

“Fuck.”

Suddenly and without warning, Jameson stands, the leather chair falling back and hitting the wall. She collects her things, closing her laptop and scooping everything into her book bag.

“Maybe I should go. I’m not cut out for whatever this is, and I didn’t come here to get harassed, so clearly I’m not your type of girl.”

My mouth falls open, but nothing comes out—no protests, no jokes, no innuendos.

Shit.

“Jim, c’mon—sit down. I’m kidding.”

Her bag slung over her shoulder, she drops a pencil to the carpeted floor but doesn’t bend to pick it up.

Probably because she’s not wearing any fucking underwear.

I groan at the thought.

“Stay—please. God dammit, I’m sorry, okay? I’ll stop being an asshole.”

“You’re a nice guy, okay? I think you’re neat. But you’re not getting in my pants, so I wish you’d stop wasting your time.”

Hold up. Did she just call me… “Neat?”

“Yeah, neat.” Her head shakes with a laugh. “I’ll see you around, Oz. Do the women of the world a favor and try to behave yourself.”

Another heartbeat and she’s gone, nothing left but the door slamming behind her and the musky smell of her perfume.

I’m left sitting alone under the florescent lights of the sterile study room. She’ll see me around?

Behave?

Yeah, no. There’s nothing I love more than a challenge, and Jameson Clark just triggered my competitive reflexes.

I tap a few keys on my laptop before an idea pops into my head.

A genius, totally outrageous idea.

See me around?

You bet your tight little ass you will.





Jameson





“I still cannot believe the nerve of him!” I practically shout, slamming out of the campus union  , my voice carrying through the courtyard, echoing among the sparse trees and frozen ground. Several students walking down the shoveled concrete path swivel their heads and glare in my direction, curiously. “That…that…asshole!”

Undeterred, I stalk across campus, eyes set on one building, and one building alone.

My day had been going great; after a long, sleepless night, I had finally put Sebastian Osborne out of my mind, aced my chemistry lab test, and scored the last rice crispy treat out of the vending machine in the cafeteria.

All before ten o’clock.

With a whistle and a spring in my step, I’d sauntered into the ski and snowboard office to gather whatever last minute travel information I needed for my trip tomorrow. I had nary a care in the world before Chad Hanson, our president, announced, “Hey James, we have a last minute addition coming on the spring break trip this year. He signed up late last night, paid in full by credit card.”

Chad had paused then, shuffled a stack of papers, and cleared his throat, flipping the long hair out of his green eyes before addressing me again.

“James? Did you hear me?”

Shaking my head, I had planted a cheery smile on my face.

“Sorry, I don’t know what my problem is. What were you saying?”

“We have a new guy signed up for the trip—Sebastian Osborne, if you can believe it. Why didn’t you tell me he was your cousin? He called before I closed the office last night and paid for the trip with a credit card. Weird, huh?”

I’m sorry, what? “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“I said, we have a new guy signed up for the trip—”

I’d thrown my hand up to stop him. “No, no, I know what you said, Chad. I just…can’t believe that’s what I’m hearing. We closed registration weeks ago. Weeks.”

Chad had rolled his lovely green eyes at me—green eyes I’d lately taken to gazing adorningly at when he wasn’t paying attention, stared into the depths of when they widened playfully.

Kind but cocky, after flirting with me tirelessly for the past year, I was finally starting to reciprocate his affection. Sort of. Well, in my own special way. Add in the fact that he’s an incredibly talented snowboarder?

“I know James, but it’s Oz Osborne. You don’t just tell that guy no—”

“Yes you do.”

“Dude, I had to make an executive decision; no one else was here last night.” Chad had raised his eyebrows at me, daring me to argue. “Osborne wants in on the trip, Osborne comes on the trip. We need the publicity.”

“Publicity? We don’t need any more publicity! Chad—you and Patrick went to the X Games last year.” Granted, they hadn’t made it past pre-quals, but still.

The X Games.

“Whatever, James, I’m not arguing with you.”

“Seriously? That’s it? You’re letting him come? We had a deadline, Chad! No one applying for the trip was eligible after the 12th of the month!”

“I know, but dude—since Celeste backed out when her financial aid didn’t come through, we had that one extra spot…”

That one extra spot, my ass.

“Where’s he staying, wise ass?”

“We’ll figure that out when we get to the hotel. He’s your cousin, so maybe…”

“No!”

“It’ll work itself out, so chill.”

Chill? Oh my god, snowboarders and their lackadaisical attitudes.

Unfortunately, if Chad Hanson wants Oz Osborne on the damn trip, then Chad Hanson gets Oz Osborne on the damn trip. And now I was stuck with him for five entire days. Five days and four nights. One thousand eighty-five miles from school. No professors, no roommates, no parents—just us and the mountains and the fresh pow under our boards.

My trip was ruined.

Ruined by the foul-mouthed jock with an appetite for driving me insane. Ruined by a six foot two, sandy-haired Goliath named Sebastian that I was going to kill as soon as I could get my bare hands on him.

When I reach the library steps, I glance up at the ivy-covered bricks and four stories, wondering if luck would be on my side, wondering if Oz Osborne was inside.

What does he want with me?

I’m not stupid; I know he’s coming on this trip to torture me.

But why? He hardly knows me!

Determined, I push through my hesitations, through the heavy doors, and into the lobby. Not bothering to remove my heavy down coat like I normally would, my eyes scan the first floor, taking careful measure of everyone there studying. Ginger guy with the glasses. The girl he studies with who obviously has him in the friend-zone despite his horrible efforts at flirting. The Hispanic kid who’s here more often than I am, who always has the same stack of books on the same corner of the same table. The football player and his pretty blonde girlfriend.

And…Oz.

I’d recognize that sneaky sonofabeehive anywhere, even from behind.

Pen poised above a notebook, the muscles in his strong back strain against his thin baby blue tee shirt, neatly outlined and drool worthy. I mean, I can actually see every defined muscle of his damn latissimus dorsi from here.

God that asshole is gorgeous.

Unfortunately, he’s not alone; I recognize one of the guys as the idiot from the other night, the one who’d been cheering Oz on and leering at me.

Nonetheless, I march directly to their table, hell bent on a mission and halting so fast I bump Oz in the elbow from behind, noting with satisfaction a black, inky line smudge across what looks like a very important paper.

Smirking, I lean in good and close so he can hear every word I’m about to say, my black puffy coat brushing his rock solid shoulder as I murmur into this ear from behind. “I am literally going to kill you.”

He rocks back, broad shoulders brushing the front of my coat before cocking his head to the side. “I get threats on the daily, Jim. You have to be more specific.”

“Why’d you do it? Are you insane?” I pull away, drawing back to smack him in the arm—his dense, warm, muscly arm. It’s rock hard under my palm.

He finally stops writing, puts down his pen, and twists his torso to face me, amused. Cocky bastard.

The hulky guy beside him laughs. “What’d you do to this one, Ozzy? You lay too much pipe?”

The big black-haired guy crudely snickers like I’m a joke. Like I’m one of their little fan club members lining up to sleep with them. Nothing better than a groupie. He must find me wanting because his disinterested gaze flares before he redirects his cold, icy blue eyes to Oz. “Get her out of here.”

I smack Oz again, the corners of his eyes wrinkling humorously as he makes a show of looking me up and down slowly—exactly how he looked at Sydney and Allison and all the other girls. That redheaded girl giving him a hand-job at the house party.

Callous and cold and dismissive.

“Oh please.” I roll my eyes dramatically. “Don’t bother pretending not to know who I am you turd. I’m so irritated with you right now I could strangle you with my bare hands.”

More chuckles from around the table when Oz replies, “I like it rough as the next guy, Jim, but why don’t you wait until we’re alone.”