“What’re you studying?” I asked Noah.
He grimaced. “My CFA Level 1.”
At my look of mystification, he elaborated, “It’s a finance certification exam with three levels. My first one is in December. When I pass, my next one is in June, and the third is in the following year.”
“Noah’s a finance whiz,” Finn interjected, taking a sip of his contraband liquid. He looked at ease, like he had sat in the chair a hundred times before.
“Finn, are you a student?” I asked. I didn’t recognize him, but he might be an upperclassman.
“Nope, just looking at stuff.”
“Finn’s a house flipper,” Noah explained. “But really, he’s a frustrated wannabe architect.”
“Noah’s only partially correct,” Finn said. “I look through these design books to get ideas on how to make our houses more interesting for buyers. You don’t happen to have your real estate license, do you?”
I shook my head.
“One of our roommates dated my last realtor, and now she won’t talk to me,” Finn said glumly. “I hate the realtor side of flipping.”
“I don’t know anything about real estate. I didn’t even know you had to have a license.” I admitted.
They didn’t ask me any more questions, and we all settled in to study. A few minutes into reading, I felt Noah’s fingers combing through the ends of my hair. I wasn’t sure if he was doing it absently or on purpose, but it was distracting. My physical interactions with other guys may have been limited, but I knew friends didn’t stroke each other’s hair. The hairs of my neck stood up and I felt goose pimples rise on my neck and chase down my arms. Noah noticed my little shiver and pulled out a sweatshirt from his backpack, offering it to me.
Shrugging it on, I tried not to be too obvious about sniffing the fabric. The clean, spring scent that I had associated with Noah floated around me, interfering with my ability to focus on my pages. It took a masterful effort to shut out all the Noah influences and read.
We had all been silent for some time when Finn stood up and said, “I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.” He stretched and his T-shirt rode up, showing some nice solid abs. Did all the guys in Noah’s house do a thirty-minute ab routine? Was that a prerequisite? Like on the application, it asked if you had a steady job, could afford the rent, and oh, by the way, can you do one hundred sit ups in one minute?
“Hey, eyes up here,” Finn said, teasing me. I tried to beat back the blush that I could feel heating my cheeks. I wasn’t even ogling him. His shirt had pulled up and I couldn’t help noticing. Finn had dark markings under his shirt, a tattoo of something winged.
“Wear longer shirts,” I said, but my attention had fixated on Noah. I hadn’t seen him without his shirt off, and his arms were bare of any ink. I wondered if he had tattoos somewhere that I hadn’t yet seen.
“Ooh, I’m being disrespected because of how I’m dressed,” Finn said, interrupting my fantasies of Noah disrobing.
“Knock it off,” Noah shook his head with mild impatience. “I thought you were hungry.” He picked up his books and stuffed them in his backpack. Then he grabbed mine and held it open. I looked at him in confusion, and he shook the bag. Apparently he was going to hold it open while I put everything in.
Noah zipped up my backpack when I was done and took both bags, slinging them over his shoulder. He gestured for me to walk in front of him and they filed in behind me.
“Where do you want to eat?” Noah asked Finn.
“I’ve got Bo’s card,” Finn replied. “We can eat on campus.”
“That okay with you, Grace?” Noah asked.
I nodded. All this time spent with Noah was going to go to my head. I knew I should probably head home, but I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to pull my backpack off Noah’s shoulder. We walked down the stairs, and, as we were headed to the doors of the library, I saw Mike standing behind the reference desk. He stared at me with raised eyebrows, and I gave him a little wave. I didn’t have an explanation for Mike about Noah and me because I couldn’t define the relationship myself.
Outside, Noah walked beside me, and Finn walked backwards, facing us. “What’s your superpower?” he asked me.
“My super-what?”
“Your superpower,” Noah said, smirking. “This is how Finn determines whether he can hang out with you. He classifies people according to their response.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of pressure,” I said. Rearranging my face so it looked like I was deep in thought, I pretended to contemplate the question and then answered, “Invisibility.”