My Favourite Mistake. Chelsea Cameron M.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ you on speed?” I whispered as Marjorie was going through the grading scale for our homework assignments.

      “Huh?”

      “Are you on speed? Your knee is going a mile a minute.”

      “I’m fine,” he said, leaning over and putting his ankle on his jiggling knee.

      He started pen tapping again, and I reached out so he’d stop. My hand connected with his. It was the first time I’d really touched him. My fingers closed over his fist and the tapping stopped. I removed my hand without looking at him.

      “Thank you,” I said.

      He didn’t respond, but his hand stayed still the rest of the class. When it was time to leave, I was hoping he’d just get up and go, but that didn’t happen, of course. He packed up his things slowly, as if he was waiting for me. I took my sweet time.

      “Do you have another class, or is this it for you?”

      “I’m done for the day,” I said, standing up.

      He followed suit and walked behind me as we left the room. I hated the fact that he was behind me, because he had a full view of my ass as I walked up the stairs. I half expected him to grab it, but he didn’t.

      We walked side by side out into the bright sunshine. It was blinding after being in the dark lecture hall.

      “Mind if I walk back with you? I don’t have class again until four, so I figured I’d crash for a little while.”

      “It’s not like I can stop you. It’s a free sidewalk,” I said, looking left and right before crossing the road. He walked beside me, shortening his stride so he could match my stubby legs.

      “True, but if I ask it makes me seem like a nice person.”

      “You’re not a nice person,” I said.

      He laughed. “You’re right. I’m not.”

      He shook his head as if it was the funniest thing ever. It wasn’t, really. Most people wanted other people to like them so they tried and were overly nice. Hunter wasn’t like that. He was what he was and didn’t give a shit if people liked it or not. No matter how crazy he drove me, I had to admire that about him. Sometimes I cared too much what other people thought of me. It must have been freeing to go through life like that.

      We didn’t talk much as we walked. At first it was strange, but the more we walked, the easier it was. It was the longest I’d heard Hunter go without a sarcastic comment or sexual innuendo. It was kind of nice.

      “So, about dinner,” he said when we walked into the apartment. “What do you want me to make?”

      The room was quiet; the other girls must still have been at class.

      “You’re serious?”

      “As a heart attack.”

      I set my bag down and leaned on the counter. Okay, Hunter Zaccadelli, you can make me dinner.

      “Stuffed French toast, sweet potato hash and strawberries and cream.”

      “Breakfast for dinner? You rebel, you.”

      I shrugged. “What can I say? I live on the edge. So, think you’re up to the challenge, Z?” I said, using the ridiculous nickname the bouncer had used last night.

      “Piece of cake. Or toast, in your case. I’ll stuff your toast, baby.”

      I rolled my eyes. Soon I would be desensitized to his comments, but I hadn’t quite gotten there yet.

      “Whatever. I’m going to take a shower. No, you can’t come with me,” I said, cutting off whatever comment he was going to make.

      “Anytime you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

      Unfortunately, I did.

      Six

      “How the hell did you do that?” I said, looking at the dining room table. It was spread with mounds of my favorite French toast that was stuffed with oozing Nutella; sweet potato hash that he’d made exactly how I did, despite my vague and confusing-on-purpose instructions; and strawberries that he’d somehow cut and stuffed with the hand-whipped cream. He’d even found champagne and made mimosas.

      “I’m a man of many talents. Some of them are hidden. Some are not. Maybe sometime you’ll let me show you some of the hidden ones.” I was too dazzled by the meal to make a snappy comment.

      “Holy crap, dude. I didn’t know you could cook,” Renee said, coming out of her room.

      Darah had already picked up her job as a desk attendant at the Union and wouldn’t be back until late.

      “We should probably eat it before it gets cold. Dig in, ladies,” he said, handing me a plate. There was definitely enough food for about twelve people. “I hope you don’t mind, but I invited Mase over. Dev and Sean might come, too.”

      So that was why he’d made so much. I couldn’t really stop him from having his friends over, but I didn’t want our apartment turning into a frat house with beer cans everywhere and strange girls sneaking out in the morning from one-night stands on our couch. Yuck and ew.

      “Fine with me,” Renee said, piling her plate with strawberries and cream and only one piece of French toast.

      What was it with girls being afraid to eat in front of guys? I’d never had that fear, so I loaded my plate up. Just as I was about to plunge my fork into the French toast and unleash the Nutella-y goodness, there was a knock at the door. I had to hand it to them, at least they hadn’t just barged in.

      Hunter opened the door, and Mase and Dev came in.

      “What are you making? It smells fantastic,” Mase said, going right for the table full of food.

      “I made this on Taylor’s request. She doubted my cooking skills, so I had to show her what I’ve got.”

      “You should never doubt Hunter when he brags about something. Most of the time if he’s bad at something, he just won’t talk about it. If he’s bragging, it means he’s telling the truth,” Mase said, grabbing a fork and shoveling French toast onto a napkin.

      “Do you want a plate?” I said.

      “Nah, I’m good like this. Then you don’t have to wash an extra.”

      How considerate. Dev was more cautious, asking me where the plates were and waiting until everyone else had gotten their fill before taking what was left, which wasn’t much. Sean followed suit. There weren’t enough chairs, so we crashed on the couch and the living room floor like we had the night before with the pizza.

      Choruses of “oh my God,” “mmm” and “dear sweet Jesus” were interspersed with loud chewing and swallowing. Other than that, the conversation was nonexistent.

      Okay, okay, I had to admit it. Hunter hit it out СКАЧАТЬ