Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(72)

I lift my good shoulder with a shrug. “However much time it takes.”

“You sure you don’t need to go hang out with your other friends?” he teases before giving me a playful shove. Which, of course, is to the same shoulder that’s been throbbing all night from Carter being a dickweed on the ice.

Holden’s eyes become saucers when he realizes what he did, and I can’t help but laugh through the pain shooting down my arm.

“Now you’re lucky if I’ll listen at all.”

“So fucking dramatic tonight. You’re definitely the Mom,” Holden gripes before turning and calling over the couch. “Theo! Bring an ice pack while you’re at it!”





Twenty-Five

Oakley

Why in God’s name I thought it would be a good idea to take another freaking philosophy class for an elective this semester is beyond me. It was meant to be a quick, easy A with everything I learned last term, but I end up studying this shit more often than I do anything else. And while it makes sense in theory, when the professor asks me to put it in my own words in an essay, it becomes a lot fucking harder.

Doesn’t help that Kant, Hume, and all the rest of them blur together into one jumbled mess inside my brain after staring endlessly at my textbook, trying to figure out where I want to start. Which is what I’ve been doing since nine this morning, when I arrived at the library.

Eight fucking hours ago.

I’m about two seconds away from ripping my damn hair out when I notice a lone figure weaving their way through the dimly lit stacks toward me.

At first I think I might be hallucinating from staring at the computer screen for too long. Because there’s no way in hell Quinn is at the library. On a Sunday…or probably any other day of the week.

But I’d recognize that smirk and saunter just about anywhere. They’re the only things getting my blood heated these days—whether it be out of lust or anger.

He looks good. Damn near edible in his LU Hockey hoodie and sweats. None of which should be attractive in their own right, but Quinn makes it work for him just as much as he does leather and jeans.

Then again, maybe it’s those fucking glasses getting to me instead.

“Stalking me, de Haas?”

He stops across the table from me, his damn smirk growing when his eyes lock with mine before shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “Stalking? No way in hell. This little meet-cute is one hundred percent consequential.”

I squint at him. “You mean coincidental?”

“Tomato, potato,” he says, brushing me off. “The point is, it’s not stalking.”

“Oh, really?” My brow raises. “Because I know there’s absolutely no chance in hell you just happened to stroll onto the fifth floor of the library. First or second, maybe. Highly unlikely, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. But up here? Absolutely not.”

All I get is a non-committal shrug. “I know, it’s weird. But I was just up here browsing the stacks in search of a good book and there you were. Must’ve been fate.”

“Destiny,” I deadpan. “Especially when the only books up here are actually research articles and dissertations.”

He rounds the table, coming up beside me and placing one hand on the smooth wood, the other on the back of my chair. The light brush of his fingers sears me through my shirt, instantly making my stomach roll with anticipation.

There’s nothing shook up in his stare down at me, blue eyes flaming and a quirk on those sinful lips. And it’s infuriating to know the damn guy doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish when he’s caught red-handed in a blatant lie.

“Give it up, Quinn. How’d you find me?”

“Sent out an APB, obviously.”

I roll my eyes. “And the real answer, jackass?”

“Oh, calm down, baby.” His deep laugh, a low baritone, floats over my skin and sends a rush of lust and adrenaline coursing through me. Or maybe it was the pet name that…I could get used to hearing more.

God, I’m so fucked for this guy.

My brow lifts some more as I wait for his answer. Which comes as he circles around me, both hands brushing my shoulders and his breath hot on the side of my neck as he speaks into my ear.

“I asked Cam.”

I turn to face him, my mouth only inches from his. “Seriously? And that isn’t going to be a dead giveaway to something being up with us?”

After all the crap that went down last week, the last thing I need are my roommates asking even more questions.

“He’s none the wiser, I’m sure of it,” he practically purrs. “I told him I had a book for you. Leadership for Dummies. He laughed and said you’ve been here all day. And since I know you have an essay due tomorrow, I figured you’d go where it’s the quietest. With the least people around to…distract you.”

Part of me wants to laugh at how clever, and insanely ridiculous, his excuse is, but my body is too keyed up from his proximity.

Thankfully, he leans away, giving me some much-needed distance as he pulls out the chair beside me at the table. Too bad it’s not nearly enough, because my attention is still hyper fixated on his body only a foot away.

How in the ever-loving fuck this guy gets me worked up with his presence alone is so far outside my IQ range, it’s laughable. Then again, it could also be the warm palm landing on my thigh beneath the table, just above my knee.