Misadventures of a College Girl (Misadventures #9)(20)

We arrive at MacGowan Hall, the main building of the theater department, and I stop walking. “This is me,” I say, motioning to the building. “Now fly and be free, Tyler Caldwell. I’ll text you to figure out a time for us to work on our Social Psych project later this week, okay? Bye.” I’m about to turn on my heel and walk into the building, but the devilish smile on Tyler’s face stops me. “What?”

“Your next class is in MacGowan?”

A sinking feeling grips my stomach. “Yeah.”

“Is it Modernizing Shakespeare by any chance?”

I close my eyes and exhale.

“Lucky you, I’m fulfilling my arts requirement with that class.” He chuckles. “Gosh, when the universe works this hard to put two ridiculously good-looking people together, it’d be downright arrogant of them not to have sex, don’t you think?”

“I’m not going to have sex with you, Tyler.”

He smirks. “Oh, yes you are. You know it. I know it. The universe knows it. But we don’t have time to discuss that right now—we’ve got to get to our Shakespeare class.” He slides his hand into mine like he’s been doing it for years, and my skin electrifies at his touch. “Come on, Zooey Cartwright. If we’re late, we might not be able to find two seats together.”





Chapter Eleven





Fate. It’s a fickle little bitch.

This morning as I headed off to my first day of classes around nine, I never wanted to see Tyler Caldwell again. I told myself if I happened to see him on campus, I’d bolt in the opposite direction. And now it’s six o’clock on the same day, and I’m walking to Tyler’s house to brainstorm not one but two partner projects with him. That’s right. I’ve been assigned as Tyler’s partner for two class projects thanks to my Shakespeare professor’s decision to assign partners based on last names.

I turn off the sidewalk and onto the front walkway of Tyler’s house, my mind reeling. Of course, now that I’ll be working closely with Tyler on two projects, it’s especially clear to me I simply cannot sleep with him. Not when my grade in two classes depends on me being able to work with him for five long weeks. I suppose once both our projects are turned in, we might get together for one night of meaningless sex, assuming I don’t hate his guts by then. But for now, considering the situation, I’m absolutely determined that no sex shall transpire between Tyler Caldwell and me.

I reach Tyler’s front door, take a deep breath, and knock. A moment later, there he is. Standing in the doorframe. Freshly showered. Smelling of soap. He’s holding a barbeque spatula and wearing an apron that reads Kiss the Cook! And the look on Tyler’s face? He looks like a spider welcoming a fly into his web.

“You’re early, partner,” Tyler says. “Well, aren’t you an eager little beaver.”

“I’m not eager, just prompt,” I say stiffly, marching through the door. “Now that we’re double-stuck together, we’ve got a ridiculous amount of work to do.”

“Double-stuck? Oh, baby. I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

I stride into the living room, feeling like a dork for lobbing such a softball to him…even though, honestly, I don’t understand how “double-stuck” could possibly be any kind of sexual innuendo. I stop short. The song blaring through the overhead speakers is “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye. I whirl around to face Tyler. “No, Tyler.”

Tyler smiles. “What?”

I point up, referencing the song.

“Oh. You think I’m sending you some sort of coded message with this song? No, cupcake. This is a random playlist. Pure coincidence. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll skip ahead to the next song.” He pulls out his phone and presses a button, and a new song begins. “I’ll Make Love to You” by Boyz II Men. “Is that better, sweetheart?”

I stare at him, determined not to smile, but when he starts singing along to the cheesy lyrics, I can’t help myself.

“I’m wearing you down,” Tyler says.

“I’m only smiling because you’re singing off-key,” I say. “My smile means only that I find you amusing. Nothing more.”

“Okay. I respect that. I’ll change the song, then. Enough playing around. Sorry. It was worth a try.” He presses a button on his phone, and “I Want Your Sex” by George Michael begins blaring.

I giggle.

“I could do this forever, babe,” he says. He winks.

“Oh, I’m sure you could.”

“You want another one?” he asks.

“No, leave it here. I like George.”

“So do I. ‘Careless Whisper’ is one of my all-time favorites. When I sing you that one, you’re going to drop your panties for me on the spot.”

I bite my lip. I’m not sure Tyler is going to need to sing “Careless Whisper” to get me to do that. Indeed, the sexy look he’s shooting me at the moment would surely make a nun rip off her habit.

“Oh, on a totally unrelated topic,” Tyler says. “I hope you don’t mind I asked my roommates to make themselves scarce tonight. I figured a girl like you would want to talk about social psychology and Shakespeare without any of them around.”