Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(28)

“You’ve been staring off into space for, like, the last five minutes at least.” When I look back at him, shock and horror rushing through my veins, he shrugs those impossibly broad shoulders, a sheepish expression on his face. “I was watching you.”

Now I’m gaping at him. He watched me? And just admitted it? “I was …”

“Lost in thought? You looked worried.” He reaches out toward me and I go completely still, my breath lodged in my lungs as he brushes his finger across my lower lip. “I was afraid you’d chew a hole through your lip.”

I want to die. Both at him touching me and at the fact that he called me out on my bad habit.

“I used to chew it so bad I’d make it bleed.” Okay, why did I just go and admit that?

He frowns. “You have that much to worry about?”

I want to laugh. He has no idea. “Kind of.” I need to play this off. “I’ve never really … fit in.” Seriously? Now I’m pointing out my lack of social skills? What is wrong with me?

“I find that hard to believe.” He looks surprised as he leans back in his chair. His T-shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of flat stomach, and my gaze automatically drops to that spot. “Why?”

I’m completely transfixed. There’s a trail of dark hair that starts just below his navel and disappears beneath his jeans. My mouth goes dry and I’m filled with the urge to trace it with my finger. “I’ve always been kind of a nerd. I kept getting tested and the schools kept moving me up a bunch of grades. I graduated high school when I was barely sixteen.”

“Really? So you’re like a genius? How old are you?”

“Almost nineteen. I’m a junior,” I say, knowing that’s going to be his next question.

“Wow. No wonder you’re a tutor.” He laughs and shakes his head. “You make me feel like a complete dumbass.”

I should never have told him. I make everyone feel dumb when they realize what I’m capable of. And really? I’m not capable of much. I’m great at memorization. I have a photographic memory. I’m a fast reader. Big deal. “You’re not a dumbass,” I tell him, my voice gentle.

He settles his chair back onto all four legs, a giant grin on his face. “Did you just say what I think you said?”

“What do you mean?” Then I realize what he’s referring to and I roll my eyes. “Okay, fine, yes. I said a bad word.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say a bad word.” His grin widens and it’s downright irresistible. I can feel my mouth tremble at the corners, ready to break out into a smile. “I’ll have you saying f**k in no time.”

“No way.” I shake my head, my smile blooming despite what he’s saying. “That is like the worst word ever.”

“Not even. It’s more like the most versatile word ever. You can use it in so many ways.” He stretches his arms out, then curls them behind his head, elbows bent, hands linked at his nape. His biceps bulge against the sleeves of his T-shirt and my body goes all fluttery and weak.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Well, it can be an adjective, a verb, a noun. It’s f**king magical.” He laughs when I glare at him. “I’m dead serious.”

“Prove to me all its uses, then.” I may as well turn this into a lesson. I have to go soon and clearly I’m not going to get any more work done, with the way he’s looking at me, talking to me. My concentration is shot.

For once, I don’t really care.

“Well, it can be used as a noun. ‘Chelsea is smart as f**k.’”

Oh my God.

Is he really using it as a noun, though? Even if he’s not, I’m not going to argue with him.

“And then it can be used as an adverb. As in, ‘Chelsea is so f**king smart.’”

I want to laugh but I clamp my lips shut. He knows it, too. The look in his eyes is telling. He’s totally trying to get a reaction out of me but I refuse to give him one.

“Or it can be a verb. Like, ‘Owen really wants to f**k …’” His grin fades, his expression going from amused to sexy in a millisecond. He drops his arms to his sides and shrugs. “You know what I mean.”

Everything inside of me goes loose and damp. I do know what he means. But is he referring to me?

No way.

“Um, yeah,” I finally say, slamming my textbook shut. “I should, uh, really get going. I have to be at the diner soon.” I stand and start gathering all of my stuff, keeping my gaze averted from his. He gets up, too, grabbing our dirty plates and stacking them before he takes them into the kitchen. I watch his retreating back, my breaths coming fast, my heart racing.

There is no way he was talking about me being someone he really wants to … I can’t even think the word. I press my hands against my cheeks, can feel the heat emanating off my skin, and I wonder if he saw me blush.

I hope not.

He comes back toward the table, stopping right in front of me. Reaching out, he grips the top of the chair next to him with one hand, his fingers curled around the metal so tight his knuckles go white. “Did I offend you?”

“What?” I zip up my backpack and sling it over my shoulder before I turn to face him fully.

“With all my ‘f*ck’ talk. Did that bother you? I was just teasing. I didn’t mean anything by it.” He looks remorseful, a little worried, as he flicks his gaze downward at the floor. His eyelashes are long and thick, and golden-brown stubble highlights all the places on his face where I want to touch him. When he lifts his lids to meet my gaze once more, I’m dazzled by the look in his gorgeous green eyes.