Hate the Game - Winter Renshaw Page 0,8

to watch them with him. “I’ll pass.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” He holds up a hand big enough to wrap around a football. “They’re shit compared to the originals. But they’re still decent. Jurassic Park movies are like pizza—even when they’re bad, they’re still good.”

“Nice save, but I’m still going to pass.” I check the time on my phone. “We should get started …”

“Right.” He grabs a notebook from his bag and flips it open to a page scribbled in hot pink ink—his notes from the first day of class. A moment later, he scoots his chair closer to mine, so close, in fact, that I can smell the hot, sweet cinnamon wafting from his mouth. “Where should we start? What it means to be human or the importance of evolution to anthropologists?”

“First one.” I pull my notebook out, along with my tablet, and then I grab my textbook. “You read the first thirty pages, right?”

Talon’s dark brows rise and he blows a breath between his full lips.

“You didn’t do the required reading?” I ask.

“He never said anything about reading …”

My brows knit and I tuck my chin. “Yes he did. The first day …”

I’m not sure how he could have missed it. Longmire only brought up the reading assignment four separate times. Maybe if he wasn’t so busy shamelessly staring at me from the corner of his eye …

“You’re going to want to read the first two chapters tonight,” I say. “It’s only thirty pages, but it goes a lot more in depth than the lectures did.”

He scribbles a note to himself on his paper. “Chapters one and two. Got it.”

I inhale another lungful of cinnamon, watching his steady hand glide the pen across his paper. He has great handwriting, especially for a guy. It’s neat and straight and legible, all lower-case with extra kerning between the letters.

But I don’t tell him that because it’s irrelevant and I don’t want him thinking I’m that easily impressed despite the fact that I’ve always been a details kind of girl.

“Why are you taking Anthro 101 anyway?” he asks.

“I needed another elective. You?”

“Retake,” he says, lips pressed flat like he isn’t proud of his answer. “Screwed around too much freshman year and had to take an incomplete.”

A couple of girls with matching Lululemon leggings and messy topknots stroll past us, taking their time in hopes that Talon Gold might notice them, but he doesn’t look away from me. Not once.

I’m sure if I weren’t here, he’d be all over that. He’d be all smirks and eye-fucks and piling on the charm like there’s no tomorrow.

I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen him in action too many times to count in all his BMOC glory.

This is nothing more than Talon Gold on his best behavior.

His fingertips graze the top of my knee, sending a kickdrum start to my heart.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asks. His touch abandons my skin, leaving an electric tingle in its place.

“No. Sorry. What?” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I said we should read our notes and then quiz each other,” he says.

How I missed that, I’m not sure, but I give him a nod. “All right.”

Sinking back into my seat, I scan the words on the page, only by the time I get to the next set of bullet points, I can’t remember any of what I’ve just read.

This never happens.

I don’t lose my concentration this easily.

If anything, I’m normally too focused. I can make the outside world around me disappear with the mental snap of a finger. It’s an old trick I picked up as a kid, when life got to be too much and I wanted to fade away. I couldn’t fade away but I could ignore everything around me, and it was almost the same thing.

“You ready?” he asks after a few minutes. I’m not, but I nod anyway. “I’ll quiz you first.”

He leans across and gently tugs my notebook out of my hands, his mouth inching up at the sides until a flash of a dimple appears.

“What is anthropology?” he asks, sitting up straight and using a serious professor-like tone. He even pretends to shove imaginary glasses up the bridge of his nose. He’s trying to be cute, trying to make me laugh.

And damn it.

It’s working.

I fight a chuckle before clearing my throat. “The study of human societies and cultures over time.”

“And what does it mean to be human?” he asks.

“That’s a loaded question. Objective too. I don’t think he’s