My mind drifts to fantasies of defiling her in the backseat of my car. I’d keep her bratty mouth quiet with my dick. If Ty is already on the move, going to dinners and shit, then I need to up my game. I don’t usually have to work so hard to get a chick into bed with me.
Annoyance ripples through me.
Landry is difficult.
Sassy and prissy and kind of fucking rude.
A flash of blonde in the doorway steals my attention. It’s her. Little Landry. This morning, though, her prickliness from before is gone. Beneath her heavily made-up face is a tight, tortured expression. Her eyes are bloodshot like she’s been crying.
Irritation burns in my gut, this time, no longer toward her. Someone made her cry. I don’t know why that bothers me—a girl I’ve literally only just met—but it does.
I sit up straight, clenching my jaw as I watch her make her way willingly toward me. She sets her bag down on the desk and sits down. After a huff that seems to be an effort to ward off more tears, she begins gnawing on her bottom lip, blue eyes searching mine like I have answers.
Just ask the right questions, baby.
“Laundry.” I smirk at her. “Looking good.”
“Chevy. And you look all right yourself.”
All right.
The gall of this girl.
“I see someone woke up and took their bitchy pill this morning. Do you ever forget it?”
“Never.” She makes a sour face but it doesn’t hide the slight tremble of her chin. “You left our house in a hurry yesterday.”
I blink at her in confusion for a moment until I remember that she’s referring to Sully, not me. This acting gig is hard sometimes.
“Homework,” I lie. “Why are you sad?”
“Sad?” Her head shakes and her upper lip curls slightly. “I’m not sad.”
I lift a brow, waiting for her to elaborate. She doesn’t. I swear to fuck she likes being difficult.
“You’re going to make me beg for details, Laundry?”
“Can anyone really make you do anything? Didn’t think you were the type.” She studies me for a beat, something akin to respect gleaming in her eyes.
She really is going to make me drag this shit out of her.
“Come on. Let’s go,” I say as I push my chair back.
Her brows pinch together. “What? Class is about to start.”
“Like either of us are in the mood to concentrate on class today. Something’s up and you need to vent. We’re leaving.”
I reach for her hand, but she jerks it back, shaking her head almost violently. “I can’t leave campus with you.”
Ouch.
“I’m not going to kidnap you,” I grit out. “I just want to buy you some fucking coffee.” She doesn’t move, so I throw my hands up on the air in exasperation. “On campus.”
Her lips press together. She thinks about it all of three seconds and then she’s rising to her feet. This time, when I reach for her hand, she lets me take it. I think it surprises the both of us because her eyes dart to mine, widening.
I don’t give her a chance to back out and tug her along with me. A chick with a nice rack smiles at me as I pass, but I don’t return it. If I’m going to derail Ty Constantine’s efforts, I need to make sure Landry has someone she’d rather be with.
Me.
Checking out the tits of every hot girl I encounter isn’t going to help me in my cause.
We pass our professor on the way out. He shoots me an irritated scowl, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m not actually trying to get a damn degree here. I give Landry’s hand a comforting squeeze. She’s quiet as we walk, never attempting to pull her hand from mine.
“Grab us a seat over there,” I say when we reach the campus coffee shop.
She surprisingly obeys without a fuss. While she commandeers the loveseat nestled away from all the other tables and chairs, I order our coffees and a couple of muffins.
“What’s this?” she asks when I approach with our tray.
“Caramel macchiato.” I flash her a taunting grin. “Since you’re salty all the time, I figure you might like something sweet.”
She rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the cute smile tugging at her lips. Noted. This girl likes sweet treats and a little flirtatious teasing.
“Spill, woman.” I settle on the cushion beside her. “I’m listening.”
Taking her sweet ass time, she picks up her mug, inhales the scent coming from the steam, and gingerly takes a sip. I track the way her pink tongue darts out and chases a trail along her upper lip, cleaning off the steamed milk left behind. My mouth waters for my own taste—something I don’t really like admitting to myself.
“What was your deal Monday?” she demands, rather than coming out with what’s really bothering her. “You were…different.”