Page 6 of A Stealthy Situation

Cute he thinks he can boss me around. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

“I really, really just need to sleep it off. And you snore. And talk. A lot. Leave me alone and I’ll be fine.”

The problem is that if Em’s out of it, I’m going to have to take my own class today—the horror! Thank fuck my professors haven’t taken to the pop quizzes of my high school days, or I’d be seriously worried.

“You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yes,” he grumbles, voice lost in his pillow. “Go away already.”

Kinda rude to be kicked out of my own room and be made to attend my own class, but whatever. Emmett gets away with more than most people would.

I’m anxious over the time, so I skip a shower and change from my pajamas into the first clothes I find on my floor, then shove some sneakers on.

“Just saying,” I tell my brother. “This is a real low for you. You could have been sick any day this week. Any. And you picked the day I have statistics. That’s plain evil.”

Where Em finds all that deep diving interesting, I can’t wrap my head around it. Numbers have always been the dullest, stupidest things to exist, and attending this class is going to be painful.

Considering I plan to be reporting on hockey in an attempt to make sure more players don’t go through the same harassment my brothers and I did, statistics is a waste of time. Hockey stats have been ingrained in me since I was born, and sure, I don’t know what a lot of them mean, but I know how they sound and how they’re written, and I have spreadsheets I refer to that tell me if someone is doing well.

I don’t need this class for anything other than fulfilling my GE requirements.

Em turns an angelic look on me. “Next time, I’ll enroll you in advanced calculus and make you take every class.”

Urg. Asshole. “You’re really going to hold this over my head now I’m not taking any classes for you, aren’t you?”

“Sure will.”

It crosses my mind, again, to push him to talk to his school. Hell, I could go there as him and do it for him. But while we might use our identities against other people, we never use it against each other.

So now I have to deal with the knowledge that he’s helping me, and I’m … doing nothing in return. Some brother I am.

Still, even though I’m gambling with time until class starts, I duck into the bathroom, fill a washcloth with cold water, then head back to the bedroom again. Em doesn’t hear me get back, so his eyes are still closed when I drop the cloth on his face. It hits him with a wet slap.

“The fuck?” He snatches it off and glares up at me. “Ohh, I so can’t wait until you’re drunk next.”

“I’m really worried.” I tug the cloth from his grip and this time lay it over his forehead, right above his still-glaring eyes. “Now, shut up and feel better.”

I leave, swinging by the kitchen for a protein bar before heading out to my car. I could walk from here, but I’m nervous I’ll be late and decide to take my chances with the student parking lot. It’s right behind the Math department, and if the universe owes me one scrap of luck today, it’ll give me a car space close to the building.

Apparently, the universe owes me jack shit, so by the time I get to class, almost everyone is inside the room, and I hurry to find a seat in the almost-full auditorium while I’m still finger combing the bed head from my hair.

I spot some spare chairs toward the back and hurry to slip into the row before I draw attention. Relief puffs from me on an exhale as I fall into a seat and pull my laptop from my bag. Once I’m not on the edge of panic, I cast my eyes over the rest of the class, and movement a few rows away catches my eye. A big dude with red hair, freckly, almost tan skin, and a backward hat stands and slings his bag over his shoulder.

Holy fucking damn, he’s hot.

Maybe I should have sat next to him?

Not that it matters because he grins my way, then jogs up the stairs and slides into my row. Right next to me.

“Cutting it close,” he says through his smile.

And … I’ve lost my fucking tongue. Normally, I have no issues with guys. Sure, a lot of the time when I pick up, I’ve been drinking, but even without alcohol, I can flirt up a storm. Apparently, after a mad dash here, where I’m left sweaty and unsure if I put on deodorant, is all it takes for me to lose my game.

“Yes,” I manage. “Just made it.”

“Lucky. I still can’t believe Brooks locks the bloody doors. There should be rules against that.”

I double take. “Bloody?”

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