Page 7 of A Stealthy Situation

The big guy waves a hand. “British sitcoms. They’re the tits, and I retain way too much of their slang.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a British sitcom before.”

“Dude, you’re missing out. They’re so witty and hilarious.” He reaches over me and starts typing on my laptop. His arm keeps brushing the side of mine, and unlike me, he put on deodorant this morning. He smells amazing, but also kinda like dirt? Grass?

Fuck, he’s close.

I’m about to introduce myself when he jabs a finger at my screen.

“There. Start with those. Binge them all, then we can talk.”

His raw enthusiasm helps relax me. “What? We can’t talk before then?”

“Sure, but not about them. This one, for example.” He jabs a thick finger at my screen. “Not a sitcom, but I get full-on belly laughs whenever I watch it.”

I eye him, trying to pick up whether he’s flirting or just being friendly. “Maybe we could watch it together sometime.”

“Really?” For some reason, that amuses him. “Okay. You’re on.”

“Fair warning, I will be shocked if it makes me laugh.”

“Eh. I’m confident.”

Professor Brooks walks in and locks the doors just like this guy said he would. That’s fucking weird, but whatever. It’s lucky Em has been taking this class for me because I struggle to be anywhere on time.

We fall quiet as Brooks talks, and while the guy beside me takes notes, I tilt my head closer to see if I can get any information from his screen about what the hell his name is. Sure, I could introduce myself, but it sort of feels like I’ve missed that chance.

He inputs a note in the margin of the document he’s typing in, and bingo.

Harrison Dunn.

Ah. Dunn and Dalton. I ship it.

Harrison’s paying a whole lot more attention to the class than I am, and so, reluctantly, I pull my attention away from him and back to the front. Considering I have no fucking clue what Brooks is talking about, I’m struggling to follow along, but I type everything I can keep up with, word for word, figuring I can ask Em about it all later.

Welcome to the downside of cheating: apparently, you don’t learn anything.

Though, in my defense, no one understands numbers anyway. Who can math? That whole subject is a con.

After trying and failing to keep up, I cut another look to Harrison.

“What got you into sitcoms anyway?” I murmur.

“My mom.”

“That’s a weird hobby. I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone our age watching … The Vicar of Dibley? What?”

He snickers, and it’s adorable. “Trust.”

“Should we make a little wager out of it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you say I’m going to laugh. I’m confident I won’t. So, let’s make it interesting.”

Harrison thinks about it for a moment. “Okay, do you have class after this?”

“Nope, a free, then I’m full for the rest of the day.”

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