Page 5 of College Boy

Emma wanted to blurt out, “you, you rangy, cocky little college boy,” but didn’t, for obvious reasons. “You first.”

“You want to know my type?” His enthusiastic reply made it clear he was more than willing to fess up, and pronto, but Emma wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. To hear, for instance, that his type was anything but middle-aged women in yoga pants and pink slippers.

“No, silly. You never answered my question,” Emma pressed. “If you weren’t partying with the others, if you’re stone cold sober now, not passed out with the rest, then ... what were you doing?”

Chapter Four

Mitch

“Can I just tell you my type instead?”

Mitch hemmed, avoiding Emma’s eyes since he knew the no-nonsense neighbor wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer.

“Maybe later,” she murmured, quietly, forcing him to lift his eyes from his grubby sneakers and meet hers across the slender hallway where they still sat after Emma’s abbreviated room search. “Why don’t you want to tell me, Mitch?”

The way she said his name was vaguely intoxicating. Not because she was purring or oozing or being otherwise sexy. Indeed, apart from her captivating looks and feminine curves, she was strictly all-business. But other than with professors back on campus, Mitch hadn’t had much experience with grown women.

His mother had left at an early age, leaving just Mitch and his father to carry on without her. The old man did his best but just couldn’t raise Mitch alone, leading to a series of live-in girlfriends and two whole ass stepmoms to do the job for him. To say they each got progressively worse as the years went on would have been the understatement of the century, but it didn’t faze Mitch much once he graduated high school and headed off to Coastal College. He hadn’t been home since and had no plans to anytime soon, either.

But Emma seemed ... different. Cool, calm, collected ... even concerned. After all, she’d stayed up half the night troubling over her neighbor’s house as the party raged and even barged in, despite Mitch’s best efforts to stop her from doing so, to check on the little shit who lived there. He wasn’t used to such maturity in his life and felt oddly compelled to tell her the truth. And, so... he did.

“I don’t know Reggie,” he blurted, their eyes meeting in the dim light of the second floor landing.

Emma seemed surprised, but still curious. Perhaps even more so. “But ... you. Here. House party. What do you mean you don’t know him?”

“He put an ad up on the campus bulletin board, in the Student Center,” Mitch confessed sheepishly. “Spring Break road trip. See the beach. Fun in the sun, that kind of thing. I think he was thinking just girls would respond but I’d never been to the beach before, so...”

Suddenly, Emma’s eyelids arched. “Never?”

“I grew up smack dab in the middle of Georgia, so... I’ve seen a few creeks and swamps in my day, but never a whole ass beach. I thought, for the price of gas and snack money, why not?”

“And Reggie?”

“He didn’t really want me to come,” Mitch related honestly. “He didn’t say it in so many words, but he kind of ghosted my calls and texts up until the last minute, and only then because one of his bros decided to fly to Cabo instead and he needed the gas money to make up for it. So...”

Mitch kind of held up his hands in a little “ta da” motion. Emma frowned. “So you’re not in classes with him or anything?” When Mitch shook his head, she glanced down beside her, at the stairwell and, by extension, the living room downstairs where Frat Bro # 1 was snoring heavily, sprawled out on the couch. “What about the rest of them?”

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