Page 27 of Return Policy

Honey Bee

Sorry, our date you’re interrupting with studying

One… two… three…fuck it.

Me

Elijah. You have to promise to keep things professional or I’m not coming

Honey Bee

Damn, you’re feisty. Fine, I’ll keep things above the belt

The lower half of my body is praying he doesn’t, and fuck her for not listening to who’s in charge.

Me

Promise?

Honey Bee

Cross my heart

* * *

What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Sophia?

I’ve had two espressos this morning, went for a five-mile run, and now I’m sitting on a bench by the library with my knee bouncing so fast my leg might vibrate right off my body.

Talking to Elijah last night was fun and exhilarating. Something I haven't felt in a long time. But for some reason, I’m constantly busting his balls and pulling away, terrified of what it’ll do to me if I get close to another person, just to find out they aren't who I thought they were.

“Hey there, Sunflower,” Elijah’s velvety voice says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I glance up to see him wearing CBU football sweatpants and a matching T-shirt that clings to his muscular chest, with his black Nike backpack slung over his broad shoulders. He has a bit of scruff on his jaw, and I’m considering how it’d feel sliding up my thighs while he shows me—fuck—stop it, Sophia.

Elijah’s the epitome of relaxed, and I’m the poster child for anxiety. He’s the Blue Caterpillar smoking a hookah, and I’m the Mad fucking Hatter.

“Hey.” I stand, readjusting my bag over my shoulder as he approaches.

“Ready for this?”

“Yep,” I respond, popping the “p” like a loser.

We walk through the library, and it's impossible to ignore his proximity as his intoxicating cologne surrounds me—the same scent from the night we met. The back of his hand brushes mine. An innocent gesture that has me struggling for air.

“This fine?” Elijah gestures to a quiet spot on the second floor near a window. The table has two seats across from one another.

Good, I need the distance.

“Sure.” I shrug, attempting the appearance of indifference. “Fine for me.”

I put my bag on the table, and Elijah grabs the back of his chair and drags it over so he’s sitting directly next to me.

“So much for the distance,”I mumble to myself as I pull out my textbook, a notebook, and a pen.

“No doodling today?” Elijah asks.

“What?”

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