Page 25 of Defend Me

Sociology: my favorite class this quarter.

Tilian: desperate to be a little slutty.

Brooks: off limits. I think. Off limits-ish.

“You know Tilian from class, I’m sure.”

The blur in my eyes faded as I focused on the person in front of me. I’d seen Oliver in class, but I’d never talked to him. He might be on the swim team. The only reason I thought that was because I wandered through the buildings like a specter sometimes when I was bored, and there were pictures of the various sports teams at the university.

He smiled at me, revealing dimples on either side of his mouth. It was forty degrees outside, but he was wearing basketball shorts. Paired with his maroon hoodie, it was the perfect balance, like having one foot out of the covers at night. It was a pretty common outfit in Washington.

His hair was black, swooping just slightly over his forehead, and his eyes were green or maybe hazel. The flawlessness of his warm bronze skin made me want to ask what his self-care routine was, not that I’d ever stick to it.

Oliver held out his hand. “Hey. I’m Oliver.”

I took it like we were going to shake hands, but it became clear that he was trying to do that weird bro handshake, which made the whole thing sickeningly awkward. He laughed and went with the classic greeting without saying anything about it.

“Tilian,” I said, then pursed my lips when I remembered Brooks had already told him that. Clearing my throat, I moved over to the dresser and grabbed my pen. The events of this day were better handled if I quieted all these panicky thoughts.

Another knock came and Brooks let Dean in. Staring at all of them together, I was more than a little unnerved. Oliver was a little taller than them and just as broad as Dean, but he was leaner- the perfect swimmer’s body.

God, I’d become the sidekick of the group.

“Well,” Brooks drawled, leaning against my dresser. It made his hoodie pull up to reveal his sharp pelvic bone. “This feels like a shitty case of déjà vu, doesn’t it?”

Dean scowled. “Missing a few key details.”

“Are we?”

He ignored him and looked at me. Something made his brow furrow before he came over and put a hand on my shoulder.

“What’s up?”

I blinked a couple of times to focus, then smiled softly. “Hey. Congrats on winning the game.”

“Yeah, it was cool. We definitely had to fight for it.”

“Hopefully you’re not too tired for some brainstorming.”

“Nah. I might just have to pawn more of the work off on you.”

I laughed, which made his expression smooth out.

“Ready?” I asked.

He nodded and looked around. After a moment, he sat on the floor with his back against the nightstand. I settled criss cross on the bed and Brooks dropped beside me, bringing his knees up. The hand he had on the bed was close enough to mine that our pinkies touched and I forced myself not to read into it.

“So,” Brooks said. His eyes were alight, which made him look mischievous like we were about to formulate some diabolical plans. “Tell me why you’re each taking this class.”

“Why am I taking sociology?” Dean clarified. He nodded. “Uh, it’s a requirement of my degree.”

“Which is?”

“Public administration.”

“Why?”

Dean studied him briefly. “Sorry,” he said with a shrug. “That’s classified information.”

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