Page 25 of False Assumptions

Chapter Twelve

Evan shifted in his place on Layla’s couch as the ending credits forAmélieplayed on his laptop screen. Layla’s arm pressed against his leg as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. They’d watched the movie after he’d brought her home from class on Friday. Ostensibly he’d been staying to go over their presentation for World Lit, which they were giving on Tuesday.

But the reality was that over the last two weeks since she’d hurt her ankle, they’d fallen into this sort of routine. He brought her to and from school, shifting his workouts to the weekends and Monday, Wednesday, and Friday while he waited for her to finish classes. The first week, he’d walk her up and carry her backpack for her while she was still using the crutches. She’d ditched them a week ago, though he still noticed her limping by the end of the day. When he asked about it, she insisted that it was fine. But she hadn’t protested when he’d suggested she prop it up while they watched a movie.

They’d started out on opposite ends of the couch with her foot in the middle, but she couldn’t reach the bowl of popcorn over the pile of pillows propping up her leg. So she’d switched around, with her foot on the pillows on the end of the couch. Evan sat against the opposite arm of the couch, his leg bent, and the bowl of popcorn cradled there. In her new position, she lounged against him, her arm alongside his leg holding up her head. He’d been keenly aware of the contact throughout the two hours of the movie.

Now she sat up, reaching her arms over her head and stretching, her back arching and thrusting her breasts out, her T-shirt inching up to reveal a strip of skin. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, especially since she didn’t even seem to be aware of his gaze. The line of her neck as her head fell back, her long dark hair brushing against the couch, the fabric of her T-shirt stretched tight over her breasts. It made the semi he’d been battling throughout the movie grow to full hardness.

Fuck.

Did she not realize what she was doing to him?

No. Probably not.

He cleared his throat and dragged his eyes away from her, bending forward to exit full screen mode and close Netflix. Layla had made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t interested in him from their first meeting. Even though she’d warmed to him enough that she let him help her out, his attraction was all one sided. He knew that. Had to remind himself of that every time he was around her.

With their presentation next week, and her ankle healing, he doubted he’d get to hang out with her as much as he currently did. Would she go back to pretending like he didn’t exist after their project was done? Spring break was the week after next. It would be easy to go back to the way things used to be after that. His jaw clenched at the thought of her surrounding herself with other people and refusing to look at him in World Lit when he’d gotten used to sitting next to her the last few weeks.

Fingers brushed his shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”

He jerked upright, noticing Layla standing next to him with the popcorn bowl in her hand, her face concerned. “What?”

She gestured at the computer. “You looked pissed. Did you get a nasty email or something?”

“Oh.” He ran a hand over his face and shook his head. “No. I’m fine.” Standing, he forced a smile. “Here. Let me get that. You’re supposed to be resting your ankle.”

Before she could protest, he took the bowl and went into the kitchen.

“Sure, go ahead. I’ll just sit here like the pampered princess I’ve become with you,” she called after him.

Setting the bowl on the counter, he braced his hands there and let his head hang down. Christ. He needed to get ahold of himself. He was broadcasting his anger about something that hadn’t even happened. Maybe it would be best if Layla did start ignoring him after spring break. Nothing would ever happen with her. He knew that. But for some reason, he’d spent most of his free time with her the last two weeks. They did homework, watched movies on his laptop, talked. Like he’d never talked with anyone before. Or at least not in a long time. With his guy friends they mostly talked sports. Sometimes school. With the girls he knew, he flirted, let them talk about whatever they wanted. They didn’t really care about what he thought unless it was to compliment them on their hair or clothes or whatever.

With Layla, he talked books. Endlessly. They debated the merits of their favorite authors, and she gave him recommendations for books that he’d never have looked at on his own. Her tastes varied widely, everything from the classics to literary fiction. She even had a soft spot for sci-fi romance. One night she went on and on about Anne McCaffrey and informed him that even though theDragonriders of Pernseries sounded like fantasy, it was actually sci-fi because of the space travel and colonization of different planets. He’d found some of her books at the library this week and checked one out, though he hadn’t had time to get very far into it. He hadn’t told Layla about that.

Christ. Look at him. Spending all this time with a girl who gave him endless shit, didn’t react favorably to his flirtation and innuendo, and now he was reading her favorite books. Just because he wanted to find out why she liked them so much.

He was so fucking screwed.

“Evan?” Layla’s voice had him straightening up. Her head popped around the corner. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” He stepped back from the counter. “I was getting some water. Want some?”

“Sure.” She drew the word out, a funny look on her face. He blinked in response. One corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk. “You have to open the cabinet and get out glasses first.” She mimed the actions, then acted like she was turning on the kitchen sink. “Then actually fill the glass with water.”

“Right. Of course.” He turned back to the counter, not even able to react to her teasing like a normal person, got two glasses out of the cabinet, and filled them from the sink.

Her fingers brushed his as she took the glass, and he almost jerked his hand away to break the contact. From the weird look on her face, maybe he jerked more forcefully than he meant to. But he looked away, avoiding her gaze. Because with the way his thoughts were running, he couldn’t bear to touch her right now. He wanted things he shouldn’t, that he knew she didn’t want, and even the casual brush of their fingers on a glass of water sent electricity zinging up his spine and had his dick straining in his pants.

When her hand caressed his arm, he closed his eyes, his hand gripping his glass even tighter. He couldn’t look at her. Not right now.

“Evan?”

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to. His jaw clenched as she stepped closer, aware of her body moving in front of him even without seeing her.

“Evan? Look at me. Please.”

He finally opened his eyes. Her brows were drawn together in concern. Her lips pink and lush, contrasting with the delicate line of her nose and cheekbones.

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