Page 26 of Bad Little Puck Bunny

I flinch. “Damn, that’s cold.”

“That’s the point.” She sits down, still holding the can against my hand. “Girl trouble?”

“Yeah,” I say, lying straight through my teeth.

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything more. Her eyes flick to the books she placed on the table. Psychology textbooks.

“You a psych major?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

She nods. “Yeah.”

“I took psych once,” I say. “Kicked my ass.”

She laughs, and it’s this soft, quiet sound that makes me forget about the pain in my hand. “What’re you studying?” she asks.

“Pre-law,” I say.

Her eyebrows lift. “Wow. Impressive.”

I watch her carefully. Her face softens like she misread me.

She pulls back the soda can and studies my hand. “You’re lucky you didn’t break it, Mr. Anger Problem.”

I smirk, loving that the teasing feels like flirting.

“So,” I say, nodding at the books, “you working on a project or something?”

“I’m new here. I just transferred, and the professors need me to catch up.” She leans back in her chair, crossing her legs. Not that I’m looking. Okay, maybe I’m looking.

“You’re new here?” I ask, gesturing toward the Ravens hoodie.

She glances down and nods. “I was in college in California but transferred here. You’re new, too, right?”

I break our eye contact, glancing around the library. “California, huh?” I ask, not wanting to talk about me. “What’s that like?”

“It’s different. Sunny. Expensive.” She shrugs.

I nod, pretending I know anything about California.

“Where’d you transfer from?” she asks.

My eyes meet hers again, and I hesitate. I could lie. Make something up. But instead, I mutter, “New York.”

She tilts her head. “What brought you to Blackridge?”

I lean back, folding my arms. “You should mind your own business.”

She winces. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.” She presses the soda against my hand again, and then she stands.

I reach out, catching her fingers.

Her eyes meet mine, confused.

“Thank you,” I say. “For the coke.”

“Anytime.” She grabs her books and bag and then heads for the door, pausing to look back. “Try not to punch any more walls, okay?”

“No promises,” I say, grinning.

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