Page 18 of Cloudless
His eyes turn away from the paper and snare mine. Hope and maybe even a bit of mischievousness shine brightly in his eyes. “But you never said anything about a friend.” His long fingers deftly grasp the delicate paper so he can slide it onto my desk. “This is my formal application for the title of your friend.”
The single piece of paper settles onto my desk like a butterfly would land on a flower. My eyes scan across the document without actually taking anything in for several moments.
My mind struggles to accept the fact that the captain of the hockey team just handed me a resume, laying out all the reasons I shouldallowhim to become my friend.
What the hell is happening?
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “You, uh, want to be my friend?”
“Who wouldn’t?” He says it with such conviction, I’m half convinced he’s talking about someone else entirely.
Or maybe this is a dream. I dig my fingernails into my thigh and wince at the sharp pain.
Nope, definitely not a dream.
My brows furrow as I lift my eyes to his. “Um, why?”
His voice quiets from his previous confidence as he admits, “You seem like you could use one.” His solemn face transforms to hold a cocky smirk as he says, “And I know I’m the best man for the job.”
Even though his first sentence cuts me to my core, I feel a smile threatening to appear. “Oh yeah? And why is that?”
Smirk firmly in place, he inclines his head toward the paper sitting on my desk. “That’s what that’s for.”
I sigh as I look back down at the paper, resigned to my fate. “Alright, I’ll humor you.” A full smile grows on my face as I look at the professional-quality document. “You went all out, didn’t you?”
I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “I don’t do things halfway.”
I look at him with raised brows, a lightness to my voice I haven't felt in weeks. “Shouldn’t that have been one of your perks?”
His smile grows to shine so brightly, he lights up our isolated corner of the room. “I can make a few amendments.”
I’m not even halfway through reading when a chorus of vibrations fills the room. Laughter trickles through the students as everyone checks their phones.
Kam and I share an intrigued glance as he picks up his phone from his desk. He chuckles as he hands the device to me, his warm fingers barely a whisper against mine.
Laughter I don’t even try to contain erupts from me as I read the email pulled up on his phone.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Classs Canceled
Food poisoningg,
Sent from my iPhone
I hand Kam’s phone back to him, careful not to make contact this time, as the rest of the students stand from their seats.
The clear elation in their voices adds to my excitement at the realization I might actually have some free time today. And, by free time, I mean time to do my schoolwork and finish laundry.
Kam chuckles and his chair lets out a startling creak as he straightens next to me. “Poor Professor Mills.”
My fingers are careful as I tuck his resume safely into a folder and load it into my backpack before I stand. “Yeah, poor guy. I’m not surprised, though. I’ve heard he brings sushi for lunch in a brown paper bag and keeps it under his desk.” My nose wrinkles as I lead the way out of our aisle. “Who doesn’t refrigerate sushi?”
Kam’s smile is clear in his voice. “Someone begging for food poisoning.”
We walk the rest of the way in silence, surrounded by far too many bodies to have a proper conversation until we exit the building.
As the fresh summer air greets us, students disperse along the many walkways leading around campus. The sunlight provides welcome warmth to my cheeks after being in the air-conditioned building in nothing but a tank top and jean shorts.
