Page 2 of Uncharted Desires
“It's dangerous to people-watch in a place like this.” I jump in my seat like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Once my heart regains its regular heartbeat, my jaw sets at the smugness in the deep voice uttering the smartass words.
It's alright, man. You can do this.
I pivot back around. Across the bar from me stands Sawyer.
“And here I thought it was designed just for that.”
His gaze drops to my t-shirt, and I collapse inside. Why didn’t I think to dress up?
“For some people, yes,” he says as he puts his forearms on the bar.
I grit my teeth. How the fuck does he manage to grind my gears two sentences into the conversation?
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He looks to the side and shrugs nonchalantly. “For people who know what they're doing and are actually interested in following through.”
I swear I’d punch him if I didn't fear that the bouncer might come in here and physically remove me. He's abigguy.
“It's a good thing I'm not here for that then, isn't it?” I unlock my phone and pull up a spreadsheet.
“All work, no play, huh? Wouldn't expect anything else from you.”
Jesus, how can a person be such an asshole? It's not likeIasked to be stuck doing this assignment with him.Hedid. Just to fuck with me, I suppose. The second the professor called out my name, he volunteered and then turned to look at me with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Group assignments are a joke on the best day. Add Sawyer to the mix, and it's a shit show.
Two more semesters. One year, and I'll never have to see him again.
“Anyway,” I say as I swipe to the next slide. “I was thinking—”
He snatches my phone and looks at the screen for a whooping two seconds before saying, “I'll do points one, four, and five. You take two, three, and six. Then we compile.” And then the fucker tosses my phone on the bar top in front of me.
That was exactly what I was thinking, given our respective majors, but who the fuck does he think he is? “Sowhat, you're the boss of me now? Don't you think I have something to say?”
He leans in, his face hovering inches from mine. I swear he's just asking for that punch. “Would you rather we meet up for two hours after classes every day and do everything together like a couple of BFFs? Cause I promise you, I will not be the one suffering in this scenario.”
I cringe, hating that he makes sense. “I guess if you put it like that….”
He gives me one of his condescending smiles before straightening up. “It’s settled, then,” he says matter-of-factly and turns to leave.To fucking leave.
“Are you kidding me? That's it?”
He stops mid-step and looks at me over his shoulder. “What were you expecting, a candlelight dinner?”
“You dragged me into this fucking place on a Friday night just to say something you could have said over the phone? Or better yet, in a text, so I didn't have to hear your voice?”
He tilts his head to the side. “Poor Blake, forced to leave his house for once. What a travesty.” And with that, he's gone to the other side of the bar, where he stops to take an order.
I turn around to face the room and count back from ten.
SawyerfuckingMatthews. I swear he wasn't always like this. He was actually a normal dude freshman year. Popular. Easygoing. A damn quarterback. And then the summer came, and when other people were busy growing up, he was apparently busy doing the exact opposite. By the time fall came around and classes started, his sportswear was replaced by leather and his easygoing nature was replaced by the devil-may-care attitude hewears proudly on his sleeve. He quit the team. His grades went to shit, and so did his whole personality.
“So,” his voice comes from behind me, startling me once more, and I brace myself for another assholey line. “You want a tour?”
I snap my head around to make sure it’s actually him talking and blink twice. “Seriously?”
He shrugs in response.
