Page 87 of Lessons in Faking
“A threat.” He winked very wonkily, and I blamed it on the drugs. Again.
My head tilted lightly. “That’s one hell of a commitment, Dylan.”
His lips split wider at his name on my lips. Then he shrugged. “Well,” he began. “I’m a pretty reliable guy, Athalia.”
Chapter 36
“It’s my broken ribs.”
“You cannot blame everything on your broken ribs.” My brows rose along with the corners of my mouth, and I shook my head as I continued to sneak curious glances at his screen. “Not when it’s nearly been a month.”
“When I took this exam”—he waved his phone around, though the motion was too quick for me to read what it said on the screen—“I was out of the hospital for a week. And it’sshowing.”
“So show me!” I whined, rolling from my side of the bed over to his, where he sat propped against the headboard.
We had woken up to emails about our Statistics II grades being posted. Today was the end of Shaw’s two-week period to share them, so it wasn’t unexpected. Still, I had about a million better things to do in the morning. Like, not think about statistics and the possibility of failing a class, especially not the one my mother’s legacy had been built upon.
“No.”
In one quick movement, I straddled his lap, face hovering right in front of his with a grin. “Please?” I pressed a quick kiss to his nose, then his cheek, then his chin. Dylan huffed.
“That’s not fair,” he muttered under his breath, managing to catch my face in his hands before I could press a kiss to his lips and seal the deal. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said, and I groaned, dramatically falling off his lap before snuggling against his side.
“I don’t know mine.”
“You haven’t checked?”
“No.” An incredulous look spread across his features when I craned my neck up to look at him. “What?” I huffed. “I’m not particularly fond of ruining my day. Itjuststarted.” The humor in my voice fell on deaf ears.
“You don’t think you failed, do you?” Dylan sat up straighter now, turned to me with his serious-face on full display.
I hadn’t thought about how my fear of failing might affect him.
Would it be insulting? After the hours he’d poured into making sure I wouldn’t fail, was thinking I had ungrateful? My mouth stayed shut, gaze steering clear of his, as I took in the white flower patterns on my white bedding.Beautiful stitching.
“Athalia.”
My eyes snapped back to his, Serious Dylan still in control of the conversation. I shrugged. “Maybe,” I muttered to myself. He heard me anyway.
“You were so confident after that exam,” he reminded.
“It’s called postfinal euphoria,” I explained. “You know? When you’re done with all your exams, and you finally feel like you have a life again.”
He looked me dead in the eyes and said, “No.” And it reminded me of all the reasons we shouldn’t have worked so well for the past few weeks. He was a workaholic at the ripe age of twenty-three. I probably hadn’t thought about work for longer than a total of ten minutes of my life. He was always busy. I was mostly bored. College, grades, and graduating were his purpose. I was still trying to find mine.
He took life so seriously. I... didn’t.
It was a weird whirlwind of mismatches that somehow just... matched. When I’d been ready to throw in the towel and drop out—which happened at least three times a week during finals—Dylan was there to keep me grounded. When he’d get lost in his head, overworked himself, or forgot to rest, I was there to drag him into bed and sentence him to eight hours of sleep.
“Come on.” He nudged my side gently, brows rising when my eyes slid back to him. “I know you want to.” Then he wiggled his eyebrows, causing my lips to break into a grin before I could bury my head in the pillows.
Two groans escaped me. The first one acknowledged how little I wanted to look. The second one acknowledged I would have to eventually. So why not now?
“If I’m in a bad mood the entire ride to DC,” I warned as I sat up, reaching for my phone on the nightstand, “that’s on you, and I’ll never let you forget.”
One more glance at him made me turn my screen slightly, and a muffled complaint slipped past his lips. “Just let me check first,” I muttered, suddenly tenser than I’d like to admit. I typed in the login for the account, keeping myself from visibly shaking as the page loaded. I swallowed thickly, my eyes fixed on the screen with equal parts anticipation and dread.
“And?” Dylan nudged, but I simply raised a hand, watching the spinning wheel on the screen. My heart sank when it disappeared and made way for the grading system.
