She folded her arms, giving me a great view of her rack. “You’re awfully confident in yourself. Something tells me you’re all bark and no bite.”
I leaned in and whispered, “I don’t bite. Not unless that’s something you’re into. Is that what Number One on your spreadsheet has going for him?” Dude. Cool it. If I’d said anything like that to Lex, I’d get slapped. And maybe castrated. But Jules didn’t even flinch.
She readjusted her ponytail and said, “Number One had more maturity in his pinky than you possess in your whole body.”
I stared at my jeans and let her words sink in. Probably true. This girl had my number. Maturity had never been my strong suit. Something I needed to think about if I ever wanted to get the hell out of Office Jax. I was working on it, though. Halfway through the career book and looking for something other than office supplies and police work. “Ouch.” I clutched my chest and knocked my head back into the seat. “You’re hurting my feelings.” Better to play it off as a joke, even if it did sting.
“Oh, you have those now?”
I should have stopped, shown her that I did possess one molecule of maturity, but it was too fun to mess with her. “Only on nights with a full moon.” I glanced out the window at the incandescent moon, which so happened to be full tonight. “Looks like you’re in luck. I might even howl a little later.”
She scoffed. “You’re sick.”
I chuckled. She didn’t realize how serious I was about propelling myself to the top of that stupid list. If there was one thing I couldn’t resist, it was good old-fashioned competition. Nothing would beat knowing I’d annihilated the other guys on her list.
I stared out the window, Kenny Chesney blaring in the truck, and leaned my head against the back of the seat. The farther we got out of the city, toward the ocean, the more I could think clearly. Next week, I’d have to drag Blake out and catch some waves. Maybe take Grandma’s boat out on the bay.
“Did you hear about Dr. Kirsh? I heard he’s super hard. Been studying the course textbook all week just to get ahead.” Payton smoothed her hands over her hair and let out a sigh. She was already studying for classes that hadn’t even started? Typical.
Blake squeezed her thigh. “Babe, it’ll be fine. I have study notes from the fraternity test file. Plus, you have Jules and me to study with.” Blake and Jules were signed up for the same classes as her. The fucking Three Musketeers. Fuck me. Their names even spelled PB and J. No room for R in that equation.
All of them were going to be doctors, and I couldn’t even pass business calc. I stared out the window at the trees and an occasional car rushing by.
I still didn’t get it. How did everyone but me have a set future?
Twenty minutes later, Blake pulled into a parking lot overlooking the beach, the truck tires crunching over gravel and sand.
Blake cut the engine and turned to face the backseat. “Ry, can you grab the chairs?”
I nodded. “Yeah, sure.” I hopped out of the truck and grabbed the plastic lawn chairs from the back. We walked the few yards to the beach, Payton and Peach scoping out the “perfect” spot for a bonfire.
I grabbed a few pieces of wood and worked on starting a fire. Ten years of Boy Scouts came in handy once in a while. That, and a lighter.
Peach sat in a lawn chair while I blew on the flames, spreading the fire. Out of the corner of my eye I had a clear shot of her checking me out. I decided to ignore it this time. After that exchange in the truck, I needed to assess my strategy. It was time to fan the flames with Peach.
Chapter Eleven
Jules
I could tell a lot about a guy based on his underwear. Boxers? Laid back, go with the flow. Tighty whiteys? Ew, not even going there. Commando? Hello, chafing. Boxer briefs were the perfect in-between. Collected, in control. Ryan bending over the pile of wood gave me the perfect vantage point. I shook my head, totally unnerved by the fact I was so invested in his underwear choice.
He drove me up the wall with his vulgar mouth, and yet, here I was putting my bet that he was a boxer brief guy. He freakin’ thought I was some princess. I was used to guys underestimating me and then, when they learned I was a dean’s list, pre-med student, that somehow burst their bubble and they suddenly wanted nothing to do with me. My therapist told me I should focus on the things I could control. Too bad I couldn’t have some cool mind control powers and slip Ryan’s jeans a little lower.
The black band of his underwear peeked over his jeans as his shirt rode up his back when he tried to start the fire.
C’mon, bend over just a little more.
Holy crap. I was no worse than guys at a party looking for a piece of ass.
I tugged my phone out of my front pocket and started posting a comment about hot guys being bent over wood, but thought better of it.