Marc Jillson & The Gazebo (Love Inscribed 2)

“Smooth?” He glanced over to where Tyler had disappeared. “Ahh.” He grinned, eyes dancing. “Geek Force does it for you, huh?”

Hunter soaked in my defeated posture against the wall, and I wanted to melt into the lobby. Or scram out of there.

Liam stumbled from the office beside Hunter. “That Tyler is exceptionally odd.”

The urge to defend the guy overcame me. “That’s coming from you?”

Liam jerked his chin high, outwardly brushing off the insult. Regret knotted my stomach.

I opened my mouth to apologize but the words stuck in my throat.

Hunter, astute, beckoned Liam into the open elevator, suggesting they grab coffee at the Crazy Mocha. He swiveled around and rolled in backward. His gaze met mine, and he shook his head sadly.

Chapter Three

I didn’t know what the hell I did all week. The days slogged on, lectures too, and I spent more time than usual curled up in bed. Like I was now.

Bright light shafted through the basement windows across my face. I flung my arm over my eyes and groaned. I must’ve slept most of the day.

Uncle Ben was gonna charge my ass for missing two econ lectures. Worse than dipping into overdraft though? The disappointment that would cloud his face.

He was the only person still rooting for me, and letting him down . . .

My shitty character would be set in stone forever.

Here lies Marc Jillson

Unwaveringly consistent

Always the asshole

I fumbled for my phone under my tear-splotched pillow. Three-thirty in the afternoon!

Shit.

I showered in four minutes and dressed in two. Maybe if I could borrow someone’s notes, I could recover from my absences? Chief would never have to know.

Except, dammit!

My article was due this evening.

My campus news article. The article I’d meant to figure out today.

I slung my laptop-heavy bag over my shoulder and raced to campus.

I made it to the econ department five minutes before my final class. Puffing outside the hall’s atrium doors, I jabbed my phone and made a call.

“Hey, Chief.”

Uncle Ben hummed suspiciously. “Marc.”

I winced, stealing into the fluorescent, chatty atrium. “Can I have an extension on my article? A couple of hours?”

A dry laugh. “When have I ever given you preferential treatment?”

“Now would be nice?”

Uncle Ben paused. “Your voice seems fine and as of last night, no injuries I know about.”

I raced down the middle aisle toward vacant seats in the front, stalling when I realized I plunked down next to geek-boy-hottie Tyler. I jerked my gaze away, groaning internally. Hunter was typing away on his laptop.

I sank into my seat as far as I could go, whispering, “One hour extra? Please?”

“I expect your piece at six. On time, like everyone else’s.”

“It’s four.”

“Better get cracking then.”

So much for paying attention to the professor. All my notebook scribbles were random ideas I could pull out of my ass for Scribe.

Tyler spent the lecture diligently staring at his phone screen where his stenographer—a raven-haired woman in her thirties—sent him real-time captions to the lecture. I’d vaguely known he had help writing notes for his classes, but I had never witnessed the stenographer’s instant and accurate translation.

When classes ended, his stenographer packed her things and signed to him. He signed back and watched her leave.

He turned his dark eyes on me, grinning. “Find that fascinating, Marc?”

The cadence of his voice was deep and slightly off, but intelligence and humor marked his expression.

I lifted my hands and signed.

He laughed. “You said you have shit for brains.”

I nodded and spoke clearly so he could read my lips. “Yes. It’s the only sentence I know. Also, it’s true.”

He laughed. “You didn’t take notes—and you didn’t show to our other two lectures.”

I signed my one sentence again. He laughed.

Sudden inspiration had me bolting to my feet. Maybe I could interview Tyler? Learn about how he navigates his classes as a person hard of hearing. “Can I make a copy of your notes and ask some questions in exchange for coffee?”

Across the room, Hunter laughed and the sound drummed a hiccupy beat in my chest. I glanced over, admiring that deep dimple and those glittering eyes. The guy he conversed with wore the tightest pair of red jeans I’d ever seen and stared at Hunter with a flirtatious smirk, body language all but begging for a hookup.

Hunter winked and both their cell phones came out. Something glugged around in my stomach and I shoved the feeling as deep as I could, rushing Tyler out of the atrium at his eagerness for coffee.

We lined up at the freestanding coffee cart by large windows overlooking hundreds of students crisscrossing the campus. The scent of coffee percolated the corner.

“So, tell me about yourself, Tyler.”

Tyler blushed. “Yeah, okay.”

The customers in front of us left and we stepped up. I met Tyler’s eye and gestured to the cart and the bored, rainbow-haired student running it. “Go nuts, it’s on me. Grab a drink for each hand.”