Marc Jillson & The Gazebo (Love Inscribed 2)

Hunter stared in disbelief. “You kept that close to the sleeve.”

I shrugged. “Didn’t want people at Scribe thinking I’m a privileged asshole. Probably because I am one. Guess you’ll read my articles differently now?”

Hunter shook out of the last of his shock. “That’s assuming I’ve read them at all.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Oh. Ha. Don’t bother.”

“I have read them. Binge-read them the day after I discovered who I’d been hanging out with online all summer.”

“You did?”

“Yes.” A beeping sounded and Hunter checked his phone. He swiveled his chair close. “I’ve gotta hit the road.”

“Oh.” I moved out the way and he moved into his chair. “Sure thing.”

He glanced toward my closet and back at me, grinning. “Thanks for giving me a glimpse inside . . . the tin.”

Fuck. Hunter was smart. Hunter was funny and smart, and I didn’t want the night to end. But now we knew what was in . . . the tin, I guess that was it. We’d go back to the way things were. Back to sort of knowing each other. To nodding in passing.

I’d go back to watching Hunter hang out with Liam.

Hunter wheeled toward the back door.

“I flipped you off once,” I blurted, and Hunter paused, back facing me. “That’s a lie. I flipped you off a few times, back when Jack and I . . .”

“Yeah.”

“It was stupid. You got under my skin.”

“I know.”

“You’re right about me checking you out. I did.”

Hunter hummed.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“For checking me out? Or for flipping me off?”

“Both?”

“You know, it’s not me you need to apologize to, Marc.”

That was Liam.

I scuffed a socked foot over the hardwood floor.

Hunter shifted his grip on his wheels, and I sidled past him, reluctantly opening the door. “Have a good night.”

He rolled out into the cool night, and turned his chair. “I almost forgot.” He rummaged into the bag slung over his chair, pulled out a sheaf of stapled paper, and handed it to me.

“What’s this?”

“You missed a couple of classes today.”

I clasped the printed copy of Hunter’s notes, my chest hitching. “Thank you.”

He nodded and wheeled down the brick path.

I shut the door and slumped against it, rubbing the edge of Hunter’s notes against my cheek, where he’d touched me. “Why do I suddenly feel lonely?” I whispered.

A heavy bang-bang met the door and I lurched back and yanked it open, heart skipping.

Hunter stared at me, frustrated. “Can I have the contents of the tin?”

“You’re not done with it?”

“Aren’t you curious to find answers? An ending to the story?”

The intensity of Hunter’s stare made me shiver deep in my bones.

I retreated into the room, and returned clutching the tin. “What if it’s disappointing?”

He paused. “I’ll take the risk.”

“It’ll be hard work, finding everything out.”

“I’ve never been afraid of hard work.”

I swallowed and stared at the tin. “Maybe I can help you? We could figure out this mystery relationship together?”

Hunter’s smile dazzled, and the edges of the tin cut into my hand I held it so hard.

“Who knows,” I said, handing the tin to Hunter. “Maybe we could work the angle that Lover’s Loop is a historical landmark and should be protected by the university . . .”

“I do also want to save the gazebo.” Hunter didn’t take the tin. “Since we’ll be working together, you should keep it.”

I clasped it against my chest. “Okay. Good.”

“Good.”

“Excellent.”

“Fantastic.”

I laughed. “Are you leaving now?”

“Sure.” Hunter winked. “Just saying how happy this makes me. In all its variations, apparently.”

Chapter Five

Ten minutes before our only shared Friday lecture, I was such a pathetic ass I kept straightening every time the atrium doors opened and a new hoard of students piled in. The clock ticked four, and that made it nine hours my stomach had been in knots.

When Hunter rolled in, he was immediately accosted by Red Jeans, who was wearing blue jeans.

Hunter’s gaze landed on me, and he nodded. A friendly nod? Or casual acquaintance nod?

Red Jeans stole his attention until Professor Velazquez launched into her lecture. Hunter dove into typing notes.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, an unfamiliar vibration after so many months of silence.

I surreptitiously fished it out.

Unknown: I have another confession.

I saved the contact and answered. Hunter kept his head bowed toward his screen.

Hunter: Last night. I wasn’t surprised at the hidden mess. I’d guessed you cleaned up.

Me: You guessed?

Hunter: There was an acidic lavender scent clinging to you. Usually you smell earthy.

Earthy? Was that a euphemism for dirty? I might tend towards the slobby, but I showered every day. Sometimes more than once. I glared at the screen.

Me: Well you smelled like soap and a stupid amount of fresh air.

Across the atrium, Hunter peeked at me over his laptop and I sank into my seat.

Hunter: Earthy wasn’t an insult, Marc. I like it.

Hunter: I also really like that you cleaned. For me.