The Game That Breaks Us (Us 3)

He winces. “Right, stranger danger.” He holds out his hand. “Bennett James—hockey player and Sour Patch addict.”

I take his hand, stifling a laugh. “Grace Wentworth—aspiring stylist and chocoholic.”

He lowers his hand. “Now that we thoroughly know each other, can I offer you a ride?” I eye him and he laughs. “Not that kind of ride. Although, maybe a different time and place.” He winks. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”

I bite my lip. “I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t know you.”

“You could get to know me on the car ride,” he reasons, grinning from ear to ear. He’s enjoying this, clearly.

I know the smart thing to do would be to turn around, go back to my dorm, and go shopping later, but for once, I don’t want to do the smart thing.

I want to be daring and adventurous and not the stick in the mud my roommate already thinks I am—and she’d be right.

I square my shoulders and say, “Okay.”

His mouth parts slightly. He didn’t really expect me to say yes. “Let’s go then.” He turns to head back from the direction he was coming from.

“I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not important.”

“Are you sure?” I hesitate, not wanting to mess up his plans.

“Absolutely.” He stuffs his hand in his pocket and pulls out his car keys.

I follow him around campus while he helpfully points out various buildings. We finally make it to the parkin

g garage and he pushes a button to unlock his car.

“That’s your car?” I ask when the headlights on a brand new red Camaro turn on. I know enough from my car junkie older brother that this is a top-of-the-line Camaro and doesn’t run cheap. “Are you a student? Oh, God,” I gasp. “Please tell me you’re not a professor?”

I think I might die.

He laughs. “Neither.”

I eye him with apprehension. “You’re not about to drive me out to some remote location and kill me, are you?”

He laughs, keeled over in the middle like I’ve said the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

“Trust has to be earned,” I tell him. “So earn it.”

“O-o-h.” He chuckles and opens the passenger door. “You’re something, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. My chest brushes his arm as I move around him to get in the car.

He pauses before closing the door. “Nothing bad. You’re kind of testy, aren’t you?”

“No,” I defend, “but I’m not in the habit of getting in cars with guys I don’t know.” He smirks, just the slightest lift of his lips, and dimples pop out in his cheeks. It makes him look younger than he probably is. He doesn’t say anything in response and closes the door. When he slides behind the steering wheel I ask, “So, if you’re not a student or a professor, what are you?”

He shrugs. “I’m just visiting.”

“Oh, do you have a sibling going here? Are you supposed to be with them right now? Oh, my God, I am so sorry. I can get out.” I reach for the door, but before I can open it, he reaches across from me and holds it closed.

“No sibling,” he says with a chuckle.

“Oh.” I relax into the seat and he lets go.

“You’re free to go if you want,” he assures me. “But you’re not keeping me from anyone. Promise.” When I make no move to get out of the car, he asks, “Where to?”