The Junior (College Years 3)

“Is it really that big of a deal?” He grips the steering wheel tight. “That chick is persistent. I couldn’t shake her. I haven’t been able to shake her for like a week, and I was desperate. I saw you watching us like you thought what she was doing to me was funny, and I decided to draw you into it.”

“So you did it on purpose.”

“Only to save my ass.”

“Right, but now, I’m tortured too! That’s kind of messed up, Caleb. You don’t think about what you do and how it affects other people. You just—do things, and it doesn’t matter if it hurts them or not. Now I’m left dealing with a bunch of girls who don’t like me because I’m supposedly dating their dream man,” I say, my voice rising.

“I’m really their dream man?” The fucker actually has the nerve to sound pleased by this revelation.

I glare at him. Is he really that oblivious? I don’t think so. He just wants the accolades. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make. And of course, you’re their dream man. You know this.”

“No, I didn’t know this. Actually, I don’t believe it,” he says, his lips curled upward. Oh, he looks so pleased.

I kind of want to sock him in his pretty, stupid face.

“We’re not having this conversation. I’m not going to tell you how great they think you are just to stroke your ego,” I practically spit at him.

“Huh. I can think of a few things you could stroke,” he says, his tone vaguely suggestive.

That’s it. This time, I do hit him, slugging him in the arm, which is totally ineffective and I end up hurting myself because damn, his biceps are solid as a rock and now my knuckles are smarting.

“Ow, what was that for?” He rubs at his arm, sending me a wounded look, and maybe I did actually hurt him. Huh. I’m stronger than I thought.

“I knew the real Caleb was hiding in there somewhere,” I say, discreetly massaging my sore knuckles. “I can’t believe it took almost a month for you to reveal yourself. Talk about restraint.”

“You’re lucky I’ve been holding back. You’ve given me way too many opportunities to say something inappropriate. I just bit my damn tongue every time you did,” he says, sounding irritated.

“You’re gross,” I toss at him.

“And you’re a prude,” he throws back, though he has to know this isn’t true.

Judgey asshole.

We sit in angry silence for a solid ten minutes. Me scrolling through my phone, even though reception is for shit through this part of the drive and the only thing that will load are text messages. Not like I have many.

Caleb remains focused on the road, his jaw clenched, his mouth formed into a deep frown. He’s mad. Which is fine because guess what?

So am I.

“I didn’t mean to pull you into my drama,” he finally says to me, his gaze still on the road, his voice tight, edged with irritation. “I saw you watching us, and it seemed like the logical thing to tell her. That you’re my girlfriend. I wanted her off my back.”

A sigh escapes me. This is probably as close to an apology as I’m going to get. “Well, it worked. She left you alone.”

He sends me a quick glance. “They’ll talk about us for a few days, but then some new drama will happen and they’ll forget all about it, G. I promise.”

I see the sincerity in his blue ey

es, accompanied by a hint of remorse. He feels bad for telling Noelle I’m his girlfriend? Good. He should. “You owe me.”

Caleb raises his brows. “What do I owe you?”

“Dinner,” I say without hesitation, my stomach growling.

“You should’ve grabbed something before we left,” he says.

Gross. I’m over the food at Mitchell’s already. That’s the last thing I want. “I want Mexican food.”

“You want me to buy you dinner?” He doesn’t sound opposed to the idea, so I take this as a positive sign.