Stubble covered his chin, and his golden brown hair stood up a little wildly, as if he hadn’t showered yet.
“What are you talking about?” Callie demanded crossly, closing the leather notebook where she’d been doodling instead of working. “Why would you want to work with me? And I don’t
have
to do anything.” Ms. Emory had rubber-stamped her proposal to work alone, which suited Callie just fine.
“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” Brandon said sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. His rumpled Ben Sherman button-down looked like he’d slept in it. “Sorry.”
“What’s
with
you?” Callie turned her back to him and pretended to look at her notebook. She grabbed her tube of Smash-box lip gloss and spread some on her lips. “I thought you were doing some camping thing with Heath.”
“Yeah, well.” Brandon headed toward one of the display tables and touched the edge of an old copy of
Charlotte’s Web
. “Turns out Heath’s
insane
—imagine that. And since I value my life, I thought I’d be safer doing a different project.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Pritchard said you were working alone, so I kind of hoped I could butt in and help you.”
Callie eyed Brandon. Something about him was different, and it wasn’t just the beard scruff and the wrinkled shirt. She hadn’t talked to him in ages, but she’d heard that he’d spent his Christmas vacation hooking up with one of Professor Dunderdorf’s hot daughters in Switzerland, having sex nonstop. She hadn’t believed it at the time—Brandon practically had a scarlet
V
, for
Virgin
, branded onto his forehead. But now he seemed
different
, somehow. Maybe it
was
true.
“Fine,” she said at last. It could be kind of fun to work with Brandon. He was always polite, and he could be counted on to do the boring things, like typing up notes or putting together a bibliography. “Basically, I just want to explore the idea of what love is—and try and figure out if true love is a real thing, or if it’s like some kind of security blanket….”
“And let me guess, you’re going to find that out by interviewing a bunch of your friends—girls who think true love is what they feel for Prada?” Brandon asked incredulously, chuckling a little as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Hey!” Callie shot him an evil look. Since when was Brandon so cocky? “If you don’t like my project, you can go back to the woods with Heath.” She stuck her tongue out at him.
Brandon held his hands up defensively. “You’re right. I’m totally at your mercy. And, honestly, I think it’s a cool topic. Really.”
Callie sniffed. She unzipped her Prada bag, feeling slightly self-conscious, and thrust a sheet of paper at him. “The interviewing is only going to be part of the project, anyway. The rest is research on the psychology and chemistry of love. But here’s my question list, if you’re interested.” She flicked open her phone and glanced at the time. She didn’t know why, but she wanted Brandon to know she had better things to be doing than talking to him. Even though she didn’t.
“
Do you believe in love at first sight?
” Brandon read off, a funny grin on his face. “
Or do you just want to believe in it?
” Brandon looked up at Callie, who felt herself blushing. She kind of wished she’d taken the time to throw on some less-frumpy clothes. Not that she cared what Brandon thought, but just to seem a little more professional. Normally, he’d be drooling all over her. Instead, he was looking at her with that slightly bored, amused look in his eyes.
“We’re supposed to be asking the subjects, Brandon, not each other.” Callie rolled her eyes. But as her eyes fell on Brandon’s smirking face, she had a thought: this was where he’d walked in on her making out with Easy Walsh sophomore year, the night of the
Absinthe
lit mag party. She’d been dating Brandon all year, but all it took was one smoldering look from Easy
“What are you talking about?” Callie demanded crossly, closing the leather notebook where she’d been doodling instead of working. “Why would you want to work with me? And I don’t
have
to do anything.” Ms. Emory had rubber-stamped her proposal to work alone, which suited Callie just fine.
“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” Brandon said sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. His rumpled Ben Sherman button-down looked like he’d slept in it. “Sorry.”
“What’s
with
you?” Callie turned her back to him and pretended to look at her notebook. She grabbed her tube of Smash-box lip gloss and spread some on her lips. “I thought you were doing some camping thing with Heath.”
“Yeah, well.” Brandon headed toward one of the display tables and touched the edge of an old copy of
Charlotte’s Web
. “Turns out Heath’s
insane
—imagine that. And since I value my life, I thought I’d be safer doing a different project.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Pritchard said you were working alone, so I kind of hoped I could butt in and help you.”
Callie eyed Brandon. Something about him was different, and it wasn’t just the beard scruff and the wrinkled shirt. She hadn’t talked to him in ages, but she’d heard that he’d spent his Christmas vacation hooking up with one of Professor Dunderdorf’s hot daughters in Switzerland, having sex nonstop. She hadn’t believed it at the time—Brandon practically had a scarlet
V
, for
Virgin
, branded onto his forehead. But now he seemed
different
, somehow. Maybe it
was
true.
“Fine,” she said at last. It could be kind of fun to work with Brandon. He was always polite, and he could be counted on to do the boring things, like typing up notes or putting together a bibliography. “Basically, I just want to explore the idea of what love is—and try and figure out if true love is a real thing, or if it’s like some kind of security blanket….”
“And let me guess, you’re going to find that out by interviewing a bunch of your friends—girls who think true love is what they feel for Prada?” Brandon asked incredulously, chuckling a little as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Hey!” Callie shot him an evil look. Since when was Brandon so cocky? “If you don’t like my project, you can go back to the woods with Heath.” She stuck her tongue out at him.
Brandon held his hands up defensively. “You’re right. I’m totally at your mercy. And, honestly, I think it’s a cool topic. Really.”
Callie sniffed. She unzipped her Prada bag, feeling slightly self-conscious, and thrust a sheet of paper at him. “The interviewing is only going to be part of the project, anyway. The rest is research on the psychology and chemistry of love. But here’s my question list, if you’re interested.” She flicked open her phone and glanced at the time. She didn’t know why, but she wanted Brandon to know she had better things to be doing than talking to him. Even though she didn’t.
“
Do you believe in love at first sight?
” Brandon read off, a funny grin on his face. “
Or do you just want to believe in it?
” Brandon looked up at Callie, who felt herself blushing. She kind of wished she’d taken the time to throw on some less-frumpy clothes. Not that she cared what Brandon thought, but just to seem a little more professional. Normally, he’d be drooling all over her. Instead, he was looking at her with that slightly bored, amused look in his eyes.
“We’re supposed to be asking the subjects, Brandon, not each other.” Callie rolled her eyes. But as her eyes fell on Brandon’s smirking face, she had a thought: this was where he’d walked in on her making out with Easy Walsh sophomore year, the night of the
Absinthe
lit mag party. She’d been dating Brandon all year, but all it took was one smoldering look from Easy
Similar Books
