Page 17 of Soup Sandwich
“So, you’re like friends with Zaxton Monroe, Greyson Monroe, Asher Reyes, and Lenox Moore?” she persists, ignoring his direct remark about focusing on his medical background instead of personal.
Callan leans back on the edge of the desk, his hands behind him. “Yes.”
I snicker at how deadpan he can make a one-word answer. It’s the same as it was when I first ran over to his table on Friday.
“Oh, my God. They’re like so swoony. I’m obsessed with Asher Reyes. Oh, and Greyson Monroe too. His voice is like… ugh.” Daria fans her face and Callan stares at her in exasperation.
“Are we done with the Central Square—”
“Will they come to class?” Alfred cuts him off.
“No. Anything else? Last call?”
“Are you single?” Daria giggles and so do the two girls sitting beside her.
He stands and glares down at them, his voice allowing no room for argument when he replies. “That’s not a question I ever answer and certainly not one you need the answer to. Now that we got those out of the way, from here on out, it’s medicine and medicine only.”
“Wow,” Murphy whispers, leaning toward my ear so only I can hear her. “This is going to be an interesting summer.”
No joke.
6
Class ends and for a few moments, I linger. Only he’s surrounded and that doesn’t seem as if it will be changing anytime soon. I need to speak with him, and judging by the way his gaze catches mine—the first time since I first sat down over three hours ago—he’s thinking the same thing.
I give him a smirk and toss my hands up in the air in awhat can do you doway and then climb the steps to leave. I don’t make it far. A very unexpected and unwanted person is waiting for me in the hall leaning casually against the window opposite the door I’m exiting.
My ex’s face is buried in his phone, and I wonder if I can keep going without him seeing me. Except, because this is the way my life is going right now, his head pops up the second I go to make a break for it.
“Hey! There you are,” he exclaims with a big, bright, beaming smile. The ones he used to give me when he’d see me after class or when he’d come to pick me up for a date or later when he’d come home from class, and I’d have dinner already going for us.
“What are you doing here?” Yeah, I’m not nearly as happy to see him as he is to see me.
He frowns at my less-than-warm greeting. “I wanted to talk to you.”
He pushes away from the window and closes the space between us until he’s close. Too close. After the last few days I’ve had, I’m in no mood.
“No thanks.” I start walking. Unfortunately, he keeps pace until he grows flustered by my obvious attempt to brush him off and grabs my arm, pulling me to a stop.
“Come on. Don’t be like that.” He catches my chin and forces my gaze up to his brown eyes. I shake off his touch and he glares ever so slightly. “I was worried about you. I heard about Dr. Lawrence and that you were the one who was with him when it happened. I also heard about your apartment.”
I puff out an exacerbated breath. “How did you hear about all that?”
“I’m in your class group chat.”
That takes me aback. How did I not know that? “You are? Since when?”
He smirks. “Since we broke up.”
He says it like I should be flattered that he’s encroaching on my chat or like it makes him a secret hero who is still obsessed with the heroine he did wrong. Only this isn’t our romance book, and all that does is make him a douchebag of epic proportions and a stalker.
I glare. “You have no right being in that chat. You’re not even in my program.”
He shrugs unrepentantly. “I wanted to keep tabs on you. What? Don’t give me that look. You can’t be shocked. Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. I wanted a break, not a breakup.”
I snort out a sardonic laugh. Because truly, that’s a good one. “Your activity hours after our ‘break’ would suggest otherwise.” I put air quotes around the word.
He winces, quickly looking away as he runs a hand through his hair and falls momentarily silent.