Page 8 of Tangled Up In You
Fitz laughed, dropping his gaze to her outfit, drawing attention to the fact that she was still bundled up in her coat, hidden by her hood, wrapped up in a scarf. “You just come in from the Iditarod or something?”
“Idaho, actually.” Ren shoved the hood off, unwound the scarf, and then unzipped the heavy parka, shrugging out of it and the beanie to shake her long braid free. A few loose tendrils remained plastered to her face, and she drew them away with a wet, clammy hand, looking up at him.
When their eyes met, Ren felt suddenly naked at the way his expression had gone blank, at the way he stared directly at her face, finally exposed.
He exhaled a quiet “Oh.”
“What?” She tried to stand as still as she could under his inspection. Fitz dropped his eyes to take in what she was wearing; she’d chosen her favorites from a recent visit to the consignment store—a red-and-green-striped T-shirt and light blue jeans with beautiful pink and yellow hand-embroidered flowers all down the sides. She’d felt good this morning when she’d put it on, but her confidence was ebbing the longer he stared. “What?” she asked again, finally.
He blinked, clearing the surprised blankness, and his face transformed as she watched. One brow raised, his eyes melted, and lips hitched up in a sideways smile. “What are you doing after this?”
Ren blinked, confused. “After—what? The tour?”
“Yeah. Later. I could answer any questions you have down at the Night Owl.” He licked his lips distractingly. Had she ever really noticed a man’s mouth before? Were they all so full and soft? “I happen to know a bartender there: me. He makes great cocktails. We could hang for a bit.”
Confused, Ren narrowed her eyes at him. “Aren’t you already here to answer my questions now?”
“Sure.” He took a step closer, and Ren straightened, suddenly feeling flushed and jittery. “But there’s probably a lot of stuff you’ll think of later, away from campus,” he said, shrugging. “Doesn’t have to be about classes. We could just get to know each other.”
“That’s very nice, but—” She glanced wildly around the atrium, wondering what it was about this moment that made her feel like she was already breaking her parents’ rules. “I’m not actually supposed to go to bars.”
“Don’t worry, Sweden. I could get you in.”
“It’s not that. It’s my parents. They forbid it.”
He reached forward, drawing a long strand of her wet hair through his fingers. “I wouldn’t tell.”
Fitz had a very expressive face, and right now, he was looking at her like a wolf sizing up a lamb. The only other time she’d felt this way before—fevered, heart thrumming, goose bumps down her arms—was when she’d read romance novels, hidden away in a dark corner of the barn or under her favorite tree, far out in the eastern pasture. She’d never felt it in someone else’s presence before. “Yeah, but I would know.”
At these words, his gaze slowly cleared, and he dropped her hair. “Seriously?”
“Seriously what?”
“I’m asking you out for drinks, and it’s—” He waved a hand in front of his own face. “Nothing? Not even a flutter?”
“I don’t know what you mean. Flutter—what?”
Fitz stared at her for a prolonged beat. “This must be an off day for me.” There it was again, the half smile that reminded Ren of a vampire, teasing a glimpse of a single fang. Lifting his chin to the stairs, he said, “Let’s get your schedule printed.”
“Actually, no need. I have it printed already.” Ren shifted the big coat in her arms, digging into the side pocket to pull a manila envelope free.
He slowly took it from her, staring down at her coat. “You had this whole folder in there?”
“You bet. I can collect the vegetables I need for dinner, shoot a sage grouse, and tuck it all in here to carry it home.”
Fitz’s lip curled, and he loosened his grip on the folder so it was pinched only between the tip of his thumb and index finger. “You carried a dead bird around in that pocket?”
“Oh, loads of them,” she corrected proudly. “We regularly hunt our dinner. I’d say I’m the best shot in the county.” With a laugh, she translated his expression. “I’ve washed the coat since, silly.” Ren took the folder, pulled out the sheet with her course list, and handed it back. “Those are my classes. Don’t worry. That paper is dead-bird-free.”
He scanned the page once, brow furrowing, and then again. “Homeschooled for every grade? For real?”
Ren thought for a moment how to answer without telling him anything too personal. “I’m sure it’s uncommon for you to give a freshman tour to someone older like me who’s never been on a college campus before.” She swallowed. “I’m twenty-two, and I realize most freshmen here begin at eighteen and have been in school with their peers since kindergarten. But I assure you I have spent a lot of time researching the campus maps and schedules, and I mostly understand what’s required of me. What I’m interested in is any advice you might have picked up along the way for how to juggle the demands of different courses, or if there are any small things I should know. Which professors I might need to handle carefully, and the best studying places. Only on campus, of course.”
Slowly, he turned his attention back to her. A hundred questions passed through his eyes before he settled on “You’ve never even been on a college campus?” Ren shook her head. Fitz’s jaw cut a sharp angle as he looked back at the course list. “How do you know these are right? This is a pretty intense course load.”
Ren leaned over to look, too. “I chose classes from a list the registrar recommended.”
“Because you’re older,” he said. “They probably assumed you’re a transfer.”