Page 9 of Test Me

My mind skipped ahead to Winter Fest—all those carnival games and bonfires. It might be the perfect time to test the waters with Logan, see if he maybe might…my stomach did that backflip thing again.

Take the starting position.I snorted at myself for letting Ansel’s track metaphors get to me. But he had a point. I just needed to get through the next couple of weeks first.

5

LOGAN

Two weeks later

Winter Fest was an impromptu student-led block party-carnival mash-up that had sprung into existence a decade before I got to the U as a way to “ease” everyone back into the semester after Thanksgiving break. AKA, one last opportunity to get stupid drunk under the guise of a celebration before final exams and Winter break. People had been talking about it for weeks, Jesse and Nate in particular. Jesse because he was excited that all the frat houses opened their doors to the rest of us peons, and Jesse loved snaring frat boys even if he’d never wanted to be one. And Nate, because Natewasa frat boy.

It was cold as heck outside, but fire pits and heat lamps lined the street and scattered the lawns in front of the houses. Some people roasted marshmallows, others romped in bounce houses, or played games with prizes, all benefiting local charities.

Jesse, Nate, and I strolled along the wide lane of frat row, covertly spiked cider from Nate’s fraternity clutched in our hands as we weaved through the masses of revelers. A band played at the far end of the block and Jesse bounced excitedly onhis toes every time he spotted a hot guy—which was about every five seconds.

“Do you see Chet yet?” Jesse craned his head, looking around as I shrugged.

“Nope. But we’re not supposed to meet until eight at the main bonfire.”

Nate nudged my shoulder. “Are you excited? You don’t seem too hyped.”

I shrugged again. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I dunno. Blind dates are one of those things that always seem better in theory than in reality.”

The truth was, Josh had been occupying way too much space in my brain. I’d been tutoring him for weeks, and every single time he showed up armed with an arsenal of burgers, fries, and his stupidly sexy grin. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to like him, let alone salivate over his dimpled smile every time it was aimed my way. The ‘dumb athlete’ box I’d tried to mentally keep him in was disintegrating because, dammit, he wasn’t dumb. He was funny, and warm, and… not my type at all. And a jock. Plus, straight. But the rest of my body blithely ignored my brain, doing absurd stuff like speeding up my heart rate every time I walked into the library to meet him, and unhelpfully populating my brain with ridiculous fantasies of us together when I left.

Chet was supposed to be the antidote.

I’d found him on a hook-up app after returning from Thanksgiving break, where I spent an inordinate amount of time at home wondering how Josh was spending his. I figured I was overdue to get laid, and after chatting with Chet through the app long enough to tell he seemed cool, and not like a psychopath, we’d agreed to meet up tonight. I really wanted to be more excited than I was, though. Instead, I found myself keeping aconstant eye out for Josh. We hadn’t had a study session since right before the U let out for the week-long break.

“Feel ya there,” Nate grumbled, then muttered a curse. “Shit, I need to be at the pie-throwing thing right now. I’m up next. Frat duty.” He rolled his eyes.

“Ohhh, I’m not missing this. I’ve been waiting to pie your face since I met you.” Jesse cackled.

“Why does it sound dirty when you say it?”

“Because he totally meant it that way.” I ducked as Jesse punched me on the shoulder.

“I did but I didn’t. As my roommate, you’re definitely on my no-fly list,” Jesse told Nate, then hooked his arm through mine. “C’mon, let’s go pie some frat guys.”

The scent of woodsmoke and grilled meat filled the air as we trailed after Nate, who was charging through the crowd. “Are all of Nate’s frat brothers doing the pie throw, do you think?” I tried to ask inconspicuously, but Jesse narrowed his eyes suspiciously at me anyway.

“Why? Might you be hoping to see one in particular?”

“No.”Yes.Josh hadn’t been around earlier when we’d gone into the house’s basement for the spiked cider, sadly.

“Uh-huh. Might he be a tall, devilishly dimpled, handsome lacrosse player with questionable abilities at physics?”

“He’s actually doing well in physics now,” I said, a little too defensively. I liked tutoring people, seeing the lightbulb moments brighten their face, knowing that I’d helped them get there. It was the reason I wanted to pursue teaching. But tutoring Josh had definitely become something beyond just wanting to help him succeed in a class. “He’s not dumb, he just needed a little help learning how to?—”

“Oh my god. Say no more. You’re definitely into him.”

“I’m not,” I insisted weakly, and chugged the rest of my cider. It went down way too easily. “I’mnot. We wouldn’t work.”

Jesse tilted his head, giving me a skeptical side-eye. “Why not?”

“Because,” I said, but the rest of what I’d intended to be a hastily cobbled together dissertation on the many reasons we wouldn’t work died on my lips as we got to the Sigma pie-throwing booth. Because there was Josh Pickett sitting behind it in all his devilishly dimpled, handsome glory, with a dollop of whipped cream smeared across his brow and more in his hair, suggesting that someone had recently had good aim.

Nate disappeared around to the back of the booth and Josh arched a brow as Jesse and I approached the throwing line. “I know you’ve got mad physics skills on paper. You wanna test them in the real world?” he called out to me as he waggled his brows.