I could not fall for Dillon Connolly. It would be a mistake of epic proportions to do so. And yet, I didn’t know how I would stop myself.
I didn’t know if I could.
Chapter 9
Dillon
I wanted to scoop my eyes out with a spoon. Maybe it would make this whole study thing easier. Pacey had his head bent over his book, his eyes narrowed as he read. I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my temples.
“Do you think rubbing your temples will help the words stay in your mind?” Pacey asked dryly. “Because if so, I’m in. You just let me know.”
“Why is this so boring?” I asked, groaning.
“Because they force you to take other classes outside of your major so you’re not only well rounded but also because it sometimes sparks a need for what you could be in the future. And, apparently, learning helps you become a better person. Who knew?”
I snorted and glanced over at Pacey. He was now leaning back in his chair, the wheels squeaking as he did.
“I thought you liked school.”
“Don’t say that out loud. People will find out, and it’ll ruin my credibility.”
“Your credibility at what?”
“I don’t know. Being that mysterious British guy?”
“I’m pretty sure given the accent, most Americans think you go to a secret wizarding or boarding school and that you’re brilliant anyway. Sorry.”
“It’s the cross I have to bear. Handsome, wickedly brilliant, and an accent that makes anyone around me fall to their knees.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I can’t help it. It’s just me.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“This class is making me feel like an idiot. And while I’ve enjoyed my electives and don’t need to focus only on my major courses—if I did, I would either get bored or frustrated—my professor sucks.”
“I feel you. Mine’s not much better. I wish I had been able to get into the class I wanted. But sadly, signing up after most of the students already registered kind of screwed me.”
“Well, I couldn’t get into the class I wanted because it happened to be at the same time as the physics class that I needed. So now I’m lost in the abyss of this class with a syllabus that doesn’t make sense.”
“I still don’t get how you can understand that physics class.”
Pacey shrugged. “I’m a physics major. With an applied mathematics minor. It’s sort of what I do.”
“You’re a little too smart for me.”
Pacey snorted. “I’m not. I just happen to like science and math more than you do. Because you’ve got a head for business, people, and you’re usually really good at studying. Could it be you’re too busy thinking about Miss Elise rather than focusing on university?”
I flipped him off. “I can handle more than one thing.”
“You say that, and yet I could’ve sworn you were the one who said you wouldn’t even try dating because neither of you wanted to focus on anything but school. In addition to your work and your family, of course. Was I wrong?”
“I hate that you remember things I say that well.”
He shrugged. “Another cross to bear, it seems.”
“Must be heavy under there,” I said slyly.
“You have no idea. Come on, I’m feeling peckish. Let’s get a snack or a pint. Anything so I don’t have to focus on this stupid assignment.”
“What are you writing?”
“I need to read a play and write a paper describing it without adding my feelings to it. They want us to dissect it analytically. You would think I would enjoy the idea, but you can’t go into drama and imagine something completely analytical. It makes no sense.”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t. My paper’s giving me a headache, as well, but I think that’s because I can imagine my professor’s voice droning on as I’m reading. It’s his textbook, by the way. The one he wrote.”
Pacey snorted. “That becomes a problem once I get into next year’s classes and whatever grad school I get into. If the professor happens to have written a textbook, they need the royalties, so that’s what you end up buying in addition to whatever other books go along with the class for that semester. It’s a racket.”
“I want to believe they deserve to get royalties for the book they wrote, but it seems a little self-serving.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t feel so bad if we didn’t both hate our professors. If we liked the guys, it might be different.”
“That is true,” I said, shrugging. “Twizzlers for you?”
Pacey shook his head.
I paused in the act of reaching for the bag of candy. “Are you okay?”
He laughed. “I don’t eat Twizzlers every day. Sometimes I even go a week without them.”
I staggered back, putting my hand over my heart. “No.”
“Yes. I always have to have them on hand if I want them, but I don’t want them now. I was thinking grapes. Or maybe some carrots.”
“Really?” I blinked.
“Hey, we’re not going to be twenty forever. We need to work on that metabolism now. I want to use the body I have now, rather than clogging my arteries when I think I don’t have a care in the world.”
“You sound like my brother.”
“Which one?”
“Brendan. Aidan and Cameron both eat decently well, but Brendan is a little more anal-retentive. Aidan and Cameron love to needle him about it.”
“Aidan’s the chef, right?” Pacey asked as he started piling fruit and veggies onto my tray. I added some cheese, and Pacey didn’t seem to mind.
“Yes, Aidan’s the chef and doesn’t usually fry the food we eat as a family. However, he will add egg rolls or wings just to piss off Brendan, especially if Brendan pissed him off first.” I shrugged. “It’s a brother thing.”
It was odd for me to say that since I was still new to the whole brother thing. Yes, Cameron had been in my life since I was eleven, but the others hadn’t. I had known they existed somewhere on the periphery, but I hadn’t truly known them because of things out of my control. But now I did. And
