Amy's hand jerked, damn near kissing the guardrail. This little shit was ballsy—met her yesterday, and now he's pitching boyfriend status? What, like it's that easy?
She nearly shot him down, but something clicked. Steering smooth, she tossed out, "Why me? Laila's a knockout and your age—why not hit her up?"
"Pfft, her? A knockout? Stiff as a board, face white like a freaking corpse—zombie central. Amy, straight up—she's not a speck on you. Class? Stack a hundred Lailas, they still don't touch you. I'd be a drooling idiot to pass on a babe like you for that undead chick," Anirudh snorted, flashing a smug grin. Laila wasn't here—open season.
"Pfft…" Amy choked a laugh, cracking up. Laila, a zombie? That's a new one.
"Not scared I'll narc to her?"
"What's to freak? It's gospel. Plus, you're too chill to dime me out to that ice queen," Anirudh shrugged, all big and bold.
"That's your real take?" Amy's heart did a little skip. She ruled the school's hot list, but next to Eleanor's squad, she was background noise. Last night, Anirudh crowned her over Laila—now he's doubling down, and it's got her glowing.
Every chick's got a vain streak—Amy's no saint!
"Hell yeah! I look like a bullshitter? So, Amy, give me a swing—your boyfriend, huh?" Anirudh leaned in, no shame in his game!
"Beat it, we just met…" Amy rolled her eyes hard!
"Love don't care about clocks or maps. Amy, I'm gone for you…" His hand slid onto her leg, teasing her thigh through the dress.
Amy's frame twitched, wheel-hand wobbling. This punk—groping while she's hauling ass?
"Hands off, I'm driving—you wanna eat pavement?" Amy snapped, cheeks blazing!
"Crashing with you? Sign me up…" Anirudh locked eyes, all sappy, deep in his Oscar act!
"Drop dead—I ain't your plus-one…" Amy steamed. What's this kid smoking? She whacked his hand off…
"Heh, couldn't lose you anyway. But I'm deadass, Amy—mull it over?" After scoring a feel, Anirudh dialed it back. Car's no playground—crash and burn's not his vibe, not this young!
"Hmph, depends how you play it…" Amy huffed, all coy. Management's queen bee didn't cave that quick—she'd be juggling exes otherwise!
"Heh, I'll bring it. Amy, you're locked in—mine…" Anirudh swore, dripping swagger!
Right then, the Audi screeched up to Chicago Business School's gate, cruising in under jealous glares and parking tight.
They hopped out, Amy leading him down a path blanketed with golden ginkgo leaves to the management building. Pointing at A102, she said, "Your spot. Class is popping off soon—move it. Lost? Hit me—I'm on three…"
"Gotcha…" Anirudh nodded, then swooped, snagging a cheek kiss before bolting, hollering back, "Amy, don't flake—you're mine…"
Ambushed, Amy's face torched red. This asshole—smooching her in daylight? She scoped the scene, no peepers, then legged it upstairs.
Sign-up was ancient history—today was go-time. Eleanor had him dialed in; he was just clocking in.
He barreled into A102, catching a wild pack of students mobbing the whiteboard, chaos city. No prof yet—free-for-all. He didn't dive, just posted up in the hall, fishing out smokes. A flick, and one arced slick into his mouth.
"Click…" Smoke spiraled as he sparked it, puffing like he owned the joint, zero Fs given.
"Hey, kill that—no smoking here…" A honeyed voice chimed behind. He spun—and his eyes damn near popped…