“So I’ve been doing some thinking,” she says after a few beats, scrolling through something on her computer.
“Other than about turning me over to the dean?” I ask.
She glares at me over her glasses. “Yes. Since we both don’t like this arrangement, I think one of us should do most of the work. Pick the topic, outline the plot and characters, while the other contributes a few chapters. Preferably in an alternate POV to make it easier.”
“And you’re thinking it’s best if you do all the work?”
“Nope. If you want to do the work, that’s fine with me. Just whatever has us seeing each other less.”
I frown. She really has it in for me. “I foresee some problems with this. For one, we have completely different writing styles. I think it will be quite obvious who is pulling most of the weight. Two, how do I know that you’re not going to throw me under the bus and complain that I didn’t do any of the work? Or, for that matter, throw me under the bus and blame it all on me if we get a shitty grade?”
She eyes me over the top of her computer. “Because I could throw you under the bus right now if I wanted to. And I’m not.”
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “I’d rather just split the work and do the alternate point of view.”
“You don’t trust me?”
I laugh. “Do you trust me?”
“Fine,” she snipes. “Then I’ll work on the plot and characters.”
“No. We both work on it. Together.”
She gives an exasperated snort and cocks her head. “Why are you trying to make this more difficult?”
I honestly have no idea, other than it’s kind of fun. “I just want an honest grade.”
“Bullshit,” she mutters under her breath. She clears her throat. “You know we’re going to have to see more of each other this way. Might even take several days for us to plot this out.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“Don’t you have a store to help manage?”
I feel my jaw tighten for a moment before I manage my most charming grin. “I can do a lot of things at once. I’m very resourceful. Talented, some say.”
She rolls her eyes. “We will let Marie be the judge of that. So, dare I ask if you have any ideas? Other than the ones proposed in the email, that is.”
“Actually, I thought of several on the way over here,” I tell her, which is true. “All based on different themes. Sex, death, guilt, betrayal, and deceit.”
Her eyes widen, looking impressed. “Okay,” she says slowly. “Are you serious?”
I nod. “How about you pick a theme and I’ll tell you my story idea.”
She bites her lip, and I find myself momentarily drawn to them and the light ruby sheen of her lip balm. If I let myself get carried away, I can almost—almost—see them wrapped around my dick. I squash the thought before it has any effect. Besides, I know the last thing she’ll pick is sex.
“Betrayal,” she says.
A little close to my heart, but she doesn’t need to know that. “Betrayal,” I repeat. “Where a husband ends an affair with a woman in order to make his marriage work, only to catch his wife cheating on him.”
Those damn lips of hers form an o-shape. “Heavy. Personal experience?”
“No,” I tell her. Not really. “But heavy is interesting. We could reverse it. Tweak it.”
“I like it as it is,” she says, though I can tell she hates to admit it. “What would you pick?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
“Right. Sex. Do you even need a plot for that?”
“Actually,” I tell her, happy to prove her wrong. “There are plenty of erotic novels that have a plot. Last Tango in Paris. The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty. Delta of Venus.”
“The last was fifteen short stories,” Amanda points out. “Should I wonder why you know all this stuff? Your father peddling smut at your shop?”
“My father has an abhorrence toward anything remotely sexual in literature. He doesn’t even stock Lolita.”
“That’s a shame,” she says. “Good use of the word abhorrence by the way. If I knew better, I’d say you were trying to impress me.”
What a peculiar girl. There’s a tone of playfulness in her voice that I’ve never heard before. Maybe I am impressing her. About bloody time.
“So you want to hear the plot or not?” I ask.
“On second thought, not,” she says, and she’s back to being made of stone, cold and immovable. “I like betrayal though. Let’s do that. You know, if we have to.”
Little does she realize how easily sex works its way into the subject. But she’ll find out soon enough.
We spend the next hour going over characters and hashing out the skeleton of the plot, as well as figuring out who is going to write what. Even though it was my idea, and even though Amanda said she didn’t care if I did all the work, I can see the prissy control freak starting to come out and take over. It’s tempting to let her to make things easier, but at the same time I want to battle her for everything she’s got.
“So,” she says, pausing as we exit the library just before it closes. “Treebeard, eh?”
“What about her?” I ask.
“A Lord of the Rings reference,” she says, looking off across the dim lights of the parking lot. Night has settled in. “You do a pretty good job of keeping your inner nerd a secret.”