Page 36 of Mayhem (Mayhem 1)

“I think we’re planning on heading out around eleven. But I’ll have to talk to Driver to make sure.”

“Then I’m waking Adam up as soon as we get back.”

Shawn grins at me like I just handed him a winning lottery ticket. “Really?”

“Yes?”

“This is going to be good,” he laughs. “Good luck!”

I tiptoe back along the bus hallway, between the bunks, trying not to wake the guys who are still sleeping. Most of them were awake by the time Shawn and I got back, but Adam wasn’t among them. Neither was Mike, and I have to swallow a giggle when I walk past his bed and see that his short brown hair is disheveled into some unfortunate-looking bed-head. I walk past him and rest my hand on the doorknob to Adam’s room, looking behind me to see Shawn peeking around the corner at the opposite end of the hall, looking way too giddy. I scowl and wave him away, and then I disappear into the room and close the door behind me.

Adam hears the door click closed and groans, “Shawn, I swear to God . . . if you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to punch you in the dick.”

I walk to the side of the bed and stare down at where Adam’s face is buried in the pillow. He’s shirtless, the definition in his back making my heart flip over. I try not to blush. “I brought you your coffee.”

He shifts his face to the side and opens one eye. When he spots me, his lips slowly curl into an adorable smile, and then he starts laughing. “What time is it?” he finally asks, roughly rubbing his hand over his face. He props himself up on his elbow.

I’m too distracted with trying not to stare at him that I don’t answer right away. When I realize I really need to say something, I clear my throat and say, “Eight thirty.”

Adam rolls onto his back and scoots lower on the mattress, pulling the covers over his face. “Too early for coffee,” he mumbles from under the covers.

I sit on the edge of the bed and pull the blankets down to just below his nose. “I think we should try to get some studying in before we need to hit the road again.”

Adam sits up, the covers tumbling off his chest and to his waist. He stares at me for a long time, and now I know I’m blushing. “You’re serious . . .” he says.

“Yeah. I mean, what did I come along for?”

“I have a better idea,” he says, and I’m suddenly dying to know exactly what that idea is. “Lie down with me. Let’s go back to sleep and we’ll study in the car.”

I bite my lip, so tempted. When he sees me do it, he gives me a sharp smile, and the dark look in his eyes reveals all the naughty ideas I just put into his head. I release my lip. “That’s a terrible idea,” I say.

Adam smirks at me. “Liar.”

I stand up and move to leave the room, but he launches out of bed before I can open the door, jumping in front of me in just his boxers. He laughs and glues his hands to my shoulders. “I’m just joking!”

I give him a look.

“Okay . . . I wasn’t . . . but I didn’t mean it.”

I give him another look.

“Okay, I did.”

He smiles innocently at me, and I can’t help laughing. “Don’t you want to graduate?” I ask.

He groans and drops his hands. “Yeah.”

“Then you have some serious work to do. This test on Monday isn’t going to be easy, Adam. Cramming for it the night before isn’t going to work, not with all the days you’ve missed.”

He sighs and rubs his eyes before picking a T-shirt off the floor and pulling it on. “Can I shower first?”

“If you make it quick.”

I’m back downstairs hanging with the guys when he emerges from the bathroom in a plain white T-shirt and faded torn-up jeans. “Shawn,” he says while towel-drying his hair, “where’s my muffin?”

Shawn laughs. “Your tutor ate it!”

“I did not!” I yell back.

Shawn points wickedly at me. “Did you or did you not eat a blueberry muffin this morning?”

I glare at him and grab a shirt that’s lying on top of the pile I made this morning, hurling it at him. “Prove it!”

The guys all laugh, and Adam smiles wide, his pearly whites shining brightly. He shakes his head at us. “You’re an asshole, Shawn.”

“Hey!” Shawn protests. “She’s the one who ate it.”

Adam crooks his finger at me. “Alright, let’s get this over with.” I pass by him to go up the stairs, and he shouts back to the guys, “She told me to make it quick this morning, guys!”

They laugh, and I roll my eyes, not bothering to look back at the stupid grin that I’m sure is plastered on Adam’s face. My backpack is still in the back room, so I grab it off of the floor and then bounce onto the bed, sitting cross-legged. “Alright, so . . . do you even remember how to conjugate verbs?”

“Oui?” Adam says. “Je pense.” I smile widely at his correct pronunciation of ‘I think’.

“Alright, well let’s start with some written stuff. We can work on verbal stuff in the car.”

By the time I exit the bus with him at eleven o’clock, I’m feeling pretty hopeless. I can’t fathom how Adam passed French 101, and he is so easily distracted, always getting off topic one way or another. At one point, I pressed my palms against his cheeks to quiet his yapping. When he stopped talking and just stared at me, I said, “You need to con-cen-trate.”


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