Rosario left the lab in a stormcloud, jaw tight, eyes dark with anger.
Only one class, she'd told herself. Of all the fucking jokes.
It was a matter of moments later, as she'd turned her eyes and attention to the front of the classroom, that Professor Molloy had said, Take a look at the person sitting next to you. I want you all to take two minutes now to get to know each other, exchange emails, because that's going to be your lab partner for the rest of the semester.
And Archer had smiled that smug-ass smile of his and observed that it was a good thing she already had his number.
He'd taken her pen and written his email in her notebook – and his cell phone number as well, just in case, which had forced Rosario to reciprocate, and put on the spot she hadn't been able to come up with a good reason to refuse, so now Archer stupid Goldenhawk had her number in his phone.
It had only gotten worse from there. Archer was the model lab partner, eager, attentive, thorough, always so willing to coach Rosario through the concepts she was struggling with. It just figured that the class they'd be paired together in was her worst subject and his best. (Rosario had a feeling that every subject was Archer's best. Asshole.) She felt like an idiot beside him, and the fact that he was so damn helpful and patient only made things worse. She was sure he was privately laughing at her.
The lab had ended, and Rosario had never in her life been more eager to get out of a classroom. She'd made a beeline for the door, and Archer had effortlessly fallen into step with her as though they were a pair of old pals, so when she exited into the corridor where Lyra had arranged to meet her, his gaze had followed hers, and before Rosario could even open her mouth, he was throwing his arm around her best friend and muscling his way into yet another part of her life.
The look she shot Lyra was tight and sullen and spoke absolute volumes. "Yeah," she said darkly. "Weird, right?"