HANNAH
Wearing shorts today is pushing it. The clouds are out in full force, meaning the air doesn’t have the nice warmth it’s been teasing me with the past few weeks. But I just got back from visiting my family in New York and after dealing with Rochester cold, the idea of putting on pants this morning made me want to cry. So, I compromised by tugging on a sweatshirt over my cropped tee.
Besides, with the fast pace I’m setting for myself, I’ll be warm in no time. And then I’ll be comfy in no time because, today, I’m getting The Chair.
I’m sure of it.
At least, I am until I glance to the side and see my nemesis on a path across the quad. Lucifer strolls along with a couple of guys, laughing at something one of them said. The large, grassy expanse separates us, but somehow, he senses my gaze and turns to lock eyes with me.
We both freeze.
His body is facing the same direction mine is—toward the library. In a twisted act of fate, we are almost the exact same distance from our destination.
As we reach this conclusion at the same moment, it’s like a starting gun fires off for only the two of us to hear.
Screw power-walking.
I sprint.
As if this were meant to be an obstacle course rather than a straightforward race, there’s suddenly an insane amount of people to dodge around. I dart and sidestep the pedestrians until I come upon the mammoth of hurdles—a pack of sorority girls.
“Move!”
They gasp and glare at me as I bolt through the gaggle of them. Good thing I’m not planning on pledging.
I track Lucifer out of the corner of my eye. He’s running just as fast as me, his friends abandoned, his bag slapping against his leg as he sprints. Instead of following the curving paved path, I make myself a shortcut by vaulting over a bench. My landing is marred by a brief stumble that I quickly recover from, but it’s enough to give him the advantage.
Ten feet in front of me, he whips open the glass doors and disappears inside.
Some people might give up at this point. But the race isn’t won until there’s a butt in The Chair.
When I slide through the front door, a crow of triumph wrenches out of my throat at the sight of him waiting at the elevator.
Lucifer’s jaw goes slack as I blaze past him, my eyes on the entrance to the stairs. His heavy footsteps pound behind me, the short lead I gained disappearing.
In the stairwell, our panting breaths echo off the cement walls. I use the railing to pull myself up the steps faster, but there’s something to be said about having a few extra inches on each leg. My competition is able to mount two steps at a time, quickly catching up to me.
I throw out an arm, as if I could stop him, but he tosses a grin over his shoulder as he easily brushes past me.
Damn him.
We’re at the third-floor landing, and he’s two steps in front of me, reaching for the door, pausing for less than half a second to swing it open. My frustration pours a last bit of turbo fuel into my muscles, and in a desperate move, I crouch before launching myself at my nemesis.
If he were wearing a backpack like me, I would probably slide off. But this pompous ass went for a shoulder bag, so I have free rein to latch onto him.
“Wha—”
His question is cut off by my vise grip on his neck, and committing fully to the move, I sling my legs around his waist.
“Can’t sit down if you don’t have a back!” My proclamation won’t win any Academy Awards, but I’m pretty pleased with it.
Lucifer wraps his large hand around my wrist, and I fully expect him to pry me off. Instead, he merely tugs my arm down enough to release the pressure on his throat. Then, surprising the hell out of me, he moves his other hand to cup my thigh.
It’s almost as if he’s supporting my weight. Like we’re friends and he’s giving me a piggyback ride.
Like this isn’t a battle of epic proportions.
As we wobble drunkenly, locked together, I try to come to terms with his warm palm on my exposed skin. Then, I get another shock when the expanse of his back, pressed tightly against my front, begins to shake.
With all the adrenaline coursing through my body, I take longer than I should to realize that he’s cracking up.
“You-you climbed me! Like I’m a-a tree! An-and you’re a sq-squirrel!” he chokes out the comparison and actually falls down to one knee because he’s laughing so hard.
This is my chance. I should let go, push him to the side while he’s distracted. Claim my prize.
But I can’t seem to convince my arms to release him. Instead, I hold tight, committing to wherever this wild ride takes me. I’m entwined with a virtual stranger, yet for some reason, the embrace doesn’t seem awkward at all.
With my head practically buried in his neck, I can’t help breathing in whatever that amazing soap is he uses. Lucifer belongs in a spice rack, the smell of cloves clinging to his messy brown hair.
Unaware that I’ve upped my crazy factor a few more notches by sniffing him, he gasps out a couple more chuckles before standing up again. Wearing me like a jacket, he saunters through the shelves.
“Don’t know how you expect this to work, Shorty.”
He turns his head to smile over his shoulder, and I rear mine back, so I can properly glare at him.
“I expect you to admit that you’ve been physically bested and to give up The Chair.”
“Oh, physically bested, am I? Well, from my angle—”
My gasp cuts off whatever witty comeback he might have had.
Lucifer whips his head around, and no doubt, he immediately sees what brought on my horrified reaction.
The sight is so devastating that I lose all strength in my limbs, sliding down his body to settle unsteadily on my feet.
“The Chair …” I whimper.
The humor has disappeared from his face. All that’s left is angry bewilderment.
“It’s gone.”