Page 20 of Sex Positive

He hummed thoughtfully. “I’m honored.”

Now, he removes his shoes at the door, taking in the apartment she shares with Syeda. Picking at her cuticles, she watches him scan the small and simple kitchen, the living room with the comfortable, well-used sofa, a pink-and-white hand-crocheted blanket thrown over one of the cushions. Condensation circles stain the secondhand coffee table, and there’s a medium-size flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. An array of photos of Syeda and Charlie over the past three years are arranged across the room.

Before Wes arrived, Charlie spent more than an hour tidying the main room, her anxiety eclipsing her denial that she actually cared what Wesley Quinn thought about where she lived.

When he faces her, he smiles. “This is very you.”

Charlie leans a hip against the table, arching a brow. “What’s that mean?”

Dropping his bag to the floor, Wes extends a finger to touch a leafy tendril of the spider plant hanging above the table.

“It’s cozy.” He glances at her. “Cute and comfortable.”

Charlie slides into one of the kitchen chairs, straightening the stack of LSAT prep books for the hundredth time.

“It’s notAvalon Place,” she concedes with a touch of derision. Wes snorts quietly. “But it’s mine.” She gestures to the table, where she laid out a stapled practice test, sharpened pencils, and a mechanical timer before he arrived. “I thought we’d start with a practice test. I printed a physical copy, and when you’re done, we’ll go through the answers so I can assess your strengths and weaknesses. Have you taken any practice tests yet?”

Wes takes the seat beside her. His knee brushes hers, and she jumps, straightening her shoulders and shifting her legs out of his reach.

He frowns, flipping through the papers. “I have.”

Charlie presses her lips together, annoyed by his sudden reticence. “Okay. Do you mind telling me what you scored?”

He stares at a spot on the table, scratching at the wood grain, his brow furrowed.

Charlie sighs. “Quinn. This’ll only work if you trust me. I told you I would actually try to tutor you and not half-ass it.”

His lips twitch like he wants to smile before he runs a hand through his hair. “I took it last year.” He raises his gaze to hers, his expression serious. “I got a one thirty-five.”

Charlie blinks but otherwise doesn’t react. She’s not sure what she expected from him, but it wasn’t that. While a 135 isn’t terrible, it’s not high enough to get him into one of the law schools she anticipates he’s aiming for—such as one of the Ivies—even with his father’s influence.

He shrugs. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t study.”

“That’s fine.” She flashes a small, reassuring smile. “There’s obviously a lot of room for improvement, which is why I think taking a practice test would be beneficial so we can see what we need to work—”

The apartment door opens, and Sy enters.

“Hi, babes,” she says, then freezes at the sight of Wes and Charlie sitting next to each other.

Charlie meets Sy’s dark eyes, her friend’s usual smile replaced by a look of surprise.

Sy arches a finely shaped brow. “What’s going on here?”

“We’re studying,” Charlie says, but that’s not what her friend is asking. Because Syeda knows what happened between Charlie and Wes; she was the one who held Charlie while she cried after that horrible night three years ago. Therefore, her skepticism and apprehension regarding his presence in their apartment is valid.

Sy tilts her head. “I see. Charlie, love, do you mind helping me with something in my room?”

Wes peers at Syeda curiously. He waves. “Hi. I’m Wes—”

“I know who you are,” Syeda says brusquely. Sliding past him, she disappears into her bedroom.

Wes glances at Charlie with raised brows. Charlie presses a pencil into his hand and sets the timer for two hours and thirty minutes. “Ready to get started?”

Wes scowls at the test. “No.”

Charlie starts the timer before following Sy into her room, shutting the door behind her.

“So.” Sy’s voice comes from inside her closet. Her queen-size bed is made, the white duvet crisp and folded back neatly, but various items of clothing litter the hardwood floor. Sunlight filters through the gauzy drapes hanging over her windows. She steps out of her closet, pulling on a pink T-shirt. “I thought we hated him.”