Storm, Meet Raine

I Like Your Scent.

HER.

Sleeping in the library is like paying attention in class.

Difficult as hell.

I can't tell you how many times people have tapped me on the shoulder saying, "Excuse me, your pillow is on the floor."

Or, "Do you have a class tonight?"

And the most annoying of all, "Hey, you're kinda snoring."

Apparently, snoring is a crime.

I've been tossing and turning back and forth in this chair that I feel is shrinking by the minute. I'm cold. I'm tired. My neck hurts. And it's only eleven at night.

I'm due for a gallon of coffee tomorrow morning. Sighing heavily after I shooed away the last person to tap me on the shoulder, I pushed myself further into the leather seat, attempting to get comfortable.

Yawning, I close my eyes and wait for the darkness to pull me into unconsciousness.

And then I'm snapped out of it, "What the—ouch." My hands fly up to my head as a heavy book falls on top of me.

"Oh shit," a deep, worried voice sounds from the other side of the bookshelf before millions of I'm sorrys leave his mouth. "I'm so fucking..."

When he rounded the corner, and our eyes met, he narrowed his. "I take it back."

"Oh my God." I whisper, a ghost of a smile on my lips as I look up at him. The weight of my exhaustion fell over me, so I felt like I was squinting, trying to keep my eyes open, but in reality, I probably looked fine.

Probably.

But Carson looked tired as well. His brown hair was a mess, tousled this way and that, and his eyes looked a darker shade of grey than normal. I look at his nose.

"Carson Speros has apologized to me," I smile when he frowns, attempting to explain himself, but I cut him off, "Ah, ah ah. None of that, Mr. Carson," I sigh dramatically, "I can't remember the last time you apologized to me—when was that? Freshman year, I believe. When you knocked me out by hitting me in the head with your baseball bat."

I lift my curls out of my face, and I point to the little scar on my forehead. "Good thing you weren't swinging how you do in a game, I think you would've killed me." I chuckle, to which he winces.

I pick up the textbook he dropped, and read the words out loud: "Criminalistics. Forensic Science, Crime, and Terrorism. Wow, that sounds hella sketchy." I mumble mostly to myself before it's swiped out of my hands as if it has the weight of a feather.

"What are you doing here?" He looks around the semi-vacant library. At these hours, it was only filled with students cramming for tests, or finishing last minute homework assignments. The ones due at 12:00 am.

"Studying, obviously." I gesture to my lap, which was covered with a bunch of mini Mickey Mouses. It was red, black, and white.

"Yeah, I bet you're studying hard with no book in your lap."

"I'm studying Oneirology—the study of dreams, duh." I stick my tongue out before leaning over the chair to pick up my pillow that must've fallen while I was sleep. Again.

"Come with me."

"That's extremely gross. I refuse to be one of your—"

"I wouldn't dream of having any kind of sexual contact with you, Carter. Get your ass up, and follow me." He starts walking. Meanwhile, I lean back in my seat, closing my eyes. "That's was an order, not an offer."