Free The Company You Keep by Tracy Kelleher Page B

scratching Roxie’s wrinkled brow. “You know, Vic Golinski, from that story, people might get the impression that you are a romantic.”
He blushed. Dammit, blushing? “It’s more a case that I was feeling sorry for myself. I’d just been cut from my team and my future in football looked over. I needed someone or something to love me. And there’s nothing less complicated than a dog’s affection.”
“Affection’s never uncomplicated,” Mimi responded absentmindedly.
The dog leaned her head to one side, indicating she wanted more scratching in a particular place.
Mimi obliged, and Vic noticed that she’d cocked her head in the same way as the dog. She’d even closed her eyes, her own deep black-brown lashes resting on her high cheekbones. For the first time, she didn’t look brittle, like she’d crack if you touched her in just the wrong way. She looked…looked happy, secure. Loved. Pure and simple. Uncomplicated.
And then it hit Vic—why he’d insisted on Mimi meeting his dog. Unconsciously, he’d wanted to see Roxie’s reaction. To validate his own emotions.
Only, it hadn’t worked out the way he had planned at all.
Or had it? Because now more than ever, he wanted Mimi Lodge bad.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
“HEY, PRESS, IT’S SO GOOD to see you.” Amara Rheinhardt jumped up from the steps in front of her dorm and rushed to envelop him in her arms. “I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve seen you. I’ve had a great Freshman year—except for organic chemistry. Not all of us were meant to be science gurus like some people I could mention. Anyway, chalk it up as a painful learning experience and definitely cross off med school as one of my career options.”
“I didn’t know it was one?”
She shook her head, her chin rubbing back and forth against his shoulder. “Well, maybe. But this course in Roman poets I took? What can I say? Ovid is my personal god—I don’t care what they say about Horace. I’m already determined to work on him for my J.P.” She referred to her Junior Paper, which was still a long ways off.
Press grinned at her bubbly enthusiasm.
“And working for Penelope—like you said, unbelievable. I mean, even though she was gone on sabbatical a lot the first semester, she still taught me so much about manuscripts and how to put together exhibits.”
“Yeah, Penelope’s great,” Press agreed, closing his eyes as Amara continued to hug him. Penelope Bigelow was the curator of the Rare Book Library at Grantham and Press had worked for her when he was an undergraduate. A lot of people might have found Penelope…well…odd. Her awkwardness in social situations and her tendency to spout highly erudite information had a way of making listeners head for the hills. But not Press.
He raised his arms and finally went to hug Amara back. Too late.
She broke her embrace and stood back to gaze at him.
Press felt a momentary loss. Which was silly, really. After all, it wasn’t like they were boyfriend and girlfriend or anything like that. They’d merely met, by accident as it turned out, at Reunions last year. And they’d had a bunch in common. She’d been finishing up prep school and coming to Grantham in the Fall. He’d been just about to graduate. She hadn’t been getting along with her father. He thought his was a jerk—and still did. They’d hung out. No big deal, even if she’d pushed for something more. There was no chance—he was going away, she was a kid. Then he’d introduced her to his friend Matt, and they’d gotten on fine—more than fine. No big deal.
So now, one year later, Press stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and acted like…like he wasn’t practically jumping out of his skin.
She gave him a glance up and down. “You look different. I thought you’d be all tan and stuff—spending all that time surfing or whatever you do in Australia.”
“I’ve been in the lab every day. It’s hard to get a tan that way. And it’s actually wintertime there,