Tousle Me Read Online Free

in the space of five lines.
    Then I remember that Hunter’s a jackass who makes fun of my best friend and tosses away hearts like single-use condoms.
    “Uh, Hunter?”
    “Yes?”
    I wince as I speak. “I don’t think I can go out with you.”
    “And why would that be?”
    “Because—because—” Holy crapbags, I just can’t bring myself to say it. Or to say no to him. He’s just so strangely alluring. I need an excuse, and quick. “Because I have…a bag. To deliver.” Think, Cammie! “With a bomb in it.”
    He clears his throat. He sounds a bit phlegmy, but also sexy. “So let me get this straight. You can’t go out with me tonight because you’re a threat to national security?”
    “Yes. Precisely.” I should be a drama major. I’m this good.
    “But you see, that’s just another thing we have in common. From the moment I saw you, I also had a sack about to explode. Two of them, actually.”
    I begin to panic. Enid said Hunter was into some serious shit, and I know that when a guy has a British accent, there’s a chance that he could be evil. But I never had Hunter down as an actual terrorist!
    “Gosling,” he purrs. “Relax. I’m just playing with you.”
    “Oh.” I sigh with relief. “Thank God.”
    “So I’ll see you at eight,” he says, sounding wickedly pleased with himself.
    “Eight sounds great.”
    “I’m…looking forward to it.” And then he hangs up.
    You know, it was seriously tough going there for a second. I was in real danger of betraying lovely Archer and actually agreeing to go out with that dastardly douche. I should probably call Enid and tell her about how ruthlessly I outsmarted him—she’ll love it.
    I try to call Enid, but all I get is a weird voicemail message about how the previous paragraph used up my adverb allowance for the entire day. Which is utterl—utter—ut—what the chips? So annoying.

 
     
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    So Archer, Enid and I are sprawled across the sofa in my dorm room, eating popcorn and watching the X Factor results show. I’m balancing my laptop on my knees while I upload a review, and Archer has one arm casually thrown over the back of the sofa behind me. Every ten minutes or so, he leans in to smell my hair. Which is super cute.
    “So who’s going this week?” Enid muses.
    Archer gives me a handsome grin from behind the popcorn. “Nobody with boobs.”
    “I hope it isn’t Cognac Façade,” I say. They’re a postmodern jazz hip hop fusion a cappella group, and my favorite contestants.
    “I like the metal guy,” says Archer. “The one with the long hair and the beard. And the steel breastplate.”
    Enid snorts. “Fjorn Brimstone? What, because he reminds you of all your re-enactment stuff?”
    “Do you have any idea how long it takes to grow a beard like that?”
    “Too long,” she retorts. “I like you clean-shaven, Archer. You’re not allowed to grow caveman chin pubes like, ever.”
    “Listen to her,” he mutters. “She talks like she’s my girlfriend or something.”
    Enid blushes furiously and stuffs a huge handful of popcorn into her mouth.
    I’m mentally compiling my to-read list for the week when somebody knocks on my door. The knocks sounds three times, precise and firm.
    Archer goes rigid beside me. “I’d know that knock anywhere,” he says darkly.
    Enid and I exchange confused glances, and she puts the popcorn down, strolling over to answer the door. Then she just hangs in the doorway, her mouth gaping.
    “Enid? I say, unsure. “Who’s there?”
    She steps back. A tall, broad-shouldered figure emerges, thick fingers fiddling with his tousled fudge sundae hair.
    “It’s eight o’clock, gosling,” says Hunter von Styles, looking virile and gorgeous in another tailored black suit. “Ready to roll?”
    I blink. Then I blink some more. “Sorry?”
    “What’s he doing here?” demands Archer, springing to his feet.
    Hunter raises his eyebrows as if he’s only just realized there are