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“What?” Sean asks, his brows clinching together.
I still have a chance to walk it back, not to jump headfirst into a lie I can’t possibly sustain.
“I’m seeing someone else,” I repeat, instead of coming to my senses.
Sean’s lips press together. “Since when?”
“This weekend. It’s new.” Wow. Lying comes more natural to me than I expected. Maybe I should be concerned.
“Who is he?” Sean asks.
“You don’t know him. He’s not in the music program.”
Sean chews on his lower lip, disappointment and skepticism clashing in his expression.
“I’m with someone else now, and I’m focusing on that,” I say, puffing out my chest and forcing myself to be confident in my bluff. “Please respect that.”
You’d think if Sean were capable of respecting anything, he’d have been able to respect my own decision about not wanting to be with him anymore.
But, stupidly, some guys have an easier time respecting another man’s “claim” on a woman than respecting her own wishes.
I’m starting to think Sean’s one of those guys.
The defeated sigh he lets out tells me I’m right. “Yeah, sure,” he says. Though I don’t miss the hint of doubt in his eyes and in his voice.
I nod shallowly, some of the confidence I’d just puffed myself up with deflating. I turn to keep walking to class, but Sean calls out again.
“Feel free to bring him to the PMA party this weekend,” he says. A coy smile tilts on his lips, like a challenge.
PMA is the Phi Mu Alpha fraternity, a fraternity specifically for music majors. It has a deep history on campus, and a lot of music students are members. They throw an early-semester party every year, and pretty much the whole music department goes. Even though Sean’s in the frat, and I was still planning on going myself, since almost all my friends and acquaintances will be there, like they are every year.
“Sure,” I clip back. “I’ll see if he wants to come.”
Sean nods, his smile only growing coyer.
I huff out a frustrated breath when I turn around to keep walking to class. I don’t think he buys my fib.
Oh, well. At least it should get him off my back for a little while.
By the time I get to English class, though, that small bit of relief has worn away. Instead, I’m frustrated. Both at myself, for taking the easy way out and lying; and at Sean, for pushing me to it.
Hudson’s already here. That’s unusual. Normally he strolls in close to the last minute. That’s kind of a hockey player specialty here at Brumehill, where the whole school, staff included, is so nuts about hockey that the players get away with just about anything.
Then again, Hudson’s not like a lot of the hockey players I’ve encountered here. He’s not cocky, not brash, not obnoxious, doesn’t always need to be the center of attention like so many of them do.
In fact, I’m sure the center of attention is the last thing Hudson wants to be.
While I walk to our row, I notice that he’s looking at his phone. I tell myself not to try and catch a glimpse of his screen, but I can’t restrain my snooping eyes. My gaze snags on his screen.
I seem to recognize something. A familiar name.
I should pull my eyes away, but instead they focus to read more. Hudson seems to have an e-book open on his phone. I recognize a name among the words. Then I get close enough to read a full sentence. I definitely recognize that sentence.
“Oh. My. Gosh,” I can’t stop myself from gushing now that I’m standing next to him in the aisle. My eyes are wide with surprise. “Are you seriously reading Never Not Yours?”
Hudson jumps in his seat, quickly pressing the button on the side of his phone that darkens his screen.
“Summer,” he blurts out. “Uh. Hi.”
