Page 1 of Blush Crush

CHAPTER 1

Ariana

LOOSE CORD

Ihave a firm rule against listening to men with microphones—but like most rules, there are exceptions.

Tonight’s exception walks up to the mic, taps it lightly, and then looks up and smiles to the small crowd.

My fingers curl around the paperback tucked inside my apron as his gaze lands on me, and I drop my eyes, heat rushing to my face.

He’s very handsome. So handsome I was an embarrassing, blubbering mess when he approached me last week about using my coffee shop for his poetry club’s monthly slam night.

Professor Wesley Hampton is the faculty advisor for the poetry club at Prentiss University, located in Badger Canyon, about thirty minutes south of my hometown of Red Mountain. And from the moment he walked through the door, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.

“Thank you all for being here,” he says into the mic, his voice gravelly enough to raise goosebumps along my arms.

A murmur of appreciation ripples through the audience.

“And let’s give a round of applause to our gracious host, Ariana, for allowing us to take over Novel Teas and Coffee.” He gestures to me.

My face goes from flushed to fire in a flash, but I can’t look away and hide like every instinct in my body is screaming at me to do.

Instead I lift an awkward hand in acknowledgment and slowly start to back into the shadows, hoping they’ll swallow me whole.

The crowd’s focus quickly returns to the hot professor, and I release a long breath in relief.

“You do not handle attention well, do you?” Sadie, my barista, comments under her breath.

I shake my head, still trying to breathe like a normal person.

“Layla has always been better at it,” I say finally, as if that explains it all.

Layla is my twin, and for as much as we’re alike, there’s still plenty that makes us different. She’s taller and thinner than I am, has green eyes instead of blue, dyes her hair blonde while I prefer our natural brunette, and where she’s always thrived at being the center of attention, I’ve wilted like a flower under a heat lamp.

If she were in my shoes right now, she’d probably be going around introducing herself, getting to know everyone in the poetry club. She’d probably even slip her number into Professor Hottie’s front pocket with total confidence, leaving him instantly enamored.

But that’s not me. I prefer hanging back and staying unnoticed. Which is also why my personal life isn’t exactly flourishing.

“I can’t wait for college,” Sadie whispers, eyes on Wesley.

I snort quietly. “Most of your professors won’t look like that.”

She pouts, nudging my shoulder playfully. “Just let me dream.”

Out on the small, makeshift stage, Professor Hampton steps aside as the first poet approaches. The room falls into a hush,and a student dims the lights, leaving only the single bulb above the stage.

I busy myself wiping down an already clean section of the counter while Sadie pulls the tip jar and starts closing out her tips for the night.

The shop is shut down for the evening, so once Sadie clocks out, it’ll just be me running the show.

Which is perfectly fine—I’m the owner, I can handle it—but having Sadie around is the only thing keeping me distracted enough to not blatantly stare at the professor.

The bell above the door jingles, pulling my head around just as it swings open on a gust of air—and in walks the overly smug man who recently purchased the building.

Cole Benton strides in without hesitation, glancing at the little Closed for Private Event sign as he passes it with no regard.

“Evening, ladies,” he calls, cheerfully ignoring the poet onstage, the dimmed lights, the entire room of silently focused people.