“Probably some misplaced childhood crush on an accomplished composer, or the fact that I need it for my major.”
“You had a crush on Professor Slade?”
“Had, have. Same thing.” I sighed before pushing into a full-body stretch against the sheets. A bone cracked somewhere in my back, and I melted into the mattress. “Though I must admit, the grey hairs have only done him favors.”
“Aren’t piano players kind of pansies, though? Or pretty lackluster in the romance department, at least? I think I read something about that in Cosmo.”
“If a guy can tap out a sonata, it’s pretty much guaranteed he’s good with his fingers,” I said like it was obvious—which it was. Oliver Bishop’s handsome face crossed my mind, and I held back an adoring sigh. With how well he played piano, I’d bet my whole scholarshiphewas good with his fingers. “And don’t trust Cosmo. They write articles about things like giving your butt a facial.”
Seriously. Why would youeverwant to do that? They were called facials for a reason, not buttals.
Sure, it made your skin feel silky smooth, but it wasn’t worth getting avocado in places that avocado should never be.
To be fair, I’d been testing it for scientific purposes, and afterward I made sure to tell my dentist’s office that maybe Cosmo wasn’t the most appropriate reading material for their waiting room.
Though, I didn’t have any excuses for the second time I tried it.
“Well, shoot. Maybe I need to find myself a pianist,” Teresa said. “What time does your class get out, again? I can meet you at the cafeteria for breakfast.”
I sighed. “Nine o’clock. Right about the time my caffeine high starts fading.”
“Seriously? I guess that explains why the coffee cart is always on the opposite side of the quad at nine now,” she said with dawning realization. “Which issonot fair. For most of the summer, Scott would stay on the south end the whole day and I could stop by on my way to food.”
I blinked against the sleep still fogging my eyes, which widened as her words caught up to me.
“Wait a second. You think Scott moved his coffee cart for me?” I asked incredulously as I leaned up to gape at Teresa’s groggy face nestled against her pillow.
“I think he would,” she said through a yawn. “You’re obviously his most consistent customer. I’m surprised they don’t make a membership card just for you.Emma’s Earnings, or something else ridiculous like you.”
I was oddly flattered, and I practically floated my way to Music Theory.
CHAPTER8
A Monday
From the butterfliesracing around my stomach, you’d think it was prom night instead of my fourth Music Theory lecture.
Mind you, on prom night I’d been waiting for Eric Hanson—a completely harmless goofball—instead of the decidedly less goofy guy whose pen I’d horribly mutilated beyond recognition.
And yet here I was, double-fisting my favorite caffeinated beverage as I waited awkwardly beside the classroom’s open doorway.
Maybe I was being too forward again. Noah very explicitly said he didn’t want payment. But there was nothing wrong with a little coffee to sweeten the wait before the unwanted payment I was still going to pay him.
But the last thing I wanted was for Noah to assume me bringing him apology-coffee was my newest strategy in seducing him. It was so silly of him to think I’d been asking him out the other day. I mean, sure, the whole blazer thing he had going on was kind of attractive. And the flecks of gold in his eyes made me feel all warm and gooey. If he happened to askmeout, I would probably give it some serious consideration.
But, alas—this was a debt, not a date.
I quickly rubbed the back of my hand across my lips to scrub off the strawberry lip gloss I’d talked myself into wearing this morning, managing to only spill a few drops of coffee. Luckily, that was Noah’s cup.
Not a date. Just getting a little kick start on this debt thing. I’m showing initiative.
After all, we were going to spend an hour sitting through a college course together. There wasn’t anything romantic about that,andthat was assuming he’d even sit next to me.
Oh God, what if he felt pressured to sit next to me now that I was waiting for him outside the door like some sort of stalker?
This was a bad idea.
Abort. Abort. Abort.
