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We had chatted for the last thirty minutes. He’d given me the lowdown on the first-year classes, and I’d listened attentively.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I said.
“Can I maybe get your number? No pressure”—he held up his hands—“but I had fun and would like to do it again sometime. Who knows, maybe I can help you out with MacMillan’s class.”
“Sure, why not?” I grabbed my cell phone and handed it to him. Right as it bleeped with an incoming text.
And another.
And another.
“Uh, Austin and Connor want to know if you’re going to be home for dinner. Apparently, it’s Hot Dog Tuesday.” His brows furrowed as he handed me back my phone.
“Oh my God,” I breathed, suppressing my mortification. “It’s not what you think. Austin is my brother, and Connor is his friend. I’m staying with them temporarily.”
“For a second, I thought I had some serious competition.”
“I… don’t really know what to say to that.” Nervous laughter bubbled out of me. “I need to get to class, but I’ll see you around, Ryan.”
“Yeah, see you, Aurora.” His gaze lingered as I took off down the path toward the Department of English building.
And I realized I hadn’t gotten his number.
So much for my attempt at living in the moment.
“So?” Harper leapt out from around the corner. “How did it go?”
“Were you waiting for me all this time?”
“No, silly. I got talking to some guy. I think we’re going out on the weekend.” She shrugged as if it was just business as usual. “Did you get Ryan’s number?”
“Almost.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“We got distracted, and then I kind of ran off.”
“Okay.” She laced her arm through mine. “Tell me everything.”
“There’s not much to tell. He’s an English Lit junior. Lives with his best friend downtown and picks up some shifts at a bookstore downtown during the weekend.”
“Are you seeing him again?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t plan on seeing him today until you ambushed me,” I pointed out.
“I was doing you a favor. He was cute and looked like your type.”
“My type?”
“Yeah, you know, studious, cute in a geeky kind of way.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t look so offended. It’s not a bad thing. I just have this excellent sixth sense when it comes to these kinds of things. I’m like a real-life Cupid.”
“Right.” I barely kept the amusement out of my voice. “So if my type is a studious geek. What’s your type?”
“Hockey hottie, of course.” She grinned. “Although I’m not choosy. I’ll take any brand of athlete.”
