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“Mexican,” I rasp.
Duke’s mouth quirks up at the corner. Lord, what I’d do to make him smile like that again. “My favorite. Okay, let’s head out before all the good tables are gone.”
Jumping up, I wobble to the faded old backpack by my desk. My legs are stiff from sitting for so long, and pins and needles prickle through my calves. I’m rummaging for my wallet when Duke calls to me from the doorway.
“Leave that, Clementine. I’ll get you back here safe and fed, I promise.”
I shouldn’t, I know that. I really shouldn’t rely on a man I just met; shouldn’t impose on him like that. Shouldn’t be a bother.
“Come on, honey,” he says softly, and just like that, my feet carry me to the door without permission. Duke snags my jacket from the hook and hands it to me before closing the door behind us. It’s quiet out here now, all the yelling from earlier transferred to some other part of campus.
Meg stretches her arms above her head, her spiked up dark hair flopping to one side, and she grins when our eyes meet.
“It’s gonna be a good year, Clementine. I can feel it.”
* * *
Dear diary,
I met a man today.Theman, you know? The only man to ever make my body hum to life. When his eyes were on me, my heart thumped harder. My skin flushed warm. Even the tiny hairs on my arms prickled upright.
Obviously, he’s off limits. Way too old for me. My roommate’s dad? Who am I kidding? Even if he wanted me too—yeah, right—we could never act on it. That’d make me such a jerk.
But a crush doesn’t hurt anybody, does it?
That’s all this is. My first ever crush.
I’m sure it’ll fade in no time.
Two
Duke
Present day
Tonight’s gig is on a riverboat: an open-topped steamer packed with finely-dressed folks, the tables laid for dinner under the stars. My piano’s in the center of the top deck, exposed to the breeze and the damp mist of river water, but I don’t mind. It’s not my instrument to fret over, and besides, even if the acoustics are weird outdoors, it’s worth it on such a beautiful night.
Knives and forks clink. Champagne corks pop. There’s a low hum of conversation, and I play gently in the background. Tonight’s not about drawing attention—it’s about creating a mood.
The steamer drifts along the river, nudging a path through watery fields of lily pads. Gators sink beneath the surface, their eyes reflecting the boat lights before they wink out.
What are Clem and Meg up to tonight? Are they both happy? Comfortable and safe?
This is the problem with these easy-listening gigs. They leave time and space for my mind to wander.
For instance: I’m thinking about a few weeks ago, right around the beginning of summer break, when we all came home from dinner in town to find a gator floating in the pool like a big, ugly tree trunk. He was a chunky fella, that’s for sure, all leathery hide and sharp teeth. Definitely wouldn’t have seemed out of place back in dinosaur days. And when the security light flicked on, it bounced off his eyes, just like those others out there by the riverbank.
My mouth twitches and I play on, fingers tumbling over the piano keys. It’s a warm, muggy night, but it’s cooler out here on the water.
That night was kinda funny. I could’ve told you in advance how we’d all react, and sure enough, we fell into our roles without a second thought. Meg yelled a stream of profanity that no doubt made our elderly neighbors weep, and when she lurched forward to pick a fight she couldn’t win, I grabbed the back of her t-shirt.
And Clem?
Sweet Clementine…
Well, as soon as she glimpsed that gator in the pool, she tucked herself against my side. Like it was instinct—as easy as breathing.
Made me wish I could send invites to all the local beasts:Come to our pool!Would be worth the hassle of chasing ‘em off for those split seconds of Clem pressed against my body.
