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  “You hardly ate anything on your plate,” Granddad said. “Try to eat a little more, Casey.”

  I sighed.

  Grandma stood and took my plate before I could move. She scraped the remains into the garbage, loaded the dishwasher, then looked at me. “I know this stuff is hard for you. But I’m proud of you for still trying, even if it is uncomfortable. That’s the only way you can grow—to push yourself out of your comfort zone.” She paused. “Bring that boy by. Let us meet him. Your granddad can show him the collection of rifles . . . that’ll encourage him to treat you right.”

  I gave a relieved laugh. The talk was over, the pressure off for a little bit. “Okay, if I ever hear from him again, I promise to ask him.” Pretty much not going to happen anyway, so it wasn’t hard to make that promise to her. Plus, I didn’t say when I’d ask.

  I helped clear the rest of the table, loaded the dishwasher, then gave them both a big hug and kiss. “I’ll see you guys next Friday,” I said.

  “Text me if you need anything,” Grandma added, patting me on the back as she walked me to the door.

  I chuckled as I headed to my car. The ride to my apartment was quiet, with soft music floating in the background, but their words were loud in my head, insisting I listen.

  Give him a chance.

  Could I risk it? There was something so freeing about being with him. Yet getting caught in that could be dangerous. I barely knew the guy. And I’d blown hot and cold at the drive-in. I’d pushed him away.

  There was no guarantee he’d do like Granddad and pursue me. But I couldn’t help that a tiny, little fraction of my heart wanted him to try.

  Chapter 7

  My stomach was a mass of butterflies when I walked into Philosophy on Monday morning. Professor Wilkins wasn’t there yet, and half the students were still missing. Of course, I was a little early. Partly to get into my seat before Daniel did, to avoid the awkward passing-by-him-and-brushing-his-body thing.

  And partly to watch him as he entered the room. Pathetic, but I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t talked to him since the night we went to the drive-in, and I had no idea what was going to happen.

  I straightened my flyaway hair and settled into my seat, pressing my lips together to see if my gloss was still on. When I saw Amanda teeter in on the highest cork-heeled wedges that had ever been created, clad in a tank top and almost-see-through skirt, I flushed. I wasn’t much better than her—I’d taken extra care with my outfit and makeup this morning in the hopes of him noticing me. I’d purposely worn the shirt that flattered my curves the most, jeans that hugged my hips. And I donned my Chucks too.

  Embarrassing.

  Daniel came through the door, wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. His hair was damp on the ends, like he’d just come out of the shower, his bag flung carelessly over his right shoulder. I tore my gaze away and fixed my eyes on my notebook, staring at the blue lines, willing my heart rate to slow down.

  He dropped into the seat in front of me, and I dared to look up. A drop of water slid down the back of his neck, catching at his collar. My throat tightened and I gripped my thighs.

  “Hey,” I whispered, wishing my voice didn’t sound so throaty.

  He turned around. His smile, while polite, wasn’t filled with a lot of warmth. My heart sank. “Hi,” he said.

  “Daniel,” Amanda said, crossing her legs so her skirt rode up her slender, bare thigh, “I’m a little confused about what our homework was supposed to be. Can I look at your assignment to make sure I did it right?”

  He dug into his notebook, and she scooted her desk beside his, their dark heads bowed together while they talked. I sat in my seat, rigid, torn, and kicking myself. And I was confused—I didn’t want him to pay that much attention to me, right? It was uncomfortable. His eyes saw too much, pushed me out of my familiar zone.

  But watching him talk to Amanda, seeing his fingers brush across her paper and remembering those hands on me . . . it was killing me.

  I was jealous.

  Jealous and stupid, because I couldn’t handle this emotion I was feeling right now. His face was the first I’d pictured when I’d woken up this morning. His lips and eyes and the way he laughed and his doofy, nerdy comments. How he’d tried to make me feel at ease at the party, in his car. The brush of his fingertips across mine. The intensity as he’d talked about what he saw, how he felt. Something was so compelling about this man. It wouldn’t let me go.

  And now I was too late. Amanda was going to brainwash him with her huge eyes and tiny feet and tons of dimples, and he’d fall for her cute, spunky charm. Which I admit irritated me too—that he could go right from kissing me to turning all his attention to her. I smothered a groan. God, I knew I was being irrational and unfair, but it was how I felt. He was respecting my wishes, leaving me alone, but now that I was faced with it I realized that wasn’t what I wanted at all.

  Ugh. I needed to get out of my brain for a while.

  Thankfully, Professor Wilkins strolled in right then, wearing an old white shirt and a pair of wide-legged pants made from lace and scraps of patchwork fabric. Her wiry braid was flung over her shoulder, and she plopped her massive bag on the corner of the desk. “Folks, let’s get to work. We have a lot to cover today.”

  I tried my best to focus for the whole class. I dutifully wrote notes as she scrawled across the chalkboard, flinging chalk dust all over the floor. I even mostly kept my attention off Daniel’s lean, muscled back, hardly peeked at the way his triceps flexed while he wrote. His fingers running absently through his hair as he pondered today’s subject matter.

  I sighed and dropped my pencil on my paper. I was beyond ridiculous. I wasn’t going to think about him anymore. He was out of my mind, starting right now. Opening the textbook, I pored over the words, read and reread paragraphs, trying to wrap my mind around what the hell it all meant.

  But focus was just not there today. And I knew exactly why.

  The reason was two feet in front of me.

  The clock ticked slowly, crawled minute by minute. I gnawed on the end of my pencil, stared at the board, did my best to not think about Daniel and that amazing kiss. Or the way I’d totally ruined the evening. I wish I could go back and fix it—but how?

  Professor Wilkins cleared her throat, drawing my attention back to her face. Her brow was pinched as she looked at our row. “Been very quiet in here today,” she drawled. “Are we distracted already? We’re hardly even into this semester.”

  My cheeks burned; I could feel the heat of her gaze on me.

  She huffed and waved her hands to the whole class. “Go. Don’t forget to read the next chapter in your textbook. I am at liberty to give you a quiz any time I desire.”

  Everyone exhaled in relief and jumped to their feet, gathering their belongings and getting the hell out of there. I shuffled out of my seat and tucked my book and notebook into my small bag. I refused to look at Daniel, who was still sitting down; awkwardness made my chest constrict until I could barely breathe.

  I shoved my way down the aisle and just made it past him when a gentle hand on my upper arm stopped me in place.

  “Hey, hold on a sec,” he said.

  I swallowed and turned to face him as he stood. His green eyes were much warmer than they had been earlier, though I still couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking. I tugged my bag higher on my shoulder and gave a small nod. My pulse raced in my ears, an ocean roar that I struggled to control.

  “I’m sorry again about Thursday night,” he started.

  “No, no, please don’t be,” I interrupted, waving my hand in dismissal of his apology. “It wasn’t your fault. It was just . . . I just . . .”

  “Are you—” He cleared his throat, and I swore I could detect the faintest hint of a flush on his cheeks. “Are you busy this Friday night?”

  “Um, no.” I licked my lips. I deejayed most Fridays and every Saturday, alternating with another DJ who could only work weekends sporadically, and this
was his week.

  Was Daniel asking me out?

  He released my arm, tucked the hand into his jeans and said, “I snagged two tickets to see an electro-house concert with a DJ I just learned about a few weeks ago. He’s a local guy getting a lot of buzz. It could be a lot of fun. And I wanted to know if you wanted to come with me.”

  A date.

  My stomach twisted in excitement, tinged with a healthy dollop of fear. He wanted to see me again. Despite what had happened last time. And he was tempting me with music—my weakness, my passion.

  I couldn’t say no to the concert.

  I couldn’t say no to him either. Because despite it all, I wanted to spend more time with Daniel.

  “Sounds fun,” I made myself say, proud of the way my voice didn’t shake. Didn’t give away the army of nerves fluttering in my abdomen.

  His eyelids dropped a fraction and he looked down at me, the corner of his mouth crooking in that devilish grin I was coming to recognize. “Great. What time should I pick you up? Wanna do dinner beforehand?”

  Oh, crud. I had a standing date with my grandparents on Friday, and I couldn’t ditch them. I also wasn’t quite ready to invite him over to meet them, despite my promise to them. “Um, can we just meet there right before the concert? I have some stuff to do earlier in the evening,” I said.

  “Sure.” His eyes wouldn’t let me go, and despite the next class’s students pouring into the room, I couldn’t look away. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Me too,” I whispered.

  I still couldn’t focus.

  The week had crawled at an impossibly slow pace. Yesterday evening—Thursday—I’d spent an embarrassing amount of time staring into my closet, wondering what I was going to wear tonight. For my date.

  My date with Daniel.

  Actually, I couldn’t remember the last date I’d been on. As I walked out of my business finance class into the bright sunshine, crossing campus to head to Coffee Baby for a pick-me-up, I ran through my mental calendar. Jacob and I had hung out all the time that fall semester of my sophomore year, but we’d gone on a real date only once or twice. Grabbing pizza or going to a movie, that sort of thing.

  Nothing like this. Sharing music with someone seemed so oddly intimate.

  I padded across the plush grass. Students were grouped in clusters around me, girls poured into tiny clothes and precarious high heels. Laughing and shoving each other as they cracked jokes about teachers, fellow students, bad hangovers. For a moment my heart lightened as I overheard snippets of conversations, and I smiled.

  Right now, strangely enough, I felt like one of them. Filled with that nervous hum of anticipation, the thrill and fear of my forthcoming night’s festivities sizzling just beneath my skin. For once I was going to be on the other side of the DJ booth. Sharing the experience, the intensity of the music, with Daniel.

  I tucked my books higher on my hip and headed down the sidewalk to the coffee shop.

  When I arrived, stepping into the cool, refreshing air of the café, I blinked in an attempt to make my eyes quickly adjust to the dimmer lighting. There were students nestled around tables, animated conversations lilting and dancing along coffee-scented air toward me.

  I headed to the back, where it looked a little less chaotic, and found a seat at a mostly empty table. Two lithe, very attractive black guys huddled close on the far end were too busy staring into each other’s eyes and sharing the same heated breaths to pay any attention to me. I turned my attention to my notebook in order to give them privacy and flipped to my notes from business finance.

  Before I could get up to place my coffee order, I heard an excited voice just a few feet away. “I thought that was you!” Megan came bounding toward me, her hair coiled into adorable little puffs on the side of her head. She was clad in a pair of low skinny jeans and a dark blue scoop-necked tee. She bore a huge cup of coffee. For the thousandth time I envied her casual beauty, how she lit up a room just by walking in with her big smile.

  Megan was always happy, always having fun. Effortless grace. Maybe I could learn something from her so I wouldn’t be painfully awkward tonight. Maybe she could give me some tips for my date.

  My throat tightened as she slipped into the seat beside me. If I told her, she’d never let it go, would press me to bare every single detail. Was I ready to open up to her like that? Start letting her into my life, knowing what I was doing?

  “I’m so glad it’s Friday,” she said, taking a sip and blanching. “Damn, that’s hot!” She peeled the lid off and fanned it over her steaming cup. “You working this weekend? I wanna come hang at the club if you’re deejaying.”

  “I have tonight off, but I’m working tomorrow night.” I pressed my sweaty palms against my legs and tried to rub them dry. I was suddenly nervous to talk to her, my throat tight and stomach pinching. How the hell had I forgotten how to connect with people? To open up and just tell them about my day, my thoughts and feelings?

  I used to all the time as a little kid. Before.

  “You okay?” she asked, her brow furrowed. She put her coffee cup down. “You seem upset.”

  “I’m just a little nervous,” I made myself say. “I’m . . . going out tonight. With a guy.”

  Her eyes widened so big, I thought they might pop out of her head. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, then grinned. “Just wanted to make sure I’m not feverish and hallucinating. So why are you anxious? And who is it?”

  My heart battered against my rib cage. If I was this nervous to talk to her, how was I going to be tonight, hanging out with him? “It’s Daniel. The guy I was talking to at the party. He’s in philosophy with me.”

  Her smile turned soft, and she reached a hand out to rub my upper arm. “It’ll be okay,” she said in a gentle voice. “He likes you. I could tell by the way he looked at you at the party. It’s going to go fine, and you’ll have fun.”

  Some of the fluttering in my chest eased up a touch. I drew in slow breaths. I was not going to panic about this. I was in control. He and I weren’t getting married—it was just an evening out. I could do this. “Thank you,” I told her with a small but earnest smile.

  “So, what are you guys doing?”

  I filled her in on the details. She nodded and “um-hmm”ed as I spoke, her face hiding none of her excitement for me. I had to admit, talking to her about it kind of made me a little more excited too. I hadn’t heard of this DJ before, so it was a great opportunity not just for fun but for my music. To get the chance to see what other DJs were doing, how they were mixing and composing. I might get inspired for my own music.

  “Okay.” She eyed me closely. “I’m not going out until later tonight, so I’ll help fix your hair and pick you out something sexy to wear.”

  “Nothing crazy,” I said quickly. After all, I would have to get made up before going to Grandma and Granddad’s for dinner, since I was leaving from there to go to the concert.

  She lifted a hand, three fingers up. “Scout’s honor.”

  “You were a scout?”

  “Hell, no. I hate everything about the outdoors.” She snorted. “But I thought that sounded more official.”

  I chuckled. My back muscles eased up their tension. “I’m going to get a coffee. Need anything?”

  “I’m good. I’ll wait here with your stuff,” she offered.

  I made my way to the line, glancing back at Megan. The conversation hadn’t been nearly as difficult as I thought it would be. I’d been certain she was going to hound me to the point of discomfort, but instead she’d sat back and let me talk about Daniel without being too pushy.

  Maybe I’d misjudged her, been a little harsh in my perception of her. Guilt flamed anew, heating my face.

  I was so quick to make assumptions lately. Sure, it made my life safer, but it didn’t make me that much happier. Just talking to her had lifted a weight off my shoulders. She was right—surely tonight would be fine. Daniel wasn’t going to push me beyond my com
fort zone; I’d made it very clear how far I was willing to go, and he had still asked me out.

  I grabbed a coffee and made my way back to the table to talk with Megan about how I was going to get through the evening without being a nervous wreck.

  Chapter 8

  The music reached me even out on the street a couple of blocks away. It hummed and sang down the sidewalk, thrummed beneath my skin. I couldn’t help the smile that turned up the corners of my mouth.

  Daniel had said he’d meet me out front of the building. It was downtown, and I’d found a parking spot on the street, luckily. The club was small, but people moved in and out and milled around, laughing and talking. Punks, preps, hipsters—all mingled without care. It was almost surreal.

  The warm evening air caressed my bare arms. I’d worn a sparkling tank top and a pair of jeans. Megan had given me a big frowny face for not dressing up, but I’d been adamant about it. So she’d taken a lot of pleasure doing my makeup and hair. I looked a bit like a pinup model, with twists and curls, my eyes highlighted with light eye shadow and black eyeliner. My lips were bright red; she’d loaned me her favorite shade to reapply after dinner. I tried to hold on to my feeling of confidence.

  I strolled across the sidewalk in my black flats and looked for Daniel’s familiar form. It took me a minute but I spotted him, leaning against a brick wall. He had on relaxed jeans and a slim-fit black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off the muscles in his forearms. The neck was unbuttoned, and I could see the line of his throat, the V at the base. His hair was appropriately mussed; the yellow glow of lights gave him a halo.

  When he saw me, his grin widened and he shoved away from the brick wall. “You look amazing,” he said. I could barely hear his throaty words over the throbbing beat from inside the club. He took in my whole outfit, his eyes growing slightly hooded.

  My heart rate picked up, stuttered, and I gave what I hoped was a casual nod. “Thanks. You too.”