by Sophia Sharp
I stare at him in disbelief. And damn my body for responding to his mirth. A smile starts to tug my lips up. I don’t know what it’s doing there, and it’s completely at odds with everything I’m feeling inside, but slowly, it grows, too. Soon, I’m giggling, then laughing, all with tears still in my eyes.
Spencer embraces me and holds me tight. I’m trapped, right there against him, but for some reason, it feels right. I’m still mad and upset, disappointed and furious, but those feelings all take a backseat to the growing warmth spreading through my chest.
Spencer keeps laughing, and I laugh with him, not knowing where the humor is coming from or what sustains it. But as he holds onto me, and that damn infectious sound lifts my soul, I begin to feel safe.
Everything feels so good right there in his arms.
Spencer pulls back and holds me at arm’s length. I smile at him like a freaking idiot. I have no idea what just happened. I’d experienced a blitzkrieg of emotions, and somehow come out of it feeling better about myself.
“What’s so funny?” I ask finally.
He touches my cheek. “You said you’d scream.” He smiles. “As if anybody would hear you.”
I consider his words for a moment, and realize how right he is. He’d called me on my bluff. Then we both laughed through it.
“Listen to me,” Spencer continues. The pad of his thumbs wipe away the leftover moisture on my cheeks. “I did not reject you. Nothing could be further from the truth. I just didn’t want to… take you… here.” He gestures around the cramped office. “You mean more to me than that.”
My mouth drops open. I feel a sudden clenching near my heart, as if all the air had been stolen from my lungs.
Spencer looks deep into my eyes. “You’re not ‘another conquest.’ I can’t believe you would put it in those terms.” He steps into me, and I have to take a jerky step back. “I’ve never shown my workspace to another girl before.”
I know Spencer might be full of it. I know he might be lying to get me to feel special. But, I don’t think that’s the case now.
He could have had me minutes ago. I was ready and willing. Yet he was the one who broke away. While a part of me is frustrated at my foiled plot, the inner me—the real Paige—appreciates what Spencer did. The promise of his words—that I mean more to him—is worth so much more than the night of sex I had come for.
Not that my hormones aren’t screaming at me for screwing up.
“What’s that?” I ask, suddenly noticing a curved base of wood peeking out from behind the desk on the opposite wall.
Spencer turns to look at what I mean.
“Oh.” he smiles. He walks over and picks it up, revealing an old acoustic guitar. He lifts it to eye level and blows the layer of dust off. “I forgot I had this here,” he says.
“Do you play?’ I ask, glad for the diversion. I need time to process everything that had just happened between us.
“I used to,” he mumbles. His fingers run up and down the neck of the guitar, strolling over the strings. “A long time ago.”
“Play something for me!” I gasp, clapping my hands together. “Please?”
Spencer looks at me and quirks one eyebrow. He places the guitar on his hip and leans against the edge of the desk. His fingers curl around the neck.
He strums once—and winces. “It’s out of tune.”
“I wouldn’t be able to tell.” I pick Katy’s jacket up and swing it over my shoulders. I feel foolish for dressing the way I did. “I’ve never had anyone play for me. Please?”
Spencer shakes his head. “I haven’t had any practice.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to hear a live performance.”
Spencer snorts. “Calling what I can do a ‘live performance’ is too generous.”
My smile fades. “So you’re not very good?”
Spencer’s eyes snap to my face. “I didn’t say that.”
I nod. “That confirms it. You’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” he scoffs.
“Embarrassed, then,” I tease. “It’s such a shame. I’ve always thought that a guy who can play for me can steal my heart.”
“Now there’s pressure,” Spencer mutters. He sets the guitar down. “Tell you what,” he says, walking up to me. “How about we get out of here for now? I’m getting hungry. I know it’s a damn cliché, but maybe we can go get dinner together. Have some time to talk.” His eyes sparkle. “And then, if you can convince me my guitar really is the key to your heart, maybe I can make some arrangement to play for you.”
He smiles in thought. “There’s an open mike night at one of the café’s this Friday.” He looks at me. “I used to play there.”
Chapter Twenty-One
When I get home later that night, my mind is buzzing over Spencer.
We had a great time at dinner, laughing and talking and getting to know each other on a completely new level. There were no pretenses. No awkwardness. Just one heck of a good time.
I’m glad, but a bit surprised, that Katy’s not home when I arrive. If she saw me in this getup, I would never hear the end of it.
As things are, I change out of her clothes and put them back in their rightful place in her closet. I don’t need to go for another misguided adventure .
I feed Pickles and then run the water for a bath. I leave the door open in case Katy arrives. I want to know how her counseling session went.
Hours later, when my skin is pink and soft from the warm water and I’m lying in bed in a cozy robe with a Kindle and my trusty LED book light, I hear the front door open and footsteps in the hall. I start to get up to greet Katy—but then I realize that I hear two pairs of feet moving through the hall.
I raise my eyebrows, curious about who she brought home. I hear the door to the spare bedroom open and close.
I get out of bed and peek into the hall. I see Katy’s heels by the front door next to a pair of men’s sneakers.
I smile and shake my head. Her prowess with men is something we will definitely have to discuss soon.
***
Katy’s guest leaves the next morning before I get up. I walk into the kitchen and find her eating breakfast at the table.
“How was your date with Spencer last night?” Katy asks in a cheerful voice. “Did you have a good time?”
“Not as good as you, apparently,” I smile, noting the radiant glow on her cheeks.
Katy has the grace to look a little abashed.
“You don’t have to tell me anything specific,” I say, waving her discomfort away. “All I want to know is: How do you do it?”
Katy looks surprised. “Do what?”
“Hook up with so many hot guys? From what I’ve seen, they’re all total studs.”
Katy laughs. “You’re giving me too much credit.”
“You deserve it,” I say. “You’re not easy, either. I’ve seen you push lots of boys away.”
She laughs again. “I guess I learned from my older sisters.” She winks at me. “One of them is getting married to a self-made millionaire in a few months.”
“Gold-digger!” I accuse, laughing.
Katy nods. “That’s the trick. You gotta find the guy you want… and make the first move.”
“What?” I laugh. “It can’t be that easy!”
“Not many men are used to a confident woman,” she shrugs. “It’s attractive to them. At least, in my modest experience.”
I nearly snort up my cereal. “Modest?”
Katy gives a knowing grin. “What are your plans for today?”
I sigh. “Class, class, and more class.” I’ve been trying hard, but I’m still far behind from all the time I missed.
“That’s college for you,” Katy says. She looks at the clock. “But you’ve got a few hours before the first one, don’t you?”
“Yes, and…?”
She gets up and takes my arm. “Come on. If you really want, I can show you some great seduction tips I’ve pic
ked up over the years. But we need a mirror to practice.”
***
Armed with Katy’s full arsenal of tricks, I feel ready to tackle my Friday-night date with Spencer.
He wanted to pick me up, but I told him I’d prefer to walk. Katy’s counseling session starts around the same time. I wanted to walk with her, since we’d both be going the same direction.
She’s been strangely mum about the mysterious visitor from a few nights ago. Usually, she doesn’t hesitate to share all the juicy details of her escapades. For some reason, this time is different.
I haven’t heard anything from Andrew, either. I haven’t seen him in more than a week. It’s not like he owes me anything, but still, it’d be nice to have some idea of where we stand.
Although, I think guiltily to myself, I haven’t given him much thought either. My mind’s been preoccupied with Spencer.
Katy and I pass hordes of students running around trying to get their pregame fix before the weekend’s big party. As usual, this one is being held at Sigma Pi. Spencer’s frat.
I wonder if he’ll get grief from his brothers for missing the event. I doubt it. I don’t think anybody stands above Spencer in the pecking order.
I hug Katy goodbye at the bus stop. She rolls her eyes when I wish her a good session, but the extra spring in her step when she boards the bus adds to my suspicion: I think she’s sleeping with her counselor.
I chuckle as I continue down the lamp-lit sidewalk. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Katy announced that one night as the truth.
I step out of the way as a group of muscular guys jog by me. They’re carrying two full kegs between them, whooping and hollering like madmen.
“Paige!” one of them calls out.
I stop, surprised to be recognized.
The guy who yelled my name taps one of the kegs with pride. “We’re bringing these over to Sigma Pi. Can I count on seeing you there?”
“You dog,” one of his friends elbows him in the gut. “Look at the way she’s dressed. She’s got classier things to do than hang out with you!”
Both of the guys seem vaguely familiar… and then I place them. They’re teammates from the hockey team! And the first guy—what was his name? Johnny? Jordy?—definitely danced with me at the party Katy hosted in our room.
I’m both surprised and flattered that he remembers me.
“What do you say, Paige?” He steps out of the group toward me.
“Give it up!” one of the other guys yells, laughing. “Look at her face! She has no idea who you are!”
Johnny-slash-Jordy’s grin falters. He looks at me, all-but-begging for me to prove his friend wrong.
Why not? I’m up to task. I step to him and give him a hug and quick peck on the cheek. “Sure I do.” I smile sweetly at the doubter, then address the guy in front of me. “You’re on the hockey team. And, from what I recall, a pretty good dancer.”
His smile reappears instantly. “See?” he challenges his friend. “Girls might not remember you, but they all know me.”
That earns a round of laughter from the group.
“All right, all right, she knows you, point proven,” one of the guys holding the key calls out. “Now let’s get these babies where they can be put to use.” He nods at me. “Nice to meet you, Paige. I’m hoping for Jared’s sake that you don’t stand him up tonight.” He addresses everyone else. “Come on, boys! We’ve got places to be and coeds to fuck!”
A rowdy cheer rises from the group, and they all run off.
Jared—at least I’d gotten the first letter of his name right—stays behind for a second. “So, can I count on seeing you there?” he asks, picking up my hand.
I smile at him but shake my head. “I’ve got plans tonight. Maybe another time?”
“Damn,” he chuckles. He taps the side of his nose. “It’s the nose, isn’t it? Girls always think my nose is too big.”
I look at him like he’s crazy. There’s nothing about his nose that stands out.
“I’m kidding!” he laughs. “But thanks for letting me down softly. If any of those guys—” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder, “had heard, I wouldn’t get a moment of peace tonight.”
Jared goes in for a hug, stops short, then laughs awkwardly and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve got to go, too. See ya later, Paige.”
I say bye and watch him go. When he reaches his friends, he gets high-fives all around. He turns to look at me, catches me looking before I can turn away, shoots me a wink, and is gone.
Well. That was kind of fun. It was just what I needed to get a little confidence boost before seeing Spencer.
I hurry the rest of the way to the café, absorbed in my thoughts. When I turn a corner and see the building down the street, the clear windows offering an unobstructed view inside, I’m staggered by the size of the crowd in there.
It’s not just busy. It’s packed wall-to-wall. I see students and townies and even a few professors I remember from shopping week.
I open the glass door and walk in. I’m greeted by a bustling, communal, friendly atmosphere. Warm voices fill the air. The smoky scent of brewed coffee and charred wood is strong without being overwhelming. I see roaring flames in a glass-encased fireplace in the middle of the floor and start toward it.
I squeeze by people apologetically. Everyone smiles in return, not the least bit bothered. I get to the fire and hold my arms out for warmth, looking around for Spencer. I don’t see him. Then again, in a crowd of this size, it doesn’t surprise me.
Is this café always so busy on Friday nights? If it is, I may have just found my favorite spot on campus.
The ambient music that has been playing cuts off. Voices quiet down, and people turn their heads forward. A small space has been sectioned off near the front. I see a microphone stand in front of an elevated wooden platform.
A tall, dark-haired man moves through the crowd. His wavy curls fall to his shoulders. He ducks under the barrier rope and stands to face us behind the mike.
“Welcome!” he announces. “One and all, great and small, ladies and gents, to our humble, modest, tiny, low-key and small—” he pauses to allow a few chuckles from the crowd, “—OPEN mic night!”
A flurry of applause greets the proclamation. The man smiles and bows deeply. “Our first performer tonight is none other than the amazing, graceful, and—dare I say?—beautiful, Monica Turner!”
More applause. The man bows again, and motions to the side. A girl with a guitar slung over her shoulder steps on stage, wearing a barista’s uniform. She smiles warmly at the proprietor. He kisses both her cheeks, then gets out of the way.
The crowd hushes as the girl settles on the stool behind the mike. The lights in the café dim, until the only one that remains is the one shining down on her. It casts her golden hair in a glowing shimmer, almost like a halo.
The girl lowers the mic. “Hi, everyone.” She gives a shy smile. “Like Charlie said, I’m Mon.” She strums a chord on her guitar. “I’m going to play one song for you tonight. This is my version of Everlong by the Foo Fighters.”
She strums another chord, and begins. Notes from the guitar fill the air. I smile, marveling at the courage it must take to get up and perform like this for a house full of strangers.
But when she starts to sing… I am blown away. She begins the first verse. Her voice is soft, like the aroma of wine on a warm summer evening. It’s rich, like the taste of cocoa on your tongue in the dead of winter. And it’s pure, like the sparkling water rushing down the side of a mountain in the spring thaw.
I’m absorbed by her rendition of the song. By her honesty. By her grace. The words come from the heart, and even though it’s not her song, she makes it her own.
When she finishes, the last strum of her guitar still echoing through the air, I am the first on my feet. I get up and cheer. A rush of people join me. Soon, everybody else is standing and applauding. Monica laughs and waves and blows a few kisses, earning a louder ovation.
“A performer has to know her audience,” a voice beside me says.
I look to the side. “Spencer!” I exclaim, jumping into him in a hug. “I thought you’d left me on my own!”
“What?” he looks hurt. “No. Never.” He tilts his head toward Monica. “She’s good, isn’t she?”
“I’ve never heard anybody like her,” I gush.
Spencer chuckles. I catch a mirthful glimmer in his eye. It scatters away before I can decide why it’s there.
“Aren’t you performing?” I ask. I look at his empty hands. “Where’s your guitar?”
“It’s in the back,” he gestures away from us. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to play yet.”
“You mean what you’re going to play, right?” I nudge him with my shoulder. “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t think I’d get to see you.”
He spreads his arms wide and smiles. “Here I am.”
“Not like that, dummy!” I swing my hair out of my face and fix him with a frown. “I meant on stage.”
Spencer laughs. “That keen to embarrass me, huh? I know what you meant. But, I can’t quite figure out why you’re so eager to see me up there.” He lowers his voice as Charlie returns to the front. “I don’t know if my modest talent matches up with the usual fare of performances they’re used to around here.”
“Well!” Charlie claps his hands together and beams. “Wasn’t that something, everyone? Our own Monica Turner! You can find her making your drinks behind the bar every Tuesday and Wednesday, but with a voice like that, I don’t think she’ll be sticking around for much longer.” He winks at Monica, who’s settled down off to the side. “You’re destined for fame, kiddo. Up next—” Charlie takes out a crumpled napkin from his hip pocket and straightens it against his thigh, “—up next is the ever-talented Felix Ruffins. Give him a hand, everyone!”
The crowd starts clapping again as a tall boy emerges from the back. His height and dreadlocks make him seem older at first glance, but after I get a good look at him, I don’t think he’s even a few years past puberty. He sets his instrument case down, pops it open, and takes out a silver saxophone.
