Page 19 of Play For Me

I’m sure she’s thinking about how out of sorts I was last weekend and I feel a kernel of annoyance in my gut.

“You worry too much,” I tell her, managing to keep my voice light.

She snorts. “Oh, you’re one to talk, buddy.”

My smile gets more genuine. “Yeah, we’re a pretty uptight pair, aren’t we?”

She glances at the mess spilling out of Jay’s bag. “I’d say we could learn something from my brother, but I’m pretty sure mimicking him would send you into a coma.”

We chat about our first week of classes while we wait for our order. Jay, predictably, has run into some friends so he’s off socializing on the other side of the cafe. Em is clearly overwhelmed by her first week of grad school classes, and I feel bad for getting defensive earlier. Yes, she always worries about me too much, but she also has a lot on her plate at the moment. And I know better than anyone how feeling overwhelmed can spill into all the areas of your life.

When our number is called, I tell Em I’ll get it and head up to the counter. Once I have our tray, I turn to head back and nearly walk right into a group of girls.

“Sorry!” the one in front says. But she doesn’t step back to give me space. And from the way she’s batting her eyelashes and smiling at me, I’m not sure our proximity is actually an accident.

“No worries,” I mutter, moving to step around her. That’s when I notice the dark hair and big blue eyes at the edge of the group and I nearly trip over my own two feet.

Cecelia Ransom.

She’s talking to the girl next to her, not paying the slightest bit of attention to me. I can’t keep my gaze from lingering on her, even though I know I should already be walking away. She’s dressed in leggings and a tank top, her hair piled up on top of her head. From the clothes and the flush on her cheeks, I get the impression she’s just come from working out.

She’s so damn beautiful.

Then she looks up and our eyes meet. Her expression immediately flattens out and my stomach drops. She couldn’t look less impressed by me if she tried.

I drop my gaze back to my tray and step around the group of girls, ignoring the giggle from the one I’d almost bumped into.

“He’s so hot,” she says to the others, not bothering to keep her voice down. Cecelia, unsurprisingly, doesn’t respond.

“Thanks,” Emery says when I return with our food, and I’m relieved to see she’s too distracted by whatever’s on her laptop screen to notice my expression.

Jay returns a few minutes later with his own dinner. “Ah, sugar, my beloved mistress,” he says happily, bringing his whipped-cream-covered mocha monstrosity to his face and taking a deep inhale.

“You should just order a milkshake,” Em points out. “It would be more honest.”

He takes a sip then smiles up at us with a whipped cream mustache. “You’re just jealous of my amazing taste in coffee-based beverages.”

While I eat with the Miller siblings, I do my best to forget about the interaction with Cecelia—if you could even call it that—but I’m not very successful. I’m hyper aware of her group, even though they’re sitting on the other side of the cafe. I want to punch myself when I realize I’m straining to hear her voice or her laugh over the sound of the other patrons.

And it’s hard not to replay that stupid party over and over in my mind. Why did I have to melt down right then? Why did I have to make myself look like such an asshole to the most beautiful girl on campus?

Luckily Jason doesn’t seem to notice that she’s over there, otherwise I’m sure I’d never hear the end of it. Em does pick up on my lack of productivity, pointing out that I don’t seem to be getting much work done. I only grunt in reply. Even after I see the girls leave, I struggle to get a handle on my focus.

Which is why I’m idling by checking my email instead of reading right at the time the message from my advisor comes through.

I sit up straight in my chair, heart rate picking up.

“Sol?” Emery asks, clearly noticing my reaction.

“Higgins emailed,” I say, mouth suddenly dry. “I think it’s the clinicals assignment.”

“Awesome!” Jay says, leaning over to see the screen. “Well? Aren’t you going to open it? Don’t you want to see who you’ll be working with for the rest of the semester?”

I do and I don’t. I’ve been looking forward to my clinicals since I was a freshman. It’s the basis of our entire program, a chance to get real world experience doing the thing I hope to do for a living.

But that doesn’t change the undercurrent of discomfort I feel about the project. We’ve done practical work throughout the entire program, but this is the first time we’ll be stepping away from books and papers so thoroughly.

I’m not exactly great with change.