Page 32 of Play For Me

“That’s ridiculous.”

“—and you’re upset that she doesn’t want to spend time with you.”

“That’s not it at all.” But my stupid cheeks are getting warm for some reason, and I duck my face so he won’t see it.

Of course he notices anyway, and now he’s laughing so hard he can barely walk. “Oh, buddy,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d be so gone over a girl.” He slaps my shoulder. “I guess it happens to all of us at some point.”

I shake his hand off. “I’m not gone over anyone,” I say, pleased by how flat my voice is. “I would just like to get a good grade since this is, you know,” I glare at him, “the biggest fucking assignment of my college career.”

He just shrugs. “You should tell her that, then. Tell her you need her to cooperate so you don’t fail the assignment. And if she refuses, talk to her coach.” Whatever he sees on my face has him laughing all over again. “Unless you’re afraid to talk to her.”

“Of course I’m not afraid.”

“Sorry, let me rephrase. Unless you’re afraid she’s going to yell at you if you try to put your foot down.” I glare at him and he throws his hands up. “I don’t blame you, man. Cecelia Ransome is terrifying. I bet she’s even more scary when you’re secretly in love with her.”

We’re finally at the English building, where we’ll go our separate ways, but that doesn’t stop me from giving him a good shove before I head for the front door.

“Talk to her,” he shouts as he walks off. “She won’t bite.” I hear a loud guffaw of laughter. “But maybe you wouldn’t mind if she did!”

I hate him sometimes.

My afternoon classis my poetry seminar, which is usually one of my favorites. It’s not required for my major—I finished my English pre-reqs my sophomore year—but I’ve always really enjoyed poetry. My grandpa started reading it to me when I was a kid, back before I moved in with him. He thought it might help me have a better understanding of the way people expressed emotion—something I was struggling with hard core at the time.

I’m not sure if it really helped the way he hoped, but I liked the reading all the same. There was something relaxing about reading poetry. About analyzing the author’s intentions and making my own interpretations.

Maybe I’m just as big of a nerd as Jay is always telling me.

Today, it’s a little more difficult to get lost in the reading. I’m very aware of the fact that Cecelia’s cousin is right across the round table, doodling in his notebook while the professor talks. Every once in a while, I think I feel his eyes dart up to land on my face.

I understand why once class is over. “Hey, it’s Solomon, right?” he asks, approaching me as I slip my books into my bag.

“Uh, yeah.” I nod at him. “You’re Ash?”

He nods then jerks his head to the door. “You have another class after this?”

“Nah. Heading to the library.”

He seems to consider for a moment before nodding. “Mind if I walk with you?”

There’s a big part of me—the part that really doesn’t like meeting new people or talking to anyone I’m not already comfortable with—that wants to say hell no. Instead, I take a breath and force my discomfort down. “Sure.”

It’s immediately apparent to me that Ash isn’t one of those people who needs to fill every second with conversation. He says something about the reading we just had then lapses into a silence that he doesn’t break until several minutes after we’ve left the building. Normally I’d be grateful for the quiet, but today I wouldn’t mind a distraction from my very loud brain, which is wondering why the hell he approached me.

“So,” he finally says. “I, uh, might have been walking behind you earlier. You and that Jay guy?”

Oh, fuck. Did he hear Jay tease me about my crush on Cecelia? I might actually kill my best friend.

“I wasn’t trying to listen in,” he continues. “But I think I heard you mention CeCe is giving you a hard time.”

Shit.

Shit, shit,shit. Is he going to tell me off for talking about her? God, did he hear Jay say I might enjoy her biting me? I think I’m going to throw up.

“She’s not—I mean, it’s—I wasn’t saying that?—”

He holds up his hands, stopping my stuttering. “Honestly, I’d be shocked if shewasn’tshowing you a hard time.” He smirks. “My cousin never quite got the hang of playing well with others.”

“She plays well with her teammates,” I point out.