“Well, good morning, Angel.”
I flushed, glancing over my shoulder as if I wondered if it was me he was talking to. When I looked back at him, he chuckled, setting his guitar to the side.
“You’ve got a halo right now, the way the light is coming in,” he explained.
I smiled. “Hiding the horns holding it up, no doubt.”
Shawn gestured to the seat across from him.
I took it hesitantly — mostly because I was debating if I was too tired to even hold a conversation, let alone a flirty one with intention. But one sip from my espresso had me optimistic that I could turn it around.
What would Clay do?
He’d tell me to suck it up and play the game, that’s what.
I hadn’t seen Shawn since the party on Saturday night, and my stomach flipped the longer he watched me with a curious gaze.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. You just… forgive me if this is too forward, but you look beautiful right now.”
My cheeks were hot enough to rival my coffee as I looked down at my hands. “I highly doubt that, considering how tired I am at the moment.”
“Late night?”
I sighed. “Very. I’m working with my boss on an upcoming charity event for the football team, and it’s taking more time and energy than all of my classes combined.”
“I still can’t get over you being in public relations,” he assessed with a smile.
“What would you peg me as, if I hadn’t told you otherwise?”
“Librarian.”
I laughed. “It’s the glasses, huh?”
“Among other things,” he said, and his metallic eyes slid down the length of me, brow arching as he took in the eclectic blouse I’d paired with my old jean overalls. They were baggy and hid more than they revealed, but the way his eyes careened each inch, it felt more like I was in a bra and panties.
I cleared my throat, taking a sip of my coffee. “So, do you sleep in the back of the store here, or…?”
He ran a hand back through his long hair, crossing his ankle over his knee again before pulling the guitar back into his lap. “I’m working on a song, and I was a little stunted in my dorm, so I thought a change of scenery could help.”
“Has it?”
“Sadly, no,” he confessed. “There’s something off, but I can’t figure out what.”
“Play it for me.”
His eyes shot open. “Yeah?”
I just smiled, sipping my coffee, pretending like this was totally chill and cool and like I wasn’t freaking out internally that Shawn Stetson was about to play an unreleased song for me.
He cracked his neck, sitting up a little straighter and clearing his throat before he began.
The intro was soft and slow, smooth chords peppered by brief taps of the heel of his palm against the box of his guitar. It was percussion and strings all in one, the beat seductive and alluring.
I nodded my head in time with it, hips moving subtly in my seat. When Shawn glanced up at me, his eyes froze on that little hip movement, and my neck heated at the lingering gaze.
I couldn’t wait to tell Clay.
He’d be so proud of me, how I’d walked right up to Shawn at the table, how cool I’d played the whole thing. I was becoming a natural — or, at the very least, I was leaps and bounds ahead of the girl who couldn’t even hold Shawn’s gaze across a crowded coffee shop just a few weeks ago.
I was still thinking about how excited I was to tell Clay when Shawn started singing, his voice rough and edgy, smoky like a brush fire.
“I like
the moon
when it bleeds
through the window
and paints your flesh.
I like
your legs
when they’re spread
and you’re burning
for me, babe.”
I nearly choked on my coffee, but somehow managed to cover it up and hold my composure as a smirk creeped up on Shawn’s devilish mouth.
“I like
the mountains
of your breasts
when they’re swelling
and peaking
and aching for my mouth.
I’ll give
you what
you want if you
just open up and say
that magic word.”
There was a break in the chords, the heel of his palm beating on the guitar in time with the tap of his fingers in a fluid percussion before he launched into the chorus.
“Beg for me, baby,
scream out my name.
Get on your knees for me, baby,
let desire
erase all the
shame.”
Before he could continue, I hopped out of my seat, tilting the last bit of my espresso down my gullet as Shawn abruptly stopped playing.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry. I just realized the time!” I hid my flushed cheeks as I slipped the strap of my bag over one shoulder. “The song is really great. Truly. Very sexy. Can’t wait to hear it live.”
Shawn set his guitar to the side and stood. “Giana,” he tried, but I was already rushing toward the door. I tripped on the leg of a table, windmilling forward before I balanced and did a little spin to keep from running into one of the baristas carrying a tray of dishes.
“So sorry, I’m going to be late if I don’t get going. But I’ll see you soon!” I threw behind me.
“Wait!”
I stopped, heart thundering, turning with a flush I knew was too furious to hide staining my cheeks.
Shawn ran a hand over his hair. “Can I… would it be possible for me to get your number?”
The blood drained from my hot face.
It was working. Everything Clay and I were doing… it was working.
And for the first time, I realized the implications of that.
Swallowing, I held out my hand, typing my phone number in quickly when Shawn pressed his phone into my palm. I gave it back just as quickly, forcing the best smile I could.
“I’ll text you,” he promised.
I threw a wave over my shoulder as I turned, trying to keep my smile calm and collected. But the way he stood with his hands in his pockets, one brow arched, told me he saw right through the act.
It also told me he liked that he’d ruffled me.
When I pushed through the doors and out into the heat growing thicker by the minute, I smacked my palm against my forehead, dragging it down my face with a groan.
I might as well have had I’m a virgin! flashing on my face in neon lights.
Embarrassment faded into shame, and just as quickly into panic, as I raced across campus, my pace growing practically to a gallop.
What the hell did I think I was doing?
Here I was playing this… this stupid game with someone so far ahead of me it was unreal. Shawn was a musician. A hot, talented, male musician. How had it not occurred to me that he’d likely fucked a dozen girls, if not more, by now?
And I?
I hadn’t even gone to second base.
I was all but sprinting when I made it to the stadium, the espresso kicking through my pulse like a war drum. I flew through the metal doors, down the hallway, swinging into the cafeteria only to find that the team wasn’t there yet. I glanced at my watch again, squinting as I tried to remember Clay’s schedule.
Weight room.
A little hop had me switching directions and power walking in the opposite direction. I didn’t think about what I would say, or about the consequences of what I was about to ask as I ripped open the weight room doors and hurdled inside.