Even though I was physically exhausted, my mind raced as I showered. What did Mr. Dawson want to talk to me about? I wondered if it was because I ran out of his class. But he couldn’t really expect me to stay there while that jerk, Nikki, said all those things about me. I hoped it wasn’t the whole “implications” thing. Wasn’t being a werewolf punishment enough?
That workout destroyed some major calories, and left my stomach feeling hollow. I threw on some clothes without really looking at what I was wearing and grabbed a thin pair of lace gloves. I took a sandwich and soda from the common room as I left, eating as I walked.
I bumped into Dastien on the way to Mr. Dawson’s cabin.
“Hi?” I said.
He stopped to let me walk in front of him. I looked over my shoulder and he was right behind me. “Are you following me?”
“No.” He grinned. “We’re going to the same place.”
He didn’t say anything as we walked. I moved to walk next to him and gave him a very overt once-over. He was wearing a pair of khaki pants and an Underworld T-shirt for their “Best of” album.
Why did he have to be so awesome? Next to Nine Inch Nails, Underworld was pretty much my favorite band. “Nice shirt,” I said.
He rolled his eyes. “Sure.”
“I’m being serious. I love Underworld.”
“Fine.” He raised an eyebrow. “Then what’s your favorite song?”
I walked backward, facing him. “Back to testing me?”
He shrugged. “I have unusual taste in music. Most people don’t know anything about the groups on my shirts, but they always have a comment.”
By “people” he totally meant girls. He thought I was hitting on him. I was, but that was beside the point. I went back to walking normally before I tripped over something. “‘Born Slippy.’”
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes, and I stuck out my tongue at him. He stopped walking. “That one’s too popular.”
“Fine. How about ‘Cowgirl.’”
“Another.”
He thought he could break my Underworld knowledge. How cute. “Pearl’s Girl.”
He laughed.
“King of Snake.”
“Okay, I believe you.”
“‘Moaner.’ I can keep going.”
He laughed harder.
“‘Push Upstairs.’ ‘Rez.’ ‘Jumbo.’”
He put his hand over my mouth. “Enough.”
When he lowered his hand, I crossed my arms. “Never question my love of obscure electronic music.”
“As it happens, I like your shirt too.”
Crap. What shirt was it? I glanced down, and met his gaze. I waited patiently, tapping my foot.
“‘Flaming June.’ ‘Knowledge of Self.’ ‘Somnambulist.’” He started singing. “Simply being loved, loved, loved. Is more than enough.”
He had to have an amazing voice. I shoved him. “Okay. I got it. When it comes to music, we’re totally weirdo twinkies.”