H: Of course, more good deeds to add to your karmic martyr list.
G: Shut up. I’m signing off.
H: WAIT!
G: What?
H: I have the music room reserved from 3-4.
I wait, having put it out there. A time and a place. Private. Secluded. All manner of things could go down in there.
After a minute of no response, my hands start to itch and shit, shit, shit, what if I pushed too hard and fucked this up for good?
My finger hovers over the icon to go offline, to lick my wounds and pretend this never happened.
Ding!
G: We’ll see.
It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no. I sign off and gather my things, leaving the library to get some air. No girl has ever given me a maybe before.
Why does that make her even more impossibly hot?
The music hall is a safe space. None of the Devils play an instrument. They’re all focused on sports and girls. Not that I’m not focused on those things, too, but the best colleges like a little culture added to the mix. Plenty of kids with high GPAs are either athletic or creatively gifted, but few check all three boxes. Playing an instrument was my mother’s idea. She had grand ideas of me performing on the piano for her friends at junior league functions, so naturally, I chose a string instrument. I’m already my father’s show dog, there’s no way in hell I’m being hers, too.
I don’t mind playing, though. It’s kind of chill, despite being another way of challenging myself. Not everyone can do it. It’s just one more step toward being elite—part of a small few with specific skills.
The rooms are private, padded and soundproofed not to bother the rest of the musicians. There’s a small desk and a couple of chairs, but not much else. I open up my case and remove my cello. I sit, positioning the instrument between my legs, and place my music on the stand. I pick up my bow and test the strings, making sure it’s in tune. It’s probably some great tragedy that I find playing music more centering than swimming. There’s no competition here—not even against myself. It’s all about creating sound, following the notes, letting it sweep me away. But swimming has totally ass-fucked my shoulder, which means that I can only stand to play for an hour, at most.
Today, it’s not so easy to settle into the song. I’m frustrated when I miss the first few notes, distracted as I have been for days, by the thought of Gwendolyn Adams. What if she doesn’t show? What if I made a fool of myself? Seriously, I can’t reme
mber the last time I even asked a girl to meet me.
Not that this is a date.
It’s definitely not a date. Hook-ups come naturally. I could snap my fingers and Reagan would be there. Everything about this situation with Gwendolyn is confusing. Infuriating. Goddamn frustrating.
My bow drops, producing a loud, earsplitting screech.
“Goddamnit.”
“Wow, I expected better of you, Master Bates.”
I whip my head around and see Gwendolyn standing in the doorway, bag hanging casually from her shoulder. She enters and closes the door behind her quickly, pulling down the shade. That move alone clears up any question I had about her wanting to be seen with me.
I run my hand down the neck of my cello. “I guess I don’t play well when I’m agitated.”
She leans against the desk, skirt rising slightly up her thigh. “What’s got you so bothered?”
“Well,” I carefully place the cello in its stand, “there’s this girl. My nemesis, really. I asked her to meet me and she was pretty non-committal.”
Her eyebrows lift. “That must have been catastrophic for your ego.”
“Don’t worry, it takes a lot more than that to bruise my ego.” She’s so sexy like this—bantering and smart, without all the righteous artifice. It makes my pulse quicken and my dick hard. “But surprise, surprise, she showed up after all.”
“Yeah.” She frowns, gaze falling to her shoes. “She must be a real moron, right?”
The room is small. We’re close together, while at a distance. It’d be so easy to flip her over and bend her over the desk, bury myself in her, but it’s clear that she’s skittish today—enough that I know I could blow this completely if I’m not careful. I’ll have to treat this delicately. What I’ve learned over the last few days is that I need Gwendolyn Adams, in a way I never could have anticipated.