Two girls in the hallway giggle, stealing glances at him until I shoot them glares ofget near him and I will kill you with my bare handsand shut the door. They think I’m jealous. No. I just put in a lot of effort to keep his attention. They can flirt on their own time.
He really is a pretty man-cub. Andlarge, so he’s impossible to hide. His YouTube views and local popularity are growing too. I should call Aunt Judy later and ask her how she survived, because my two sisters and brother together never required as much supervision as this moose.
I pull a Rubik’s cube out of my backpack and toss it to him for some sensory stimuli while I run through facts about Robert Frost, T.S. Eliot, and Marianne Moore. Remembering random facts is easy for him if I can get him to listen.
When we’ve gone as far as we can, I switch to looking at his degree plan and what he has on his schedule for fall. Once I know what he’s advised to take, I can rearrange the classes to be more convenient for him.Yes, I know his logins. I recovered his school account the last time he locked himself out.
He bounces his leg, drums on the table, and talks about the coffeehouse last night but goes eerily silent with the buzz of my phone. I’m still looking at my laptop when I realize his fidgeting has stopped.
When I look up, he’s holding my phone with a pinched expression. “I know I haven’t met the guy, but I don’t like how he talks to you.”
I pull his giant arm over and gently take my phone.
Nathan:I’m up if you can bother to fit me in between blowing money at coffee shops and reading smut novels.
I don’t actually read smut, but Nathan thinks all romance is smut.
Whatever.
If Jace said it, I’d call it a playful jab. But it’s meant to be an insult coming from Nathan, and Sam, being the big care bear that he is, knows it. I roll my eyes and respond quickly.
Me:I’m in class. Have a test.
Nathan:I’m sure you do.
I ignore the last comment, tossing my phone back on the table, and Sam picks it up again. He’s swiping. Wow, he’s nosy today.
I don’t care if he looks at my phone, but Sam’s sensitive and impulsive. I’m worried he might try to reply to Nathan, which wouldn’t be received well.
I hold my hand out for my phone, hoping he’ll think it’s because he’s distracted. He looks at it for a beat, then hands it over.
“You’re my favorite brother, Sammy-bear. Don’t tell Jamie … or Jace,” I say quietly.
His solemn expression morphs into a knowing smile. “You didn’t say Danny.”
“He’s my, um,otherfavorite,” I say, knowing I sound stupid as the words leave my mouth.
He nods towards the picture I’m looking at on my phone. “If your brother looks at you like that … well, that’s gross, Lu Lu.”
The images Annie sent have finally loaded. There’s a picture of Jude behind the drums with his sweaty hair flying. He twirls a stick in one hand while the other points at me, his muscles beautifully flexed with liquid fire in his eyes and the most dangerous smile I’ve ever seen.
I swipe to the next, and he’s watching me sing with Jace. My eyes are cut to him, and his chin’s angled toward his guitar, but his languid eyes are on mine with a reverent expression that sends heat up my neck.
I exhale slowly to steady my reaction. Because I know I’m being watched.
In the last one, his eyes are scrunched closed and he’s leaning into me, guitar in play, crying out with a look of desperation. A lump forms in my throat as I remember how it felt. Goodness. It’s not even a sad song. No more Lifehouse.
My eyes sting.
Jude’s expressions in all of them are so …intense. It amazes me how someone so composed can show so much passion on his face.
“Yeah, me too, Smalls,” Sam says as he stands and squeezes the life out of my shoulders. “I’d ask if your fiancé looks at you like that. But, ya know, it’s rhetorical, so you don’t haf’ta answer.”
It’s not funny, but his twang makes me smile. I’m choosing to concentrate on the sentiment, not my reality. He puts my stuff back in my backpack, and we walk down the hall to our class. He hates that I won’t let him sit near me, but he nearly got us kicked out last time because he can’t shut up.
We’re out in less than an hour, about to go our separate ways—me to get ready for work and Sam to a voice lesson—but not before he carries my backpack to my car while intercepting a call from Alex on my phone as we walk. She’s easily annoyed, so this is entertaining for me too.
He amps up his goofiness, asking her favorite songs and bands and if she’ll ever come visit, and then tells her she should come down for Thanksgivin’ “Good Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise.” I’m wiping tears from laughing so hard by the time he says, “Bye, Lu Lu’s friend. I’ll sang for ya next time,” exaggerating his country drawl to hysterical levels.
