Page 2 of Solo

“Nope. I just saw it go past. Won’t be another one for twenty minutes. Why don’t you let me give you a lift? I was headed to the Art department anyway and that’s right next door. I mean, unless you have the time to wait.”

I pull my phone from the pocket of my jeans for a time check. Seven forty-five. That’s the thing. I don’t have the time to wait. There’s no way I’ll make it to my eight a.m. Orchestration class if I try to walk it now. And by the time the university shuttle gets me there, I might as well just skip class all together.

I consider the hot guy. I don’t know him. Not even a little. What if he’s some handsome sociopath who picks up girls in parking lots? With my luck, I’d become a Lifetime Movie of the Week. Some C-list actress will play me as the stupid, unsuspecting girl who gets into the car of the tall, handsome stranger. Next thing you know, my picture is on a poster, they find me stuffed down some drainpipe in Encino, and Dateline NBC is interviewing the jurors in my murder trial.

When he extends a hand, I don’t have to wonder if my reluctance is on my face. Everything shows on my face.

“By the way, I’m Kevin,” he offers.

“Kate,” I reply, giving him a quick shake with my free hand.

“Music department, you said?”

I nod. He squints thoughtfully, turning to walk away from my immobilized vehicle.

“Do you know Dr. Markham?” he asks.

“Ohhh, yeah. It’s his class I’ve got at eight.”

“Seriously?” he asks, eyebrows up, like I might be messing with him.

“Seriously,” I say solemnly.

“Well, that’s that, then,” he declares as he puts a reassuring hand on my forearm and starts to steer me through the rows of parked cars. “I’ve heard what a dick he can be and I refuse to be the reason you’re late for his class. It’s the least I can do.”

“How do you know him?” I ask, allowing myself to be pulled along. The question is part test, part curiosity.

“I’m a teaching assistant in the Art department. Everybody over there knows him. Or, about him, anyway. His dickishness is kind of legendary.” He grins at me over his shoulder.

I chuckle at the idea of that, but I still can’t quite shake the niggling feeling that something’s not right with this guy.

“So, what are you teaching?” I press, needing just a little more convincing to reset my stranger danger radar.

“Art Appreciation for non-majors,” he says, edging sideways through two closely parked sedans. I follow him as we cut through to another row. “I get all the business majors who consider the Mona Lisa to be a financial investment rather than a work of art. They’ll be lucky if I don’t strangle one of them before the semester is over.” He laughs and then stops himself with a look of faux alarm. “I’d better be careful or I might get a reputation as the next Markham.”

“Not likely.” I groan, rolling my eyes.

“Well, come on, there isn’t much time to get you to class.”

I stop and look at him.

“Really, be honest with me. Do you mind? Am I taking you out of your way? Because I can walk,” I offer with some reservation in my voice.

I get the dazzling smile and the crinkly eyes again.

“Kate, please. I really am on my way over there. Same parking lot. You won’t be taking me a single foot farther than I was going to go anyway. I swear to God.”

I nod, satisfied at last, and follow him through the sedans and small SUVs until we’re standing in front of a shiny white BMW X-something or other. Someone’s got a little cash, I see. My reflection in the tinted window gives me my first glimpse of the gash on my forehead. “Ughhh,” I mutter as I rearrange my long, dark hair to try and camouflage it. But it’s no use. I return the saturated napkin to my head and get into the leather passenger’s seat with a frustrated sigh.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but your ride’s seen better days. Might be time for some new wheels,” he suggests as he slides into the driver’s side and shuts the door. “Just saying.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone can swing a bimmer,” I counter.

“Oh, come on now,” he coaxes. “What are you? A junior? Senior? You must have family to help you out.”

“I’m finishing up my masters, actually,” I respond, ignoring the family comment as he pulls out of the lot and onto the main road through campus.

“What? No way!” he says, giving me a surprised sideways glance. “Good for you! Got plans for after graduation?”