“Hell, they mold to your body a little too nice. But I’m thinking of a pretty sweet tattoo at the moment.” I hand her a fork.

“Thanks.” Her one leg is propped up and rests on the seat of the chair as she twirls the pasta around her fork. “Where are the others?” She asks right before she piles the ring of noodles into her mouth.

“They ditched us.” I sit down across from her, trying to keep as much space between us as possible before I ignore Chrissy’s wishes and up my speed with Paige to full throttle.

She nods and swallows her first bite. Her eyes light up and she places her fork down. “They are missing out. I have to admit I had some doubts when I walked in earlier.” From the humor in her eyes, I know she’s joking with me. I’ve begun to figure out her humor and when she’s serious after only one week.

“I kind of wish I ruined the dinner.” I wait for her to look up from her plate with confusion. When she peeks up with furrowed brows, I give her my reason. “Then I would have taken you out.” She tries to mask the corner of her lips bending up, but I catch it. She’s weakening.

“Maybe we should lay this out on the table.” She places her fork down, wiping her mouth with the napkin. Hugging her one leg tight into her chest, she stares me directly in the eye, placing a veil of seriousness over her face.

“The dinner is already out on the table.” I divert her because I know what she’s about to argue.

“Rob, we’ll never date.” She angles her head and I concentrate on one loose, curly strand falling down the side of her face. Her hair is perfect for winding around my finger and tugging right before her orgasm racks her body.

“Whoever said dating?” I arch my eyebrows at her, but this time her face forewarns no emotion to my humor.

“Or anything else that dirty mind of yours has in store.” She picks up her fork and points it to me before digging back into the pasta.

Picking my own fork up, I laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’d find great pleasure if I conducted the dirty thoughts in my mind on you.” This earns me a peek up through her eyelashes before she shakes her head slowly. She might think she’s hiding her face, but I don’t miss that smile sneaking through.

“I have a feeling you don’t give up easily,” she quietly murmurs in to her noodles.

“Now you’re getting the idea.”

We sit in silence, the sound of forks scraping plates for a few minutes. The quiet is excruciating to me. Remembrance of that night in the hospital. After all the chaos, sitting there in that private room, hearing the words we already assumed. All we could do was sit there in deafening silence. It’s the reason I’d rather be the loudest in the room than to hear nothing at all.

“What are you majoring in?” I figure I might as well get to know the girl I share a bathroom with.

“Business.”

“Care to elaborate?” I pry for further details. “Business is about as generic as me saying I drive a car.”

She giggles and I hate what that sound does to my stomach. “True. Hospitality Management.” When I continue to sit there, staring at her for more details, she laughs again. “I’d love to run a hotel someday. One in New York or L.A. Definitely, in a major city.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to tell you. You’ll think it’s stupid.” She stands up from her chair, moving to the fridge. I watch the swaying of her ass back and forth and then adjust in my seat.

“Try me.” She holds up a beer in the air, silently asking if I want one. “Water, please.” She nods and then grabs two waters, placing one in front of me. “Thanks.”

She twists the cap off her water and props up her foot on the chair again. “I went to this hotel once with my dad. I was eight and he left me in the room. Me being the curious kid I was, ventured out of the room and began to explore the hotel.”

“Sounds like something I would do.” She smiles and nods.

“I ended up following the manager around for most of the day, and there was something about how he flawlessly handled so many things. Moving from the kitchen, to a business meeting, to a press conference, to just greeting people in the lobby. It piqued my interest and it seemed like a cool job. You get to make people happy, help them create memories.” She shakes her head. “I told you, stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

She hesitantly looks up at me, and I smile to reassure her it’s not. “Eventually, he caught on. Asked me what room I was staying in. I told him that my dad left and then he let me spend the whole day with him. He took me to the kitchen, asked someone to make me a giant ice cream sundae. Since we were staying at the hotel for the whole week.”

I interrupt. “The whole week?”

She bites in the inside of her cheek. “Yeah . . . my dad travels a lot for work. But anyway, I learned the ins and outs that week of running a hotel and something about it just stuck with me.”

“That’s cool.” I pick up my dish and walk it over to the sink.

“It was.” She finishes her last bite and then brings the dish to the sink. “You cooked, I’ll clean.” Her hand slides along mine, and she plucks the sponge out of my hand before knocking her hip to mine.

“I’ll put them in the dishwasher.” She smiles over to me. Her perfect teeth sparkling and I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to deny myself. I want her.

She hands me a dish. “So, what about you? What’s your major?”

“I’m the drop out of my group.” I’m not ashamed of it. Do I occasionally wish I would have stuck with it and finished that last year of school? Sometimes. But truth is I’m not sure what I’d even want to do for the rest of my life.

“Oh,” her voice lowers. “So, is music your dream?”

“Maybe,” I shrug my shoulders. “I’m kind of all over the place.”

“Oh,” she repeats and suddenly the casualness of the room tenses.

“Why do I feel like I just disappointed you?” I place the pot in the dishwasher, not missing she’s yet to look at me again.

Her head snaps up. “No! That’s not it. It’s just I assumed you were in school. If music is what makes you happy, you should do it.”

“That’s the question of the year, isn’t it? I’m not sure yet. I mean, I love the guitar, I love being on that stage, but I’m not sure I have a future at it.” I’m more honest with her than anyone else except my therapist.

She spins around and leans against the counter, drying her hands with the towel. “If you could have a future in music, would you go for it?”

“That’s the thing. I went on tour with a band one year and lost my cool. Let’s say things didn’t go as planned and if it wasn’t for the smallest glimmer of light that guided me out, I’m not sure I would be standing here.” I’m sure she doesn’t understand my cryptic message, but she’s not supposed to. “I’m just not sure the music industry is for me, but I’d still love to be in a stadium with thousands of fans screaming my name.”

Her eyes focus on the floor and her hands twist in the dishtowel. As though she recovers, she peers up at me with a smile on her face. “You should pursue your dreams. You know, no regrets later on.”

“You sure philosophy isn’t your major?” I joke and she softly giggles. My undeserving need to hear that sound again, I don’t stop the words before they fall out of my mouth. “You want some ice cream?”

She hesitates, her eyes peering over to me and then a slow nod. “Sure.”

Perfect.

FUCKING MUSICIAN. OF course, how did I even allow my subconscious to convince me he was in school? Chrissy told me how Dex double majored, and that Brady has some great job. I guess I assumed they all were enrolled in college, or had graduated. But just my luck, the one guy I’m interested in dropped out. The story of my life, falling for guys exactly like my dad. Except, my dad didn’t even graduate from high school. He left his senior year and he’s damn lucky where he ended up.