Stories From The 6 Train

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

He makes good on it. And I go to his show the next day, watching from backstage. Then we go back and do it all over again.

Ana & Oliver

50

Ana

I scroll through my phone, looking for something fun to do later after school. It’s going to be a long freaking day. I hate the first day of classes. It’s always just a bunch of introductions and syllabus handouts. I’d much rather stay in bed.

Sighing, I glance up and look around me on the train. It would be a whole lot easier to live on campus instead of at my sister’s place out in Brooklyn. It’s a lot closer to all the action. I love going to NYU. Well, all except the classes part.

My eyes pause on a man sitting across from me reading on an e-reader. Short cropped hair, just a bit longer on top like he’s going for professional but not quite there. Wire-rimmed glasses, button up shirt, and a man bag sitting near his feet scream that the dude is a grad student. Probably in the psych department, if I had to guess.

As if he feels my scrutiny, he glances up from whatever he’s reading—probably some Freudian mumbo jumbo—and his

eyes lock with mine.

I feel all the breath fly from my lungs. Holy hell. Those eyes. They’re the deepest brown. Almost black. And they’re looking at me as if he can see straight through me. I feel like I’m being sucked right in.

Then he smiles, slow and knowing, a flash of straight white teeth that make me wonder what they’d feel like scraping along my skin.

Shaking myself, stunned by the instant jolt of awareness swirling between us, I quirk my lips up in a grin.

“You a student?” His voice is smooth and strong, and it rolls over me like honey.

I arch a brow. “Is it obvious?”

He gestures at my body, and I look down, confused.

Yeah, I guess I exude that college girl vibe. Cutoff shorts and an NYU t-shirt, flip-flops, and hair pulled back in a messy bun like I can’t be bothered to take the time to put more effort into my appearance for a class. Which, of course, is totally true. Maybe it’s the backpack that’s the dead giveaway.

I smile and tip my head to the side, tapping my finger to my cheek as if I don’t already have him pegged. “Let me guess. Grad student. Psychology. Going for your doctorate.”

He lets out a baffled laugh. “How the hell could you know that?”

So maybe human nature fascinates me. Especially the way the mind works. Most people write me off as a party girl. Ana, the girl who doesn’t take anything seriously except finding the next good time. They aren’t wrong.

But that’s only because my take on the human condition is that you better live your life while you can. Don’t waste a second. Live in the moment. That’s my motto. Something I constantly struggle to get my friend Tatum to do.

As for reading this guy? That’s something that seems to come naturally. The whole world is like a huge social experiment to me, and I’ve become a pro, my fascination with observation making reading people second nature.

My grin widens, and I make sure to show my dimples, knowing guys are suckers for them. “So, I’m right?”

“You’ve got me pegged.”

I bite my lip and arch a brow wryly. “Do I now?”

He laughs, shaking his head at the unintended insinuation.

The train screeches to a stop, and we both stand, apparently headed to the same place. We pour onto the platform with all the other people, then fall into step beside each other.

He looks at me, intrigued. “How could you possibly know that? At least that accurately. I mean, come on. You have to admit that’s crazy.”

I shrug, looking over at him, realizing just how tall he is now that we’re standing side by side. His forearms are exposed where his sleeves are rolled up, and I can see corded muscles that make me wonder just what this guy looks like underneath those preppy clothes.

Something tells me that even though my initial impression of him is dead on, there’s something more to him. Intense. Severe. Naughty. A chuckle slips out at the direction of my thoughts.