"I can," I say.
"Should only take an hour. You can grab a ride with Sharon." He turns to Sharon. "You don't mind waiting, do you, baby?"
She giggles. "Every time you're in town, it's the same."
The way she's looking at him… I don't need those details. I clear my throat. "Just knock on my door when you're ready." I turn and hightail it to the elevator bank before I have time to get jealous of Mal's ability to separate sex and love.
I mean to go to my room, but my feet are drawn to Ethan's room. My hand is drawn to his door. My heart is drawn to his.
I knock lightly. "It's me."
There are footsteps
then he's pulling the door open. "Hey."
"Hey." I shift my messenger bag off my shoulders and drop it on the ground in front of me. That's better. There's less weighing me down.
"You want to come in?" He nods to his mostly clean room.
"I have to catch up on work."
"Do it here." He picks up my messenger bag, slides his arm around my waist, and whisks me into the room.
Damn, he smells good. He looks effortless in his skinny jeans and t-shirt. I wrap my arms around him to soak in the warmth of his body.
"You're dangerous to my productivity," I mumble.
"Isn't it spring break?"
"I'm trying to get ahead of schedule."
He laughs. "Of course you are." He takes a step backwards and nods to the guitar and amp in the corner. "I'm gonna practice. You can use the desk."
"You lugged that amp all the way up here?"
"This is nothing." He picks up the amp with one hand and holds it over his head to make his point. "You're giving me a look."
"What look?"
"Not sure, but I like it." He sits on the bed and pulls his guitar into his lap. "You keep looking at me like that and I'm gonna destroy your productivity for the rest of the afternoon."
"I'll keep my eyes on my textbook."
"I hope you don't." He pulls a guitar pick from his pocket and strums. First, he plays a scale. Then another. Another. It's the same order as always. He looks to me. "Is this the major or the minor?" He plays another scale.
It's familiar. But I'm not sure.
He plays it again. This time, the notes are higher.
I shake my head. "I don't know."
He plays it again, higher, lower, lower. He jumps up a few octaves then jumps back down, then he's improvising a guitar solo.
I close my eyes and let the music wash over me. Music is the only thing I ever feel. I can't explain music. I don't know anything about it. But I can feel the patterns, the rhythm, the melody. It's in my bones.
He gives me a half-bow when he finishes. "How's the homework?"
"Delayed."