Playing (Inked Hearts 2)

Miles Webb, the gorgeous rock star, singer of the band poised to be the next big thing, wants me. He could have any buxom actress or model he wants, and he wants me. Flat-chested, gawky, wallflower me.

Chapter Three

The buzzing of my cell phone snaps me out of my poetry classinduced dazed. This is one of the smaller lecture rooms. It fits about a hundred people but there are only fifteen in this class.

I pull my cell phone from the front pocket of my jeans as discreetly as possible.

Miles: How about a picture of your wound?

My palms are slick with sweat. It's not the temperature. It's nerves. Doesn't help that Kara is sitting next to me, sipping a can of black tea, scribbling notes with her purple pen.

She shoots me a knowing look. "Who is that?"

I clear my throat. "Shouldn't you be hungover?"

She certainly doesn't look any worse for wear. Her hair and makeup are perfect. Her wrinkle-free blouse does amazing things to highlight her ample chest.

"Lucky me, my friend reminded me to hydrate." She pulls a can of green tea from her backpack and places it on my desk. "I know how to repay the favor."

Yes, sweet caffeine. I pop open the can and down half of it in one sip. It's a sencha green tea—crisp, nutty, ever so slightly grassy. Damn, it's good. With my next sip, I finish the can.

My eyes meet Kara's. She cocks a brow as if to say don't play dumb.

Okay, I won't play dumb. But I won't admit it either. Kara and I have an unspoken policy of not prying. Or at least we did, before everything with Rosie, before I spent the summer locked in my room with sad songs on repeat.

Now, she asks questions. She makes a point of dragging me out of my misery. I appreciate the concern, I do, but I'm tired of the kid gloves.

I wait until she turns her attention to her notes to text Miles.

Meg: Something tells me sending you pictures is a bad idea.

Miles: Suit yourself. I was going to send you something very nice in return.

Meg: Nice how?

Miles: A picture for a picture.

A blush spreads across my cheeks. He can't mean a picture of that.

Kara clears her throat. "How is Miles?"

I shrug and slide my phone into my lap.

"Sweetie, whatever story you're selling, I'm not buying it." She taps her pen against her paper. "Did he keep flirting after you dropped me off?"

The professor is explaining some poetic device with absolutely no enthusiasm. You'd think a guy who devotes his life to a romantic art form would have a little passion, but no.

"It was a total non-event," I say.

"What happened to your knee?" She points to the bandage on my leg.

"I fell. No big deal."

"Swear he didn't give you a hard time."

If only. The image of him naked on the bed, hard and ready, flashes through my mind. Dammit. I don't think about guys during class. I don't text during class. Medical school is competitive. I'll never make it if I get derailed this easily. That's not an option.

I have to make it. For myself and for Rosie.