The teacher's pet scowls at me. She shakes her head like she finds me distasteful. I mouth sorry. There. I shove the still buzzing phone in my purse.
The professor turns back to the class. He's looking right at me. I grab my pen and dutifully copy the notes from the slide. Eyes on the paper. I'm totally paying attention. I'm in college. Of course, I'm paying attention. It's not like I don't understand anything in my finance classes. It's not like I absolutely loathe my major and the plan my mom has set out for me: joining her company after I graduate.
I look around the room. The professor is lost in his dull lecture. The teacher's pet is lost in her obscenely neat notes.
Under my chair, my entire purse vibrates. I better turn the thing off. That story checks out. It's not like I'm grabbing it so I can reply to Drew's texts. Not at all.
Drew: What are you doing tonight?
Drew: I hope nothing, because we need to pick out furniture.
Drew: I'll pick you up at 7:30. Your place.
* * *
Drew plucks a vase from a wooden shelf. He stares at it like he can't understand its mystical and magical powers. It's a vase. It decorates and holds flowers. There's nothing to understand.
He moves to a tiny table. It only seats two and it looks wobbly as all hell. He slides into one of the rickety wood laminate seats and picks up the plastic glass that's sitting on the table.
"Do you see you
rself drinking coffee here?" he asks.
"I don't drink coffee."
He motions for me to take the other seat. I fight my desire to roll my eyes but I comply. There's something magnetic about Drew. I can't say no to him.
He presses his palms against the table and leans toward me. He's a foot away maybe and he's looking at me.
I clear my throat and lean back in the chair. "Are you really staying long enough to invest in furniture?"
"That's the plan."
"Not going to get sick of fame and quit the band?" I bring my attention to the floor. It's hardwood. Long, thin planks in this tan color. They're beaten and waxed to hell.
"Say I did. Where would I go?" He pushes himself up. "I have everything I want here."
"And what is that?"
"Sunshine. The beach." He stares right into my eyes. "I have this friend. But she's about to graduate college and move far, far away for some amazing opportunity."
"How do you know she's competent?"
"No clue. But if she shows up to an interview wearing the outfit I saw her in, she's a shoo-in."
Heat rushes through my body. There's no denying it. Drew is flirting with me. It's normal. Friends flirt with friends. It's not as if it means he likes me.
I shift out of my seat and study a bookshelf like my life depends on it. There is absolutely no reason why I'd buy this ugly bookshelf. Most of my novels and half of my textbooks are digital.
Drew moves on to a different part of the store. All casual like he wasn't flirting with me.
He runs his fingers over a wood table. This one is huge, big enough to sit eight people.
Drew turns to me and motions come here. I do.
I stare at the table the way he's staring at it. It's a pleasant cherry brown. It's thick. There is something awfully inviting about it. The perfect place to sit with a textbook and a cup of tea.
His fingertips slide over the curve of my hip. "Will you do me a favor?" He turns his head to the right then to the left, like he's checking to make sure no one is watching.