Page 9 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)

Gen

“I should’ve known you’d chicken out,” Jean chides under his breath as we jot down notes in the liberal arts seminar we have to take this semester.

“I told you,” I whisper shout. “I didn’t! He did. Believe me, I was ready to go.”

“Sure you were,” he says, clicking his tongue. “I just can’t imagine why he wouldn’t hop on the chance for a no strings attached situationship.” He chews on the tip of his pen, genuinely pondering how Grant could’ve turned me down after saying yes.

I haven’t mentioned the date to Jean yet because I know he’ll make a bigger deal out of it than it is. But his brows are so adorably furrowed, his mind probably painfully twisting, trying to solve this riddle I have the answer to.

I slowly lean to the right, dipping my head so that he can hear me better as I whisper, “He wants a date.” I might as well have spoken normally because his obnoxious gasp has more than a few heads turning.

“Can you chill? This is why I didn’t tell you,” I chastise him, settling back into my seat.

He leans my way now, crowding me with his overzealous zest for playing cupid.

“Halle-fucking-lulljah!” he exclaims, keeping his voice at a whisper. “You’re welcome,” he quips, popping a shoulder.

“It’s just a date,” I tell him, rolling my eyes.

“Gen and Grant, kissing in a tree?—”

“Keep singing, and I will cut your tongue out,” I stop him, hyperaware that anyone could hear us, could send a tip to his boyfriend’s gossip column.

“So lethal. He probably likes that.”

I can’t help but laugh as our professor dismisses us, and I kiss him on both cheeks as he struts away in the opposite direction, having rejected my invite to lunch with Will.

Campus is over crowded, the way it always is this early in the semester.

We’re all still figuring out just how strict the attendance policy will be for our new classes, so everyone is here—including me.

So it isn’t surprising that I notice Grant’s broad back and indecently corded muscles as I leave my seminar.

What is surprising, is the way it feels like adrenaline was just injected into my bloodstream at the sight of him.

It’s wanting Twizzlers when you’ve never tasted them, never even knew your store carried them, but suddenly wanting them because someone promised them to you. And it’s all you can think about—eating this fucking candy you never once considered even tasting.

I’m stalking down the hallway without even half a thought, already high off the idea of him smirking at me.

It’s not that no one’s ever looked at me with feral lust; it’s that I’ve never felt it back.

That we’re attracted to each other is clear to me now, and it’s why I can’t pinpoint why he’s dragging his feet.

Why won't he just do what I know he’s done with countless other women here.

I scan the hallway for anyone else I might know and am satisfied by the unfamiliar faces I see.

Just to be safe—because there are eyes and ears everywhere thanks to Ian—I glance around for a seemingly empty room, not really knowing what I’m doing.

I just want to talk to him, I think. We haven’t, since he added this unnecessary condition to what should’ve been a casual thing.

Once I catch up with his long, powerful strides, I wrap my hand around his arm and tug just slightly until he sees me, his eyes flaring with surprise. I pull him into an empty practice room, suddenly realizing he’s in the Fine Arts building.

“Wait—what are you doing here?” I ask him, like I didn’t approach him.

“In this practice room? Well, this extremely intimidating girl yanked me?—”

“No,” I interrupt, rolling my eyes. “In this building?”

“Oh,” he chuckles. “Andy needed my help carryin’ some set pieces over here.” Worry flashes across my chest at the thought that Andy could’ve seen me, but I push it away. “Why are we in here?”

“Prying eyes, prying ears,” I shrug, like it’s obvious, and he just nods. “I just wanted to see if you made any progress on our date?” I ask it like we’re doing a group project. Like I need his write up before I can make a pie chart.

“Progress?” he asks, the corners of his eyes creasing in amusement.

“Honestly, I’m very low maintenance, so if you’re trying to plan some elaborate date?—”

“Are you now?” His smirk is disarmingly sexy, and I find myself unable to focus on my thoughts when he does it. I move closer, changing tactics, sensing he’s trying to distract me.

“I’m just saying,” I start, looking up at him through my lashes, “that you really don’t need to woo me.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” Still that smirk, but even more disastrous than before, and it feels like I’m losing. “We both know how well hitting on me went last time.”

“I recall it going very well, actually. I’m following up. I’m closing the deal,” I tell him, my tone more impatient than I mean it to be. But of course it is, and of course he means for me to be, otherwise he wouldn’t look at me like that .

“Is there some impending deadline I should be aware of?”

Footsteps sound outside the classroom and we both freeze, hyper aware that we could be caught any second, despite the fact that we aren’t doing…anything.

“No,” I say, hushed and defensive.

“What’s the rush, Genevieve?” His voice rasps against my skin, despite the distance still between us, and I’m acutely aware of everything.

His woodsy scent, the deep, almost indigo blue of his eyes, the hint of stubble on his face that somehow highlights the tantalizingly masculine cut of his jaw.

It’s unfair how attractive he is, because once you’ve noticed, I don’t know how you’re meant to operate.

“Why are you so…bothered?” Amusement dances in his eyes.

“Well you can’t just tell me you’re going to… do something like that and then leave it all open ended,” I explain, glancing away.

He steps closer, just as my chest slightly heaves.

“I’m sure you can take care of yourself in the meantime.” He’s having fun with this, I realize— at my expense .

I narrow my eyes, letting a coy smirk of my own bloom when he drags his teeth over his bottom lip. Because if I’m feeling like this, there’s no way he’s not feeling worse.

“I can…but can you?” I step back. “I like sushi, pizza, and middle eastern cuisine. Pick one so we can move on with our lives.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but my hand in the air stops him.

“And don’t say we could just not and say we did. Your crotch would say otherwise.”

Something heated crosses his gaze, and I struggle to school my features the way I usually do. “Checking me out, Dupont?”

“Obviously. You didn’t think I wanted to hook up with you because of your personality, did you?” I start to smirk at my own joke—Jean would’ve—but stop when he doesn’t. He just nods, lips pressed firmly together, almost like I offended him. “I didn’t mean?—”

“No, I know,” he hurries to agree, and I want to take it back. “Don’t worry, Gen. Couldn’t get the wrong idea here if I tried.”

He opens the door, his hand having been on the handle for longer than I realized, and walks back into the now empty hall.

I hang back for a minute before leaving, really wanting to avoid attention.

Last year was pretty silent, but freshman year was just a barrage of Will and Gen rumors in the paper that did nothing to improve things between Liv and I.

Anything insinuating that I’m sneaking around, with anyone, would be a distraction from my work at the Boston Conservatory and would make Will uneasier than he already has been.

By the time I’m back at the freshly cut lawn that sits at the center of our sprawling campus, I see him, his golden locks glistening in the harsh midday sun, a black iced coffee in his hand.

He waves me down, this face splitting smile on him that reminds me of being thirteen years old and seeing each other for the first time in weeks after summer camp.

“Thought we were meeting here at noon?” he says when I reach him, pulling me in for a brief hug, Andy leaning against the pillar beside him with a curious glint in his gaze.

“I was just chatting with my professor,” I smoothly lie, catching Andy’s head tilt when I do.

“Why?” His brows dip as his lips curve into a disbelieving smile.

“It’s not like you’re going to be there that often.

” His laughter skates across my skin as he slings an arm around me, guiding me toward the lot he’s parked in, and I relax into his touch.

Andy’s eyes flick over our multiple points of contact, but I can’t decipher it.

He’s always seen Will and I like this; there’s something new in his perceptive gaze.

But he doesn’t comment—that’s not who he is.

I feel my phone buzz in my pocket and reach for it without thought, alarm piercing through me when I see Grant’s name very clearly displayed on it.

“We should try the new pita bar off campus,” Andy says, specifically to Will, and I take the opportunity to shrug out of his hold and check the text.

Grant

Nickelodeon or Disney kid?

My lips press hard against each other, my best attempt at neutrality when really, I want to smile. I shoot back a text.

If you weren’t watching George Lopez at midnight, don’t even speak to me.

Grant

Thank god. Because for me, personality is a deal breaker.

A small laugh escapes me, trying to wrap my head around Grant Fielder subtly telling me he thinks my personality isn’t trash. Doesn’t think I’m trash, the way so many others do.

Andy glances back at me, having noticed, so I tuck my phone away and slide into the back bench of Will’s car, packing Grant and every little glance and text away for later.