Page 9 of The Disasters of Dating (Love Connections #6)

Then Sadie moved out and followed in Brody’s footsteps, living in the dorms and attending the U.

I think Sadie thought Mom would do better with it since Brody had already flown the coop, so to speak.

But she was wrong. It seemed to be exponentially harder on her.

I don’t know if it was because Sadie was her daughter or because she had already suffered through Brody’s college years, and it had taken its toll.

But whatever the reason, it was difficult.

Mom tried to hide it, but when I’d walk past her room at night, I could hear her crying.

How much of that was because she missed my dad and how much was because Sadie was gone, I’m not sure.

When my time came to go to college, I chose to go to Weber State University and live at home.

It meant a forty-five-minute commute each way, but it was worth it to keep Mom happy.

It had a good reputation, and it meant I could save money on rent and food.

And there were no out-of-state fees. Win-win-win.

“I convinced you to take it because you will need it. Even dance majors need to know how to run a business. Or else you will never move from starving dancer to—” I lift my shoulder.

“Not starving dancer? If you don’t know this stuff, you’ll have to trust someone else to manage your business.

And we both know that no one cares about your business’s success more than you do. ”

Paisleigh pushes out her lips in a pout. “I hate it when you’re right.” She looks over her shoulder to change lanes. “Okay, quiz me.”

I smile. “What are the four P’s of marketing?”

Paisleigh closes her eyes for a minute.

“Can you answer without shutting your eyes, Pais? I’d like to live long enough to take my final.”

She scowls at me. “It helps me visualize my notes.”

“Would you like me to drive then?” I ask, only partially kidding.

Paisleigh shakes her head. “No. I will keep my eyes open. But it might take me longer to think of the answer.” She lifts up a finger.

“First is product. Second is price. Third is placement. And fourth…” Her thumbs tap on the steering wheel a few times before she thumps her palm on it. “Fourth is promotion.”

I smile at her. “Good job. And you didn’t even have to close your eyes.”

She gives me a quick little smirk.

We go through several multiple choice questions and even the points of some essay questions.

By the time our forty-five-minute commute is over, I’m feeling confident.

Paisleigh, maybe not as much. As she turns off the car, I lift the black hemp and clear quartz crystal over my head and put it around her neck. “Here. You can borrow this for luck.”

“I can’t take your crystal. ”

I nod. “Yes, you can.”

She lifts it and looks down at it. “Do you think it will help?”

“Definitely,” I smile. “Meet back here after, and we’ll go to lunch?”

She nods. “Yep. I have something to tell you, don’t let me forget.”

I hold out my fist. “Kick some butt, okay?”

“Okay,” she bumps her fist against mine and then bursts her hand open into twinkle fingers. It’s a little juvenile, but it’s something we’ve been doing since, like, sixth grade. “You got this.”

“So do you.” We set off toward the testing center, silently reviewing everything we’ve learned this semester.

I lean against Paisleigh’s car, waiting for her to return. When I’d left the testing center, her head was still bent over the computer. I’d stopped by the Union building and bought a granola bar to tide me over until we go for lunch.

I move over to the grassy area on the other side of the car and lie back, closing my eyes as the sun warms my skin.

There’s a light breeze lifting the small hairs around my face.

It keeps me from getting too hot. It’s like the perfect weather.

Not too hot and not too cold. And totally out of character for mid-August in Utah.

I plan to enjoy every moment of it that I can.

I let my mind drift, and it settles on that Keaton guy from the airport.

Although, can I think of him as ‘that Keaton guy’ when we’ve shared a kiss?

Does it being accidental change that? I’m not sure why I’m stressing over it.

I mean, I don’t even know him, and I’m not likely to.

After dinner last night, I don’t expect to see him ever again.

I frown at that thought.

He was easy on the eyes, with his perfectly trimmed scruff and intentionally teased hair.

Normally, I don’t go for those kinds of guys, but there was something about him.

There must be or else I wouldn’t still be thinking about him and the kiss.

I mean, he’s a tourist. I stay away from tourists.

I don’t kiss them. And I certainly don’t fantasize about kissing them again on the off chance that I kiss them a first time.

It’s all part of why I set the “no-dating-tourists” rule.

I’m not a fling kind of girl—and by their very nature, tourists are flings.

They don’t stay around long enough to be anything more than that.

Keaton is a tourist. He will be gone in a few days.

Maybe a week at the most. Just long enough to leave me wanting more.

Although he does keep coming back. But what does that mean?

I flutter my lips in frustration. I’m already wanting more. More kisses.

“What is that look about? Did the test go that badly?” I feel Paisleigh settle down on the grass next to me.

I crack open an eye. “No, I think I did pretty good. How about you?”

She shrugs. “Fair. I don’t think I’ll fail the class. But I’m doubting I’ll pull an A. Maybe not even a B.” There is more resignation than disappointment in her voice.

I feel a little bad for convincing her to take the class.

But I stand by my reasoning. Like me, her goal (after she dances in CATS on Broadway) is to open a chain of dance studios.

And if that is her goal, she needs some business sense.

Although, if I’m being honest, it was as much a ploy to get us into the same class as it was for her goals.

With our majors being so different, we are never in the same classes together.

As a tradeoff, I have to take Beginning Dance next semester.

I’m already dreading it. Picture a giraffe in a salsa class.

All legs and no rhythm. I failed to inform her I’m taking the class for credit only because I know there is no way I’ll get an A, and I can’t have it affecting my GPA.

I am applying for grad school in December, and I can’t have a dance class ruining my chances of getting into my top picks.

“I’m sure you’re overreacting,” I say.

“I’m not, but it’s nice of you to say.” She turns her head and looks at me. “So what was that frowny face for?”

I sigh. “I was just thinking about a guy I met yesterday.”

She sits up, her eyes wide. “Oh, do tell.”

I sit up on my elbows. “First, you needed to tell me something, remember?”

She lifts a brow, like she thinks I’m trying to avoid the conversation. Which is only partially true. “Fine. But don’t think I’ll forget about this conversation.”

I grin at her. “I’ve known you too long to think that.”

She licks her lips. “I did something crazy.” She gives me a grimace.

“Yeah? I thought I was the one who did crazy stuff.” It’s not really true of either of us.

Paisleigh, deep down, wants to do crazy things. But as a general rule, she is straight as an arrow. She throws her arm over her eyes. “I applied to be on Beyond Limits .”

I let out a scream. “You did not! When did you do it? When do you find out? Don’t you have to submit a video with the application? Why didn’t you let me help you?”

Paisleigh laughs. “Slow down. I think you might be more excited about it than I am.”

I reach over and grab her around the upper arms and shake her lightly. “Tell me everything!”