“Congratulations, Scarlett.” A male voice interrupts my thoughts.
Scarlett turns around and her face lights up. “Reed! I’m glad you came.”
A guy at least a half-head taller than me stops next to Scarlett. An awkward grin tugs at the corner of his mouth as he hands her a small wrapped box. “I wasn’t sure what type of gift one was supposed to give for passing your GRE with such a remarkable score.” The wrapping is crisp white and the bow is gauzy and perfectly tied. It’s obvious he didn’t wrap it unless he’s gay. I look him over. Even though he’s impeccably dressed in pants, shirt and tie, his shoes are scuffed. Not gay.
A rosy color spreads across Scarlett’s cheeks. She hates getting gifts. “I’m sure it’s perfect.
Thank you.” Scarlett turns to me in an attempt to take attention from herself. “Caroline, this is Reed.
He’s just moved here from Boston and started his first year as a grad student in the mathematics department.”
A math man. That explains the professorly attire. He’s cute in a geeky kind of way. His dark, brown hair is a bit shaggy and in need of a trim. His dark chocolate-colored eyes are framed by long lashes. His face is pale, which tells me he spends a lot of time inside. He’s wearing a long-sleeve light blue shirt and a navy tie, but he doesn’t seem to break a sweat even though it has to be at least eighty-five outside.
One of Scarlett’s math department friends wanders into the courtyard, and she goes over to greet him.
“Mathematics graduate student?” I know most of the people in the math department are conservative, but Reed has run past conservative headlong into the middle of the last century. “Do you plan to go into analytics like Scarlett?”
He studies me for a moment. “No, my focus is the analysis of algorithms.”
“And what will you do with that? Something with the CIA or Department of Defense?”
His eyebrow rises in surprise and a hint of appreciation. “No, I hope to find a university position and teach.”
I strike him off as potential date material. For one, he’s in the math department so we would have nothing in common, but most importantly, I can’t imagine a college professor makes much money. I’ve seen the cars parked in the faculty parking lot. “Boston? Where did you go to school before coming to Southern?”
He looks wary of my question. “Out east.”
Totally vague answer, but I decide it’s not worth pursuing. “So how do you like Tennessee?”
“It’s hot.” He tugs at his sleeve. “Are you from Tennessee?”
It’s a simple question, common conversation, but it always makes me edgy. “Yes, born and raised.”
“I thought so. You have a southern drawl.”
I can’t tell if it’s a compliment or an insult. “Most everyone around here does.”
“Not everyone,” he murmurs, and I realize he’s really looking at me now.
My skin flushes from his examination, and to my surprise, it’s not from embarrassment.
“As Scarlett mentioned, I’m new here this semester and my courses and teaching schedule keep me busy. I don’t know many people.” He clears his throat. “Would you be free to go to dinner next weekend?”
I stare up into his dark brown eyes, and I’m so very tempted. They’re pulling me closer to him.
Literally. There’s something about him I can’t pinpoint, like a physical awareness arcing between us.
But a relationship needs more than physical attraction, and I’ve wasted the past six months going out with good-looking guys. It’s my senior year, and it’s time to think of my future. Even if some inexplicable part of me wants to kiss him right here and now.
All the more reason to say no.
The question is, what should I tell him? He’s a bit abrasive, but I tack that up to his left-brain tendencies. Scarlett does the same thing and needs to be reminded from time to time that the rest of us aren’t robots. Still, I don’t want to be rude and flat-out decline. I decide to pick up on his busy theme.
That’s believable. “Thanks for the invitation, Reed, but I’m a fashion design major, and I have a fashion show coming up that could possibly determine my future.” My excuse sounds lame, even to me. “I’m hoping to make it on the committee so I have to give every spare moment proving I’m capable.”
I expect him to get irritated, but he smiles with approval. “I respect hard work. Maybe I can get a rain check for next semester.”
I certainly hope I’m not still single next semester, so I nod. “Sure.”
Tucker drags Dylan toward us, his arm around Dylan’s shoulder, and I resist the urge to cringe.
Talk about terrible timing.
“Caroline, there you are. I was telling Dylan all about you.”
I smile, but it’s not natural as I cast a worried glance to Reed. “I hope you didn’t spill all my secrets,” I joke.
“Don’t worry. I saved a few for you to share.” Tucker winks, then notices Reed. “Reed, have you met Dylan Humphrey?”
Reed extends his hand, but his face hardens as Dylan shakes it. “I haven’t, but I’ve heard a lot about you.” He doesn’t look happy about what he’s heard.
Tucker misses Reed’s glower. “Say, Caroline, I was telling Dylan about my friend’s band playing at the Voodoo Lounge next Friday night. Dylan’s interested in coming to check them out, you still in?”