Her face is tight. “No. I need space from…this.”

Space? After everything I just wrote?

I feel winded. “I see.”

“Good.” She turns to walk away, and I grab her elbow.

“Charm, we need to figure us out. I want to,” I say, digging in, getting braver by the minute, even though it’s making me queasy, my stomach jumping.

She takes her glasses off and rubs her eyes. “Can it wait until I get back? I need to go now.”

“Sure,” I say coolly, my pride rearing up.

I chased her out of class and I get “space”.

“When?” I ask.

She looks at me and her voice is toneless, blank. “Whenever. And it’s just talking.”

My hands tap my legs. “Fine. My dorm. Eight o’clock. Three days from now. Is that enough time for you?”

“Yes.”

She turns and walks away, her shoulders hunched. Part of me is tempted to follow her, to just say fuck it and demand she take me with her, but responsibilities pull at me—and fear.

I turn and walk back to class.

20

The sound of music meets my ears when I reach the door of The Purple Iris, a downtown bar near campus. The place has a stage for bands, a nice menu, and the clientele is a mix of townies and students. I sigh, not really wanting to go in.

It’s been a long two days. First, I had the interview in Nashville, and it went well. Then, I came home today and ran around trying to catch up on the classes I missed with my migraine and going out of town.

Laughter drifts through the air as people walk out the door.

I don’t come here much, mostly because it has a rep as a date place—but that’s my purpose tonight: a blind date, one I set up two weeks ago. I wanted to cancel, and perhaps I should have, but I hate to disappoint Dr. A. Plus, I don’t know where Blaze and I stand. He walked out on me, and I can’t let it go. Penelope let it slip that he and Dillon were covered in jersey girls at Cadillac’s after he got his Combine invite, and that is fine. We aren’t together. He wants to talk tomorrow, but I know it will just be more of the same with him. One step forward and two steps back.

My fingers toy with my tight black sweater—no mohair tonight—adjusting the neckline. On my legs are dark gray skinny jeans and three-inch ankle boots with fringe. My hair is straight and sleek, pulled back with two jeweled bobby pins on either side.

The place is dimly lit and purple smoke swirls around the muted ceiling lights, giving the place a romantic vibe. I’m turned off already.

A tall guy leans against the paneled wall in a small foyer, straightening when I walk in.

“Charisma?” he asks, a broad grin on his clean-shaven face as he takes me in.

I nod.

Okay, okay. Not bad. With a headful of wavy sandy hair and hazel eyes, he’s handsome—better than any of the other dates Dr. Alfonsi has set me up with.

Verdict is still out on this one, but as far as looks go, he’s handsome in a boy-next-door kind of way.

He takes my small hand in his. “I’m Mike. Great to meet you. Dr. A talks about you all the time. You look nice.”

He keeps his eyes above my chest. Point one for Mike.

I mumble a thank you and return the compliment. He’s wearing slacks and a nice sports coat, and I do a double take. I’m used to laidback guys, but I get the feeling Med School Mike is all business. He’s also got broad shoulders that taper to a trim waist and a New York accent. Ma would faint, wake up, plan our wedding, and then start on the baby shower.

This place is not fancy enough for a hostess, so we seat ourselves at a dark booth that’s back from the stage by a couple of rows. We’re surrounded by booths on either side, and near the front are several larger tables for groups. There’s a small area for dancing, but right now, there’s no band and…I look around. Dang, the place is rather empty. I wince but try not to feel bad about asking him to meet with the early-bird crowd. I want to get this over and done, checked off the list.

The booth is a deep red and circular. He slides in next to me, his leg a respectable distance away, yet the heat of him is close. It feels weird.

He smiles at me, his eyes direct, and perhaps…nice?

“So, Boston? I hear you lost the internship you had.”

Dr. Alfonsi is quite the talker, apparently.

“Something will come up. If it doesn’t, I’ll be moving in with my parents.” I manage a smile, wanting to be upbeat and normal, but my stomach hurts.

I wonder where Blaze is. Probably somewhere with “fans” all over him.

“Charisma…you listening?” He laughs.

I come back, realizing he was talking. What was he saying? Oh, yeah, our post-graduation plans. “Sorry. What about you? What’s next?”

“NYU for med school.”

“Nice. Congrats.”

He flashes a sheepish smile at me, the dimples in his cheeks popping. “Thanks. Looking forward to living in New York again.”

Yep. I can never tell Ma about Mike. She’ll be stalking his socials, inviting his parents to dinner…

A waitress in a black dress comes over. I recognize her from one of my classes. “Drinks for y’all—”

“A shot of tequila for me, please,” I say before she can finish, blushing at Mike’s grin.

“Ready to party, I see,” he says.

“No, just a long week. Really fucking long.”

His eyebrow arches as he searches my face, and his lips tilt up in a slightly crooked smile. “It’s going to be like that, huh? Good.”

I blink, not sure what he means.

He looks at the waitress. “Bring us two shots each, please. Patron Silver—and keep them coming.”

I laugh, feeling more at ease. “Someone else having a rough semester?”

He lowers his face until it’s close to mine, and I smell his cologne, the scent of sandalwood. “My ex dumped me last semester, and I have a class with her. Sucks big time.”

I burst out laughing. “STFU!” I lean into him and give his hand a quick squeeze. “Mike, I’ll be honest, I was worried you might be hard to connect with. No offense, it’s just Dr. A’s guys are never my type—but, dude, we’ve got this date down. My ‘sorta ex’ is also in one of my classes.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t get away from mine. She’s driving me nuts in that class.”

“Same.”

“What the hell are we going to do?”

“Drink,” I say when the waitress sets our glasses down.

He lifts the first one up. “Fuck love.”

I lift mine, murmuring an agreement, and we toss them back.

Three shots plus a glass of wine later, I feel awesome, better than I have in two days. The place is getting busier, the booths filling up. And Mike? He’s nice. He’s fun. He has a nice laugh and hazel eyes with green glints that are pretty.

“You ever get lonely?” he says with a lingering look.

“What do you mean?”

He toys with his shot glass. “Nothing. I mean, we’re both far from home, and it’s tough. This semester is the longest of my life. I just want to get away from here…”

“From her?”

He gives me that cute grin. “Yeah. I haven’t been with anyone since her—shit, I shouldn’t be telling you this. You’re my date.” He grimaces and looks down at the table.

“It’s the liquor. And look, I’m not lining you up as my next boyfriend—even though Ma would love it—so say what you want. Tell me about her.”

His eyes lift. “Damn. You’re cool.”

I laugh.

“And fucking gorgeous.”

Oh.

Well, then.

I did mange to avoid carbs this week. There was that one cupcake, but no one’s perfect.

I stare at the table. “Thanks.”

He clears his throat. “Do you want to order something to eat? Soak up this alcohol?”

“Sure.”

We devour our burgers, and after they’re gone, there’s another glass of wine on the table. My body is loose and relaxed as the restaurant gets louder, co-eds and townies taking up seats until the place is packed. Mike’s arm is thrown across the back of the booth, his hand barely touching my shoulder. He loves model planes and likes to play chess—score. He’s currently taking tennis lessons, and I laugh when he tells me how terrible he is at sports. I tell him about my pathetic attempts at yoga. He chuckles.

I watch him, taking in the square chin and dimples. He’s handsome with a dash of nerd boy. Old Charisma would be on her way to his place by now. She’d be in control, and when it was over, she’d drive back home and maybe call him again if she was interested.

My mind wanders, thinking about Blaze, and I sneak a look at my phone to see if he’s texted me. He hasn’t. I haven’t texted him either.

“You’re thinking about him?” Mike stares at me.

I grimace. “Yeah.”

His hand brushes over my shoulder and makes little circles there.

“We can get out of here and forget them, put them out of our minds.” There’s a questioning look in his gaze. “If you want?”

I suck in a breath. “Ah, uh, I…I don’t think…” I bite my lip.

Mike is perfect—but his eyes aren’t ice blue, and his touch doesn’t make my skin go up in flames.

“Hey, it’s all good. I just thought…well, you know what I thought.” He lets out a small laugh. “We seem to have a lot in common, and I let my head go there.” He shrugs.