CHAPTER 11

I’d expected to sleep like a rock, or a log, or something heavy and inanimate. Instead I woke up while it was still dark and couldn’t go back to sleep.

I crawled out of bed, grabbed my clothes from the chair where I’d left them the night before, and crept into the bathroom. Once I closed the door, I turned on the light and got dressed as quietly as I could. Today I was going to wear coveralls over a tube top. Coveralls had seemed like a building-house-kinda-thing to wear, but now I was wondering if maybe they’d be too hot. At least my shoulders would be cool.

And bare. Maybe a little sexy.

Oh no, I was thinking about Brady again. I didn’t want to do things to get his attention.

I don’t know how long I sat on the edge of the tub and worried about how I could spend time with Jenna, without getting in over my head with Brady. A sudden rap on the door startled me. I nearly fell backward into the tub. Just what I needed—to start the day with a concussion.

“You okay in there?” Jenna asked.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine.” I got up and opened the door. “I couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake you.”

She yawned. “Ow. I can barely move this morning. Working with a crowbar was harder work than I thought.”

She stumbled into the bathroom as I walked out.

“Call Ms. Wynder and tell her we’re going to breakfast with some friends,” she said before shutting the door.

“You think she’s up?” I called through the door.

“Oh yeah.”

I called Ms. Wynder. She was indeed up, sounding way too bright and cheery for that time of day. She said she was fine with us doing breakfast elsewhere, and she’d see us at the site.

When Jenna came out of the bathroom, we grabbed our backpacks and headed outside.

The dorm was a square, uninteresting brick building, part of a campus that had survived the storm. It was early morning but humidity already hung heavy in the air.

Parked at the front of the drive, in a no-parking zone, was the black Civic. Our two guys were leaning against it—one against the hood, one against the trunk—arms crossed over their chests. Totally sexy pose. Rebels, I thought, and my heart did a little stutter. What was I getting myself into?

“Hey,” Tank said as we got nearer.

“Hey, yourself,” Jenna said, practically skipping to his side.

He grinned at her. No kiss. No hug. But it seemed to be enough for her as she slid into the front passenger seat, and it probably was. After all, he hadn’t tattooed her name on his arm yet. I suddenly wondered if he would someday.

Then I wondered if maybe that was where I’d made my mistake. I always wanted things to happen fast. Drew and I were a steady item after that first date. I’d never questioned where the relationship was going; I’d just followed where it had seemed to lead. Now I was trying to question everything.

Brady just grinned at me, tapped the brim of my “Life Is Good” cap. “You ever not wear that thing?” he asked.

I touched the brim of his. “Same goes.”

“Yeah, but I use mine to hide a bald spot. You got a bald spot under there that I need to know about?”

“No. Do you? I mean really? Bald?”

He laughed. “Nah. At least not yet. Someday. If I take after my dad.”

“I think bald men are sexy.”

I don’t know what made me say that.

“Really?” he asked, opening the door to the backseat.

“Really.” I climbed inside, scooted across, and he got in.

“Like who?” he asked. “Give me a name.”

“Bruce Willis.”

“Is he shaved or bald?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Oh yeah. Shaved you have a choice. Bald you don’t.”

“How bald is your dad?” I asked.

“Pretty bald.”

“Bet he’s pretty sexy.”

“Yeah, and what do you base that assumption on?” His grin was cocky, almost a dare.

And I almost responded with “you.” But that would have taken the flirting to a whole new level, and I wasn’t even sure that I should be flirting.

Instead I looked out the window as Tank drove along the street. “Looks like it’s gonna be another scorcher today.”

It was my dad’s equivalent of Mom’s “I think I left the iron on.” A detour in the conversation.

Brady laughed and leaned back in the corner. I could feel him studying me, and I wondered what he was thinking. The easiest way to find out would be to ask. But I didn’t.

We couldn’t find a parking spot near Café Du Monde, so we parked several streets over and walked. Although it was early, people were queued up on the sidewalk. A very small portion of the restaurant was indoor seating. Most of the seating was outdoors, some beneath a roof, some beneath a large green-and-white striped canopy.

As we waited in line, Jenna was nestled against Tank’s side, and they were doing that quiet talking thing they did. I couldn’t figure out how two such tall people could talk so quietly. And Tank wasn’t only tall, he was broad. He was wearing a tank top today and the muscles of his arms rippled and when they did, so did the dragon on his shoulder that was peering out beneath his shirt.

“Like his ink?” Brady asked.

“Oh, gosh, I was staring, wasn’t I? That was rude.”

He shrugged. “It’s an unusual piece. He goes to a guy who does original artwork, so nothing he’s ever tattooed on anyone has ever been put on anyone else.”

“That’s cool. I’ve never heard of that. I thought you just looked in a catalogue and picked out the one you wanted.”

“You can do it that way. But Tank—he never follows the crowd.”

“Do you have any tattoos?” Was that question too personal? If he did, they were well hidden because I hadn’t noticed any the couple of times I’d seen him without his shirt.

Brady shook his head. “Nah. Been thinking about it, but I don’t know if there’s anything I’d want forever. I mean, how do I know I won’t change my mind? How ’bout you?”

“I did a temporary one once. A peel-on wash-off.”

He grinned. “How did that work for you?”

“Not too bad, except I got it out of a machine, like a bubblegum machine, and so I just had to take what it dispensed. It was a skull with a snake coming out of the eye socket. Gross. But I was fourteen, and for a quarter, it was a great deal.”

“Where’d you put it?”

“On my wrist.”

He looked disappointed, like maybe he’d been fantasizing about it being someplace really personal. And that made me feel very unadventuresome.

“Hey, I had to put it someplace I could reach,” I explained.

“Very unimaginative,” he said. “Next time you want a tat, I’ll help you put it someplace you can’t reach.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Like where?”

“Your hip, maybe. Someplace so it just peeks out over the waistband of your jeans.”

I got warm just thinking about him applying the tattoo. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if he was actually putting it on. I really wanted—needed—to talk about something else.

“So where’s Sean?”

“He hooked up with Sara.”

I stared at him. “The psychic?”

Brady grinned. “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“No, I just”—I shivered—“I don’t know if I’d want to be involved with someone who could read my mind.”

“Do psychics read minds?” he asked.

“I don’t know. They read something. All that paranormal stuff just seems to mesh together. I don’t know if there’s a line that distinguishes what a person can or can’t do.”

“She seems nice anyway.”

“Oh, well, yeah. I mean, she doesn’t seem evil or anything.” Then something else occurred to me. I scoffed and muttered, “She didn’t have to leave.”

“Huh?”

“Amber—she, well, she didn’t have to leave. If she’d known Sean was interested in Sara—”

“I don’t think he was interested. He was just bummed out because Amber left, so we hit some bars last night.” He shrugged. “Sara was at one of them.”

“Oh.”

So had he turned to Sara because he’d been heartbroken? That made me sad. Why did love—or even just liking someone—have to be so complicated?

We finally got to the front of the line. It was an unorganized type of organization, and I wasn’t at all sure how the staff remembered who had been waited on and who hadn’t.

As soon as people got up from a table, people sat down at it—mess and all. Then the server would come clean up the mess, take the order, and head over to another table and do the same thing.

“Over here,” Tank said and led us to a just-vacated table.

It was covered in plates, cups, and loads of powdered sugar. We dusted off the chairs before sitting down.

“This is something that just has to be experienced to be believed,” Tank said.

The server came over and began clearing the table. “Order?”

“Two orders of beignets and four café au laits,” Tank said. Then looked around at us. “Any objections?”

“Sounds good,” I said.

Jenna just smiled.

“We’re going to be sticky after this, aren’t we?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” Tank said. “But it’s worth it.”

I couldn’t believe how crowded it was. And how fast the servers were taking care of people. Apparently Café Du Monde was a tradition for tourists and locals alike.

The waiter brought over our two plates of the little fried squares of dough smothered in confectioners’ sugar. He also set down our mugs of café au lait—half coffee, half milk. It all smelled really good.

I picked up a beignet. It was still hot, very hot, just out of the fryer, and the powdered sugar floated around me. There was a jar of more sugar on the table. Not that I could imagine anyone ever needing to add any to the beignets. I bit into the fried dough. Was it ever good!

We made an absolute mess as we ate, leaving powdered sugar all over our faces, our hands, our clothes, but no one seemed to mind.

I kept sneaking peeks at Brady, only to discover him looking at me. It was starting to get awkward. I was afraid I was sending a message I didn’t want to send, like that I was obsessed with him or something—when I wasn’t. I wasn’t going to let myself be.

Even though it seemed like he might be interested in me. Sean had tried to hook up with Amber, and then he’d hooked up with Sara. While Brady, as far as I know, hadn’t tried to get together with anyone except me.

So was he interested?

I was pretty sure he was, but he was keeping it cool. Casual. I thought maybe I could handle that.

Maybe.