Night Burn

Chapter 6

Lucas has committed to emailing me the STEP paperwork by the end of the day before we finally parted ways. I throw him a quick wave over my shoulder as I walk toward the Student Union, keen yet anxious to continue my conversation with Noah.

As I draw nearer to University Boulevard, I see the sprawling lawn of the Mall Memorial that separates me from the North campus. Stepping onto the dry grass, I scan for any sign of Noah's large frame. The sun is glaring at this time of day, and as handsome and brawny as he is, he isn't so unique in stature that I can easily pick him out of the swarm of students.

When I'm officially in front of my destination, I pull out my phone and pull up our conversation. I'm still wavering between a text message and just calling him when I hear my name being called from somewhere to my left.

The sound startles me, and I fumble my phone a few times before securing it in my grip. Noah jogs up to me, a sheepish grin on his face.

"I am really striking out today, aren't I?" he asks, raising a hand behind his head to scratch at the back of his neck. Of course, he's adorable when he's bashful.

I note that he's changed into a bright white T-shirt with "U of A" plastered across the chest in the University's colors. The short sleeves allow me to watch his bicep bulge unnecessarily at the small motion. I blink hard and shake in an effort to stave off a rush of thoughts that had no business showing up at this early hour.

For Christ's sake, Eleanor. It's not even noon...

"Uhhh... what? Sorry-no, you're good."

I flush in embarrassment and watch as his apologetic expression evolves into something a touch more smug. He suddenly raises both arms fully overhead and stretches languidly, the muscles flexing, and his shirt rises enough to hint at well-toned abdominal muscles.

Of course, I appreciate the show as much as any red-blooded woman would (and should, for that matter). Nonetheless, I frown at him and wrap my arms around my notably less nimble frame.

"Alright, alright," I snap, swatting my hand at him like I could wave the attraction away like an errant insect. He laughs and drops his arms back to his sides, not that it makes much difference. He could be curled up on the floor in the fetal position, and he'd still probably turn most heads.

"If you're quite done peacocking, I believe you owe me a cup of coffee," I say with a sniff and a subtle lift of my chin.

Stupid men and their stupid muscles.

His responding grin is infectious, and I inevitably smile at him in return as he waves me towards the entrance to the building.

"Is it working?" he asks, pulling the door open for me.

"Is what working?"

"The peacocking? Is it doing me any favors?"

I run my eyes over his form for the hundredth time in too few hours and tap the tip of my index finger against my bottom lip.

"Oh, I don't know. I really struggle with men who can't keep their shoes clean..."

His eyes widen momentarily before he's overcome by his own laughter.

Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week.

"Fair enough," he says a little breathlessly as we join the queue in front of the coffee bar.

I raise onto my tiptoes to see over the gaggle of strangers in front of me, attempting to read the overhead menu.

"Looking for anything in particular?" he whispers, bowing his head to my level. With a frustrated huff, I drop back onto my heels. For caffeine, I will concede to the benefits of his taller stature.