“Kira! Kira, End of the Red Line, tonight. You’ve got to come.”
“Huh?” I turned toward the sound of Marsye Abrams’ voice, trying not to drop the armload of books I’d just picked up from my office. Long weekends without papers to grade meant I could get more work done on my dissertation and I intended to take full advantage. “What’s going on?”
She rolled her eyes at me, grinning. “Concert at the End of the Red tonight, no cover, epic lead singer. You have to come.”
I tried to suppress a sigh, starting to shake my head. She grabbed me by the chin and made me nod instead.
“Don’t tell me you’re not coming. You work too damn hard anyway and you need a break.”
“Says the second year candidate,” I said, shifting my load of books. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, Mars.”
“It’s a benefit for one of the humanities scholarship funds,” she said, crossing her arms. The stubborn set to her jaw and her intense, blue-eyed stare told me I wasn’t going to win this one. I was doomed to show up at the club tonight even if she had to drag me along like a fashion accessory—not that she needed more than her golden blonde curls and supermodel body to draw attention. The fact that she was a brilliant lit scholar was the only thing that kept her from being the single most popular object rumor in the post-grad community—she was more than smart enough to have gotten into her program without having to sleep her way there. “Twenty percent of the drink and food take goes right back into funding research grants and undergrad scholarships.”
“Sounds like you had a hand in planning this little shindig,” I said, looking around for a place to set down my books. My arms were beginning to ache something fierce and I’d been banking on making it to the bus by now to avoid the higher levels of discomfort I could feel coming on.
“Maybe a little one,” she admitted. “You’re coming, right?”
Heaving a heavy sigh, I nodded. “How could I say no, right? What time?”
“Concert starts at seven. I’ll see you there.”
“Yeah.”
She gave a giggle and a wave, turning and jogging down the sidewalk toward one of the campus buildings. I closed my eyes and exhaled quietly, shaking my head.
“I should not let myself get talked into this stuff,” I murmured, pivoting to cross the green. I’d have to hurry if I was going to make the 2:15 bus now and there was no time for sidewalks. In hindsight, I probably should have opened my eyes before I started to cross the green.
Walking into him was like walking face-first into a wall for a lot of reasons.
My eyes popped open as both he and I went crashing to the ground, books and papers scattering all around us. “Oh my god,” I blurted as I pushed myself back into a sitting position, already feeling a blush flooding my cheeks. “I am so, so sorry, I’m a total klutz.”
“No, it’s my fault,” he said, rolling to his side and propping himself on an elbow to look at me. “I should have been paying more attention myself.”
Our eyes met and both of us lay there staring at each other for the space of a few breaths—breaths I didn’t realize I was holding until my vision started to dim at the edges and I had to suck air into my lungs in a decidedly unsophisticated gasp. He seemed equally struck, but I couldn’t imagine why.
I sincerely doubted that he’d been dreaming of myface his whole life.
He moved first, rocking to his knees and giving me a rueful smile. “Well, this is awkward, isn’t it?”
I gulped and nodded, looking away and scrambling to gather my books again. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s completely awkward.”
“I’m sorry.”
His accent was strange but attractive, the sound of his voice sending skitters of nervous excitement through me. I glanced at him and smiled briefly. “It’s fine, it’s mostly me. Have we—have I met you before?”
“I’ve seen you,” he said simply, helping me stack my books before gathering his own scattered belongings—a few notebooks and a worn, leather-bound tome with no writing on the cover or spine. “You’ve probably seen me around campus. I don’t think we’ve ever actually been introduced, though.” He offered me his hand with a faint smile. “Teague Vaughan.”
I took it, finding his grip firm and his hands warm. “Kira Thomlin. Are you in one of the grad programs or something?”
“Guest lecturer, actually. ABD. I’m on loan from Trinity for a couple of semesters.”
“Oh.” He didn’t look quite old enough for that, but I wasn’t about to pry. They did things a little differently across the pond, after all. Maybe over there he was old enough to be doing what he was doing. “Which department?”
His smile turned rueful. “Liberal studies, I’m afraid, but I suppose that it fits what I’m teaching. I have a thing for mythology but history training. I’m here lecturing on the connections.”
My stomach gave a little flip and I smiled back. “Sounds awesome, actually. Absolutely fascinating.” My cheeks heated again and I glanced down at my toes, clutching my books against my chest. “I’m third year doctoral. History.”
“Oh, so you’re not one of Dr. Ford’s students.”
I laughed and shook my head. “No, but I’ve heard horror stories from his grads. He’s formidable.”
“He’s not a bad sort. He lobbied hard to get me here.”
We were both standing now, facing each other in the grass a few feet from the sidewalk. I was going to miss my bus, but I wasn’t quite sure I cared anymore. It’s not every day you meet the man of your dreams—literally.
I’d been dreaming of Teague Vaughan’s face for as long as I could remember. They’d been innocent when I was younger, and his face had been younger, too, usually matched for mine. He was bright-eyed and often happy in those dreams, and we got into the worst sorts of trouble together. He called me Raven in those dreams, but I didn’t care. It felt right. The older I got, the more intense—the more intimate—the dreams became.
The memory of some of them was still enough to make me blush. They’d started to peak last October and November to the point I’d been having them every night, sometimes two or three a night. I’d always had a hard time talking about them, but that Thanksgiving my cousin’s girlfriend had dragged it out of me. Marin always had a knack for telling when there was something wrong.
I’d told her everything and to this day she was the only one I’d spared nothing from about those dreams. I didn’t feel that guilty about it, since if my cousin was smart, they’d be engaged before the school year was out and I’d needed the confidant I’d found in her.
“Are you all right?”
I snapped out of my daze and just stared at him. “Yeah,” I said, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah, I’m great. Like I said, I’m…I’m such a klutz, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s just as much my fault as yours.” The smile he shot in my direction was warm, almost warm enough to set me blushing again. “Honestly, I’m glad I ran into you. I don’t really know many people other than a few faculty members and I’m not sure I like all of them or that they like me. My cousin’s always after me to meet some new people. As unconventional as ours was…I…acch. Do you want to have a drink? With me, I mean.”
Did I just hear him right? “Uhm…yeah, sure. Now?”
He laughed. “Two o’clock in the afternoon is a little early, I guess. Tonight, maybe? I heard a vague rumor about there being some kind of thing at a club off the Red Line? I’ll admit that I have no idea where it is or how I’m going to get there, but—”
“That would be amazing,” I said. “I know where the club is. It’s not actually off the Red Line, but it’s close. Hell, it’s not actually even where the Red Line ends, it’s a stop before that, but it’s—I should stop.” I manage to smile even though my face felt like it was on fire. “If you, uhm, if you take the Red Line up to Jarvis, I can meet you at the station.”
“Seven o’clock?”
“Sure.” My heart pounded against my ribs so hard I thought he must have been able to hear it, to see it vibrating my shirt. “That’d be great.”
“I’ll see you then.” His smile shot shivers through me and set my heart to racing a little faster than it had been a second before.
Then he was gone, heading away toward the library and leaving me behind on the green. I sucked in a ragged breath and watched his retreating back, watching the way his hair shone in the afternoon sunshine, the achingly familiar set of his shoulders and manner of his stride.
My heart gave one last painful squeeze before it slowed down to normal pace and I could breathe easily again.
Not every day you meet the man of your dreams. “I’ve got to be crazy,” I muttered. “Absolutely batshit insane. This doesn’t happen in real life.”
Except that it had, and it had just happened to me. It felt too good to be true. Maybe it was.
I’m just going to have to find out, I guess.
Taking another deep breath, I hugged my books against my chest and headed for the bus. Whatever this surprise date with my dream guy held, I was going to be ready for it, one way or another.
~
This is insane. I closed my eyes shut as the train pulled away from the station at Loyola. Two more stops. I took a deep breath and counted to ten, hoping my heart would stop hammering like a jackhammer against my breast sometime before Jarvis.
He’s just a guy—probably a nice guy, but just a guy. Get a grip, Kira. Get a goddamned grip and take a breath.
I tried to take my own advice, but it was hard.
He’s a professor—or a lecturer, at the least. It’ll probably be boring as hell. If it’s not boring as hell, it’ll be awkward as hell.
Settle down. You’re going to try to have a good time. Marsye’s right, you don’t get out enough. If you’re not careful, you’re going to turn into some kind of hermit. I picked at the hem of my sequined tank and hoped that the mesh-weave cardigan I’d thrown over it didn’t make me look too dowdy.
Even if it does, it’s too late to go home and change now. I glanced at my phone. Six fifty-four.
“Just don’t embarrass yourself and you’ll be fine,” I whispered to myself. An old lady sitting across from me gave me a funny look. I gave her an abashed smile.
She got off at Morse—maybe to escape the crazy girl in jeans and green sequins sitting across from her. I stared out the windows as the train clacked along the rails on tis trek further north for another moment before I got up myself. Jarvis was next and that was my stop.
Teague stood on the platform as I stepped off the train, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a pair of khaki pants, hair tousled in the wind from passing trains. He looked as nervous as I felt until his eyes met mine.
Then he smiled and started toward me as I moved away from the edge of the platform. I smiled back.
“I’m early,” he said, sounding sheepish and apologetic. “I was worried about getting lost and being late. I haven’t been in the city very long.”
“That’s understandable,” I said. He took my hand gently, freeing it from the death grip I had around the strap of my bag.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
“Do you want the truth?” I regretted the words as soon as they’d left my mouth, but I managed to stop myself from cringing.
Way to go, ace.
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
“A little,” I said. “A lot. I don’t do this. I’m usually too busy grading exams or working on my own stuff.”
“Then we’re even. I think I need a few drinks before I actually settle down.” He squeezed my hand. His fingers were warm and calloused. I wondered what he did on the weekends to make that happen, because it sure as hell wouldn’t have happened lecturing on the connections between history and myth. “Where’s this club I’ve been hearing rumbles about?”
“It’s this way.” I held his hand as I led him down the steps from the platform and to street level. We turned up the sidewalk and headed down a little ways. There was a crowd outside of the Side Project—probably a show at the tiny storefront theatre. I kept going, sandals slapping against the bricks and pavement. Teague gamely kept up with me even as I twisted aside to avoid a biker speeding along the sidewalk, then swerved to avoid a woman and her husband with a stroller.
“Any other night and it would not be this crowded,” I muttered.
“It’s all right. This is still a lot quieter than downtown.”
He was certainly right about that.
There was a young Latino man I recognized stamping hands outside End of the Red—I was pretty sure he was one of the grads in social studies, but I wasn’t quite sure. He smiled at me as Teague and I approached and gave us a nod. “Come to see the show?”
“And have a drink,” I said, holding hand out for him to stamp. The blacklight ink left faint green and purple traces on the back of my hand. Teague offered his hand—the one not still holding mine—for his own stamp.
“Kiki’s tending bar and she makes a wicked cosmo.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, then headed into the club.
“Somehow, you didn’t strike me as the martini type,” Teague said as we headed down the short corridor and showed the bouncer our stamps.
“I’m not,” I told him. The throb of dance music shivered my bones—I knew the show that Marsye had promised hadn’t started yet. The band was probably still preparing for the show and the dance music was a filler to keep the early crowd occupied while they waited.
“Rum and coke?”
I smiled faintly. “Vodka and 7-Up.”
“Well, I was close.” He grinned and tugged me toward the bar against the far wall. I grinned and trailed along behind him, his sudden enthusiasm infectious.
“Almost,” I told him as we found enough space for the two of us at one end. The place was already almost standing room only and I started to wonder exactly how well-advertised the fundraiser had actually been. “This is crazy. I’ve never seen this place so busy.”
“Do you come here often?”
I laughed at his question and shook my head. “No! No, this really, really not my typical scene.”
Teague grinned. “I can empathize. I’m more of a mead and bonfire guy myself.”
I almost laughed out loud again. “Mead and bonfire, huh?”
He nodded, still grinning as he waved to one of the bartenders, trying to get their attention.
“You know,” I said as I studied him for a few seconds. “I think I could see that.”
Now he choked on a laugh and shook his head. “Kind of hard out here, though, don’t you think? It’s a little urban.”
“Yeah, you could say that,” I said, smiling. “But where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
“Miss Thomlin, are you insinuating that there might be a second date in the offing?”
I nudged him, nodding toward the bartender approaching us. “I wouldn’t rule out the possibility yet.”
