In the last two days, I’ve listened to The Invisibles at least thirty times. I play them on my way to class, when I study at the library, and when I fall asleep. Brady Carsen’s voice has a foreign effect on me that I’ve grown addicted to. Even the more upbeat songs wash calmness over me.

Even though I know nothing about him, he consumes most of my thoughts. When I walk around campus, I give a double take to every guy who sports a small Mohawk, checking to see if it’s him, not even knowing if he’s a student here. He could be a dropout, pursuing his path to stardom as a musician, or just a local from Western. Maybe if I’d stuck around on Saturday night, those questions would have been answered.

As I envision his face when he winked at me while onstage that night, I curse myself when my stomach fills with butterflies. As much as I tell myself that he’s trouble with a capital T, it doesn’t stop the thoughts from pouring in. I know I should switch my playlist or erase The Invisibles from the iPod, but every time my finger hovers over the Delete button, it shifts to Cancel instead.

Since today is Thursday, I have my dreaded three-hour gap between classes. After waking up this morning with a naked ass in my face, belonging to Jessa’s overnight guest, I head to the library to kill time instead of going home. The quiet study hours will do me good.

I walk through the doors of the library and beeline directly to the elevators. The bell dings on the sixth floor, and I smile, spotting that my favorite table is vacant. It’s perfectly situated between the restroom and the elevator. That happy mood diminishes when I hear loud click-clacks. My eyes narrow at a guy sitting alone at the next table over, typing so hard that the keys are about to pop off the keyboard.

Silently, I debate on leaving, but I decide I’ll fight for my territory. It’s been mine since the first week of classes, and I’m not about to let Mr. Angry Typist steal my ideal study space. Allowing music to distract me—The Invisibles, of course—I place my earbuds in and turn my music up loud with the hope that it will annoy my new nemesis, and he’ll leave the premises.

Five minutes later, my plan works. The loud clickety-clack stops, except he’s now standing on the other side of the table from me. I pretend to concentrate on the book in front of me, but I can see his pressed khaki slacks from the tops of my eyes. When he taps his pen on the page I’m reading, I release a huff.

My eyes follow the blue pen, being held by long, lean fingers, and move up to the tan forearms, followed by the strong shoulders, until I meet a pair of blue eyes staring down at me. A smile appears on his lips, showing his perfect white teeth. When I realize he’s actually talking to me, I pull the white cord, and my earbuds plop onto my book.

“I’m sorry, what?” My voice displays a hint of annoyance.

“Is that The Invisibles?” He points to my earbuds lying on my book.

I look down and back up to him. “Yeah.”

His smile falters.

“Do you like them?” I ask. I figure we’ll make small talk, and then he can grab his shit and leave.

“They’re okay,” he says, shrugging his shoulders up and down.

His reaction confuses me. He must like the band. How else could he pick them out from hearing the music from my earbuds?

As I remember the crowd on Saturday, I realize this guy doesn’t fit the profile.

“Do you mind turning it down?”

“I’ll turn it down if you’ll be a little kinder to your keyboard,” I respond, thinking I’ll kill him with friendliness.

“Deal.” He laughs, putting his hand out for me to shake. “Grant Bishop.”

“Sadie Miller.” I shake his hand.

Here’s a guy I can be myself with. I’ve been around types like him my whole life.

Narrowing my eyes, I try to typecast him into one of three categories—wealthy family, want-to-be wealthy, or just plain preppy.

“So…Sadie, what year are you?” He pulls a chair out from the table, earning a sigh from me.

“Senior. I don’t want to be rude, but I have to finish reading this.” I point to my book, praying he doesn’t sit down.

“How come I’ve never seen you around?” he asks.

I accept defeat when he plops down.

“Do you know all fifteen thousand students?” I sarcastically ask because I’m now getting annoyed.

“No, but since roughly sixty percent are female, I only really need to know nine thousand.” He leans across the table, as though he’s going to tell me a secret. “Regardless, I’d never forget a face like yours.” His flirtatious smile shows.

“Nice line.”

“Thanks.” He laughs.

I’m happy to see he knows how cliché his line is.

“Seriously, I’ve been coming up to the sixth floor since my freshman year, and I’ve never seen you.”

“I just transferred from Drayton University,” I reveal.

I doubt he knows anyone from there. Drayton is mainly old money, and I don’t get that vibe from him.

“That would explain it,” he says, staring at me for a few seconds before standing up.

Although I’m assured he knows no one, it’s a nice thought that he hasn’t heard the nightmare story regarding Sadie Miller from Drayton University.

“Welcome to the sixth floor. You won’t be bothered since it’s the Entomology area; there aren’t many people who come up here unless they’re biology majors,” he advises me, leaving me to my studies.

“Thanks,” I respond. I put my earbuds back in and turn down the music to an appropriate level.

---

My stomach growls an hour later. I haven’t eaten since the banana I had this morning. I stand to pack up my books, deciding I’ll grab a bite to eat before heading to Clinical Psychology. Slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder, I notice Grant is still typing—or, in his case, finger-pecking—on his computer. Right as I’m about to press the elevator button to go down, Grant puts his finger up in the air to stop me.

“Hold on, Sadie. I’ll ride with you.” He quickly shoves his computer into his backpack and jogs over to me.

I’m not sure about being alone with him in an elevator, but he seems nice, and I need some friends here. I press the down button, and we wait in silence together.

Once we enter the small confines, Grant turns my way. “Are you off to class?” he asks.

“Um…yeah.” My voice hesitates, sounding unsure. Damn, he’s going to know I’m lying.

When I face him, his raised eyebrow confirms he doesn’t need to be a Criminal Justice major to figure out that I am indeed lying.

“For some reason, I don’t believe you.”

“Well, I’m going to get something to eat, and then I have to head to Wright Hall,” I admit the deceit I just spoke.

“Psychology?” he questions.

I nod in affirmation. It doesn’t take rocket science to figure it out since Wright Hall is the Psychology building.

“I usually don’t do this, but do you want to go grab a coffee or something?” he asks.

Suddenly, the elevator is traveling way too slow. My eyes fixate on the numbers as we descend, and I wish the elevator would move faster.

I bite my lower lip, stalling. Grant’s eyes stay firm on me as he anticipates my answer.

Last year, I would’ve said, Forget the coffee. Where’s your dorm?

But I’m not that Sadie anymore.

A wave of relief envelops me when the elevator beeps, and the doors peel open. Unfortunately, my relief only lasts a second when a set of familiar caramel eyes meet mine once we’ve stepped out.

Brady Carsen looks delectable. Wearing a black hoodie paired with charcoal jeans and a pair of black Chuck Taylors, he’s the epitome of my parents’ nightmares. With his hair pushed to the side today, it makes him appear less rocker-like than he did on Saturday. But it’s his smile that warms me first. It’s like a soft blanket on a cold night.

“Sadie Miller,” Brady states in a calm voice.

“Brady Carsen,” I say, mimicking his tone.

He smiles widely at my copycat humor, but it dissipates when he looks to my left.

“Grant.” Brady nods over to him.

I look back and forth between them, confused as to how they know each other. Their appearances would suggest they hang out in different circles.

“Brady.” Grant nods back.

Brady disregards Grant, solely focusing his attention on me. “So, did you get my note?”

The dimple in his right cheek indents further when his lips turn up. This simple act erupts flutters in my stomach.

“I did,” I say, returning his smile.

“What did you think?” He rocks back on his heels. “I mean, it wasn’t the live version, like I would have preferred.” He raises his right eyebrow, informing me that I should never have left the bar on Saturday night.

“It’s all right.” I jokingly shrug my left shoulder.

“Just all right?” he murmurs. His lips turn down into a disappointed frown.

“Hey”—I hit his shoulder with my hand—“I’m just kidding. Just ask Grant what band I was listening to while studying a few minutes ago.” I point toward Grant, who’s staring off down the hallway.

Brady’s eyes perk up at me. “Really?” He honestly sounds surprised that I like his music.

“Yes, really. Tell him, Grant.” I motion to Grant, whose hands are stuffed into the pockets of his khakis.

“Yeah…she was,” Grant mumbles.

His attitude widens Brady’s smile.

“Listen, I’ve gotta go. See you around.” Grant turns to me. “Sadie.” He walks away before I have a chance to respond.

“Bye, Grant,” I call out, but he’s too far to hear me.

Brady’s eyes follow mine to Grant’s back, and then the brown irises focus on me. “Do you have time to grab something to eat?”

“Sorry, I can’t.” My eyes examine the ground, not wanting to let his eyes change my mind.

He threatens the sheared pieces I’ve threaded back together inside me. I’ve come too far to lose myself in a guy for one night.

“Can’t or won’t?” He dips his head down to see my face.

“Won’t,” I answer softly right before my stomach grumbles. My face reddens.

“I was on my way to get something. Walk with me to the Student Center?” He motions with his head. When I remain silent, he teases, “We can sit at different tables if you want.”

“I thought you were waiting for the elevator?”

“Plans change. I heard your stomach speaking, and now, mine’s reacting. Come on.” He shrugs his shoulder forward, indicating for me to follow.

“Don’t get any ideas, Carsen. My stomach is making this decision.” I step in line next to him.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Sadie Miller.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders before I squirm out of it. “Sorry, gotta take my opportunities.”

He laughs, and I try to conceal my grin.

Brady doesn’t touch me for the remaining short walk across the campus to the Student Center. It’s not that I don’t want his hands on me. I do, but if I allowed even a brush of our fingers, the game would be over. I’d be in his bed by the night’s end.

When we enter through the doors, tables are filled with students reading and talking. Again, these are normal occurrences that I haven’t experienced in a while. It’s nice not to hear hushed whispers as people swarm together and stare, judging me. Here at Western, I’m no one, and I like that.

“What are you in the mood for?” Brady asks me as his eyes roam across the different fast-food places.

“I don’t know.” The last thing I want to do is inhale a meal in front of him, but unless I want to hear Professor Gregan complain about disruptive noises in class, I need to put something in my stomach. “I think I’m going to get a bagel sandwich.” I point to the bagel place on the far right side, figuring there’s no way he’ll follow me.

“Sounds good.”

He puts his hand on the small of my back, radiating a wave of heat up my spine. To relieve some nervous energy, I walk faster, leaving his hand no choice but to fall off my body.

“You don’t have to get anything from there,” I say, letting him off the hook, assuming he won’t enjoy a meal with little meat and no fries.

“What are you trying to say? A guy can’t like a bagel sandwich? Do you think I should stuff my face with fries and burgers all the time?” His face shows no trace of humor while I conceal a smile since he just read my mind.

“No, that’s not it. It’s just…” I backpedal.

“I’m kidding, Sadie. To be honest, I’ve never eaten here, but you have piqued my interest.”

We stand back from the restaurant to peruse the menu.

“So, what’s your usual?” he asks.

“The Veggie De-Lite.”

He turns my way with an empty stare. “Are you a vegetarian?” he inquires, sounding like it’s the worst thing in the world.

“Is that a deal-breaker for you?” I ask, crossing my fingers. I’m hoping it is because I’d lie and break my chances with him right now. It’d only benefit him in the long run.

“Deal-breaker?” He scrunches his eyebrows, confused.

“You know, something you find out about someone that makes you not want to date them.” I prepare my lie in my head. Should I go as far as saying I’m a vegan to cross off any chances?

“What’s yours?” he asks.

“I asked first. If I’m a vegetarian, would that be a deal-breaker?”

“You want honesty?”

“Always.”

“I’m not sure anything I found out about you would be a deal-breaker.” He fixes me with a stare, warming my insides. “But, truthfully, I don’t understand vegetarians.”

“Hmm…” I turn around to give my order, calming my body down from the rapid flow of nerve impulses going haywire.

The cute redhead behind the counter, who can’t keep her eyes off Brady, asks to take my order.

“You never answered. Do you eat meat?” He surprises me, being right up against my back.

Do I or don’t I lie? I contemplate in my head.

“No, I’m not a vegetarian. I just like the sandwich.” I might have lost my opportunity to shake him, but those light-brown eyes make it impossible for me to lie.

“I’ll have a Veggie De-Lite with low-fat cream cheese,” I order.

Usually, I get the garlic-and-herb spread, but I’m not about to talk to Brady with garlic breath. Then again, maybe it’d turn him off, and I wouldn’t have to worry about him.

“And for you?” The redhead takes a long and hard look at Brady while her coworker makes my sandwich.

“Same, but garlic-and-herb cream cheese.” He smiles over to me, and I’m sure awe fills my face. I’m half-tempted to change my order. “I hate that low-fat shit.”

“They have meat, you know.” I take a few steps toward him so as not to scream it across the line.

“I know. I want to experience why you like the sandwich so much.”

He moves next to me, and my heart races when his hand brushes against mine. I make my way down the line, away from him.

When we reach the cash register, Brady adds chips and drinks to our meals. Then, he pulls out a twenty before I’m able to dig in my messenger bag.

“Don’t pay for me!”

“Why not?” Brady glances around, noticing a few students peering our way after my outburst.

“This is not a date,” I argue.

“Hey, just because I decide to buy you lunch or dinner or whatever this meal is doesn’t mean it’s a date.” He softens his voice, inching closer to me.

“It’s just…things get implied with dates.” I’m desperate to compose myself.

The last thing I want is to owe him anything. God only knows how he’ll want to be paid back.

“Relax, Sadie. I’ll make you a deal.” He grabs our tray and leads us to a table.

“What?” I take a seat.

I’m happy he picked a table in the back. Too many eyes are on us right now. To clarify, they’re actually on Brady.

“You can buy me a meal tomorrow.” He smirks.

“Nice, Carsen.”

“A meal for a meal, and then we’re even.”

He hammers the two straws on the table until the wrappers fall down. When he places one in each of our cups, I nod to thank him.

“When are your classes tomorrow?” I ask.

“Well…I live off-campus, and I don’t have classes on Fridays, so it will have to be later.” He takes a big bite of his sandwich.

“Okay, when?”

“This is really good. I don’t even miss the meat,” he compliments, lifting his sandwich. “After my show,” he answers my question.

“I told you, the sandwich was good. After the show what?” I pick up my soda, taking a sip.

“I have a show tomorrow night. We’ll grab dinner after I’m done.” He’s nonchalant, continuing to eat his sandwich, while my insides slowly panic out of control.

“Sorry, but I’m not going to that bar house or whatever it is from last week.” I shake my head back and forth.

He laughs. “Good, because we’re playing at Aces. I’ll pick you up.”

“Um…no. Let me just give you the money.” I dig through my bag and grab a ten-dollar bill, placing it on the table.

In this moment, sitting across from a gorgeous guy who is trying to convince me to have dinner, I regret every decision I’ve made. If things were different and I’d made smarter choices in my past, I wouldn’t have turned down his deal. Then again, I wouldn’t have been at Western either.

“That’s not the deal. A meal for a meal. Just so you know, after a show, I’m so hungry that you’ll get the raw end of the deal, I promise,” he jokes.

“I think I already got the raw end. I can’t go to your show tomorrow or go out to eat afterward,” I refuse, putting my sandwich down, unable to swallow another bite because of the terror rising within me.

“What do I have to do?” He pops a chip into his mouth.

Carefree and laid-back, his whole personality baffles me. Nothing seems to faze him.

“I don’t date.”

“Okay, it won’t be a date. We’ll call it a friend coming to another friend’s show and then friends grabbing something to eat. I’ll even invite my band if it makes you more comfortable.”

His eyes plead with me from across the table, and I have to admit that I want to listen to him singing live. The fight inside me diminishes.

What harm could one show do?

“Fine,” I sigh. “But I’m bringing my roommate, Jessa, with me.” She’ll keep me honest.

“Great. The more, the better. I’ll pick you both up.” He smiles over the top of his sandwich, clearly happy that things went his way.