Maybe Someday(5)

that sometimes I catch myself holding my breath,

and I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I’m

gasping for air.

It also doesn’t help that he’s cute. At least, he

seems cute from here. His light brown hair is un-

ruly and moves with him, falling across his fore-

head every time he looks down at his guitar. He’s

too far away to distinguish eye color or distinct

features, but the details don’t matter when

coupled with the passion he has for his music.

There’s a confidence to him that I find compel-

ling. I’ve always admired musicians who are able

to tune out everyone and everything around them

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and pour all of their focus into their music. To be

able to shut the world off and allow yourself to

be completely swept away is something I’ve al-

ways wanted the confidence to do, but I just

don’t have it.

This guy has it. He’s confident and talented.

I’ve always been a sucker for musicians, but

more in a fantasy way. They’re a different breed.

A breed that rarely makes for good boyfriends.

He glances at me as if he can hear my

thoughts, and then a slow grin appears across his

face. He never once pauses the song while he

continues to watch me. The eye contact makes

me blush, so I drop my arms and pull my note-

book back onto my lap and look down at it. I hate

that he just caught me staring so hard. Not that I

was doing anything wrong; it just feels odd for

him to know I was watching him. I glance up

again, and he’s still watching me, but he’s not

smiling anymore. The way he’s staring causes

my heart to speed up, so I look away and focus

on my notebook.

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Way to be a creeper, Sydney.

“There’s my girl,” a comforting voice says

from behind me. I lean my head back and tilt my

eyes upward to watch Hunter as he makes his

way onto the balcony. I try to hide the fact that

I’m shocked to see him, because I’m pretty sure I

was supposed to remember he was coming.

On the off chance that Guitar Boy is still

watching, I make it a point to seem really into

Hunter’s hello kiss so that maybe I’ll seem less

like a creepy stalker and more like someone just

casually relaxing on her balcony. I run my hand

up Hunter’s neck as he leans over the back of my

chair and kisses me upside down.

“Scoot up,” Hunter says, pushing on my

shoulders. I do what he asks and slide forward in

the seat as he lifts his leg over the chair and slips in behind me. He pulls my back against his chest

and wraps his arms around me.

My eyes betray me when the sound of the gui-

tar stops abruptly, and I glance across the court-

yard once more. Guitar Boy is eyeing us hard as

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he stands, then goes back inside his apartment.

His expression is odd. Almost angry.

“How was school?” Hunter asks.

“Too boring to talk about. What about you?

How was work?”

“Interesting,” he says, brushing my hair away

from my neck with his hand. He presses his lips

to my neck and kisses his way down my

collarbone.

“What was so interesting?”

He tightens his hold on me, then rests his chin

on my shoulder and pulls me back in the chair

with him. “The oddest thing happened at lunch,”

he says. “I was with one of the guys at this Italian

restaurant. We were eating out on the patio, and I

had just asked the waiter what he recommended

for dessert, when a police car rounded the corner.

They stopped right in front of the restaurant, and

two officers jumped out with their guns drawn.

They began barking orders toward us when our

waiter mumbled, ‘Shit.’ He slowly raised his

hands, and the police jumped the barrier to the

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patio, rushed toward him, threw him to the

ground, and cuffed him right at our feet. After

they read him his rights, they pulled him to his

feet and escorted him toward the cop car. The

waiter glanced back at me and yelled, ‘The tiram-

isu is really good!’ Then they put him in the car

and drove away.”

I tilt my head back and look up at him. “Seri-

ously? That really happened?”

He nods, laughing. “I swear, Syd. It was

crazy.”

“Well? Did you try the tiramisu?”

“Hell, yeah, we did. It was the best tiramisu

I’ve ever had.” He kisses me on the cheek and

pushes me forward. “Speaking of food, I’m

starving.” He stands up and holds out his hand to

me. “Did you cook tonight?”

I take his hand and let him pull me up. “We

just had salad, but I can make you one.”

Once we’re inside, Hunter takes a seat on the