Page 5 of The Stalker Snafu

He studied me for a long moment until his mouth curved into the shadow of a smile.

“You should blow out the candle before it becomes a fire hazard,” he reminded me, lightly squeezing my hand.

“Then hurry up and eat this,” I shot back, wiggling the fork again. A small glob of syrup stretched down from the bite, landing on the table with a plop.

I frowned at it. What a waste.

Noah just shook his head slowly, but the corner of his mouth lifted just the smallest bit as he reached for my wrist. He took the offered bite as his thumb brushed over my pulse, and a shiver danced up my arm. I liked feeding him. But he barely chewed before his nostrils flared and he failed to hide a grimace as he swallowed.

“Very sweet.” He let go of my wrist and took a drink of his coffee.

I rolled my eyes at Mr. Black Coffee, then eyed the pink candle dripping wax onto the chocolate chip waffle masterpiece. Maybe breakfast had gotten off to a rocky start, but I had plenty of reasons to be happy today.

Waffles.

Coffee.

Noah.

I drew a deep breath and blew the candle out on my first try, wishing this weren’t the beginning of the end for me and Noah.

Okay, fine. I wished for a pet elephant, too.

CHAPTER 3

Afternoon Delight

Noah must know how much his phone call rubbed me the wrong way, because he was waiting outside my dorm building bright and early Monday morning with an iced caramel macchiato in hand.

Extra caramel.

All was forgiven.

We even stopped by our tree on the quad for a cozy kiss or two before the hike up to Music Theory.

Right after we found seats in the third row, Professor Slade strode into the classroom.

“Put your notebooks away. There’s no lecture today,” our professor announced. I couldn’t help watching in awe as he settled his briefcase on the teacher’s desk at the front of the room.

Atticus Slade.

He was the reason I’d applied to Westcroft.

Slade was a legend in the field of piano. Effortlessly talented. Untouchable. Not to mention handsome with his dark hair and commanding gaze. The horn-rimmed glasses and suede elbow patches really worked for him. And Slade’s compositions had a reputation for filling theaters—though he hadn’t toured in a couple decades.

It still felt like a dream to be learning from one of the greats.

Too bad I hadn’t made the best first impression. Or second. … Or third.

“Split up into your groups to go through the discussion questions at the end of our last section, then use the remaining class time to work on your duet projects.” Slade adjusted his glasses before surveying the room. “There are limited class periods left before your performances. I’m available for questions now, so use your time wisely. Get to work.”

He projected our group assignments onto the board, and I groaned. It was the same group I’d had before.

Me, Sleepy Susan, Aaron Richards, and Blaise Rousseau.

Kill me now.

“I’ll give you fifty dollars to trade groups with me.” I turned to Noah on my left, not caring how desperate I sounded. “Please? I might actually die if I have to work with them again.”