Page 52 of The Stalker Snafu

She shook her head slowly before realizing an older gentleman was trying to get something from her tray. The flush coloring her cheeks rivaled a stoplight, and I grinned before turning back to my section⁠—

—only to magically stop an inch away from a black silk tux. My eyes followed the tux up to a stunning bow tie, a smooth neck—followed by a clean-shaven jaw, full lips, a nose that belonged in a royal line, and sparkling grey eyes.

Oliver Bishop, piano prodigy extraordinaire, stared down at me in equal surprise.

CHAPTER 19

A Familiar Face

It’d been weeks since I last saw the famous pianist, and my heart leapt into my throat as his grey eyes widened. The warmth in them stole what was left of my breath.

And all I could think about was that I currently had a bag of trash attached to my belt loop.

“Emma.” Oliver got over the shock far quicker than I did, an easy grin sliding into place. He looked like the Oliver Bishop I was used to seeing on magazine covers—the Oliver who held the world in the palm of his hand. His lean body was encased in an expensive tux, and slicked-back blond hair called attention to his thin nose. The image warred with how I’d met him on Westcroft’s campus—in jeans, a leather jacket, and a grey beanie. “You came.”

I blinked back at him, barely holding on to the tray of snails as I breathed again. My pants felt way too tight, and the temperature must’ve jumped twenty degrees. “I… What?”

His grin widened. “I wasn’t sure you would,” he said, sliding both hands into his pockets. “After I didn’t see you in the seats for the tickets I sent… Well, I’m glad you could make it to the after-party.”

“Um.” I tried to force myself to stop staring while I racked my brain for a reason Oliver would’ve expected to see me. “I…”

When he looked down at my outfit, brows pulled together, it finally dawned on me what he was talking about. Today was November 19th—the night of his concert. I’d been so worried about my midterm and what was going on with Noah, I’d completely forgotten about the invitation tucked away in my dorm. I wanted to scream at myself for being so thoughtless.

“I’m part of the catering crew,” I rushed to explain, regripping my tray and lowering it to rest awkwardly against my hip. The snails didn’t feel so exciting anymore. “I’m sorry. It was so thoughtful of you to send those tickets, and I would’ve loved to go to your concert, but… I had to work.”

The excuse sounded as lame coming out of my mouth as it did in my head, and my cheeks flamed.

“I understand.” Oliver took the rejection in stride, and his eyes didn’t lose any warmth as they held mine. “So… I’m guessing it went well with that guy? You never texted me back about celebrating your midterm.”

Shoot.

The night before my Music Theory midterm, I’d gone temporarily insane and finally added Oliver’s number to my phone. Then I’d proceeded to put my foot in my mouth while spamming him with texts. The memory was so mortifying, I’d shoved it to the back of my mind along with his text about getting dinner to celebrate.

I cleared my throat to hide a wince, trying to tamp down the blush spreading down my neck as I managed a small smile. My thoughts drifted to Noah, and to my embarrassment, I felt my smile turn dreamy.

“I am so, so sorry for not texting you back. It did go well, though. Very well, actually.” I cleared my throat again, looking down to hide my red cheeks. “We’re together.”

With a deep breath, I forced myself to stop being so awkward and just face the guy, then let the breath out when the corner of Oliver’s mouth quirked up. It was an easy, self-deprecating smile. “Guess I need to learn to take a hint, then, huh?”

I shook my head. “No! I mean, I was the one who brought up kissing you that day, so that was on me.” Then I realized I’d brought it up again, and my blush deepened five shades as I cleared my throat for a third time. At this rate, he probably thought I had a medical condition.

Oliver’s smile turned rueful. “But you’d think with what I go through I’d have a little more empathy about someone coming on too strong.” He gazed out at the crowd, most likely pretending not to notice my burning cheeks. “Sorry about that.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” I assured him, honestly surprised he’d even bothered to in the first place. “I should’ve texted you back, but I was so embarrassed after spamming you like that. And I really am sorry I missed your show. I bet it was amazing. Did you have fun?”

He lifted a shoulder. “It was the usual. I played the songs my management chose for me, plus a few I was allowed to pick. The crowd was pleased. The concert hall was nice.”

I blinked back at him.

It didn’t sound like he’d had fun.

A commotion broke out at the back of the house, raised voices shattering the peaceful night, and Oliver glanced over his shoulder before sending me a tight smile. “Looks like my father finally decided to show up. I better go, but let me know if you need anything?”

“Shouldn’t I be telling you that?” I asked, holding out the tray of snails. “Want some dead snails before you go? I hear they’re rich in iron.”

Oliver’s eyes crinkled as a slow smile spread across his face until the dimple in his left cheek peeked out. I was officially jealous; I wanted dimples. “I’ll pass on the escargot, but thanks. Stop by to talk if you see me later.”

I nodded, but he was already sauntering off toward the growing crowd at the veranda. Oliver Bishop walked with a confidence he’d earned ten times over, and every guest either moved aside or nodded in greeting. He shook hands and clinked glasses with the party elite.