Nocturne by Charles Sheehan-Miles Page B

circle as the band started up again.
    “I know, but I’ve been spoiled the last three, getting to see you every day. I like that. Come on, spill it: tell me where you’re auditioning.” I set my hands on his broad shoulders as we moved in time with the salsa coming from the stage.
    Nathan shook his head. “You know I won’t, Savannah. Just … trust me, okay?”
    Before the song was over, I caught a shockingly out of place figure at the bar, causing me to stop and stare.
    “What?” Nathan asked, turning around.
    “He dances?” I gestured to Gregory Fitzgerald, who was sitting next to the same blonde woman he’d been with at my mother’s opera. Since the opera I’d seen her on campus once, coming out of the endowment offices.
    He was dressed more casually than I was used to seeing him, but just slightly so. Black was definitely his color. I often mocked his monochromatic color palette in my head while staring at him during our lectures, but in the club tonight it looked just right. While the snug black t-shirt almost made him invisible in the shadows of the bar, his eyes commanded my attention. In the classroom they sometimes felt like icicles, sending nausea over anyone they came across because you really didn’t want to be on the other end of a debate with him. Well, I did. It excited me to go back and forth with him. I wasn’t usually one for classroom debates—especially on things that there wasn’t much to debate about. But, with him I couldn’t seem to help it. Before I knew it, my eyes were resting on his shoulders, tight from years of playing. They were usually hidden under the suit coats he wore to class. Not tonight.
    Wow.
    Nathan let out a full-throated laugh, apparently ignoring the fact that I was blatantly staring at our handsome professor. “What in God’s name is he doing in here?”
    “Let’s go find out.” I grabbed Nathan’s hand and led him up the three stairs to the bar area.
    “What are you going to say to him?” Nathan’s lips grazed my ear as he talked.
    “I’ll figure it out on the walk.”
    When we got up to the bar, Nathan ordered me a cosmopolitan and himself a beer. My back was to the woman, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. There were words passing between them, though, which seemed to be a small miracle in itself. I drank the cosmopolitan in three sips, and Nathan downed his beer. He tilted his chin to the good professor behind me, and butterflies danced erratically in my stomach at the prospect of approaching him.
    “Your cheeks are red …” Nathan raised an eyebrow.
    “I just swallowed my drink whole, Nathan.” I gestured with my empty glass to try to cover up what Gregory was doing to my body. “Gimme a minute.”
    I took a deep breath and turned around, blushing deeper when I saw that Gregory was already looking at me. Studying me. His eyes moved up the length of my body, hitching my breath as they slowed over my curves. As I stepped forward, his eyes shot to mine, maybe hoping he hadn’t been caught.
    He had.
    “I’ve never seen you here before.” I smiled as he shifted in his seat. He mumbled something absolutely unintelligible given the band was in the middle of a salsa number. I had to lean in so our faces were inches apart. “What?”
    He sucked in a quick breath. So close to my ear it caused goosebumps down that side of my body. “I said, do you come here often, Miss Marshall?”
    I laughed, causing him to furrow his brow.
    “What?’
    “It’s Savannah. Please, call me Savannah, Greg—” I stopped short, covering my mouth and silently cursing the vodka for making me call him by his first name. It wasn’t the vodka at all, but that was as good an alibi as any.
    Mr. Fitzgerald grinned before taking a quick sip from a short glass filled with what I assumed was a something and tonic. “It’s okay, Savannah …” He shrugged, not offering anymore.
    His features were relaxed as I nodded, breathless at the way he pressed his lips