Awa
Chapter three
"Uh," I flounder, then take a deep breath and extend my hand. "Hi, Noah. What's up?"
My voice is a little too high, and Noah's bemused expression lets me know a handshake is a little too formal, but at least I spoke words…
this time. I didn't duck into the vestibule of Irani Hall like a coward, or return his smile in greeting with what could only be described as a grimace.
En vérité, Sybil might be right; my ambitious course load has atrophied my social skills almost completely.
Noah squeezes my small hand in his larger one, the warmth of his skin traveling up my arm and bringing me back to the moment. The moment when Noah Park is talking to me. Touching me.
"I thought we could sit together, since I don't know anyone else here."
I don't point out that he doesn't know me, unless you count having a few classes together and one extremely awkward interaction at a party weeks ago.
But even someone like me, a pent-up virgin pining after men I only see thanks to my Blockbuster card, knows you don't send your crush away when he finally talks to you.
"Yeah, sure," I murmur, and pray he doesn't see the faint sheen of sweat that's broken out on my top lip.
We're early. So early that the perfect seats—a few rows back and directly in front of the podium—are still open.
Noah sits right next to me, unbothered when my full hips spill out of the narrow seat to brush against his leg and my arms take up the armrest between us.
I'm certainly not built like Nia Long, and yet he turns towards me, pushing his body more firmly against mine and triggering goosebumps all over my skin. I might actually pass out.
"So, what do you want to do at William Morris? Are you trying to work your way up to an agent someday?"
I resist the urge to snort.
"I'm not sure I'm cut out to be an agent. All that schmoozing and constant networking?" I shake my head ruefully. "I want to be an entertainment lawyer, and an internship in their legal department would look great on my law school applications next year. What about you?"
A smile spreads across his face.
"An agent," he answers, chuckling. "Schmoozing and networking are right up my alley. And my dad already has my brother to follow in his footsteps."
There's a bitter edge to his tone. I hope I didn't offend him.
"Your father is a lawyer?" I ask. His mouth turns down briefly before he schools his features into another breathtaking smile. Maybe his dad is a touchy subject.
"Yeah. He's a pretty big deal, too, at least back home in NYC."
"New York?" I sigh, settling further against him. "Why'd you come all the way to LA when there are plenty of agent jobs there?"
"That's easy," he replies. "I had to get out from under my family's thumb. Don't get me wrong—I love them—but all that pressure made it hard to figure out what I wanted to do. You know?"
More than you could imagine, I think to myself. But family drama is way too much for the dwindling minutes before an info session, let alone with a relative stranger. Best to keep things light.
We commiserate about hectic schedules and the overlap between my minor and his Business of Cinematic Arts major until the din of the full auditorium makes talking impossible.
When the final question is answered and the surrounding seats are empty once again, he asks for my number.
And I smile all the way back to my dorm.