And then we got out of there, running along the edge of campus, and then along the lake to the little sandbar, a couple of ancient picnic tables in the grass, the sky scattered with stars. He backed me up against one of the trees and kissed me hard, and I kissed him back, surging up against him, jerking awake from the dream when I could feel his hands roaming down my body. I pulled away, gasping for air. He buried his nose in my neck and breathed in gustily.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he panted, and that sent a shiver through me. Made me ask, in a whisper, if he wanted to head back to his dorm.

We kissed all the way there. I flicked off the light in his room, pulled the door shut. In the dark, I tugged the skimpy mesh of my costume top up over my head, flung it into the air. But there was a moment—his hand gripped my waist, and I sucked it all in automatically. Worried how my body felt to him.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered against my neck, hesitating. I was glad he couldn’t see my face.

“Nothing,” I whispered back. I moved his hand to my hip and kept kissing him.

After that night, there were the other two times, and then the didn’t know you thought we were a thing text.

And now, here we are.

“Let’s see what happens this time,” he says, holding his hand out and grinning when I shake my head to refuse.

He hits the theater doors with both hands and leads us over to the low benches along each window-wall of the rotunda. Of course he sits in a sunbeam, because he always knows how to find his spotlight.

He reaches out and plucks a bobby pin from my loose hair, hands it to me. “Were you looking for this?”

I blush and take it from him, comb my fingers through my hair again. He’s watching with a smile, and I want to smile back. “I’m just coming from rehearsal,” I say inanely.

“Do you need me to help you find them all?” he says, gesturing at me like he’s going to reach out and run his fingers through my curls.

“I’ll check when I get home,” I say. I remind myself sternly that he flirts with everyone: moms and babies and baristas and the entire admin staff and dogs. But he doesn’t demand anything from you, like Christopher. He actually seems to like people.

“You have so much hair,” he says, still smiling.

My hand goes up automatically to pat it, but I force it back down to my lap. “That’s what you wanted to talk about?”

“Of course,” he says. “I thought you should know.”

“Well, of course I know,” I say.

“And an excellent personality.”