Romancing the R.A - By Ashelyn Drake Page 0,3
freshman or a transfer student?” He smiles, and his eyes light up.
“Oh, um, freshman.” I almost hate admitting it since he now knows I’m still in high school.
He nods, as if he expected as much. “Where are you from?”
“Northern New Jersey.” No one ever knows where Vernon is, so there’s no point in naming my hometown.
His head cocks to the side. “I have family in Jersey. Are you from Bergen County?”
“No, Sussex. Farm country.” Great. Now he’ll think I’m some hillbilly.
“Ah, well, Pennsylvania isn’t much different than New Jersey.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed a lot of similarities already.” He must be a teacher. Why else would he be talking to me? Asking where I’m from? I fidget with my tray, avoiding his eyes. We’ve already run out of things to say to each other. Way to be a conversationalist, Noelle. Apparently, I’m better at flirting when there are no words involved. Oh crap, I flirted with a teacher!
“Have you decided on a major?”
“Not really.” This keeps getting better and better. Now I’m a hillbilly with no direction.
“Don’t sweat it. I was undecided my first year, too.”
So he’s not a teacher. Oh thank God! “When did you decide?” I ask, trying to get more clues about his age and whether or not there’s any hope for something happening between us.
“Just this summer. I figured I should declare a major if I’m going to be a resident advisor. I have to set a good example for the people in my dorm and all.”
“A resident advisor?” The line moves forward, and I catch the scent of his cologne. I breathe deeply, letting it fill my senses.
“Yeah, we monitor the dorms.”
I stop trying to smell him before he catches on. “Oh, so are you a senior then?”
He laughs. “I wish. No, I’m a sophomore. They usually don’t let sophomores be R.As, but I sort of know the dean.”
“You do? That boring guy who droned on and on for hours? Ouch.”
“He’s my dad.”
“Oh.” Shit. This goes beyond foot in mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
He raises his hand to stop me. “It’s cool. I keep telling him to cut his talks, but he won’t listen to me.” He gives me that sexy smile again.
“He’s really your dad?” I can’t believe someone that boring could create someone as personable as…I don’t even know his name.
“I don’t get preferential treatment if that’s what you’re thinking. The R.A. position is more like my dad giving me a swift kick in the ass. He says I need direction and to learn responsibility.” He holds his hands out to the sides. “So, here I am.”
It’s my turn in line, so I order red skin mashed potatoes, minus the gravy. I’m only a quarter Irish, but my love of potatoes runs deep. I thank the lady serving me and step out of line.
“Just potatoes?” he asks, catching up and following me to find an empty table. “That’s hardly a balanced meal.”
I notice his tray is loaded with mashed potatoes, pot roast, and cooked carrots. “Oh, so you’re a cafeteria advisor now, too?” My attempt at flirting is pathetic. Why can’t I be good at this like Julia? Where is Julia? I scan the area by the bathrooms but don’t see her.
“I was going to say that no meal is complete until you have frozen yogurt and a mug of sprinkles.”
“What?” I can’t help laughing. “Did you say a mug of sprinkles?”
He smiles and raises one shoulder. “Sure. When you put sprinkles on your cone, they’re the first things to go. And after that, all you’re left with is plain yogurt. But…” He tugs my elbow, bringing me over to the frozen yogurt station. He sets his tray down and grabs a cone. Lining it up under the French vanilla dispenser, he makes an almost perfect swirl of yogurt. “Now, watch.” He grabs a coffee mug from the coffee station next to us and dunks it into the container of rainbow sprinkles, almost filling the mug. “There.”
“So, am I supposed to drink the sprinkles?”
“Oh, silly little freshman.” He winks and turns the cone upside-down in the coffee mug, covering it completely with sprinkles. “There, now try it.”
“Um, I haven’t eaten my mashed potatoes yet.”
“Eh, the food here sucks anyway. Best to go straight for dessert.” He holds the cone out to me. No way am I licking it while he’s still holding it. I mean, I’m terrible at flirting, but even I can see how that would look. I take the cone, and our fingers