Page 24 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

“There a problem, Ashlyn?” Professor Buchanan prods.

I blink slowly and clear my throat. “Nope. No problem.”

“You sure? You look a little flushed.”

I tuck my hair behind my ear and force a smile. “I’m fine. Can you give me Colt’s number one more time, please?”

11

ASHLYN

As Professor Buchanan rattles off Colt’s phone number, I type it into my cell phone, promise to give Colt a call, and head to The Bean Scene. I’m desperate for coffee despite the fact it's almost two in the afternoon. But with the bomb Professor Buchanan threw at me, I could use something to clear my head. And nothing clears it more than coffee.

“Iced vanilla latte, please,” I order, handing my credit card to the barista. “For Ashlyn.”

She rings me up and gives my card back. “Coming right up.”

I adjust my backpack on my shoulder, then pull out my phone, sending Colt a text while ignoring the way my heart rate picks up at the mere thought of him.

Keep it together, girl.

Me: Hey. This is Ashlyn. Professor Buchanan gave me your number and mentioned you could use a tutor?

“Ashlyn?” the barista calls.

I take the iced coffee from her and pull up my mom’s number as I wait for Colt to text me back. I haven’t spoken with my mom in weeks.

It rings a few times, and my call is sent to voicemail. I sigh, dragging my thumb along the screen as my contact history shines a blinding light on all the outgoing calls from me to my parents, along with how few they ever return. I guess it’s not their fault they rarely keep their phones close by. Honestly, my dad doesn’t even own one. They prefer to be one with the Earth and spend most of their time barefoot while polishing their crystals.

It would be fine…if they remembered they still have a daughter every once in a while.

I shove aside my disappointment and am about to tuck my phone back into my pocket when it rings. I jump in surprise, registering Colt’s name flashing across the screen.

Crap.

A text is one thing. Another conversation when he’s still on my shit list from yesterday? It’s an entirely different and much more anxiety-inducing scenario. I suck down a quarter of my coffee and slide my thumb across the phone screen, releasing a slow breath.

“H-hello?” I answer.

“Hey, sorry. I hate texting unless it’s for a hookup, and since we aren’t hooking up, I figured a call would suffice.”

Annoyed, I shift my cell from one ear to the other. “Alrighty, then. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind in case I ever get a text from you.”

He chuckles. “Depends on how good the first tutoring session is.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not sure if you remember, but I have a boyfriend, so I think we’ll simply focus on the books. But thanks.”

Another low chuckle. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I take a sip of my coffee and clear my throat. “So, what classes do you need help with?”

“Depends on who you ask,” he jokes.

“All right. Let’s say we’re asking your mother. Which classes does she think you need help with?”

“Ah, so you know about my mom, huh?” He doesn’t sound mad, but I shouldn’t have let it slip anyway.

Shit.

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