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on the way to the bus stop, too depressed to go home. I didn’t have to work and didn’t have any major assignments due for a while, so I was looking forward to grabbing lunch and stretching out on my couch. But my D+ had thrown me into a funk. I needed something to cheer me up, lift my spirits, and make me feel smart and happy again after dealing with Professor St. James.
    Scout .
    His name crossed my lips and brought an immediate smile to my face. Even though I never called him, I’d punched in his number so many times I knew it by heart.
    Could I actually go through with it this time?
    I wanted to call Scout. I so, so badly wanted to call, but I didn’t even know what to say. Hello? This is Nola, the girl who served you the weird beer and who is kinda obsessed with you?
    That certainly wouldn’t work. He’d probably think I was some kind of socially awkward dork who couldn’t even hold a decent conversation. On second thought, he wouldn’t be far off.
    I checked the time and saw that it was only 11 a.m. Scout was probably working or still sleeping off the previous night’s events, so I told myself I could just listen to his voice once or twice (or maybe 50 times?) and leave a polite message thanking him for the tip.
    I pulled out my phone and my hands started to tremble as I dialed Scout’s number. As the phone rang, my stomach inched closer to my throat and I refused to breathe. After the third ring I relaxed a bit, confident I’d soon be transferred to his voicemail, but then something completely unexpected happened: he picked up.
    “Hello?” His voice was thick and raspy like I’d just woken him up.
    Was he in bed? My breath caught in my chest at the thought of Scout lying in bed, his muscles languid and exposed, and his huge arms draped across my—
    “Hello?” he said again and I was jolted out of my daydream.
    “Hi…” I nearly whispered. “It’s—“
    “Nola,” he breathed into my ear and for a moment it almost felt like he was standing right behind me. “I’m glad you called,” he said. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t.”
    “Sorry about that. Things got a little busy between work and school and,” I seriously needed to get my blathering under control. “Anyway, I wanted to say thank you.”
    “For what?”
    “The tip. It was way too generous, like 300-percent. I almost felt bad about taking it.”
    “You felt bad?” His voice rose in my ear like he was annoyed.
    “I mean, it was just way too much,” I said, hoping I didn’t upset him.
    I heard Scout release a sigh. “You deserve it, Nola.”
    “Well,” I said quietly, “I don’t want to hold you. I just called to say thanks.”
    “No worries. But hey, what are you up to now? Heading to work?”
    I flopped down on a nearby bench and twirled strands of hair around my index finger. I had planned to only speak to Scout’s voicemail, and then push him completely out of my head, but as we talked, I realized I didn’t want our conversation to end.
    “Umm, no. Not working today. I was thinking of heading to the Getty.”
    “What time?” he asked, and I felt myself easing at the sound of his voice.
    Scout sounded like a man . Not like the guys at UCLA who pretended to be men, but really weren’t. His voice was deep and masculine, but whenever he said my name he caressed it like a precious jewel.
    “Nola?” he said, snapping me out of my thoughts again.
    “Huh?”
    “What time are you going to the Getty?”
    “Oh, now. I’m on campus, so I’ll probably get there in a half hour or so.”
    “I’ll meet you there,” he said, perking up.
    “What? No, Scout, you don’t have to—“
    “I want to, Nola,” he said. “Have you eaten yet? We could grab a bite if you feel like it.”
    Before I could think about it, I heard myself say, “Okay.”
    What could happen in a museum anyway? We’d see some art, get a sandwich at the café, and then go our separate ways. I figured it would be completely harmless.