someone sat down in the listening booth beside her.
Startled, Sam glanced up, smiling when she realized it was Miranda Cross, one of her classmates from advanced Spanish.
“Hey, girl,” Miranda said with a broad grin. “You were listening so hard, I thought I might have to throw a book at you to get your attention.”
“Sorry,” Sam sighed as she leaned back and stretched her back. “You know how it is—you get so focused trying to understand the conversation, you forget everything else going on around you.”
“I was going to grab a cup of coffee. Got ten minutes to catch up and tell me about your summer?”
“Sure.” Sam smiled, following her out of the language lab. Miranda looked fresh and pretty in a floral top, short shorts, and sky-high espadrilles. She had deep russet hair and the kind of blue eyes that made you look twice. Though she was only a year or two older than Sam, Miranda carried herself with the kind of womanly confidence Sam secretly envied. Miranda looked good, and she knew how to flaunt her self-assurance without being overt, and she was such a nice person, you really couldn’t fault her for it anyway.
Sam watched on in amusement as the couple of guys waiting in line at the coffee cart did a double take when Miranda sidled up beside them, automatically moving aside with hopeful expressions so she could order first.
“Thanks, boys,” Miranda told them with a smile before ordering her and Sam a couple of lattes. “So how was your summer?”
“Too hot and too short,” Sam replied, tugging a little self-consciously at the ROTC uniform she was required to wear a couple times a week.
“Oh, come on—you can do better than that,” Miranda responded, rolling her eyes. “Tell me about the handsome rodeo rider you romanced or the outlaw you caught trying to steal cattle off your family’s land.”
“Good Lord, are you sure you’re studying to be a journalist?” Sam teased. “You might do better becoming a romance novelist.”
“Ironic observation from the girl who’s studying modern languages and yet manages to evade every single good question with the world’s most boring answers. ‘Too hot and too short,’” Miranda mimicked with an eye roll. “Good grief.”
“Well, all right—how was yours?”
Miranda’s answering smile was nearly feline. “Learned to scuba dive in Mexico, went out on a few very good dates, and I went and visited my uncle at Polunsky prison over in Livingston.” She leaned forward. “I think I’m going to write an article or two about it for the school paper.”
Sam’s brows rose. “Damn. You’re for real?”
“Yep,” Miranda nodded. “He’s doing time for vehicular manslaughter. Serves him right too. He was driving after drinking enough Jack Daniels to drown a tortoise. But while I was there, I noticed some curious things about the white to non-white ratio of death row inmates.” Miranda got a glint in her eye. “I need to run the idea past my professor, but I think the story might have some legs.”
“Speaking of legs, I think the guys behind you might have a hard time getting their tongues back into their mouths,” Sam drawled as she and Miranda accepted their coffees.
Miranda glanced over her shoulder, caught one of them ogling, and winked. The poor guy turned beet red.
“You’re terrible.” Sam laughed as she watched the guy blush red to his roots.
“They like the attention,” Miranda replied airily as she led them toward a warm patch of grass nearby. “Now come on—quit holding out on me,” she coaxed as they sat down. “Tell me something good.”
Sam scanned back over her summer trying to think of something good to say, but in all reality, the most interesting thing that had happened to her recently was meeting Wes. And she bet a girl like Miranda would know exactly how to handle a guy like him. Maybe Miranda could give her some sound advice.
“I did meet a guy,” Sam admitted. “Well, a couple guys
Startled, Sam glanced up, smiling when she realized it was Miranda Cross, one of her classmates from advanced Spanish.
“Hey, girl,” Miranda said with a broad grin. “You were listening so hard, I thought I might have to throw a book at you to get your attention.”
“Sorry,” Sam sighed as she leaned back and stretched her back. “You know how it is—you get so focused trying to understand the conversation, you forget everything else going on around you.”
“I was going to grab a cup of coffee. Got ten minutes to catch up and tell me about your summer?”
“Sure.” Sam smiled, following her out of the language lab. Miranda looked fresh and pretty in a floral top, short shorts, and sky-high espadrilles. She had deep russet hair and the kind of blue eyes that made you look twice. Though she was only a year or two older than Sam, Miranda carried herself with the kind of womanly confidence Sam secretly envied. Miranda looked good, and she knew how to flaunt her self-assurance without being overt, and she was such a nice person, you really couldn’t fault her for it anyway.
Sam watched on in amusement as the couple of guys waiting in line at the coffee cart did a double take when Miranda sidled up beside them, automatically moving aside with hopeful expressions so she could order first.
“Thanks, boys,” Miranda told them with a smile before ordering her and Sam a couple of lattes. “So how was your summer?”
“Too hot and too short,” Sam replied, tugging a little self-consciously at the ROTC uniform she was required to wear a couple times a week.
“Oh, come on—you can do better than that,” Miranda responded, rolling her eyes. “Tell me about the handsome rodeo rider you romanced or the outlaw you caught trying to steal cattle off your family’s land.”
“Good Lord, are you sure you’re studying to be a journalist?” Sam teased. “You might do better becoming a romance novelist.”
“Ironic observation from the girl who’s studying modern languages and yet manages to evade every single good question with the world’s most boring answers. ‘Too hot and too short,’” Miranda mimicked with an eye roll. “Good grief.”
“Well, all right—how was yours?”
Miranda’s answering smile was nearly feline. “Learned to scuba dive in Mexico, went out on a few very good dates, and I went and visited my uncle at Polunsky prison over in Livingston.” She leaned forward. “I think I’m going to write an article or two about it for the school paper.”
Sam’s brows rose. “Damn. You’re for real?”
“Yep,” Miranda nodded. “He’s doing time for vehicular manslaughter. Serves him right too. He was driving after drinking enough Jack Daniels to drown a tortoise. But while I was there, I noticed some curious things about the white to non-white ratio of death row inmates.” Miranda got a glint in her eye. “I need to run the idea past my professor, but I think the story might have some legs.”
“Speaking of legs, I think the guys behind you might have a hard time getting their tongues back into their mouths,” Sam drawled as she and Miranda accepted their coffees.
Miranda glanced over her shoulder, caught one of them ogling, and winked. The poor guy turned beet red.
“You’re terrible.” Sam laughed as she watched the guy blush red to his roots.
“They like the attention,” Miranda replied airily as she led them toward a warm patch of grass nearby. “Now come on—quit holding out on me,” she coaxed as they sat down. “Tell me something good.”
Sam scanned back over her summer trying to think of something good to say, but in all reality, the most interesting thing that had happened to her recently was meeting Wes. And she bet a girl like Miranda would know exactly how to handle a guy like him. Maybe Miranda could give her some sound advice.
“I did meet a guy,” Sam admitted. “Well, a couple guys
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