B00AAOCX2E EBOK (19 page)

I almost swallowed my tongue.
I did
not
just say that!

In my peripheral vision, I saw Ian’s head shoot my way. I refused to even look at him.

Thinking fast, I gave him an impish grin and a weak laugh. “Just kidding.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” I asked as I slid my hands behind my back to attach the wireless microphone pack to the waistband of my skirt. Ian hadn’t talked to me since we’d been in the car, and although I knew now wasn’t the best time to address the issue, I couldn’t help myself. We were standing outside in the hall, getting ready to go onstage. I was nervous about that alone. Ian’s frosty behavior being added to the equation had me feeling on the verge of a total mental breakdown.

Ian’s eyes were riveted on his own pack. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why are you acting all pissy?”

He scowled. “I’m not acting pissy.”

“Oh, you are so acting pissy.”

“Fine, I’m acting pissy.”

I dropped my head back in frustration. This conversation was going nowhere fast.

I bit my lip in determination, putting all of my anxiety and frustration into getting the clip to attach to my skirt.
Why isn’t it…?

Frowning, I brought it back around so I could try to determine the problem. I was pushing on the clip correctly, it was just a tough one to budge. I used the pad of my thumb to push it down as hard as I could, wincing when all the blood drained away. “What the hell is wrong with this stupid clip?”

Ian sighed and practically ripped it from hand. “Give me the damn thing,” he growled.

I would have told him not to bother if I didn’t honestly need his help. Instead, I turned around, my eyes narrowing when the backsides of his warm fingers brushed against the skin of my lower back. Goosebumps rippled up my back and shoulders. “There.”

“Thank you,” I bit out, spinning around.
Great.
Now his pissy mood was affecting my mood. Of course, my anger was only a reaction to his anger, and why the hell was he angry, anyway?

He lowered his face until our noses almost touched and glowered at me. “No problem.”

My heart rate picked up at his sudden proximity. Our eyes locked in a fierce battle of wills.

I was the first to look away. Something dark and intense in Ian’s eyes had made my insides tremble. I shook my head and sighed. “Are you going to act like this when we’re on stage?”

“I’m not acting like anything. I just don’t feel like talking, okay?”

“Well, that’s going to be a problem, considering we’re here to do a job, and a huge part of that job revolves around you opening that mouth of yours and pushing words out.”

“Thanks for the rundown on my job description.”

I threw up my hands. “Great; sarcasm.
Just
what this conversation needs.”

“No. What this conversation needs is not to be happening at all.”

I glared at him, more hurt and confused than angry. “Fine. I’ll shut up, then.”

“Good.”

Okay,
now
I was angry. “Fine!”

“Wonderful!”

“Are we ready out here?”

Our heads swung to the door of the stage, where Dr. Wilkinson’s T.A. was staring at us with an expectant lift of his bushy brown eyebrows.

Sparing a quick searing look at me, Ian straightened his posture and nodded. “Always.”

“We’re good to go,” I said, forcing a smile while my stomach twisted up in even more knots. We were seconds from going out on stage, and this was going to be a disaster if Ian kept this up.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.
God, if you’re up there, please don’t let Ian ruin this for us. Please let everything go smoothly.

“Okay,” the T.A. said, tilting his head towards the stage. Stepping in closer, I could hear Dr. Wilkinson addressing her class. Half a minute or so passed before she launched into our introduction.

“As you all know, we have two very special guests that have agreed to come and talk to us today. I know I am very excited about having them here, and I am sure you are, too. So, without further ado, I want you all to give a warm welcome to the hosts of KRAZ’s
The Truths about Dating and Mating
, Mr. Ian Hollister and Miss Ivy Rossini.”

The audience broke out into loud applause.

“Good luck,” the T.A. said, stepping back so we could pass.

I walked across the stage, half in anticipation, half in dread. The applause grew more enthusiastic when we appeared on stage. I smiled and waved, then glanced back over my shoulder.

Ian held out his hand in acknowledgement of the crowd’s welcome. There was even a hint of a smile on his face.

The applause and wolf-whistles continued after we took our seats in the center of the stage. I laughed, surprised by the students’ reactions. I always knew we had a decent-sized audience, a rarity in college radio, but to have at least a hundred students in one room, cheering us on as if we were celebrities, was just a bit overwhelming and more than a bit nerve-wracking. The pressure to not disappoint was really on.

“Okay, if we could quiet down…” Dr. Wilkinson urged from her podium on the corner of the stage.

I looked out at the faces in the audience. I only recognized a scant few, but that wasn’t surprising, considering it was an intro class, full of freshmen and sophomore students. I saw a couple of girls clustered together in the front row, alternating between giggling and shooting flirtatious glances at Ian.

At last, the audience quieted down, and Dr. Wilkinson resumed speaking. “Now, before we move on to the Q and A portion of this panel, I have asked our guests to start by sharing with us how they came about doing their show.”

I blinked as a hundred-plus eyes locked on us. This was exactly what Ian had been talking about. Swallowing, I looked at Ian. “You wanna…?”

He kept his gaze focused out on the audience. “Knock yourself out.”

O-kay.
“How we got started,” I murmured, trying to remember. “Well, it was an accident, really.”

Ian leaned forward. “Well, I don’t know if you’d call it an accident as much as something that just sort of fell into our laps.”

I blinked, thrown off by the interruption. “I guess you could look at it that way. Anyway, the show started in late August. Prior to that, Ian had been doing a late-night rock show—”

“
Metal
show,” Ian interrupted again.

I turned to Ian with a tense smile. “You sure
you
wouldn’t rather tell the story?”

To the audience, I knew my voice sounded light and even a little amused – evident by the chuckles trickling across the auditorium – but I could tell that Ian recognized the bite in my tone by the insolent smirk that moved over his face. “Nope, it’s all you,” he said with a shrug. “I’m just making sure the facts are accurate.”

Like it really matters, you prick.
He was trying to rattle me on purpose.

Reminding myself that people were waiting, I took an uneven breath and turned back to the audience. “So, one night, back in the beginning of August, I stopped by to bring Ian something to eat. I was hanging out in the station with him when he received a call from one of his listeners, wanting advice on the best kind of music to get his girl in the mood. Now, I’m thinking of maybe Enigma or Evanesence, but this one,” I threw a thumb at Ian, “without even a second thought, suggested Metallica.”

Ian’s chin lifted with pride. “And I stand by my choice.”

“Now,” I went on as if he hadn’t spoken, “I had visited Ian during his show before, and usually remained silent, but I just couldn’t hold my tongue when I heard that. My outburst basically sparked a debate that lasted for the next half-hour, in which we argued over the differences between what kind of music appealed to the basest instincts of men and women. And I have to hand it to my friend here, he did make a fairly convincing argument. In fact,” I chuckled, “I can’t listen to Metallica anymore without having a rather
interesting
physical response to it.”

“What was the argument?” a girl’s voice shouted from near the back.

Ian turned his head towards Wilkinson. “That okay?”

“By all means,” Dr. Wilkinson replied with an encouraging grin. She looked curious. In fact, quite a few of the people in the audience looked curious. Not really a surprise, since most people didn’t equate Metallica, or metal in general, with sex.

“Okay,” Ian held out his hands like a coach in the locker room, about to explain a play to his players. “On the surface, Metallica is just hard-hitting thrash music. But those with a discerning ear know that Metallica’s music is close to a primitive language. It’s raw, visceral, and intense. It’s full of emotion. The intricate threads and layers of Metallica’s music have a way of burrowing deep into the core of a person and eliciting an emotional – and if used in the right situation – sensual response that makes us stir from the inside. It awakens the savage beast that resides in us all, has us searching for an outlet to let go of those primal feelings and desires we normally try to restrain.” He paused and leaned further forward, his voice lowering. “And if you really listen, it’ll make you hot, make you hard, make you wet. Make you want to rip off your clothes and have the most intense sex of your life.”

I blinked as his voice tapered off and forced myself to swallow. Although I’d heard a drawn out variation of his argument before, the way his voice had dropped low near the end there had made
me
stir from the inside.

And it appeared I wasn’t the only one.

Looking out at the class, I noticed quite a few of the females fidgeting in their seats and rubbing their legs together. There were more than a few faces sporting a little color, and more than one set of glazed eyes.

After letting his words sink in for a few moments, Ian sat back in his seat. “Still not convinced? Close your eyes next time you listen to
Until It Sleeps
or
Nothing Else Matters
. Pay attention to what you hear. You’ll see what I mean.”

I couldn’t help wondering how many of the girls in the audience were going to dash to iTunes to download a Metallica album as soon as class was over.

“Thanks for sharing your interesting perspective on the topic,” Dr. Wilkinson said. I glanced over and was unnerved to see she was looking a little pink around the cheeks. I decided it must have been Ian’s use of vivid language that had her face flushing.
And if not, I really don’t want to know about it.

Dr. Wilkinson fluffed out her shirt. “Ivy? Would you like to continue telling your story?”

“Uh, sure,” I said, clearing my throat as I tried to remember where I had last left off. “I guess our debate was pretty entertaining. A few people mentioned it the next day, telling me how much they enjoyed it. Then, Amery, our producer-slash-engineer, told us she thought our debate was great, and that she loved hearing both the male and female view on the same topic. She idly suggested that we could make a show of it.

“Now, I don’t think either of us gave it much thought at the time,” I continued. I saw Ian shake his head. “But, apparently, Amery couldn’t get the idea out of her head. She brought it up again the next time we were together, and it was pretty clear that she’d been putting a lot of thought into it. She kept saying we had all the ingredients to make a successful show. With Ian’s background in communication, my background in Sociology, our open minds about sex, and the dynamic of our friendship, we could really make a dating and sex advice show happen.” I shrugged. “What can I say? Her enthusiasm was contagious, and before we knew it, we were pitching the idea to the station director.”

Ian sat forward again. “I honestly didn’t think we had a shot in hell of getting his approval, seeing as how he’s a tight-ass stuffed-shirt…”

I winced as soon as the words fell from Ian’s lips. I probably should have told him about Dr. Wilkinson’s involvement with Quinn. If I had, I liked to think he would be less forthright about his opinion – one I shared, but knew better than to advertise it at this forum – especially in front of Quinn’s girlfriend.

Biting down on my lip, I glanced over to gauge Dr. Wilkinson’s reaction, surprised to see her chuckling.

“…but, shockingly enough,” Ian continued, “he went for it. Turns out he was getting pressure from the higher-ups to generate more student interest in the station, and he saw the potential for doing that in our proposal.”

I recognized from the rise of his tone that he was handing the reins back to me. “And although some of the higher-ups didn’t necessarily approve, he got the go-ahead,” I said. “One week later we were in the station.”

“And one month later, the numbers came in, and student interest had doubled,” Ian said. “Which I think made it a total of sixteen listeners, but word spreads fast. The rest, as they say, is history.”

It was then that I felt it. As rough of a start as we’d had – rough for me, at least – I felt a fraction of the magic returning. We were reading each other once again, taking cues from each other’s tones. I hoped we could keep it up.

“Thank you for sharing,” Dr. Wilkinson said. “Now, how about we see some of that dynamic in action?”

The class broke into encouraging applause.

“Oh, come on. You can do better than that!” Ian raised his arms, amping up the audience.

The noise level in the auditorium rose to a deafening level.

I laughed, relived and encouraged to see Ian rousing the audience.

“To help us ease into the Q and A, I will be randomly drawing the questions you wrote on Tuesday from the box here, and reading them out,” Dr. Wilkinson said to her class after they finally quieted down. “If any of you have a question you would like to ask live, please feel free. Are there any questions?” She scanned the auditorium. When no raised hands were seen, she smiled and turned to us. “Are we ready up here?”

“Yep,” I said.

Ian grinned. “Bring it on.”

Dr. Wilkinson dipped her hand into the shoebox and pulled out a slip of paper.

“Our first letter says: ‘Dear Ian and Ivy. I think I’m falling in love with my best friend of eight years, and I am not sure how to tell him about it. I don’t want to ruin our friendship, but I feel like I can’t breathe with all of these feelings locked inside of me. Help!’ Signed, Girl-In-Love.” Dr. Wilkinson lifted her head from the paper and smiled up at us. “What do you suggest?”