Free Looking for Trouble (Nashville U Book 1) by Stacey Mosteller Page A

Max and I flinch.
    Placing one hand on Max’s shoulder in commiseration, I squeeze hard . “See ya later, little bro. You heard the lady.” I walk around the car to the driver’s side, shaking my head at his stupidity. He should have just apologized. If Max had brought her flowers or some shit and said he was sorry, she probably would’ve forgiven him, but instead, she’s leaving with me. Hell, maybe he’ll clue in if he thinks he’s in danger of losing her to me. That thought doesn’t sit well with me, but I don’t know why.
    Kat studiously avoids looking out the window at where Max watches us forlornly. As I put the car in reverse, I raise a hand and wave at him before putting my arm around the back of Kat’s seat, turning to watch the road as I back out. When I turn back, Max is gone, and Kat is holding herself even more rigidly in the seat. I sigh. Dinner’s going to be so much fun .

 
    Kat
     
     
    The entire ride over to Ruby’s, this awesome little diner close to downtown Nashville, I try to figure out why I agreed to this. I’m willingly spending time with Clay Mitchell. Well, I don’t guess it’s technically willingly . We have to work together, which means I have to be around him.
    When we walk into Ruby’s, I take a deep breath, breathing in the smells of home-cooked food. The majority of the food I eat is from the campus dining hall, even though my parents would gladly let me come home for dinner each night. I love them to death, but I like spending time with my friends too, and we’re experts at dining hall or dollar menu fare. Ruby’s though, is this little fifties-inspired diner, fitting with today’s lecture on the music of that decade. It’s got red vinyl booths, Formica tables, and exposed brick walls that match the exterior. My dad used to bring Anna and me here on teacher workdays when we were small, and let us eat at the counter that sits along one wall. We were fascinated, watching the cooks make food and the waitresses pick up plates.
    I follow Clay over to a booth close to the back that’s far enough out of the way we won’t be interrupted by people sitting down or getting up to leave. I take a seat across from him. A waitress in a red “Ruby’s” shirt and poodle skirt comes over to take our orders. Surprisingly, he orders the same patty melt and chocolate shake that I did. It’s weird having anything at all in common with him. As soon as she walks away, I grab my notebook out of my bag and open it to a fresh page.
    “Do you have any ideas as far as what you want to do the project on?” I look up at him expectantly, sure he wants me to pick something, but giving him the chance to at least suggest a topic. It will most likely be “The best way to get laid while on the road” or “Groupies aren’t for long-term relationships.” Something sexual and chauvinistic.
    I’m still dreaming up ridiculous ideas when he tells me his thoughts. “I was thinking, since the class touches on so many aspects of Rock music, even punk rock.” He stops, and when I focus back on him, he looks uncertain, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Anyway, so I was thinking maybe we could do something that will tie in Nashville with Rock. You know, since this place is all about the country stars. There are lots of artists crossing over from Country to Rock these days. We could focus on the differences between artists who are solely ‘Country’ and artists who have more of a Rock sound.”
    He continues to expand on his idea, but I can only look at him in shock. This is so not the Clay I’m used to. The Clay I knew in high school was all about the partying, about doing the least amount of work possible, or paying someone to do the work for him. He didn’t even do his own senior project. He paid someone to write the paper and put together the notecards for him so that all he had to do was turn it in and do the oral presentation. Now, I see a different side to him, one that’s older and