Rasul straightened, his gaze darting from Jacob to the dean and back again. “Wait—you’re serious? Mr. Rogers is my babysitter?”
“No, Mr. Moore,” Clare corrected, looking concerned. “I just said.”
Jacob had flinched and seemed slightly hurt.
Rasul rushed to fix it. “Sorry, complete slip of the tongue. Until I got your name when I signed your books, your sweater and sneakers reminded me of Mr. Rogers, and I guess the nickname stuck in my mind.”
This explanation, however, only further irked Jacob. Clare, on the other hand, was apparently satisfied. The dean patted them both on the shoulder. “Well, you two boys have fun. Let me know if you need anything.”
He left, and Rasul and Jacob were alone, or as alone as they could be in a room full of people watching their every move.
A chill Hozier song played through the sound system, an offering from the bored DJ on the stage. Rasul was keenly aware of Jacob’s bad mood and his part in it, but he wasn’t entirely sure how to fix it. His brain was still adjusting to the fact that the steadying influence Elizabeth requested turned out to be his charming bookseller who, equally surprising, looked hot in a mediocre suit. Well, hot was probably the wrong word. Fussy and delectable, that was closer to the mark.
It helped that Rasul’s brain kept playing over and over that one moment where Jacob had shown a hot flare of passion, projecting it onto the shuttered individual striving not to meet his gaze.
Time to fix whatever I broke here. Rasul made a grand bow. “I’m sorry, I seem to have upset you. Is it something I said, or are you this unhappy to be my minder?”
“I’m not—” God, Rasul kind of dug how Jacob kept trying to button himself down and failing. “It’s a bit of a surprise, is all. I honestly wasn’t sure why they asked me to come.”
Heavy subtext there made it clear Jacob would have preferred not to perform this role, and surprisingly, it seemed finding out his mission was Rasul hadn’t moved him much. Interesting. What was up with this guy? Suddenly Rasul had to know.
“Well, thank you for making the time. You’re keeping me out of serious hot water with my agent for the second time today.” Rasul gestured to the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Jacob followed his gaze, his lips thinning into a line. “There are so many people looking at us.”
“Not a problem. I’ll deflect them.” He grabbed Jacob’s hand.
To his surprise, Jacob flinched and pulled away. Then he put on another plastic smile and looked near but not at Rasul. “Could I trouble you to get me a rum and Coke?”
“Sure thing.”
Rasul charmed his way through the line, though he kept glancing back at his date. Something had upset Jacob pretty intensely, and he had a bad feeling it was him. He wasn’t sure why. It felt bigger than the Mr. Rogers comment, but he was at a loss as to what else he’d done that was offensive.
Had something else damning shown up online? He reached for his phone to check, felt the dull lump of the flip phone, and muttered under his breath.
Armed with a pair of drinks, he wove his way back to Jacob, smiling and accepting compliments and well-wishes. A few women flirted openly with him, and though he instinctively reflected it back to them, he didn’t linger, too interested in his date. Just as he returned to him, however, the college president took the microphone at the front of the stage, welcoming everyone to the gala and cutting off Rasul’s charm offensive. So he studied Jacob, noting the way the man’s lips touched the glass Rasul had passed him, the manner in which his suit—remarkably well-fitted—shifted and glided with his movements. He was about to compliment Jacob on his tie when a rough and shaky voice shouting his name his name into a mic pulled his focus again.
“—Youssef, internationally acclaimed author of The Sword Dancer’s Daughter and Carnivale, will be heading up an evening seminar at Bayview in the Creative Writing department for the duration of the school year.” Larson beamed, not noticing the winces from the crowd at the feedback coming from the mic. “Mr. Youssef will use the rest of the time here to finish his upcoming novel, Veil of Stars.”
The crowd clapped enthusiastically, and Rasul smiled and waved back at them. When Larson moved on to the next new instructor, however, Rasul glanced at Jacob and saw he looked even more wooden than before.
Seriously, what in the world had he done to the guy?
Rasul wanted to interrogate him as soon as the president’s speech finished, but of course that was when the hordes descended, everyone and their pet rock coming up to welcome him to Copper Point and ask him a million questions. Normally he didn’t mind this, or at least understood it as part of his job, but he particularly resented it when all he wanted was to sit and talk with his date.
Some of the people greeting him acknowledged Jacob, though, offering him a polite smile and greeting. “Good to see you, Jacob. How’s business?” He would always give the small smile and nod, telling them business was good, thank you. A few of them mentioned something about a hospital board, and another seemed to be nudging Jacob about some leadership position on the chamber of commerce. An older gentleman with an expression like he was some kind of 1880s schoolmarm pulled Jacob aside and said something to him that made Jacob return to Rasul’s side with a flat and thinly veiled annoyed expression.
“Didn’t realize my escort was a celebrity,” Rasul murmured to Jacob. He’d meant the remark to be a bit of playful levity, but again, it seemed to upset Jacob more than anything else.
Eventually he couldn’t take it, and with an apology to their admirers and a promise to be right back, he took Jacob’s hand and led him down a hallway marked with an Exit sign. When the darkened area revealed itself to be full of people waiting for the bathroom, he sighed and tugged Jacob out of a fire door and into the purple-orange light of the sunset. With the gray-blue of the bay behind him, he faced his date.
Jacob hadn’t relaxed at all coming outside, and if anything he looked more apprehensive than ever. “Is something wrong?”
“Funny, that’s what I was going to ask you.” Rasul rubbed at his beard, not sure how to phrase this. “Did… did I offend you in some way? If so, I’m sorry, but I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what I did, and I can’t come up with anything.”
Alarm flashed across Jacob’s face before being buttoned back down. “I’m not offended by anything, no.”
You are. Rasul studied him carefully, looking for a clue. “Did something get posted online?”
Now Jacob seemed confused. “I’m sorry?”
“A rumor about me. Did you hear something? Anything?”
Why did everything Rasul say only fluster the man more? “I’m not on social media.”
Rasul blinked. “No social media? Not even Facebook?”
Jacob’s lips thinned as he shook his head. “I’d never used it much, but after Cambridge Analytica I closed my account.”
Was this person real? “No Twitter? Tumblr? Snapchat? Pinterest?”
“I don’t even know what most of those are. Twitter I know, but I’ve never had an account.”
“Surely you at least have an Instagram.”
He opened his mouth, then stopped, considering something. “I suppose technically the bookstore has an Instagram account, though it’s run by an employee. I don’t like it because it’s connected to Facebook, but I had to have it for some local event.”