by Mj Hendrix
She nods her head vigorously, curls bouncing. “What about a pink house on a vineyard? Compromise?” She laughs, waving as we split directions.
I’m still smiling when I walk into Horticulture. I don’t see a blonde head sitting on a broad set of muscles. Maybe he won’t be here. Even if he is, I can sit where I prefer. Claiming my old seat on the front row, I start to unpack my notebook and pens. Maybe I’ll go price refurbished laptops this weekend during the dorm party.
The adorable professor walks in front of the class, and I can’t help but smile at his red-and-white polka-dot bow tie complementing his usual suspenders.
Someone walks up beside me, claiming the seat connected to mine on the right. My skin prickles as I smell the familiar cedar and earth. A flush begins seeping over me, nerves lit up like hot coals in a breeze.
My eyes stay trained toward the front.
After ten minutes, I can’t take it anymore. I release the pressure tensing my muscles, leaning back in my chair. I haven’t taken any notes the entire class, but I begin scratching my pen over the paper, nearly cutting through it. I shove it to my right.
did you have to sit right beside me?
Eyes still trained on the board on the wall, I feel him leaning over the desk, then the paper is pushed back to me.
no.
My gaze zips to his face, and I lose my train of thought.
Honey eyes, dense lashes, and a razor-edge jawline are facing the speaker up front. He looks like he’s been in the sun, skin a shade darker than last week. He’s got on the T-shirt I wore at the beach party, a soft emerald green, molded to his muscled form like icing on a birthday cake. He flexes his jaw, not looking at me. The action sends a bolt of lightning through my body, and I feel an overwhelming urge to touch him…with my tongue.
I bend over the paper instead, scribbling.
then why are you sitting here?
He takes his sweet time responding, apparently enraptured by the lesson about pruning trees. Ages later, he calmly writes on my paper, slowly pushing it over.
because I want to.
Focusing on keeping my breathing under control, I count all the way to one hundred, like the social worker taught me after the first time I had a “violent outburst.”
why?
He must be messing with me, or he genuinely is engulfed in the techniques of treating oak wilt.
A thick, corded arm finally reaches over for the paper, eyes staring at it for a while, before writing. This time, his pen scratches for several endless minutes. He pushes the paper toward me without hesitation.
It’s at least five more minutes before I have the courage to read it, and the professor has just announced next week’s test, gathering his materials to leave. Students are rambling around us, feet shuffling down the aisles.
I like being near you, I like the way you smell, and I ache to feel your body heat. Your skin is magnetic. All I want to do is touch you, but since I can’t do that, I’ll take any opportunity I have to be close to you. I’m addicted to your eyes, your hair, your ink, your mind, your words, even your rejection because at least you still feel something for me. All I do is hurt, knowing you’re not mine. But I can’t force myself to stay away from you. So, if I get the chance to sit by you, I’m always taking it.
My mind is a jumbled tangle of incoherent thoughts.
If I owned one of the smart watches fitness freaks wear, it would show me pitter-pattering into an explosion at any second.
Who spews their feelings out like this, especially after my cold rejection in the alley? Is it truly only the physical desire, or can I believe that he isn’t like every other man who’s attempted to get close to me?
He’s still sitting beside me, and we are the only two left in the room. Head cradled in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, shoulders steadily rising and falling with his breath, he portrays the ultimate picture of vulnerability. I feel overwhelmed with the power I have over his emotional state.
As difficult as it is to admit, his parents are right about one thing. He has the right to be with someone who isn’t running from a past that’s starting to catch up.
They weren’t right about me being a whore, but they pinned me straightaway as a sinking pit of sand, only capable of dragging him down.
The problem lies with the fact that I’m not strong enough to fully resist him, not when he’s so beautifully unguarded.
My hand slowly reaches out to rest on his back, and he sighs into the contact, slowly lifting his head. Gorgeous eyes focus intently into mine, longing etched into the tiny flecks of gold.
Licking my lips to begin speaking tears his gaze down, and he swallows.
I force the words out, “I…I need to be honest with you. We said it before, but then we acted…completely different. We have to stay friends this time—actually, only friends. No more…kissing friends.”
His eyes flick up to mine, darkening as his cheeks heat.
I push through despite the tingling in my belly. “You might not understand why I want it this way, but I’m confident you will eventually. If you can agree to that…we can try to be friends again.” My voice slightly wavers near the end, but I get it out, releasing a breath.
He waits a few seconds, staring at me. His expression gives nothing away.
“Okay, if that’s what you want,” he finally says, voice a little husky.
I nod. “Our friends are friends, and we never even officially dated so…it shouldn’t be hard for us to re-establish boundaries,” I say with more confidence.
His face is still a blank mask, refusing to reveal his thoughts.
“So…as friends, are we allowed to study…alone…for the test together?”
The test is next Monday, so I guess that’s why he’s asking. His body hasn’t moved an inch the entire conversation. I begin slowly packing away my stuff as the next class starts to filter in.
“Uh, sure, I don’t see why not. Friends can study together,” I respond, trying not to imagine him sitting on my bed and utterly failing. Shirtless study sessions could be a thing…among friends.
He stands up when I do, and we make our way through the opposing sea of people.
“What about…eating together in the cafeteria?” he asks as we emerge from the building.
I wore my skintight high-rise jeans with a fitted red V-neck, but it’s warmer than I anticipated. Texas fall mornings are deceptive.
I smile up at him, which is a bad idea because his mouth parts and he sucks in a little breath.
“If it’s something friends would do, yes, I’m okay with it,” I force out, trying to sound casual.
He only looks ahead, walking alongside me.
“When’s your lunch today?” he asks after a minute of silence.
“My class ends at eleven forty-five, and then I usually meet Kenna at the caf.” I resist tacking on that he’s never there at that time on Mondays.
He squints into the sun. “Okay. Well, I might see you then.”
He struts off without another word, and my heart sinks, only a little.
26
Adam
After canceling my noon appointment, I make my way to the cafeteria. Harley’s insistence on us being “friends” has filled me with a tiny sense of cautious optimism.
I can’t help myself. I meant what I wrote in class—being near her is better than being anywhere else.
Her ruby-red mouth was all I could think about in my last two classes, and the second she comes into view, it’s the first thing I see. My eyes drift over her, taking in her sensual shape and decorative skin. She’s unbelievably alluring in the red on black.
I have to pause and take a steadying breath before resuming my steps toward her, gripping my tray hard enough that it begins to make a creaking sound. She’s seated alone, but I see Kenna near the drink station.
Taking the seat safely diagonal to her, I place my food down, releasing my backpack to the floor. She glimpses up, sending a jolt through me with her ocea
n eyes. She smiles tentatively. Kenna steps up, and I force my eyes away from Harley to greet her.
“Hey, Kenna.”
She’s nervously shifting on her feet, looking from me back to Harley.
“Uh…hi,” she begins, her eyes a little wide.
Harley looks at her, shrugging. “I told Adam we should just move on and be friends. Do you care if they sit with us today?” Her tone is casual.
She’s tossing a salad while eating a chocolate chip cookie. I can’t help but smile, remembering her affinity for always having dessert first. I relax a little, taking a bite of the greasy burger on my plate.
Kenna slowly takes the seat by Harley, whispering in her ear. Harley shrugs, poking at her food. I’d give anything to read her thoughts.
Dan and Silas are approaching, warily observing the occupants of the table. My brother’s face is frowning in disapproval, but I ignore it.
“So, what are you up to this weekend, Adam?” Kenna asks, taking a bite of a disgusting-looking mountain of strawberries and lettuce sprinkled with pecans.
“I don’t have any plans other than work at the nursery Saturday,” I say, noticing Harley perks up at my words. My heart sinks a little at the memory of our would-be date.
“You should come to our dorm party Friday night,” she says as Levi approaches our table.
He stumbles a bit before setting his tray down at the opposite end of where Kenna sits.
“You guys are all invited,” she says again, a little louder, before shoving a bite into her mouth.
I look over at Harley, attempting to judge her opinion on the issue. Her head is dipped down, one elbow on the table, her hair a black curtain, blocking her face from me.
“Yeah, maybe,” I respond noncommittally.
If Harley’s at work, I’ll need to get there by one to trail her home, like I have been all week. Sometimes, she gets off by one fifteen, and other times, it’s not till two thirty.
Leaning both my elbows on the table, I look down and blow out a breath. Being near her is harder than I thought it would be with her ignoring me.
She doesn’t look at me for the rest of the meal.
“I just don’t get what your plan is. Why would you even go tonight?” Dan questions as he dips his finger in a little tin, rubbing it in his hands and then through his hair.
It’s longer than I’ve ever seen it. When he’s done, he looks like a city boy.
“What are you doing? Since when do you fix your hair?”
My hands are on my hips, eyes surveying him. I don’t give a shit what he does to his hair, but I’m sick of him questioning my every move.
He laughs. “What, I can’t fix my hair? You’re sneaking around with some—”
I take a step toward him, my menacing glare causing him to step back.
“I would watch whatever it is about to come out of your mouth.” I seethe.
His face hardens. “I was gonna say, some girl—that’s it.” He turns his back to me, finding a shirt to wear. “Even though you won’t believe it, I actually don’t have a problem with Harley. I just know she will never, ever be accepted by them.” He walks back out of our tiny shared closet. “So, you’re either going to have to choose your family, the farm, everything you've ever known or her. And I hate to see you walking down a road that’s either going to separate you from everyone in your life or hurt the girl you’re starting to really care about.” He’s pulling a collared shirt that looks new over his head.
“We’re just friends,” I murmur, the heavy truth of his words an impossible burden. Why do I feel such an unquenchable thirst for someone I can’t have?
Silas joins us to walk to the dorm party, but Levi, unsurprisingly, bows out.
“Man’s insane. Kenna Davis is, like, the girl almost every guy on the team is after,” Silas says, shaking his head as we emerge from the dorms.
“Ha, he wouldn’t have a single clue what to even begin to do with a girl like that,” Dan scoffs.
“And you would?” Silas retorts, shutting down the snicker.
“Okay, fine, but I did kiss Scarlett behind the church when we were—” Dan starts to say, getting interrupted by Silas.
“You what? You kissed her?” he asks, a hardness to his voice that surprises me. He’s turned toward Dan, his jaw clenched.
Dan holds up his hands. “What? Why do you care?”
They begin to bicker back and forth.
I tune them out, focusing on how to survive the night if Harley is talking to another guy. She wouldn’t, would she?
I’ve learned not to assume the worst of her, but my fears are difficult to push down. What will I do if there’s a guy there who she’s…with? I decide not to dwell on it as nausea rides in my throat.
It’s still early as we step onto the girls’ floor, but there’s already a significant amount of students littering the hallway. Loud, pulsing hip-hop music fills the air. The “small, intimate” gathering looks a lot more like an actual party starting off.
We’re pushing our way through when I see a guy with a shaved head, absolutely every inch of his skin covered with tattoos. He’s got more than I’ve ever seen on a human body. I see another one who could be his twin, only shorter and heavier.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up as their shifting eyes roam over the scantily clad young crowd of mostly girls in the hallway. They’re too old to be college students, so why are they here? Either one is definitely not a student’s father.
I’m about to approach them both to ask them what they’re doing here when they push through the crowd, straight through the open door with the number thirty-four.
Lunging after them, I panic as the door shuts. I don’t even think. Alarm bells start sounding in my head like sirens.
Get to Harley now. Right now.
I try the handle, but it’s locked. Dan and Silas have caught up to me, both with stunned looks on their faces. I take a long stride back, moving a girl out of the way.
“What’s wrong?”
“What happened?” they say in unison.
I ignore them, raising my foot in the air and breaking the door down. It cracks open, the latch and knob hanging on by a splinter as it swings wide, thudding against the wall. Everyone close by turns to stare with open mouths, but the music masks most of the sound. I step into the room.
The taller, bald man is on Harley’s bed. She’s huddled in the corner once again, but he has his hand resting high on her thigh. Her face is ash, but she jolts as I break into the room. The bigger guy steps toward me, nearly touching my chest with his.
“Hey, get the fuck out,” he barks at me.
I turn my face to him, the adrenaline still rushing as I shove his chest hard, and he stumbles. I feel Silas and Dan enter behind me, thankfully both big and muscular from our long days on the farm.
The taller one looks over at me with a cold smile as his hand drags off Harley’s thigh. I take several long strides toward the bed, red beginning to rim my vision.
“Touch her again, and I break your fucking hand,” I growl, barely restraining myself from reaching over and doing it anyways.
I’m trying to handle the situation without murdering someone, but it’s difficult. I can’t let her get hurt.
He snickers at me, looking over at Harley’s frozen form, then back at me.
“We only just met. How do you already know my biggest weakness?” his slithering voice responds. He surveys me from his position on the bed, reclining his head back on the wall like it’s a normal Friday night.
Harley is a statue, a dull, hollow expression on her face.
The bigger man is standing where I shoved him, unsure of what his boss wants him to do next.
I glower at the tattooed man.
“Either get up and leave now or I will physically remove you,” I threaten him, ready to carry it out in the next three seconds.
He turns to look at Harley, then back up at me. He decides he wants to live another day without being permane
ntly crippled.
“I’ll see you soon, Harley, to finish this up.” He stands up from the bed, rising almost to my height but not quite. He grins. “I like the new toy.”
They both walk out casually, and I turn to Silas and Dan.
“Make sure they leave. Alert the campus police that there are two older male non-residents roaming the girls’ dorm and give them physical descriptions.”
They both nod, turning to follow the men.
I slowly face Harley, yet again unsure if I should reach for her or refrain. She doesn’t look at me, just continues to sit like a sad, pretty painting on the wall.
I see the edge of a dark green bag sticking out from under the bed. Reaching down to grab it, I swing it up onto the edge of the mattress. Going through her drawers, I grab everything I see and shove it in. They are surprisingly bare, and I realize she wears a lot of the same shirts and shorts or Kenna’s clothes.
At the sink in her bathroom, it’s easy to tell which side is hers because it’s neat but sparse.
I collect the toothbrush, toothpaste, and a half-open box of tampons in the drawer. The release of tension in my shoulders at seeing them makes me momentarily weak. She’s not pregnant with his baby.
Harley’s gained a little bit of weight in the last month, but she was tiny when I met her. She looks healthier now.
Stepping back in, I see that she’s finally moved, and she’s attempting to pull open the window.
“Do you need help?” I ask quietly.
She doesn’t hear me, still struggling with the window, hands shaking. I reach over her, grasping the frame and easily lifting it up. I stay right behind her, unsure of her intentions.
She reveals a brown cigarette hiding with a lighter inside the crease of the window. I don’t want to see her ruin her health at such a young age, but she must be addicted.
She struggles to light it, a breeze floating in fighting her efforts. I grip her hand, slowly extracting the lighter and blocking the air with my body.
The tip of the cigarette glows orange, and she breathes out a long sigh.