by Eva Ashwood
But I have to admit, it’s tempting.
4
Reese
I had high hopes for my first class of the day, which sadly, was Economics, but I just sit there in a blur. All I can think about is Emma, and how insane it is that she’s at Clearwater U. Why did she come here?
When we bullied her back in high school, I didn’t know if Emma fully deserved it. Everyone always says that I play the nice guy, but the truth is, I really am nice. That is, until someone does something that’s total crap.
What she did to Trent was crap; that much I know. And when it comes to defending a friend, I’ll go to great lengths, even though I considered Emma a friend before everything went down. Hell, I considered her a best friend, and not only that, I wanted more from her. All of those feelings were made painfully clear this morning when I saw her crouched behind that hedge. It was typical Emma to do something like try to hide behind a plant. That’s not to say she’s ditzy, but to quote Elton John, she’s always been a little “candle in the wind.”
So, I’m pretty much daydreaming my way through Economics, thinking about what Emma has been up to and how the hell I’m going to stay focused on my classes while she’s here, and then, just like that, the bell rings and I’m moving on to my second class, which is guaranteed to be a lot more fun because I know West and Trent are in it.
It’s Anthropology 101, which I’m actually super stoked about because I imagine we’re going to read about monkeys and early man and all that shit. Professor Sykes is notoriously nutty, with gray hair that’s flying in every possible direction. I sit down with West on one side and Trent in front of me, and it feels like I’m finally waking up from a weird dream.
That is, until I look up and see Emma coming through the door, clutching the straps of her blue backpack.
Shit. This is all about to get real.
When Emma sees us, it looks like she’s going to run back out the door. She stands frozen, and part of me feels bad for her.
“Ms. Holloway?” Professor Sykes finally says, looking down at his card.
“Yes?” She blinks, like she’s just woken up from a dream not unlike the one I was having.
“Would you care to join us?” Professor Sykes says, pointing toward a chair. As it happens, the chair he’s pointing to is the one next to me. What are the odds? As Emma walks toward me, I can see the mortification on her face. As for me, my heart is pounding in my chest, not from fear, but from excitement. It’s kinda twisted, I know. Like my smile, which I’m told is twisted.
As she sits down next to me, I can smell her shampoo. Not in a creepy way like I’m leaning over and smelling her hair, but it’s something I’ve always remembered about Emma. She smells good. She’s not trying or anything. She doesn’t wear fancy perfume. She just has a natural smell that’s fucking intoxicating.
Once she’s seated, I want to turn to her and smile, chat her up, or whatever the hell one is supposed to do in this situation. But just as I’m contemplating doing that, my phone blows up with messages. It’s not uncommon for West, Trent, and I to text each other during class. And trust me, we’re so skilled at it by this point that Professor Sykes won’t even notice.
WEST: WTF?
TRENT: I knew this was going to happen.
ME: Seriously? She’s taking notes like her life depends on it.
I tap out the message with a wide grin on my face, all thoughts of chatting her up forgotten. Every time I look over, she’s hovering over that yellow notepad like it’s the Bible or something. If you ask me, I think she’s focusing on taking notes so hard in order to ignore us.
WEST: Why doesn’t she leave? Why the fuck did she have to come here?
TRENT: I think she’s here to ruin my life again.
It’s funny that all three of us have such different perspectives on the situation. This morning, we kinda went into beast mode when we saw her. I felt it happen, and I just let it be. We didn’t have a whole lot of time to talk about it, so I’m sure we all went to our first classes in a daze, like I was in Economics. But looking at the onslaught of texts that keep coming, it’s clear that West wants Emma out and Trent is still mad as hell at her. And why shouldn’t he be? What Emma did was completely fucked up. It doesn’t take a genius to see that. There were even some things in our past, some things Emma said that made me wonder about her.
So why is it that having her sitting next to me gives me goosebumps? I’m not even kidding. There are prickles on my skin, and the smell of her is making everything a haze. I’ve always known that I’m seriously attracted to Emma. Maybe freakishly so, but I’ve done my best to keep this under control. Sometimes my best hasn’t been good enough, I’ll admit, but I try to be a gentleman. That’s just the way I was raised. I’ve been taught to squash my baser animal instincts, however strong these instincts might be.
Looking up at Professor Sykes, I can see that he’s already getting into the subject of primatology, which is something I’ve always been interested in. I take out a notepad too and mimic what Emma is doing, because maybe she has the right idea.
Just try to distract yourself from the person sitting next to you, even though they make your heart pound.
Instead of taking real notes, I find myself scribbling on the paper. It’s probably because I can’t seem to form a coherent thought. I’m painfully aware of every move Emma makes—every time she shifts in her chair, or even worse, when she brings the back of her pen to her mouth and bites on it.
Fuck, this is driving me insane.
Then I feel her glancing to the side and watching me while I’m making notes. When she turns back to Professor Sykes, I do the same, turning ever so slightly to look at her. This dance of subtle stares continues for a while, and that’s when it dawns on me that Emma is just as affected by sitting next to me as I am by sitting next to her. There’s a weird electricity that I remember feeling before, back when we were in high school. I never told the guys about this chemistry, because secretly, I could tell that they all had a thing for her. Did they have that same spark with her that I had? Clearly, that spark hasn’t gone away, because my body keeps reacting to Emma’s every move.
Each time that I look over at her, she seems tense.
My presence makes her tense.
That realization sends two conflicting impulses spiraling through me. In a way, I want to comfort her. Emma was my friend once, after all, and I care for her. I don’t want her to feel like shit. But the baser animal in me, the one I try not to listen to, says otherwise. That part of me wants to make her as physically tense as possible. In fact, that part of me wants to make her miserable.
Trying to clear my mind, I scrub a hand down my face and shake my head. When I glance down, I catch a glimpse of Emma’s thighs beneath the fold out desk she’s resting her elbows on. She’s wearing these white shorts that I had noticed this morning because they look fantastic on her. But there’s something about seeing her bare thighs right there beside me that makes me feel like a madman.
I brush my hand through my hair, trying to get ahold of my senses, and finally tell myself in no uncertain terms that I’m not allowed to look down at Emma’s thighs like that ever again. At least not in class, not unless I plan on flunking out of university in my second year.
The texts keep coming from the guys, and I push my phone away, no longer in the mood to engage in it. It’s cruelty, the things they’re saying. I mean, some of it’s funny and makes me laugh, but it also makes me cringe. Emma probably doesn’t deserve all of this, even though it gives us satisfaction to dish out our punishment. Trent is the most upset of all, and that’s entirely understandable, considering his history with her. But sometimes that dude seriously scares me with his vindictiveness. West too, for that matter.
We butted heads about it a few times in high school, but in the end, I backed up my boy. Because even if he took shit too far, Emma’s the one who started it. She fired the first fucking shot.
As if she can hear the thoughts bouncing
around in my head, Emma glances at me again, then crosses her legs and goes back to taking notes. The movement draws my eye, and I look down at those legs once more.
Shit, now I seriously won’t be able to concentrate. Did she do it on purpose?
Emma doesn’t seem like the type that purposefully tries to taunt guys, and honestly, it makes her more attractive. There’s something unassuming about her, like not only does she not know how gorgeous she is, she actually tries to play down her looks to be as plain as possible. It doesn’t fucking work though. It’s not like she can wash away her natural beauty like some girls wash away makeup.
She catches me looking down at her legs this time, and a flush tints her cheeks, which makes me grin wickedly. I like seeing her flustered like that, but I want to reassure her at the same time that everything is okay. God, I’m a fucking mess.
As the class continues, I watch as West glares up at the clock and Trent types furiously on his phone. Emma is focused on her notepad and I stretch out my arms and place my hands behind my head, like I’m ready to take a nap. Maybe Professor Sykes and Anthropology aren’t going to be enough to capture my attention after all.
Professor Sykes finally wraps up his lecture and dismisses us, and the guys and I gather our stuff and head out the door, but not until Emma leaves first. It’s this thing with us; we like to be behind her. It’s a power thing, for sure, but it just feels so satisfying. Once we’re outside, Emma rushes away—and that’s when Trent throws the first barb of the afternoon.
“If we make you this uncomfortable now, you don’t stand a chance,” he calls with a laugh, and she doesn’t even turn, just walks even faster. I see that Trent is picking up his pace too, like he’s gonna follow her, and I put up my hand to stop him.
“Let her go, dude.” I shake my head, thinking it’s too much too soon.
There’s confusion in Trent’s eyes, but a good feeling comes over me. I think it’s the right approach for now. Just let her go. No need to rush in.
And really, the more that I think about it, we just need to leave high school back in high school. It’s best for all of us to move on.
5
Emma
The next few weeks are… surprising.
That first day, I couldn’t get out of my mind the fact that having the guys at Clearwater University was going to totally ruin my life. But the strangest thing happened after that; I began to thrive. I mean, not thrive in the “I’m acing all my classes and making heaps of friends” sense, but I am actually doing pretty well in my classes. I’m staying focused, and I’m meeting a few new friends here and there. A lot of that is probably thanks to Leslie, who just so happens to be a social butterfly.
Looking around our dorm, I feel a little burst of the same pride I felt on my first day. We still don’t have any posters, but we hung up strings of little white Christmas lights, and everything is super festive and chill. It’s almost a relief coming back to that dorm at the end of each day.
I don’t know if Leslie and I would be best friends if we met under other circumstances, but since fate put us together as roommates, we’ve actually gotten pretty close. We talk and laugh, order pizza, and do all the things that college girls are supposed to do. If this is any indication of the future, then the future is looking bright.
Okay, I guess I’m really trying to be optimistic, and as my psychology class is teaching me, having the right mindset is everything. But honestly, I’m still getting bullied from the boys. The reason why I can maintain a level of optimism is because it hasn’t progressed much. There are some taunts here and there, little notes left on my desk and stuff like that, but it’s nothing like what happened in high school. Every day, I try to remain focused on creating the life I want, regardless of whether the Icons try to get in the way.
By far, the hardest part about my college experience so far is Anthropology 101. The seats Professor Sykes assigned to us on that first day are our permanent seats, and that means I’m sitting next to Reese every day, with Trent right in front of us. Actually, I’m grateful as hell that I can’t see Trent’s face, because it might give me a better idea of what is going on in his mind. And I don’t want to know.
But that’s the only lucky thing that’s happened in that class, because sitting next to Reese is pure torture.
I can’t describe the feelings he brings up in me. Before everything got bad in high school, Reese was the one I knew I could trust. Trent got crazy from time to time, and West was so brooding and withdrawn, but Reese was the one who could always draw me out.
He was certainly the one I was most relaxed around, and I found refuge in his gorgeous green eyes. After all three of them turned on me, a more sadistic side of Reese came out, one I didn’t see coming. It was shocking, made all the worse because I had truly trusted him.
I shared my deepest secret with him. Something no one else in the world knows.
But sitting next to him in class, those old feelings of trust bubble to the surface from time to time—and even more horrifyingly, attraction. I was always deeply drawn to Reese on a physical level, and all of those feelings have returned and seem more intense than ever. Even though it’s only been a couple of years, he looks taller, broader, more masculine, and I catch myself glancing sideways to look at him in class way too often. He does the same, and this back and forth is making it seriously difficult to concentrate.
Why do I feel so guilty for enjoying the way he looks at my body? In fact, this guilt has lived with me for a couple years now. How can I desire someone who has been so awful? But sometimes I wonder if he’s not as cruel as he acts. Maybe he’s just going along with what the other guys are doing? There’s a pack mentality with the Icons that can be explained by both my Psychology and Anthropology classes. They’re like a pack of wolves, and I’m determined to escape them and thrive.
“Deep dish again?” Leslie asks, bursting through the dorm room door and throwing her backpack on her bed.
“Actually, I’m going to see my dad tonight.” I sit up on the bed, shaking off my thoughts. The best thing about having a roommate is that she usually arrives to distract me just as my thoughts start to spiral.
“Bummer. I guess I’ll have to eat an entire pizza by myself. Again.” She pats her flat stomach and waggles her eyebrows.
“I don’t know where you put it,” I say with a laugh.
“I’ve got a hollow leg.”
Leslie picks up her phone and calls Dominos, which is on speed dial. I sit on my bed and smile to myself. There will be no more worrying about the guys tonight. Whenever I have dinner with my dad, I feel safe, and I’m reminded of my intention to make something of myself.
Head down. Work hard. Show them they can’t win.
As I ride my bike through the winding, sunbaked streets to my dad’s house, I force a smile to my face. I’m not going to let Reese, West, and Trent get under my skin. They did for too long, and for that brief time after high school, I was able to shake off the memory of them. Now, it seems like they’ve managed to get under it once more. I can’t let that happen. Dammit, I know I’m better than this. I’ll put my best foot forward for my father.
“Dad?” I say, opening the door to his new house and stepping in.
“Hey, Ems,” he calls from the kitchen, and the smells of dinner waft out along with his voice. It’s probably chicken, which is Dad’s favorite. He always smothers it with barbecue sauce. “Come on in, hon!”
I make my way to the kitchen and marvel at just how cool dad’s new house is. It’s very chic and modern, which is just my dad’s style. From the bright smile on his face, I’m guessing that being back at Wex-Tech is going well.
“It smells delicious.” I lift my nose into the air and sniff as I cross the large kitchen.
Dad leans down and kisses me on the forehead, which always makes me smile. I’m a bit of a daddy’s girl, I have to admit. And for this reason, I could never tell him about what those guys did to me in the past. He doesn’t own a gun, but Da
d would certainly go out and buy one if he knew. I sit on a stool in the kitchen and watch as he chops up a salad.
“I’m trying a new recipe,” he says, putting his finger into a bowl that looks like another incarnation of his famous barbecue sauce, which he insists on making from scratch.
“Oh, yum. I’m starved.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He points at me, then claps his hands in front of him like it’s game-time.
I chuckle. “You seem happy.”
“Of course I am! What’s not to be happy about?” Dad says, looking around the kitchen like it’s the greatest place on earth.
It dawns on me that I haven’t seen dad this happy or relaxed in a long time. It’s just been him and me for years now, since I was twelve and mom was lost in the accident. During those years when he was doing his best to raise me, I could tell he was struggling and not happy much of the time, but he tried to keep up a brave face. I don’t think he liked his job at the time either, because he claimed it didn’t pay enough.
It’s something new for me to see him so happy, and I wonder if maybe he’ll start dating again. He’s been holding off for years, and I know it’s been for my benefit. But I secretly hope he’ll find a special someone so that he won’t be alone all the time. Dad’s always said he doesn’t mind it, that I’m all he needs, but I think he’d like a lady in his life.
“How’s school?” he asks, still beaming as he changes the subject.
“It’s going really well. I love my roommate! She’s introducing me to a lot of new people.”
“That’s great to hear, Ems. The furniture is working out?”
“Yeah.” I grin at him, knowing he wants reassurance that he’s done all he can to help out. “The bed is super comfy.”
“Perfection.” With a satisfied nod, Dad turns to focus on his dinner preparations with the same intensity of an artist at work. “And the boys?” he asks, lifting his brow as though suspicious.