by D. Laine
With a sigh of gratitude mixed with relief, I let him in.
“I heard you weren’t feeling well,” he explained as he placed the bag on the kitchen counter. “Thought you might like some soup.”
I moaned my pleasure as I tore into the bag to find the container I was looking for. “I would love some soup, but I’m okay. Really. It’s just a sore throat. Happens every year when the weather changes.”
David nodded silently as I brought a spoonful of hot broth to my lips. He stared at them a bit longer than he probably should have and I turned to fetch a box of crackers from the pantry. Even in baggy sweats and a grungy shirt, I felt like a princess in his eyes. No matter how bad I felt, or how poorly I dressed, David always looked at me the same. In a way that I, unfortunately, couldn’t bring myself to see him.
He cleared his throat behind me, breaking the awkwardness. “Missing a Friday night out with a sore throat. Are you going to be able to make it tomorrow?”
I dunked a cracker into the broth. “I plan on it.”
“You riding with the school van, or taking your car?”
“I’ll drive myself,” I answered with a teasing wink. “I’ve got too much expensive equipment to trust around you unruly geology students.”
David laughed softly. “We’re not exactly a wild bunch.”
“That’s the sad truth,” Vivian muttered from behind David as she swung the door open. “I’ve never met a group duller than you earth-worshiping geeks.”
The unfamiliar guy that followed her into the apartment snorted and nodded in agreement. The hat on his head let me know that he was a member of one of the fraternities on campus. Not Kyle’s frat, so I didn’t recognize him.
I didn’t recognize half the guys that Vivian brought home.
I grabbed her arm when she started past me. While the nameless guy wandered down the hallway that led to Vivian’s bedroom, I pulled her close enough to whisper, “You think it’s smart to be bringing mysterious men into our apartment when there’s a potential sociopath on the loose around here?”
“Oh, please.” Vivian shrugged out of my grasp. “I’ve known Tyler since sophomore year. I’ve just never screwed him yet.”
Behind me, David muttered something that sounded like “that’s a first” before covering his slipup with a cough when Vivian turned a pair of heated eyes on him.
“Watch it, geek,” she sneered.
“Enough, you two.” I stepped back to act as a buffer between them. Why they despised each other, I never fully understood. Aside from the fact that they had nothing in common except for me. To Vivian, I said, “Just be careful about who you let in here until they find whoever is doing this.”
“I swear I will be careful.” Vivian raised her hand to give me—I thought—the scout’s honor, but instead flashed me the peace sign. “And please, no matter what you hear”—she smiled deviously as she backed away—“do not knock on my door.”
She disappeared into her room. A moment later, the music started. It was a nice gesture—at least she tried—but the music didn’t do much to muffle the sounds that came out of her room. Most of the time, I ended up locked in my own room with the music on, or I would go for a long walk.
With a potential killer in town, I would be forced to grin and bear it.
I turned to David with an apologetic smile. “You probably want to get out of here now, before it gets . . . loud.”
He didn’t bother to conceal his disgust with my roommate as he retreated to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I hope. Call me if you need any help with your equipment before we leave.”
I nodded as I held the door open. As he walked toward his car, I shouted, “Thanks for the soup!”
He waved and I watched as he backed out of his parking spot. Rubbing my arms to chase away the chill in the air, I quickly closed the door. And locked it.
From the back of the apartment, the sounds of passion were already reaching my ears. I shut off the television, grabbed the container of soup, and retreated to my bedroom. Located past the kitchen, it was on the other side of the apartment from Vivian’s room. One of the perks of living in The Heights was a split floor plan.
In the seclusion of my own room, I pulled out my phone and checked the missed texts from my mom.
5,000 dead in South Africa.
It’s getting worse Thea. Please come home.
Your father thinks the end is only days away.
Despite the late hour, I sent a message back to let her know I could come home soon—to visit. I reinforced that I would not be staying. I had an education to get, and a degree to earn. I didn’t have time for my parents’ wild doomsday theories.
I scanned Kyle’s texts before deleting them. Since the incident at the restaurant three nights ago, he had kept his distance. Today was the first he’d attempted to contact me. The first few texts started off as usual—apologetic and possibly sincere. Now, I glimpsed nothing but an endless string of curses and cruel names in between threats.
Just the sight of his words, combined with the memory of what he was capable of, sent my pulse skyrocketing. Anxiety jolted through my veins like lightning.
“It’s time for you to be blocked, Kyle Davenport,” I muttered to the screen of my phone. Next step: restraining order.
As I scrolled through my list of contacts, in search of Kyle’s name, I came across the name Dylan had put into my phone along with his number. “Sexiest Man Alive.”
I smiled as I settled into bed. My thumb hovered over the name and number that I knew would connect me to Dylan.
It wasn’t the first time I’d considered hitting CALL since the night he programmed his number into my phone. I doubted it would be the last. I hated to admit that Vivian was right, but Dylan was the perfect distraction to keep my mind off my jilted ex.
He was the perfect distraction in all the wrong ways.
IMAGINE MY SURPRISE when I showed up at the park the following morning to find Dylan mingling amongst the group of geology students. Of course, he had to be in this particular class. And of course, the sight of him immediately reminded of the graphic, but oh-so-good, dream he had stared in last night. He would never know, just from looking at me, what thoughts I had woken up with. Regardless, my cheeks flushed against the chilly morning air as I retreated to the trunk of my car to grab my camera equipment.
I did my best to not show my embarrassment when I strolled up alongside the crew where they had assembled in the parking lot as Professor Thompson finished up his instructions for the field study.
“. . . findings in my office by Monday morning,” he concluded before waving a hand in my direction. “We’ve got Miss Collier here from the photography department to assist us in documenting our findings today. Most of you are familiar with her work. Need I remind you . . .”
As the professor droned on, I looked up from my camera to dart a glance in Dylan’s direction. I felt his eyes on me from the moment Thompson pointed me out. They were still on me, widened with a hint of surprise. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
I smiled politely in return, and somehow contained the laugh threatening to burst out of me.
He was by far the most unorthodox geology student I had ever seen. I’d done several of these field study trips to Yellowstone for the professor over my years at the university. Never before had I encountered someone like Dylan.
In an oversized black hoodie, a loose-fitting pair of jeans over a shiny pair of New Balance shoes, a black beanie, and a dark pair of shades placed on his head, he stood out from the other students in their flannel shirts, mud-stained hiking books, and utility belts permanently looped around their waists. He also looked like this was the last place he wanted to spend his Saturday.
Sneaking a glance around the group of students, I determined that I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here either. With both David and Kyle standing in the group, staring at me while I stared at Dylan, I concluded that this unlikely combination was the setup for a potenti
ally devastating eruption.
And I was the catalyst.
DESPITE MY INITIAL CONCERNS, the morning passed uneventfully. There were a dozen students on this excursion—more than enough to keep me preoccupied with taking pictures. During the downtimes, or when the professor fell into lecture mode, I used my free time to snap my own photographs. This part of the park—the Prismatic Spring—was one of my favorites to capture on film.
Between the vivid aqua-and-orange-colored smooth stone floor that made up the natural hot spring, and the changing leaves on the trees that surrounded us, I had plenty of aesthetic nature to keep me happy in between pictures for the geology students.
When the professor announced a break for lunch a few hours later, I reluctantly exchanged my camera for the sandwich and bag of chips I had packed before leaving the apartment. I found a rare dry rock away from the spring, on the fringes of the forest, which offered a suitable place to eat as well as take in the impressive view.
And I didn’t just mean the colorful hot spring in the distance.
At some point this morning, as the sun warmed the air and the rock around us, Dylan had stripped out of his hoodie. Now, he wandered the smooth, colorful stone in search of his own quiet spot to enjoy his lunch in a tight, black T-shirt. The way it molded to his broad shoulders and sculpted biceps was downright sinful. His jeans hung loosely on narrow hips as his long legs carried him with purposeful and confident strides.
I realized I was staring, but for a selfish and entirely rewarding moment, I didn’t give a damn.
His head turned in my direction. Though the shades that covered his eyes prevented me from knowing if he was looking at me, I quickly diverted my gaze. I spotted David approaching me, and I used the opportunity to pretend I hadn’t been caught doing the obvious.
“Mind if I join you?”
I waved my hand at the ground. “Pull up a seat.”
“You found about the only dry spot of land there is around here.” David sighed as he lowered to the rock beside me and stretched his legs out. He took a hearty bite of his sandwich before turning to me. “Getting some good shots?”
“Yeah. Lots,” I answered distractedly.
In my periphery, I saw a figure approaching. Someone in a black shirt. Someone I half hoped would sit down with me and half hoped would find somewhere else to eat.
Before I could make up my mind what I wanted, his shadow fell over me. I peered up, squinting against the sun, to find a lopsided grin on Dylan’s face. That answered the question as to whether or not he’d caught me looking.
“Have room for one more?” he asked.
“Sure.” I scooted closer to David to make room on the narrow slab of dry rock. Dylan took a seat on my other side, sandwiching me between the two.
Not like that wasn’t awkward or anything as an uncomfortably long silence stretched out between the three of us. I felt David’s eyes on me. I chose to ignore them, and asked Dylan an appropriate and perfectly neutral question.
“So how’s your assignment going today?”
I caught him with a mouthful of food, forcing him to shrug his answer.
“That good, huh?” I teased.
He swallowed quickly and nodded his head toward the spring, where most of the rest of the group had gathered to eat. “Thompson’s tough.”
“Tougher than what you’re used to in Utah?”
Before Dylan could answer, David asked, “You’re from Utah?”
“Yep.” Dylan bit into his sandwich, coming away with nearly a quarter of it in his mouth.
“I didn’t realize they had an accredited geology program,” David mused. When Dylan shrugged again, David pressed, “How’s it compare to our program?”
Around the massive bite in his mouth, Dylan mumbled, “About the same.”
I could tell from David’s silence that wasn’t the response he expected. He always boasted that MSU had one of the top programs in the country. I could nearly hear his wounded pride screaming in agony as I gathered up the bag of chips at my feet. I offered it to both guys to break up the tension. David declined, but Dylan plucked a chip from the bag with a gracious nod.
“They let you keep the research for your graduation project, or did you lose all your work in the transfer?” David finally asked, breaking the silence.
“Uh . . . no, I still have it,” Dylan answered.
“That’s good. What are you researching?”
I swiveled at the hip to shoot David an exasperated look. He couldn’t be this oblivious to social clues. It was obvious to me that Dylan didn’t want to talk about this stuff. David merely shrugged and waited for Dylan’s answer.
“I’m working on the, uh . . . stratigraphy of carbonate rock deposition.”
I had no idea what that was, but from David’s reaction, I figured it was awesome.
“Really?” David sat back with a nod. “Then you must have really enjoyed the professor’s lecture yesterday.”
“Sure did.” Dylan nodded as he helped himself to another chip.
“You should have spoken up,” David continued. “Added your research to the lecture. The professor wouldn’t have minded if he’d known that’s what you were focusing on.”
Dylan inhaled a handful of chips with a lazy shrug. David apparently didn’t have the body-language reading skills I had. When his mouth opened to continue, I spun around to interrupt him.
“How’s your research going, David? You should be about done, right?”
I swore I heard a muted sigh over my shoulder, and smiled when David took the bait. He dove into a discussion on the one thing that he loved to talk about. Though I’d heard it a hundred times already, I figured it was worth sparing Dylan from the unwanted attention on his own project.
While David talked, I turned to grab a chip from the bag where it laid between Dylan and me. The movement brought my leg flush against his. Aside from his chin tipping fractionally in my direction, he gave no indication that he noticed the touch. He didn’t move away, and neither did I.
The contact added a lot more excitement than should have been allowed for a discussion about seismic activity and shifting plates under the Earth. I barely followed along with David, choosing to focus on the heat that transferred between the two layers of jeans that separated me from Dylan. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to David either, but once David wrapped up, I learned that he had listened more than I suspected.
“So you’re studying earthquakes?” Dylan asked David. “Here at Yellowstone?”
“Any seismic activity,” David returned.
“Is there a lot of it?”
“Much more than anybody realizes.” David’s shoulder bumped into mine, and I looked up to find him smiling at me. “Some people still prefer to live in denial.”
“I’m not in denial,” I fired back automatically. “I just need a lot more proof before I start believing—”
“Wrap it up, folks!” Professor Thompson marched past us, waving his arm at what remained of our lunches. “We’ve got a busy afternoon. Let’s move!”
I resisted a groan of complaint when Dylan shifted to pick up his discarded paper bag. In the absence of his leg against mine, I felt significantly colder.
Dylan glanced over his shoulder at me. “Is the professor always this . . .”
“Energetic? Yeah,” I answered.
“It’s Saturday,” he complained. “Nobody should be this happy to be working on a Saturday.”
I laughed as he pushed to his feet. Beside me, David frowned. Either he didn’t agree with Dylan’s negative opinion of doing work on Saturdays (quite possible) or he was confused by the congeniality between Dylan and me (more likely).
I had to remember that David didn’t know I’d already met Dylan, nor that he’d been there the night Kyle attacked me. No one knew about that night, except for Kyle and Dylan.
When Dylan gave me his hand, I let him pull me to my feet. Standing face-to-face, while David finished collecting the remnants o
f his lunch at our feet, Dylan asked in a hushed voice, “Everything okay?”
“Sure,” I nodded.
“No problems since . . .”
“I haven’t seen him.” My eyes drifted across the clearing, toward the cluster of students closer to the spring, where I suspected Kyle mingled. “Not until today.”
And he hadn’t even bothered to ask me for a picture yet. Either he brought his own disposable camera, or his pride was getting in his way.
“Good.” Dylan nodded and let go of my hand as David came to a noisy stand beside us.
David’s eyes lowered to follow Dylan’s hand as it dropped to his side. His voice was soft and uncertain as he glanced between Dylan and me. “I guess it’s time to get back to work?”
“Yeah.” Even with his shades back in place, I felt Dylan’s eyes on me. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
The subtle grin on his lips as we parted ways stayed with me long after he was gone. I saw it every time I focused on another boring rock brought to me by one of the students. I waited, impatiently at times, for Dylan to approach me with a specimen.
Anything to have another moment alone with him. Anything to get back half of the heat that enveloped me in his presence.
I concealed my disappointment when it was David who cornered me a few hours later. Not to snap a picture, but to ask me how I knew Dylan.
“I briefly talked to him a few days ago,” I explained quickly. “It was nothing.”
David wasn’t convinced, and I could tell by the way he watched me after that. He was curious, but mostly concerned. I would have to remind him that I was a big girl. I could take care of myself. I could handle Dylan . . . I hoped.
It was pushing four in the afternoon before I suspected the excursion was coming to an end. Only two students had yet to request a photograph from me—Kyle and Dylan. One I was happy to avoid, and the other . . .
I spotted Dylan across the clearing, standing statue-still as he faced the spring. Subtle wisps of steam drifted from the fractured ground and rose into the air, partially obstructing my view of him. But the colors, the contrast . . .