"Do I have something on my face?" He smiles and touches his jaw.
"Um, no." I glance away. "You just remind me of someone."
It's a lie, but I had to say something to explain why I was staring.
"Who?"
When I look back at him, he's still smiling. It's not an overly wide smile, which always seems fake to me, but more of a half smile. I like it. It's sexy. And a little mysterious. It makes me wonder what he's thinking.
"Who what?" I ask, remembering he'd ask me something.
"Who do I remind you of?"
"Oh, um, some actor. I can't remember his name."
"Well, I'm from LA, but I'm not an actor."
"Are you in a rock band?"
He lets out a laugh. "No. Why?"
"The black t-shirt, the long hair, the tattoo. You look like you might be in a band. I even called you Rocker Guy until I knew your name."
Why did I just tell him that? I should've kept that to myself.
He smiles a little more. "You made up a name for me?"
"I had to. I didn't know your name."
"It's Reed. And I'm not in a band. And today I'm wearing a red t-shirt, not black."
My gaze wanders down to his shirt. It's not a bright red but more of a faded red. It fits close to his chest and clings to shoulders. He has a lean, muscular frame. And his skin is really tan, like he's out in the sun a lot.
"As for my hair," he says, "I have naturally wavy hair and if I don't leave it a little long on top, it sticks up everywhere and looks like a bad perm."
I laugh. "I'm sure it's not that bad."
"Trust me, it's bad. My mom cut it short when I was a kid and I looked like a Chia Pet."
I laugh again. "Then I guess you'll have to keep it like it is. So what about the tattoo?" I point to his wrist. "Is that your only one?"
"Yeah, but I've thought of getting another."
"Can I see it?"
He holds his wrist out. It's a simple black design with three circles overlapping a triangle.
"Does it mean something?" I ask, then feel dumb for asking. I've heard people with tattoos don't like being asked about them.
"I drew it when I was six. The circles are my parents and me, and the triangle was because we didn't all fit together in the same space." He chuckles. "Deep, right? I was a philosophical kid."
"What do you mean you didn't fit together?"
"When I was six I wanted the family you see on TV. Mom, Dad, and the kid all living in the same house. Instead I got parents who weren't married, a dad who was always on the road, and a mom who didn't want a kid. Anyway, art was my escape when I didn't want to deal with my real life. When I drew this, I told myself I'd be an artist someday. But as I got older, people kept telling me it'd never happen and that no one makes a living doing art. I got the tattoo to remind myself not to listen to them, but to listen to the six-year-old who drew this. He said he'd be an artist and he will."
"That's a cool story. I mean, about the drawing, but I'm sorry about your parents."
"We should get our supplies out." He reaches in his bag.
The classroom is full now and the professor is up front, getting set up. Class starts with a lecture about basic drawing techniques, and then we're given time to practice some of those techniques. We'll be going into more detail about each one later on. Today was just an overview to help show us what the class will be like.
After it's over, Reed and I walk out together.
"Do you have another class now?" he asks.
"No, I'm done for the day."
"Do you want to hang out?"
"Sure. What do you want to do?"
"Find some shade. Sit and talk."
No guy ever wants to just sit and talk. I hope this isn't some technique he's using to get me to sleep with him. I sigh in my head. Why do I always think that way? I always assume guys have the worst intentions. I blame Garret. He's brainwashed me into thinking every guy is up to no good.
"Is that a no?" he asks.
I shake my head. "No. Sorry. My mind wandered off. Where do you want to sit?"
"Over there." He points to the tree I was sitting under the other day. "Do you want a drink? I'm dying of thirst."
There's a vending machine next to the building we just walked past. He starts walking over to it. "Pepsi? Mountain Dew?"
"Pepsi. Do they have cherry?"
"Yeah." He gets his wallet out.
"Let me give you some money." I fish through my backpack.
"Don't worry about it. I got it."
We take our drinks and sit under the large shade tree. We both lean against it, looking out toward campus.
"So are you from California?" he asks.
"Yeah. Santa Barbara, but I grew up in Connecticut so I kind of still feel like that's home."
"Where does your family live?"
"My dad and stepmom live in Santa Barbara and my mom lives in New York. And I have a brother who lives about an hour south of here with his family."
"Do you get along with your stepmom?"
"Yeah, I love her. My real mom is—never mind."
"Your mom is what? What were you going to say?"
"Nothing."
"If you've got mom issues, you don't have to be afraid to tell me. Believe me, my mom issues are way worse than yours."
"I bet they're not."
He turns to face me. "I bet you anything they are."
I smile. "What do you want to bet?"
"You first."
I think for a moment. "If my mom issues are worse than yours, I get to see that drawing you did the other day when I saw you under that tree." I point to it.
"I don't know about that. It's not quite finished and I don't like showing my work when it's only half done."
"So finish it and then show me."
He leans toward me and stares at my face, specifically my lips.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"I had to see something." He leans back again. "Okay, if you win, I'll show it to you."
"What do I have to do if you win?"
He pauses. "Is that guy your boyfriend?"
"What guy?"
"The asshole who got you hurt yesterday."
I like that Reed called him an asshole, because that's exactly what Preston was yesterday and yet nobody else in my group seemed to notice or care.
"I wouldn't call him my boyfriend," I say. "We only went on one date."
"Are you going out with him again?"
Why is he asking me this? Is he asking me out? I hadn't even considered going out with him. He's so unlike anyone I've ever dated and I don't know anything about him. I don't know that much about Preston either, but his background is more like mine; growing up rich, attending prep school.
"Lilly. Are you going out with him or not?"
"Yeah, I'm going out with him tonight. Why?"
"I just wondered. So anyway, if I win the bet, I'm taking you somewhere."
So he is asking me out. I smile at that, but don't realize it until I notice him smiling back.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask.
"You'll find out when I win."
"Who says you're winning?"
He chuckles. "Go ahead. Tell me about your mom."
I tell him how my mom tries to control me and is constantly putting me down, giving him examples of some of her worst moments. My family would kill me if they knew I was sharing this information. We're supposed to keep our dirty laundry hidden, but today I felt like letting it all spill out. Maybe because I feel comfortable talking to Reed, which is odd given that I just met him.
"That's pretty bad," he says when I'm done. "No offense, but your mom sounds like a bitch."
It makes me laugh. No one except Garret has ever come out and actually called her that, even though it's true.
"Okay, now tell me about yours."
"My mom is only a bitch when she's drunk, which is pretty much all the time. Except when she's in rehab, and then she's a bitc
h because she's pissed at me for putting her there."
"You put your mom in rehab?"
"So many times I've lost count. I don't know why I bother. It never seems to help."
"She's an adult. You can't force her into rehab."
"No, but my uncle can. I call him when she's getting out of control. That's why she gets pissed at me. She doesn't like me ratting her out."
"Where's your dad?"
"He's a tour manager for bands. He travels to concerts all over the country and sometimes the world. My mom met him when she was a backup dancer for a rock band back in the Nineties. She and my dad got together whenever he was in LA. She ended up getting pregnant and had to quit touring. She loves telling me how I ruined her career, not realizing that a career as a backup dancer basically ends when you're around 30, if not before."
"When did she start drinking?"
"She's been an alcoholic for as long as I can remember. When she was on tour, alcohol and drugs were everywhere. Luckily she didn't get hooked on the drugs, just the alcohol."
"And she gets mean when she's drunk?"
"Yeah." He tells me some of the stories. It sounds like she isn't physically abusive, but she's verbally abusive. She says even worse things to him than my mom says to me, like that he's worthless and that she hopes he dies so he can't keep putting her in rehab.
"How do you respond when she says those things?"
"I just let her go off and don't listen to it. I told myself long ago that it was the alcohol talking, not her. It's probably not true, but I don't like thinking my mom would really say that shit to her kid." He shrugs. "But maybe she would." He pauses. "So who's the winner? I'll let you make the decision."
He clearly won, but I want to say I did because I really want to see the drawing he did the other day. The way he reacted when I caught him watching me, I'm almost positive the drawing was of me. If he wins, I'll have to go out with him, which I'd kind of like to do, even though I don't know where he's taking me.
"Okay, I admit it," I say. "Your mom issues are worse than mine. You win."
"I told you I would."
"Hey." I push on his arm. "Don't get cocky or I might change my mind. Now when are we going out?"
"Saturday."
"Night?"
"Day. Can you be gone all day?"
"I don't know. I guess I could. But don't dates usually only last a few hours?"
He smiles. "I didn't say it was a date, but to answer your question, as far as I know, there aren't any time limits on dates. They can be as short or as long as you want."
My face is burning up. Why did I assume it was a date? Now I feel like an idiot. But he made it sound like a date.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" I ask.
"No." A leaf blows on his leg and he brushes it off.
"So you, um...you don't date?"
"I date."
"Girls?"
He chuckles. "Yes. I date girls."
He's making me work way too hard for this and he's loving every minute of it. I feel my face heating up again. I'm embarrassed to ask this but I have to know.
"So why isn't Saturday a date?"
"Because I don't date girls who are dating someone else."
"I'm not really dating Preston. We went on one date."
"And you're going on another. And he's already acting possessive of you, like he's your boyfriend. I don't get involved in that shit. It's too much drama and I have enough drama in my life. I like you, Lilly, but I'm not going to get in a fight with that asshole in order to date you." He takes a drink of his soda.
"If this isn't a date, then why did you ask if Preston was my boyfriend?"
"Because if you weren't seeing him again, I would've made it a date. But since you're still dating that guy, we'll just be two friends hanging out."
"How would it have been different if it were a date?"
"Guess you'll never know, now will you?" He grins.
I roll my eyes. "So we're really going to be gone all day?"
"Yeah. We'll leave in the morning and be back before it gets dark."
"Where are we going?"
"You'll have to wait and see."
"I barely know you. I can't just take off with you for the day, not knowing where we're going."
"I'll give you a hint. It's ten minutes away and you'll need your sketch book and pencils."
"I still don't feel right leaving with you without knowing where we're going."
Maybe I'm being overly cautious but it's only because my family is constantly warning me to be careful. I don't think Reed is dangerous, but you can never be too safe.
He pauses a moment, then asks, "Do you have a car?"
"Yeah."
"Then we'll take separate cars. If you don't like where I'm taking you, you can just turn around. Or if you don't feel comfortable with me, or don't want to stay there all day, you can come back early."
"Okay. That works." I like that he suggested that. In the past, I've had guys get mad at me when I don't want to ride with them after just meeting them. They act offended that I don't trust them.
Reed leans back and gazes at the tree in front of us. "Do you ever look at things in nature? I mean, like really look at them, noticing all the details?"
"Not really."
"You should. Just sit outside some day and look at stuff. Like that tree." He points to it. "See the bark? Check out the pattern in it. The waves, the curves, the slight variation in color. It's like a piece of art."
He's right. If you really look at it, it does look like art.
"I spend a lot of time examining the things around me," he says. "Noticing the details that most people don't see because they don't take the time to just stop and look."
"What else do you look at besides nature?"
"People, especially faces. I once drew my mom's face with all different expressions. Angry. Sad. Lonely. Happy. She's not a very happy person, but one time she got out of rehab and really thought she could stop drinking for good. Her face looked happier than I'd ever seen it. So I drew it. And whenever I think it's useless putting her in rehab again I look at that drawing to remind myself that maybe this time it'll work and she'll be happy again."
I thought I had mom problems. His are way worse. And yet he kind of reminds me of myself and how I keep trying to get my mom to love me when the truth is, she probably never will.
He reaches over and picks up my hand. "Even the human hand is a piece of art, which is why so many artists draw it." My heart beats faster as his thumb skims over my palm. "The lines, the creases, the texture." I swallow, feeling breathless as he lightly draws over my skin with his finger. "You can capture it all with a simple piece of charcoal or even just a pencil." He sets my hand down. "What do you like to draw?"
"People. Buildings. Landscapes." I sound out of breath. I take a sip of my soda to give my heart time to recover. Why did I react that way? He was just touching my hand.
His phone dings. It's the alarm going off. "Shit. I forget I was meeting this girl." He quiets the alarm.
"What girl?" I suddenly feel jealous. I even sounded jealous. What the heck? I shouldn't be jealous. I just met this guy.
Reed noticed my jealous tone. I can tell because of the sly grin on his face. "Erika. She was in my orientation group. She had a flat tire yesterday so her car is at the shop. I told her I'd give her a ride to go pick it up."
"So you're just getting her car?"
He shrugs. "Maybe while we're out we'll stop and get dinner somewhere. She's also from LA." He stands up, offering me his hand. "Come on. I'll walk you back to your room."
When we get there, there's a bouquet of flowers sitting outside my door.
"Looks like your boyfriend sent you flowers," Reed says. "See ya later."
He takes off and I open my door and bring the flowers inside. It's a bouquet of assorted flowers in different colors. The note attached to the bouquet says, I hope you're feeling better. I'll see you tonight. Preston.
; "Who are those from?" Willow asks. My door was open so she walked in.
"Preston." I laugh. "I don't have any other guy who'd send me flowers."
"Who was the hottie you were sitting with on the lawn today?"
"You saw us?"
"Well, yeah. You weren't exactly hidden."
"We were talking about drawing. We'd just got out of class. He's also an art major."
"Are you going out with him?"
"No. I'm dating Preston."
"You've been on one date with the guy."
"We're going out again tonight."
"So what's the hottie's name?"
"Reed. He's from LA."
"Does he have a girlfriend?"
"No. Why?"
"I'm going to ask him out."
"You don't even know him."
"So introduce us. A guy that hot will be snatched up in no time. I've gotta move fast."
"You don't even know if you'll like him."
"Do you like him?"
"Yeah. I think he's nice."
"That's good enough for me. I'm not looking for a husband. Just someone to go out with and maybe..." She smiles. "Anyway, set us up. I'm going to the gym. I'll see ya later!"
"Yeah. Bye!"
Willow wants to have sex with Reed? A lot of girls probably do. He's hot. I'd say he's even hotter than Preston, if you like the bad boy rocker look. Which I admit, I'm starting to like.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Lilly." I turn and see Preston standing at my door. "I see you got the flowers." He comes in, shutting the door behind him.
"Yeah, thanks. They're really pretty."
"How were your classes?"
"Good. I had Drawing today, which I think will be my favorite class."
"What exactly do you do in that class? Just sit around and draw?"
The way he said it sounded rude, but maybe he didn't mean it that way.
"There's a lecture and then we have studio time."
"I had Finance this morning, then Statistics and Advanced Calc this afternoon."
That sounds hard. I'm so bad at math. I'd flunk all those classes.
"In Statistics, we're already working on linear regression models."
Lilly: A Kensington Family Novel Page 7