by Kirsty Eagar
‘Yeah, right, the Paddo. Not gonna make it, hey.’
At that, the other knight finally focused on Jess, and she decided she didn’t like his eyes. ‘Roger that.’ He smirked. ‘Killer.’
Jess rolled her eyes. Her moment of doubt on the deck seemed like a long time ago. Actually, if this guy was indicative of Blondie’s friends, it had been more like a temporary spell of insanity. Did she really want to go through with this? Letting this pig assume for one second that she’d been successfully groomed seemed like far too high a price to pay. She started to pull away and then stopped. Not because Blondie’s arm had tightened, but because right at that moment her eyes locked with Brendan’s on the other side of the room. When his flared, she decided to let the roger-that guy gloat, meekly allowing Blondie to shepherd her past him and towards the spiralling staircase that led to the roof and what was actually ground level—the building having been built to make the most of a sloping site. Escaping cleanly, Jess felt, with no small measure of relief, was worth that price. She’d let Blondie walk her home and decide what to do about the challenge when she got there.
Their exit coincided with the entrance of a large group of people, forcing Jess and Blondie into single file. He took her hand, leading her, the two of them hugging the curved wall. At the tail end of the arrivals was a smaller subgroup of girls. The first two passed Blondie without seeming to notice him, but the third crossed to block him, veering so abruptly that the two girls following nearly knocked her down the stairs. They stopped also, and Jess, not realising what was going on, drew level with Blondie, so that the three of them formed an unwilling audience to what was obviously going to be a confrontation.
‘Killer. How nice to see you. What’s it been? A year?’ The girl’s voice was high and clear, but the glitter in her green eyes suggested adrenalin was coursing through her system.
Blondie looked shocked. No, he looked hunted. He glanced past her, as if calculating the possibility of escape, his hand tightening on Jess’s to the point where it hurt. He’d forgotten she was there, she was certain of it.
‘I actually didn’t think you’d be back. But here you are,’ the girl mused.
‘Here I am.’ Blondie’s voice was even, but his grip hadn’t eased.
‘You know, I’m not surprised to see you again. But I am surprised you didn’t get in touch. Not once.’ The girl said this so carefully that Jess had the impression it had been rehearsed.
‘You’re surprised?’ Blondie’s tone was flat. ‘Really?’
For a moment the two of them just stared at each other, something close to hatred on the girl’s face. Then she blinked, back in control, and turned her attention to Jess, who immediately wished she’d stayed behind Blondie, in the shadows. This girl was like a diamond; she drew the light. And she had a way of reflecting it that made you feel exposed. Her pale blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in loosely styled curls. Her make-up was immaculate, lashes so thick and luxuriant they had to be false. But they weren’t tacky, they just made her more exquisite. For the first time Jess understood how looking like that was a kind of armour. Nobody would ever say I doubt it to her.
‘And who’s this?’ she asked, her voice sweet.
‘Nobody,’ Blondie answered, blocking her.
The girl gave Jess a small smile of sympathy. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t mean that.’ She seemed to reconsider. ‘Well.’ And Jess felt humiliated, even though the insult was largely intended for Blondie. ‘Isn’t it amazing?’ the girl asked, her attention back on him. ‘Everything that’s happened, and you haven’t changed at all. I almost admire it.’
‘When you’re done.’
‘When are you going to be done, Killer? That’s what I want to know.’
Blondie shook his head, angry now. ‘I don’t need this.’ He pushed between her and her companions, dragging Jess along behind him.
Jess heard Diamond Girl laugh, and then she and Blondie passed through the doorway and out onto the roof, where the vibration of the music could be felt underfoot and cigarettes looked like fireflies in the dark.
Where it was quiet enough for Jess to hear his uneven breathing.
•
By the time they reached the tunnel that cut beneath the physiology building, Jess couldn’t stand it anymore. Not one word had passed between them since they’d left the toga party, Blondie’s pace quickening to the point where he was breaking records.
Ducking out from under his arm, she placed both hands on his chest. ‘Stop. Just stop. I want to get off.’
His jaw was clenched and it took him a moment to return from wherever he’d been. Even in dim light, Jess could tell that it hadn’t been a good trip. She had the sneaking suspicion he’d forgotten she was there. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, irritated.
‘I can walk myself home from here. You’re too angry.’
‘I’m not angry,’ he said, sounding angry.
Jess touched his fisted hand and he batted her fingers away. For some reason that stung. Badly. Maybe because she was drunk. Maybe because the exchange with Diamond Girl had clearly affected him and, with his defences down, Jess had expected softness. But he was a knight, she reminded herself, her expectations should begin and end there.
‘Okay, you’re not angry, and I’m just fine, so thanks for the lift. Next time I want someone to put me in a headlock and march me home, I’ll be in touch.’ With that, Jess walked off.
She thought that was it, that he’d just let her go, but after a moment she heard, ‘Oi!’ And then: ‘Oi!’
She spun around. ‘I’m sorry, are you addressing me? Or is there an invisible dog in the vicinity?’ It would have been perfect, except she was walking backwards and nearly tripped on her toga, which had started to unravel. Blondie laughed, pissing her off, and she took it out on the sheet, tugging at it violently until she had the whole thing off, bundling it up and throwing it on the ground.
‘Nice exit!’ he called.
‘Interesting mental problem!’ she shouted back.
This time Jess counted her strides, deciding that two hundred of them would put an acceptable distance between her and him. But she’d only reached five when she heard the soft pad of his runners behind her.
‘What the fuck’s wrong with you?’ he asked.
‘Nothing, now that I’m leaving.’
‘You can’t leave yet—’
‘Watch me.’
‘—you haven’t got what you wanted.’
‘And what would that be?’
‘Your goodnight kiss. The part where I try to take things further, and you act like you don’t want it.’
‘Jesus, both hands on your lance,’ Jess muttered. More loudly: ‘You can kiss my arse. How about that?’
‘Wouldn’t mind. Is this because I said you were nobody?’
‘Hardly.’
‘You sure? Because you’ve got an ego, Jersey. Even I can see that.’
Astonished, Jess whirled to face him. ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing! Oh, I get it.’ She jabbed his chest with a finger. ‘In your world that is a bad thing. God forbid a woman actually has an ego. Well, listen up, my friend, because you may find this next part a bit controversial.’ She leaned closer, her voice low and breathy: ‘My ego is enormous. I have a big … thick … ego … and I love it. It’s the reason I’m able to tear myself away from you. I’m just dying to get home so I can play with it.’ She winked. ‘Roger that, Killer?’
But he grabbed her hand as she turned to go, pulling her around to face him, catching her other wrist as he did it. ‘Don’t go, Jersey,’ he said, sounding much too in control for her liking. ‘Is that what you want me to say?’
Jess didn’t bother trying to pull free. Instead, she lashed out in a different way. ‘No, let’s talk about your ex-girlfriend. That’s going well.’
His grip tightened and she knew she’d scored a direct hit. ‘It’s nothing like that, so don’t project your shit on me.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Jess
watched the muscles working in his jaw, feeling a nasty sense of triumph. ‘She’s current?’
‘I don’t do girlfriends.’
‘Your own, or other people’s?’
‘Why don’t you shut your mouth?’ The aggression in his voice was like a slap.
Shocked, Jess stared at him. ‘Well, congratulations.’
‘On what?’
‘On being the guy I thought you were.’
‘You don’t know me.’
Jess gave a hollow laugh. ‘I do now.’ As soon as the words left her mouth, she tensed, wondering if she was about to be hit by a guy for the first time in her life.
Instead of exploding, Blondie seemed to crumple, his face stricken, dropping her wrists and slumping back against the wall of the tunnel. For a moment he stared straight ahead, his eyes glassy, then he turned his head away and she could see the rapidly beating pulse in his neck. His breathing was ragged, hitching in his throat like he was having some kind of anxiety attack.
Jess, on the other hand, had stopped breathing altogether. Realising this, she sucked back air that sat high in a tight chest. ‘Are you okay?’
Blondie wiped a palm across his forehead and then frowned down at his own sweat. ‘Too hard,’ he said, talking to himself not her, his voice scratchy. He swallowed, eyelids flickering. ‘Can’t do this. It’s too …’ He focused on Jess, looking at her without really seeing her, using her as some kind of distraction, something to hold onto.
‘Well, I’d offer to walk you home, but …’ Jess shrugged, making a face.
Blondie seemed to return to the here and now, his blue eyes sharpening. ‘Look at me. I’m a fucking joke,’ he said, his voice harsh.
‘Really, it’s okay. I’m not judging. I think people should be—’ She broke off with a gurgle of alarm as he pulled her abruptly into a hug, burying his face in her neck.
At first, she held her arms out to the sides, her body rigid and tense. But he held her for such a long time, long enough for the shock of being held by him to give way to an awareness of him: the warmth of his skin, the hint of sandalwood in his aftershave, and, beneath it, the spice of his sweat, the feel of his cropped hair brushing her cheek—so militaristic, so different to the carefully mussed locks sported by Unity boys. Long enough for her hands to come to rest on his hips. Long enough for a silence to become expectant.
When his face finally moved towards hers, Jess closed her eyes. But just before their mouths touched, Blondie whispered, ‘Question for you, Jersey. If I’m the guy you think I am, then what are you still doing here?’
Jess froze, feeling the world tilt and spin away from her. As her eyes opened, he ran his lips along her jawline, murmuring, ‘Seems to me you want it.’
Jess pushed roughly at his chest, stepping backwards, away from him, more humiliated than she’d ever been in her life. She’d only been going to kiss him because he’d been vulnerable, she told herself—and he had been vulnerable; he’d completely lost it. Was that it? He was punishing her because she’d seen him like that?
Blondie smirked, holding his palms out as though offering her a deal. ‘It’s either that, or I’m not the guy you think I am.’
Jess said nothing, her heart thudding, her hands sliding into her pockets of their own accord, seeking out her Zippo. And her fingertips brushed the cable ties she’d stuffed in there at the beginning of the night, what seemed like a hundred years ago.
Eventually, Blondie dropped his swagger. He shifted, clearing his throat, glancing back the way he came, as though wondering if he should make his exit.
And Jess finally spoke. ‘Do you want to come back to my room?’
CHAPTER 7
HANDS
People had already started trickling back from the toga party. Alpine blared from a C-floor window, and somebody’s bedroom had been transported to the courtyard outside the dining room, reassembled there perfectly.
‘Wow. Different college, same shit,’ Blondie murmured, sliding an arm around Jess’s waist and feigning innocence when she looked at him. ‘What? I might get lost.’ Jess gave him a demure smile. ‘Not buying it for a second, Jersey. You’re pissed.’
‘And yet you’re here.’
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
‘Killer!’
Jess glanced back to see a pair of M-floor girls and Leanne supporting Richie the knight. Leanne gave Jess an evil grin, and Jess got another twinge of the kind she hadn’t wanted to examine the first time she’d felt it: when she’d spotted Farren near the bar.
‘Hey, Killer!’ Richie shouted again when Blondie didn’t respond. ‘Killer!’ He sounded like a bawling calf.
Jess dropped her pace, only to be forcibly dragged along. ‘Slow down, there’s a legend behind you. He’s got three girls and he needs your approval.’
‘I don’t want to talk to the fresher dickhead.’
‘But you’re his hero,’ Jess pouted, ‘Killer.’
Blondie shot her a look.
The other four peeled off, heading towards the M-floor steps, while Jess led Blondie through the reading room. She stopped at the vending machine outside the office.
‘I’m going to need a drink for this,’ she said, by way of explanation. ‘I’ve got rum in my room.’
He let go of her reluctantly. ‘I’ll get it.’
‘I didn’t say you had to buy it for me. I just said I’d need one.’
‘And I said, I’ll get it.’
Jess patted her heart. ‘Oh my, a gentleman. Coke, please.’
Blondie tried without success to find a way into his toga, and then just ripped the sheet off and threw it on the ground, revealing a pair of black Canterbury rugby shorts and a chest so well defined it made him seem more tightly skinned than ordinary people. Jess bet he shaved it. He bought two cans of Coke.
‘Thank you,’ Jess said, and, despite everything, she meant it. Brendan had insisted on splitting every single transaction—unless, of course, Jess had wanted to pay.
Blondie seemed bemused. ‘And thank you. Most girls just seem to expect it.’
‘I’m not most girls,’ she told him flatly, walking off. When she realised he wasn’t following, she turned around. He hadn’t moved.
‘If that’s the case, you want to tell me why we’re here?’
Jess stared at him for a moment, savouring a strong dislike. She covered the distance between them in four quick strides, stopping only when she was right up in his personal space. Close enough for his expression to change. Close enough to feel the heat trapped in his skin.
‘You’re here because you want something,’ she said, taking one icy can and pressing it to his left nipple. Blondie flinched, but otherwise didn’t move, his eyes locked on hers. ‘And I’m here to give it to you,’ she continued, taking the other can and pressing it to his right nipple. She held the cans there, enjoying his discomfort.
When she’d removed them, he asked, ‘Are you talking about the jersey, or something else?’
‘Whatever gets you up in my room.’
‘Up? How high is it?’ Jess just smiled. Blondie’s gaze travelled upwards as he made the calculations. ‘Of all the rooms in this place, you have to have one on the top floor?’
‘I know. It’s like we were never meant to be.’
Seven flights of stairs later, they reached a deserted T-floor, and Blondie stopped for a moment to press a palm to the wall, perhaps reassuring himself that the place was structurally sound. Jess didn’t wait for him, but when she opened the door to her room, juggling the cans of Coke, he was right behind her, his hands closing on her hips in a way that made her skin fizz with risk. They were alone.
Inside, she checked her phone. Six texts from Brendan that she didn’t bother to read. Blondie was closing and locking her door, each sound seeming to have a grim finality. She touched her pocket, considering what she was about to attempt. She could feel the rushing of her own blood.
Blondie turned to look at her, and then baulked. ‘The windo
w.’
‘Oh. Right. That.’
Jess untied the cord that held her window at a perfect horizontal and let it swivel to a more moderate gap. It was possibly for the best: there was sheet lightning in the east, and in its flashes she saw heavy-bellied clouds gathering to mount one of Brisbane’s summer storms. There was no wind yet, though, no thunder, only suspense; the air still and swollen.
Blondie stood, looking around him. Jess’s room, now unpacked and tidy, was a blend of the sporty, the feminine and the bookish. There was a basketball clumped in the corner alongside her high tops and two pairs of running shoes. Scented candles and silver-framed photos lined the shelf above the desk, in keeping with the white linen quilt and lace cushions on the bed, and instead of prints or posters on the walls, her favourite books were strung from a wire that stretched the width of the room, displayed there like scalps.
‘Where’s the rum?’ he asked.
Jess hesitated, wanting him sitting down, not roaming around, but her hands were full with tying the window into its new position. ‘In the fridge. Which is in the wardrobe.’ Blondie pushed open the sliding door on the left, revealing the dresser. ‘Other end,’ she told him, but he acted like he hadn’t heard, opening the top drawer, exposing her underwear. ‘Hey! Do you mind?’
‘No.’ Blondie shut that drawer and opened the next, working his way down.
‘You won’t find what you’re looking for.’
He slammed the bottom drawer shut and started flicking through the clothes on hangers, pausing when he saw her college jersey. She thought he might take it in retaliation, but he kept going, stopping again when he reached a black hospitality apron.
‘What’s Q-P-A-C stand for?’ he asked.
‘A little inconvenience called work. You may not be familiar with it.’
‘I’ve worked.’
‘That’s past tense. And a week of high school work experience doesn’t count.’