“I don’t see anything inspiring on this dessert menu anyway.” She stood. “I’m going to run to the restroom. You have the check, right?”
“Sure.” He would have paid regardless, even though she’d chosen an expensive restaurant that she’d looked down her nose at all night. But the way she’d just assumed she was entitled to it rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was just the accumulation of so many things that rubbed him the wrong way that had him so miffed.
When they parted ways that night, she said, “I really had a great time tonight.”
Could’ve fooled him. “So did I.” He lied.
“Call me. We should definitely do this again.”
“Yeah.” He forced a smile.
Camille stood there for a while, smiling expectantly at him. When he didn’t make any moves toward her, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. Pulling back, she smiled, revealing dazzling white teeth. Probably bleached. Her black hair shone under the lights in the parking lot. If he hadn’t been burned by Kristin, would he feel differently about her? He didn’t know. He’d like to think he’d have better judgment than to end up with a girl like this, but hindsight was 20/20.
But maybe there was more to his standoffishness toward Camille than he wanted to admit. After all, during their date, he’d spent a lot of time thinking about Marci. His mind wouldn’t stop slipping back to her. And it was crazy. There was no way she was thinking about him this much, the guy she’d only wanted to sleep with because of a bet. Was there?
He could’ve been imagining it, but last night in the TA section, it seemed that every time he’d glanced in her direction, she’d been looking his way. And at the end of class, she’d given him her email address and phone number just in case he had questions or his TA needed to get in touch with her about the makeup section. The same phone number she’d refused to come off the day they met and on the night of the bet.
Had something changed last night?
Chapter Nine
Marci hated how foolish she was being about this. Of course she hadn’t expected him to call. She wasn’t even sure of what possessed her to give him her number. She knew his TA, Brian, pretty well. They were both in the American Studies Ph.D. program. All the TAs had exchanged contact information at the beginning of the semester. And even if she were truly concerned about Owen and his TA having a way to contact her, the email address would have been sufficient. But she’d handed over her phone number, too. It’d been an impulse move. Like buying an extra pair of shoes because they were on sale buy one get one half off. Only the shoe impulse buy would’ve been a harmless move.
She should just forget about it either way.
Instead, she’d spent the last week or so of her life obsessing. Wondering if he would call or not. Like some silly schoolgirl with a crush. And she wasn’t the silly schoolgirl with a crush type.
She was the love ‘em and leave ‘em type. Well, without all that much of the love part. Or any of it honestly. And that was the way she liked it. Nobody got hurt. Everybody got something out of the deal. No strings attached was the way to go for her. She had no use for relationships—not anymore anyway—and most guys she ran across had no problems with her NSA sex life philosophy. Most guys.
At first, she’d been tempted to take it personally, but the way she’d caught Owen looking at her more than once in class implied that he was more than a little interested in her body. And the way he’d touched her that night at his apartment. Those hadn’t been the touches of a disinterested man. Those had been the touches of a man barely holding himself back. Just thinking of it now got her all overheated.
Or was she just overthinking this whole thing? One thing was for sure. She definitely spent too much time thinking about it. Playing their few interactions over in her mind. Wondering what, if anything, it meant that she kept running into him. She hadn’t spent this much time thinking about a man since—well, she didn’t want to go there.
She didn’t want to talk to Tyler or Ronnie about this, either. They were sure to make too big of a deal out of it. She didn’t want to think of this as a big deal or as a “thing” at all. She just wanted it to all go away.
So of course it wouldn’t.
She was walking one of her appointments to the door at the writing center, giving her some last-minute pointers about her paper, when the door opened. And in walked Owen.
She trailed off in mid-sentence, completely losing her train of thought. His dark blond wavy hair was windswept all across his head in a sexy, messy way. He wore light wash jeans and a CVU hoodie. His cheeks were ruddy; he’d probably ridden his bike over.
When his gray eyes landed on her, they lit up, and a heartbreakingly beautiful grin stretched over his face.
“Marci?” A voice that sounded like it was coming from another world called her name. She turned, mildly surprised to see her three o’clock standing there. She’d forgotten whatever it was she wanted to say to the girl.
“I’ll see you next week,” Marci said.
“My paper is due at the end of this week,” the girl said with a confused frown. “I don’t have any more appointments.”
“Right, well, good luck with that paper.” She’d momentarily forgotten the girl’s name.
Nodding, and giving Owen a quick and nervous smile, which he easily returned, the girl left the center.
“What are you doing here?” Marci was disappointed in herself. Why did she have to sound so happy to see him? He was just a boy. A good looking boy with too much charm who happened to make her heart race, skip a beat, or do both interchangeably whenever he touched her, but so? He was just a cute boy. She’d known a lot of cute boys in her life.
But none like this one I’m betting, a little voice that was trying to get her in trouble whispered at the edge of her mind. She kindly asked that voice to hush. Still, she couldn’t forget how electric the feeling of his hands on her skin had been. His mouth over hers. Touching her like he’d been put on this Earth solely to do that. She didn’t think she’d ever felt like that in anyone’s arms. Not with the first very inexperienced heartbreaker in high school and not with the second one, either.
Shaking her head as if that would help clear it, she looked up at Owen. He was looking at her like he was expecting a reply. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“I asked if you were okay,” he said. “You look kind of lost in a fog over there.”
“I’m fine.” She clasped her hands together and held them tightly in front of her. “What’s up?”
“That paper you helped me with?” He held up a crumpled sheaf of papers that’d been stapled together. “I got an A minus on it. A minus! That’s the best grade I’ve ever gotten in that class—well, ever in my whole life as far as papers go.”
“That’s fantastic.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you. That’s why I came by. To thank you. And actually to see if you could help me for the rest of the semester. Especially with that philosophy class. I barely understand what that woman wants us to write about much less how she wants us to write it.” He raked his hand through his wavy hair and let it rest at the base of his neck. “I’d really appreciate your help.”
Had anyone ever turned him down for anything? He was one of those people whose looks could allow him to breeze through life and get away with anything. But it hadn’t spoiled him. He didn’t seem obnoxious or rude or a victim of entitlement syndrome or any of that. He was genuinely charming and humble. Unassuming. And that made him all the more dangerous.
“Sure. I’ll help. Three o’clock on Mondays?” She nodded her head toward the door. “My regular three o’clock won’t be coming back for the rest of the semester.
“That’s fine with me.” He smoothed out his crumpled paper and looked around the reception area. He was so tall—nearly a foot taller than her, and she was five foot six. His light wash jeans rode low on his hips. He removed his hoodie and revealed a gray graphic tee with a slogan screen painted on it that was so faded s
he could barely read it. More importantly, it fit him well enough to hint at pecks that went nicely with those well-defined arms of his. He wasn’t skinny, and he wasn’t overly bulky like some meathead. He was lean and muscled, and his clothes fit well. Her favorite look. Absolute favorite. She had a certain weakness for this vintage tee, broad chest, good muscles look. She could have stared at him all day, but that would probably weird him out with good reason.
“Let’s get it set up then.” She led the way over to the reception desk, careful not to touch him. She was already flustered enough by being close to him.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” His gray eyes had suddenly become serious. They were so pale yet bright—almost silver.
“Uhm, yeah.” She stumbled over her own feet, cursed herself, and leaned against the receptionist’s desk to play it off. She kept running into him, so why fight it? At least this way, she would expect him when he showed up—she’d be able to prepare herself and hopefully not turn into melted better around him. Turning her attention to the receptionist and absorbing herself in adding him to her personal schedule, she tried to shut out the gooey thoughts she’d been having a moment ago. She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t dare look up. Whatever was trying to happen here, it was too much for her.
Way too much.
#
Saturday, Marci and Ronnie let Tyler talk them into going to see the exhibit of one of his friend’s at an art gallery in D.C.
As Marci zipped up 95 North in her beemer, she said to Tyler, “So tell us again what exactly it is we’re seeing.” She still couldn’t get over the concept of this exhibit.
“Okay, so the whole concept is involving the viewer in the art,” Tyler said. “It’s all very interactive. The artist’s vision is, art is all around us. And art is what we perceive it to be—we’re all participants in it. So, potentially, ‘art’ can be something, mean something, different to each of us.”
Ronnie, who had very little use for contemporary art, snorted from the backseat.
“Ronnie, you’re so cultureless,” Tyler said, turning his head over his shoulder to sneer at her. Ronnie just laughed. Grinning, Tyler turned to face front again. “So, there’s going to be some simple object in the center of the room or painted on one of the walls.” He flipped his overlong blond bags out of his eyes. “When I saw it last weekend—I stopped by to say hello and get a sneak preview on my way up to New York—it was just a small black dot painted on the far wall in the room he’s been allotted. There’s someone who goes around the room, asking people what they think of the art—sometimes it’s the artist, sometimes it’s a friend—and observing their reactions. Sometimes, there’s a decoy who’ll ask about a piece of litter in the corner of the room or a smudge on the wall that’s not actually part of the exhibit to see if people try to interpret that thing that’s not part of the exhibit. The artist journals about these reactions, reads the entries into a recorder, and then both the updated journal and the recordings become part of the exhibit daily. Because art, and our definition of it, is always changing. Evolving.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ronnie said. “We get to eat afterwards, right? You said we can go to Marvin. I’m holding you to that.” Marvin, a restaurant that was named after Marvin Gaye and that featured soul and Belgian food, was one of Ronnie’s favorites and was probably a lot of the reason Ronnie had agreed to come with them.
“Of course,” Tyler said. “You’re still cultureless,” he called into the backseat.
“Aw, I love you, too, baby,” Ronnie said, reaching from the backseat to grab Tyler’s shoulder. The navy blue of Ronnie’s fingernail polish stood out against the dark red fabric of Tyler’s sweater.
“So, you’ve been pretty quiet today,” Ronnie called to Marci. “What are you thinking about up there?”
“Nothing,” Marci answered smoothly. She hadn’t mentioned a thing about Owen to either of them since the day after the great The Hops fiasco. The last thing she needed was one of them reading too much into it. Tyler, who was determined she needed to be in a relationship, or Ronnie who would make too much of it. She didn’t need any of that. She was just tutoring some guy. She tutored people. It was what she did. He just happened to be one of them. And that was exactly why she needed to stop wondering what he was up to today. What was with her? She’d certainly experienced enough of the nasty fallout from the inevitable end of romantic relationships to steer far clear of anything headed in that direction. Hadn’t she?
“I haven’t seen Jeremy lately,” Marci said both because she hadn’t and to get herself out of the hot seat.
“That’s because…Jeremy’s been busy.” Ronnie turned to look out of the window. Marci glimpsed her profile in the rearview mirror. Ronnie’s long, dark brown hair curtained the side of her profile, hiding all traces of her facial expression.
“With what? Who?”
“Community service,” Ronnie said in a quick, quiet tone. Marci almost didn’t catch the words. The quiet part was very uncharacteristic for Ronnie.
“Oh really? What did he do this time?”
“He got into it with this guy at a bar. Nobody got hurt too bad, but he busted up some glasses and things, including a chair. And he got banned from the bar. The judge went easy on him because he knew Jeremy’s dad.”
“You didn’t mention anything about this. How long ago did it happen?”
“You guys already judge Jeremy enough. I didn’t want to give you any extra ammo.” Ronnie’s words were end-of-subject sharp in tone. “He’s a good kid. It’s just people won’t give him a break. And so he acts out.” Ronnie turned away from the window and hunched forward in the backseat. Her lips were set in a firm line, and her brown eyes were lit up with anger, annoyance, or both.
“Whoa. Sorry,” Marci said. “I just—”
“You just don’t know him, okay? Can we talk about something else? Can we change the subject please?”
“Sure.” Marci and Tyler exchanged looks. Then Tyler asked Ronnie how things were going at Schaffer’s, the restaurant where Ronnie worked.
Marci couldn’t remember Ronnie ever getting so snappy about Jeremy before even though Marci had made it clear in the past that she thought Jeremy was a waste of human space. Maybe Ronnie was just upset about Jeremy getting in more trouble than usual. But still, that reaction had been out of proportion to Marci’s question. Was there more going on than Ronnie was willing to talk about?
Chapter Ten
Saturday night, Owen went out on his second Post-Kristin Date. This girl was pretty nice. Her name was Jennifer, and she was very girl-next-door. She had a smattering of freckles across her nose and ginger hair. She was very petite—couldn’t have been much over four feet. They almost looked comical together because he was so much taller, but she was adorable. And this date was going much better than his date with Camille had.
Jennifer wasn’t a student. She was a vet tech at a nearby veterinarian’s office. He’d met her online. Since Dante setting him up with people wasn’t working out, Owen had decided to try online dating. He’d set up a profile, Jennifer’s photo had caught his eye, and he’d set up a date. She was the first person he’d emailed. This was all going pretty well. Maybe he should’ve tried online dating first. It seemed to be a better system than running people over with bicycles anyway.
“So, this was fun,” Jennifer said, looking up at him, her bright blue eyes shining, as they left the student activity center where the improv show they’d gone to see had been held.
“Yeah,” Owen said. He’d told her about the show, which he’d heard about during one of his shifts at Java Time, and she’d seemed excited about it. Come to think of it, Jennifer seemed excited about everything.
“Do you want to go back to my place?” Jennifer asked.
“Uhm, sure,” Owen said, caught off-guard by the question.
“Let’s go.” She hooked her arm through his, and they walked back to her car. Owen left his jeep parked by the student center and rode w
ith Jennifer to her apartment in downtown Richmond. She promised to bring him back to get his car later. She chattered on the whole drive over, but he was distracted. He’d been pretty sure Jennifer wasn’t the take-you-home-after-the-first-date-type. And of all crazy things, he started thinking of Marci. For what unknown reason in the universe did he feel like he was cheating on her by going home with Jennifer?
When they got to Jennifer’s apartment building, she let them into the lobby, and they went up to the second floor. She had an apartment in a nice building that used to be a warehouse that had been converted to lofts a little while ago.
Right before she opened the door, she turned to him and said, “There’s someone I want you to meet.” Then she held her head to the side and considered this for a moment. “Well, more than one someone.”
Owen wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Did she have a kid? Kids? Oh boy. He definitely wasn’t prepared to meet her family yet if so. He’d only known her for a few hours.
Jennifer unlocked the door and turned the knob. She flicked on the light, and they entered the apartment. What he was confronted with wasn’t at all what he’d expected. And way more terrifying than kids. Way more.
“You have a lot of…cats. That’s nice,” Owen said as two of the felines began to wind themselves around Jennifer’s legs. Two more popped up on the couch seemingly from nowhere.
“I can’t seem to stop adopting them. People bring unwanted kittens in to Dr. Moore’s office all the time, and I can’t bear to see ‘em put down, you know? How could you say no to this face?” Jennifer picked up one of the cats, a black one with white paws, and cuddled it to her chest.
Very easily. Owen scratched the back of his neck as he wrestled with the question of whether to stay or to go.
“Aw, I know Mister Mittens. I missed you, too.” She crooned to the cat. “How about the rest of you guys? Did you miss me?” She got a few meows in response. “Let’s get you guys some dinner.” She walked toward the kitchen. Oh no. She wasn’t leaving him alone with them. He followed.
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