The Learning Hours

by Sara Ney

  Except she’s the one shaking her head. Picking up her things. Stacking her books and closing her laptop.

  “No.” Laurel hastily shoves everything into her black backpack, zipping it with a resounding whirrrrr. Angry. Self-conscious. Upset.

  “I’m so embarrassed.” She stands abruptly. “I’m leaving.”

  Shrugs into her vest.

  Hefts that book bag onto her slender shoulders and gives me a nod, chin trembling, on the verge of tears. Hightails it away from my table, bumping into bookshelves and periodicals along the way.

  Go after her idiot! the logical part of my brain screams. Go after her.

  But I’ve never been quick on the uptake, and I’ve never made a girl cry—not in my entire fucking life. So, I sit on my ass in shock, the loud library clock ticking through second after unbearable second.

  She’s all the way to the entrance of the library before my brain catches up to my common sense and has me rising to follow her, leaving all my shit on the table. Racing to the door, busting through the entryway.

  I shove through the heavy glass doors, step out into the cold night air, look left, look right.

  Watch as she marches down the center of the sidewalk, toward campus, heeled boots clicking on the pavement. Head bent. Shoulders slouched.

  Shit.

  “Laurel!” I call her name through the crisp air, the words a cloud of steam. “Shit. Laurel, stop!”

  She pauses to turn, her flaming hair catching fire under the glowing street lamps. “Leave me alone, Rhett. Please.”

  “Goddammit, stop!” My long stride takes the steps two at a time until I’m halfway down the sidewalk myself. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “Why bother following me? What could you possibly say right now that’s going to make me feel like less of an asshole?”

  My hands go up, beseeching. “Jesus Laurel, help a guy out. Tell me what’s goin’ on here. Please.”

  “Fine! You want me to spell it out? I like you, okay? Just so we’re clear on what’s goin’ on here.”

  I rear back. “You like me?”

  “Yes, you idiot!” Her head shakes. “Yes. I like you—how can you not have figured it out by now?”

  I open my mouth. Close it.

  I think I’m going to be sick. I’m going to barf right here on the sidewalk in front of City Hall and the library. I’ve never asked a girl on a date—ever—and I don’t know if I can start now.

  Not one like this. Not one that looks like this.

  I’ve been doing my best not to judge her based on appearance alone, but why the fuck is a girl like her taking an interest in me? I have no fucking idea. Not a clue.

  The wane smile she shoots me is sad; my reaction to it wells deep inside my chest, heart thumping so powerfully I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.

  Holy shit—Laurel fucking Bishop likes me.

  Yet…

  “Do you mean that, or are you saying that because you feel sorry for me?”

  “Feel sorry for you?” Laurel walks back toward me, beautiful hair shaking and catching in the lamplights above. Christ, she’s pretty, so sweet and funny and so fucking out of my league. “Why would I feel sorry for you?”

  She takes one step, then another, until I’m looking down at her, the top of her head meeting the bottom of my chin. Warm light glows through the windows, illuminating her alabaster skin when she tips her face up.

  Hesitantly, I raise my hands, unsure of where to put them—where she’ll let me put them.

  I settle on her arms, my palms large enough to encircle her biceps, the flannel fabric of her shirt soft under my rough skin. I watch as her nostrils flare and her pupils dilate, eyes sparkling.

  “I’m sorry I’m such a fucking moron.’”

  She demurs under my touch. “It’s okay. I get it.”

  “Come back inside,” I murmur, catching an end of her silky hair and rubbing it between my fingers. “Let’s get my stuff and take you home.”

  “All right.”

  One step up and she’s beside me, reaching between us, sliding her petite hand into mine. It feels delicate and small, a contradiction to mine. I glance down at those clasped hands, knowing I must look fucking shocked, because when she sees my face, she draws her hand back.

  “Sorry.”

  “No—it’s okay. I’m just not…”

  “Not used to it?”

  That’s the understatement of the goddamn century. “That’s one way of puttin’ it.”

  “I don’t want to force myself on you.” Laurel’s brow furrows. “I want you to like me back, not be browbeaten into it.”

  We’re in the lobby of the building now, between the main doors and the entrance. It’s old and dark and faintly lit. Gray tiled floor. Black marble walls. Heavy steel doors encasing the entire space.

  I glance down again at our hands. Over at the steel entrance doors.

  Hesitate.

  “Rhett?”

  I don’t know what comes over me, but suddenly I’m releasing her hand and guiding her by the hips toward the cold marble. She doesn’t protest. Doesn’t question my actions.

  Under the Community Library sign—on which every library director’s name dating back fifty years is listed in shiny, gold letters—I back beautiful Laurel Bishop against the wall.

  She’s breathing hard before I even dip my head to inhale the tender spot beneath her ear, nudging her hair aside. It’s silken and glossy and smells fucking fantastic.

  I flick her earlobe with the tip of my tongue, wondering where this bravado came from.

  As she tips her head back, a gasp escapes Laurel’s lips.

  I lay my lips on her neck, desperately wanting to suck. Grip her hips with my fingertips and murmur into her ear. “Tu me rends fou pour quelques semaines.” You’ve been driving me crazy for weeks.

  “What are you saying?” she asks with a sigh, tilting her head, giving me access to the pale column of her neck.

  “J’ai peur de t’aimer.” I’m afraid to let myself like you. Behind a cloak of ambiguity, knowing she couldn’t possibly understand, I whisper the words I’d only reserved for myself. “Je te veux tellement.” I want you so bad.

  My hands run up her hips, pinning her to the cold black wall, the dark my ally. The last thing I want her to see is the lovesick expression on my face. The puppy dog eyes and the pleading.

  The truth is: I want her so fucking bad.

  I want her to like me in ways that have nothing to do with friendship.

  I want…

  I want to kiss her and touch her and God do I want to have sex with her.

  I tell her with my mouth, inside the marble vestibule, with the slow roll of my tongue against hers. The slight roll of my pelvis. I bend my knees so she doesn’t have to tiptoe, reach under her with my hands and scoop her ass into my palms, easily dragging her up.

  When her feet leave the ground, I press her back flat against the wall for support, stifling her gasp of surprise with my mouth. Her legs go around my waist to hold on, but there’s nothing urgent about our kisses. They’re lazy and slow and tentative. Soft.

  I pepper her jaw with my lips.

  This is nothing like that awkward kiss on her front porch; it might be tame, but it’s life-altering.

  Laurel runs her nose along my jaw. Brings a hand to my cheek and strokes my face. “Making out in the library feels sacrilegious.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know, it just does.” She laughs. I set her on her feet, separating our bodies reluctantly.

  “Come on.” She takes my hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Me: What time do you have class tomorrow?

  Laurel: Ten fifteen. You?

  Me: I have to be on campus around then. Want me to come get you in the morning and we can walk together?

  Laurel: Sure, I’d love that. Want to meet outside on the first block? Intersection of Dorset and Winona?

  Me: No. I’ll come get you
at your house. 9:45?

  Laurel: That sounds perfect.

  Laurel

  I check my hair at least a half-dozen times, once more running a palm down the loose waves to smooth them, tossing them over my shoulder when I’m done. Tilt my head this way and that in the mirror, the light catching on my large gold hoop earrings.

  Add another coat of black mascara. Lip gloss.

  My navy-blue t-shirt is long-sleeved, and I throw a vest over the top. Black leggings. Tall black boots.

  I want to look cute, but not like I’m trying too hard since Rhett isn’t judging me by my appearance. I’ve noticed that about him—he’s focused on me. Not my hair, or my face, or my boobs.

  Still, I want to look cute—for him.

  Satisfied with my reflection, I hit the light on my way out of the bathroom, gathering up my backpack, phone, and sunglasses.

  Unbutton my vest so my boobs show.

  Button it.

  Catch my reflection in the mirror by the door, give my hair another fluff.

  Rhett is sauntering down the street when I come out of the house, bag slung over his broad shoulder, holding the strap with one hand, the other shoved into the pocket of his dark, slouchy jeans.

  He’s got a blue ball cap covering his unruly hair, and I can see the curly ends sticking out of the bottom from my spot on the porch. His Henley sweater is gray, layered over a white t-shirt, the stark white peeking out from beneath his collar.

  Man, this guy is growing on me like a weed.

  “Mornin’.” His voice is a deep baritone, the kind of deep from having just woken up, the sexy deep that makes your insides quiver, shakes your shoulders.

  “Hello to you.” I hold up my offering. “Hungry?”

  Two vanilla protein shakes.

  Rhett takes one, surprised. “Thank you.”

  “I have water bottles in my backpack, too.”

  His brows go up. “Really?”

  “One for you, one for me.”

  We start off under the brisk morning clouds, overcast skies above, an impending rain forecast looming. I sidle a few inches to my left, closer to Rhett’s imposing form.

  Brush my elbow against his arm. Once. Twice.

  I watch as he bites the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning. To occupy himself, he opens up the protein shake and takes a long pull, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, smiling around the bottle. “What class do you have this morning?”

  “Astronomy.”

  “Astronomy?”

  I laugh, taking a swig of my shake. “Yeah. I had a science gen-ed to fulfill. I dragged my feet freshman year, so I have to take it now.” I shoot him a sidelong glance, eyeing his ball cap, the hair looping around his ears. “What about you?”

  We arrive at the crosswalk, stopping to check traffic.

  “Global Environmental Policy and Negotiation.”

  “Did my eyes just bug out?” I laugh. “Because that sounds intense.”

  “It is.”

  “How do you manage?”

  Those hefty shoulders lift into a shrug. “I just do.”

  A cool breeze blows across the commons, and I step closer still, my body aching for physical contact.

  “You cold?” he asks, brows drawn. “Do you want to go back for a jacket?”

  “No. I’ll be fine once I get inside.” It’s my fault I wanted to look cute and not puffy from a thick coat.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” I shiver.

  In my imagination, Rhett’s hand moves up and down my back, doing that thing you do when you’re trying to keep someone warm. I’d snuggle into him, settle under his armpit. Bask in his warmth.

  Sigh contently.

  Instead, we march onto campus in the direction of the science building in a comfortable silence. It feels good being next to him, and when we get closer to my building, I’m tempted to rise to my tiptoes and show him just how—

  “Hey Rhett!” A female voice interrupts from behind.

  Together, we turn.

  A pretty little brunette stands about ten feet away, sheepishly clutching a stack of books in her hands. She’s short, perky, and eyeing him up and down.

  “Hey Monica.”

  Ah, so he does know her.

  She spares me a brief glance but shoots him an eager, blinding smile.

  “Are you going to be coming to study group this week?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m caught up with all my notes, so…” Rhett’s voice trails off. “I don’t know, maybe.”

  “If you can’t make it, maybe we can change it?” She blushes, shrinking down into her winter coat. “I’m sure the others would be glad to see you there.”

  And by others, she means herself.

  She’s so hopeful.

  Something in the pit of my stomach curls, wraps itself around my heart and squeezes.

  Monica has a crush on Rhett.

  Crap.

  Monica has a crush on Rhett, and she’s in his study group for the entire semester.

  Ugh.

  Not going to lie, insecurity wells up in the form of jealousy, and in a move I’ll later classify as blatantly territorial, I loop my arm through his, relaxing my hand on his bicep. The muscles flex instinctively beneath my palm.

  Monica’s eyes slide to that hand, landing and resting there. When her mouth forms a little O of understanding, my inner bitch does a fist pump, throws a parade, and waves at the onlookers.

  Yes, that’s right—he’s mine.

  “Oh. Okay, well…okay.” Monica’s dull brown ponytail blows in the breeze. “Guess I’ll see you in class.”

  Rhett nods, clueless. “Yup.”

  “Bye.” She scurries off, and we both watch as she hastily disappears into the university union. I’m holding Rhett by the arm, right next to his warm, heated body.

  My hand gives his muscles one solid squeeze before releasing him, stepping away. “Thanks for the company.”

  “No problem.” He looks down at the ground then up at me, hair in his eyes. “Have a good day.”

  “You too.” I smile up at him. “What are you doing later?”

  “Practice. We have a home meet this week.”

  My brows shoot up into my hairline. “You do?”

  “Yeah.” He pauses. “It’s at the arena.”

  The arena is huge.

  “Isn’t that where they have basketball games?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Wow. That many people show up?”

  Rhett laughs, snaking his fingers under his baseball cap and readjusting it. Plays with the bill, squeezing it tighter over his forehead. “Yeah. That many people show up.”

  “How would you find me in the crowd if I showed up?” I playfully tease.

  “I have a feeling you’d be hard to miss.” He dips his head, embarrassed.

  So freaking adorable.

  “I’d love to come see you wrestle. What time does it start?”

  “Six. I can…” He trails off. Clears his throat. “I can make sure you have tickets at will call.”

  I take that moment to lean in, the front of my vest brushing against his sweater, getting up nice and close. “I would love that.”

  I’m not trying to invade his personal space, but I do it anyway. He smells freshly showered and incredible, clean and strong and male. “You smell good.”

  His white teeth play peekaboo with his lips. “So do you.”

  We stand outside the brick science building, grinning at each other until a girl from my class walks by, staring openly. Curiously. Wiggles her brows as she passes. I don’t know her name, but I recognize her; she sits in the back row, too.

  I’ll have to introduce myself.

  “I guess I should go inside.”

  “Right. I should…” He throws a thumb over his shoulder.

  I don’t want him to go. I want to skip class and spend the day with him, doing nothing together. Get to know him better. Find out what makes him laugh. What pisses him off.
How he’s settling in with the rest of his team now that the dust on the dine and dash has settled.

  “See ya.” I don’t even try to hide my idiotic grin.

  Neither does he. “Bye.”

  Then I’m rising up on the toes of my black boots, stretching to reach his strong jaw. I kiss the underside of it, stubble pricking my lips in the most delectable way.

  His breath stops, lips part.

  “Message me later?”

  He nods. “I will.”

  “Bye.”

  God, this is as bad as when I was in high school, flirting on the phone with my teenage boyfriend: You hang up. No, you hang up! I’ll hang up when you hang up…

  I peel away from him, stepping backward toward the building before I turn and finally commit to going to class.

  Sigh.

  “So what’s going on with you and that guy?”

  I’m having lunch with Alex—the first time since that day she brought the Get Rett Laid poster—and she’s just switched gears on me after giving me the entire rundown on her boyfriend/sidepiece saga.

  Juggling two guys is going to catch up with her, but who am I to judge? Alexandra is going to do what she wants to do, whether it’s wrong or right.

  “What’s going on with what guy?” I play dumb.

  “You know, the ugly guy from the flyer—the dude from the party.”

  My nostrils flare. “Okay, first of all, he’s not ugly. Secondly, his name is Rhett, and he’s a really nice guy.”

  My cousin rolls her eyes. “Right.” She clearly doesn’t care. “He’s nice because he has to be.”

  “You think it’s fair that people judge me without getting to know me first because I’m attractive?”

  “So you agree? You think you’re really pretty?”

  “Stop quoting Mean Girls, I’m being serious.” I pick up one of the French fries on my tray and pop it in my mouth. Chew. Swallow. “I’m not going to do that to Rhett—he’s such a good guy.”

  “So?”

  “So what I’m saying is, he and I have gotten close in the past few weeks.”

  “How close?”

  “I don’t know…like, I’m waiting for him to ask me on a date, close.”

  Alexandra leans back in her chair, stunned. “Seriously?”