Unspoken (The Woodlands)

by Jen Frederick

  “Don’t be a fatalist. This could be amazing.”

  “How?”

  “You could date him, sleep with him, go back onto campus with him on your arm.”

  “Like I’m a big game hunter? Do I mount the condom on my backpack?” I mocked. “Or I could sleep with him, have him blab it all over campus, thereby ensuring at least a decade more of therapy.”

  “You can’t live like every guy at Central is going to run naked down the campus yelling that they’ve just bagged you.”

  I shook my head slightly. “I’m not living like that. I just don’t think that the first time I take my training wheels off, I should get on a motorcycle.”

  “I still think you should give Bo a try.”

  “I agree.” I heard a voice behind me say. A large male hand appeared next to mine and my eyes traveled up the corded muscles to the cuff of a gray T-shirt. Bo.

  I wrenched my eyes from the arm and glanced at Ellie, who just rolled her eyes at me. A rustling noise made me look around. Bo’s friends were gathering chairs and carrying a table back to us.

  A number of people were following them. The little back room of Continental was soon swelling with people slapping Bo on the back if they were male or trying to sidle closer if they were female.

  The guy with the inky black hair came and sat next to me, reintroducing himself as Finn O’Malley. He lived with Bo and three other guys.

  He handed some cash to Ellie. “Phil told me I owed the cute chick with the braids some money.”

  Ellie waved the money in front of me. “We can fund our drinking tonight.”

  “Go hustle the guys at the pool table.” I laughed and pushed her toward the front where pinball machines lined the wall next to two pool tables. Turning to Finn, I asked, “So you all live together in some mansion in the suburbs?”

  I was wildly curious about this infamous party house. The Woodlands parties had been going on since the summer before and were gaining near-mythic status on campus due to their exclusivity. A select few Central students, mostly girls, attended parties out there. Rumors abounded about what went on there. Some said that they hired strippers and people just had sex on the pool loungers and in the kitchen and on the dance floor. It sounded more like an underground sex club at times than a party house.

  “Yeah, my dad is a developer and someone skipped out, just walked away from the house, so the guys and I finished the house with a little help and took over the mortgage.”

  “That happens even in the richer neighborhoods?” I asked with some surprise.

  Finn nodded, drained his bottle, and waved for the waitress to bring another. “Why haven’t I seen you out there?”

  “I tend to stay away from campus events,” I admitted.

  “We aren’t campus events. We’re townies. Except for Noah and Bo. They’re transplants and solely responsible for all the coed strange that wanders out to our little abode.”

  “Is Finn trying to con you into coming to our house?” A new voice broke in. “Noah Jackson. I had Advanced Economic Theory with you last semester.” He stuck out his hand. If Bo was the god of northern thunder, Noah was his dark opposite. I could see why yoga class was full during prime dinner hours if Noah and Bo were in a neighboring room, flexing and sweating.

  “AnnMarie West.” I tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Didn’t you come to the fight?”

  Noah grimaced. “Can’t. If I get caught there, I might be suspended from the UFC.”

  Finn explained, “Noah’s fighting professionally. Can’t be caught at an unsanctioned event, let alone an illegal fight.”

  “Why is it illegal if both guys agree to be there?”

  “The fighting isn’t exactly illegal; it’s the betting that goes on around it.”

  “So we could all go outside right now and Bo and Noah could fight and no one could arrest them?”

  “Maybe for public disturbance or something, but not for assault.”

  “So what’s with the ‘first rule of fight club is that there is no fight club’?”

  “Because Fight Club wasn’t just about fighting, it was the reclamation of self. There are still fight clubs around where they don’t allow spectators. If you come, you come to fight.” This was from Bo. He came up behind me, lifted me out of my seat, and sat, pulling me down on his legs.

  “Gee, if you wanted my chair, I could have moved.”

  “Who said I wanted your chair?” He tipped back a bottle of beer and drained about half of it. These guys made beer bottles look like baby bottles with how fast they downed the alcohol. I was tipsy just from all the fumes.

  “Where’s Grace tonight?” Bo directed the question to Noah, who fiddled with his beer.

  “She’s studying. I’ll meet up with her later.”

  “Friday night?”

  Noah just shrugged, sidestepping the question, and asked his own instead. “How’d the fight go?”

  “Guy was a bleeder. I hit him above his eye twice and he started gushing all over the place, down his face and onto his shoulder. I was skeeved out. Worse, he wouldn’t tap out. Had to put him down after that,” Bo said matter-of-factly. “What’d you think of it, Sunshine?”

  What did I think of it? “Primal and brutal.”

  “That sounds about right.” Bo pulled my body closer to his even as I tried to place some distance between us. Sitting on his rock-hard thighs was doing crazy things to my nervous system.

  “Can I get you something more to drink?”

  Unsure, I nibbled on my lip. I already felt intoxicated, and I wanted to avoid doing something crazy, like attacking Bo in the bar. “How about water?”

  He slapped a hand on the table and said, “I’ll be right back.” He lifted me off his lap, stepped aside, and set me back down, like I weighed only two ounces. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that the show of strength wasn’t a total turn-on. God, everything about him was a turn-on. I needed to put some space between us. With concerted effort, I dragged my gaze from Bo’s back as it disappeared into the crowd. I turned to see Finn wiggle his eyebrows at me suggestively.

  “Finn O’Malley is a really Irish name.” I looked over his dark hair and creamy, freckle-free complexion.

  “I’m actually more Welsh than Irish, which accounts for the black hair, but I still have the propensity to burn if I’m outdoors for more than five minutes. But I do have these vampiric good looks.” He waved his hand down his fit body, the tight shirt showing how nice the goods would be without the cotton covering.

  “So why would your party be better than a house party over at Central? Lots of wild shit goes down there.” When I first got to campus, I spent three nights a week partying hardcore with Ellie. There was everything from three-story beer bongs to human chess games. We came home smelling like we had bathed in the refuse at a brewery.

  “I like to think we have a more elevated form of bacchanalia,” Finn quipped. “You should come see for yourself.”

  “What special events will occur if I do?” I smiled. The banter with Finn was easy and nonthreatening.

  “Me, of course. Once you’ve seen my delectable form in my natural habitat, every other guy will look dull and unformed to you.” Bo’s hand appeared heavily on Finn’s shoulder. “Especially this guy.”

  “Are you poaching on my territory?” Bo squeezed Finn’s shoulder.

  Finn leaned toward me. “Bo’s still stuck on level three of the evolutionary scale.”

  “I have biology with him three times a week. I know this.”

  Finn grabbed the pool cue Bo was holding. “I’m just keeping your seat warm.”

  Bo had apparently had enough of this banter because he shoved Finn off toward the pool table and handed me the water he’d fetched for me. He sat down in the recently vacated seat and placed one arm across the table. The way he positioned his body, I could barely see the rest of the bar. He had, effectively, culled me from the herd.

  Chapter Ten

  BO

  AM LOOKE
D READY TO BOLT, and while I appreciated Finn keeping her occupied, something rebelled in me when I saw the easy banter between the two. Finn would never break the bro code, so it was ridiculous to feel like I needed to piss a circle around her. But I wanted to, and the squeeze on Finn’s shoulder might have been overly tight. In biology, I felt like I had AM to myself, all cozy in the front at our end of the table. But unlike my previous interactions with the opposite sex, I felt uncertain about how to approach AM without her thinking I just wanted sex. Because I did want sex, but I was pretty sure I wanted more than that. How much more, though, was a mystery to even me.

  “Did you enjoy it?” I leaned my elbow on the table so that AM could see only me. Given our closeness, I was glad I took the time to take a sink bath. I didn’t want to drip sweat or blood on her while trying to convince her I was worth her time.

  She sucked in her lower lip, and I had to grit my teeth to keep a groan from escaping. Was there any non-crass way to tell her I could suck on that for her? Probably not. It was a good thing she wasn’t still on my lap or she’d realize that my mind wasn’t on what she thought of the fight but on how I’d like to test out the theory of how she’d look in my bed, her brown eyes heavy lidded with after sex happiness and her chocolate-colored hair in a tangle from my fingers. I tightened the grip on my beer bottle and drained it.

  “It was exciting. How’d you get started?”

  That was a loaded question and not one I was ready to answer truthfully, so I lied and said, “When I met Noah in seventh grade.”

  “This should be good,” she said, propping her elbow on the table. She rested her head on a bent hand and looked at me as if the whole world was centered right in front of her. I felt something shoot through my body and this time it wasn’t arousal. I knew what it felt like to get hard. This was different, better than ordinary sexual excitement. Her concentrated gaze made me feel not just wanted, but, well, good. Somehow I knew if I screwed this up with AM, I’d regret it forever. But she had to know me and what I was made of, so I took a deep breath and began to tell her about the first of my flaws.

  “My momma drove me to school, but Jackson rode the bus. I remember him getting off the bus that first day of junior high looking like a badass motherfucker, and I didn’t like it. I was the baddest guy in school. So I went up and punched him in the gut.”

  “He didn’t say anything to set you off?” She shot a glance around me at Noah, who shook his head.

  “Nope, not a word,” Noah said.

  “He looked at me wrong,” I explained. “But he punched me right back and pretty soon we were rolling around in the dirt, like two pigs fighting over an old corn cob, dirty and snorting like animals. We were separated and sent to detention. The teacher made us sit next to each other. Jackson was tapping his pencil against the desk and it was pissing me off, so I grabbed it and snapped it in half. He looked like he wanted to snap me in half. But he couldn’t, not with the teacher sitting right there. So he grabbed the pencil back and tucked the broken halves away and didn’t say another word to me.”

  “It was my only pencil,” Noah offered.

  “Right, so not only had I been a dick, but I’d broken this kid’s only pencil. I was lower than the pig I’d been acting like, so I apologized and Jackson nodded. When the teacher left for some errand, Jackson leaned closer and said, ‘You know who really needs a beatdown?’ ‘No,’ I said. ‘Ricky Cartwright.’ Ricky and Jackson had attended the same elementary school, and Ricky had a bad habit of trying to pull down girls’ skirts and shorts and expose their underwear.

  “I told him, ‘Now you’re talking.’ So we got Ricky Cartwright, beat the living snot out of him, and told him if we ever caught him within five feet of a girl, he’d be singing tenor in the swing choir forever. He scuttled around for the next five years. Not sure what he’s doing now.”

  “He’s still afraid of us, but now he’s working at the gas station,” Noah confirmed. “When I went home over Christmas with Grace, Cartwright nearly pissed his pants when we stopped to fill up the truck. I asked him if he was treating the girls right, and he nodded but couldn’t speak.”

  “Good job.” I held out my fist to Noah for a dap of congratulations.

  “Wow, avenging the ladies even during the precocious preteen years,” AM said, her tone light but mocking. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess that AM thought that guys standing up for girls was a thing rarer than an eclipse. “Who are you avenging now?”

  “No one,” I told her. Noah started to interject, but my glare shut his mouth.

  Throwing a ten-spot on the table, Noah stood. “I’m out of here. Glad to see you aren’t too battered.”

  Noah had the right idea. The stray bits of wet paper from my makeshift clean up in the bathroom stuck to my back. I was desperate for a real shower, but I wanted to make sure that no one else in the bar would sweep in and convince AM they had a better offer than me. “Come on, Sunshine, I’ll drive you home.” I pulled AM to her feet. Noah looked at us for a moment, trying to read me, read my intentions. Feeling serious about a girl was foreign to me, so I wasn’t surprised Noah couldn’t figure it out. Neither could I. It was uncharted territory.

  AM must have picked up on the unspoken words between Noah and me. She looked at me hesitantly and then, in a tiny motion, took a step closer to me as if declaring her allegiance. I gathered AM close to my side and over her head I saw Noah give me a nod of approval. This was a keeper, he was saying.

  “I need to talk to Ellie,” AM protested as I tried to hustle her out the back door.

  I held back a sigh and said, “I’ll get her. Stay here.” I took off before she could protest. I spotted Ellie hanging out with Phil and Finn at the pool table. “Finn, can you take Ellie home tonight? Make sure she’s okay?”

  “No problem,” Finn said. “That okay with you, Ellie?”

  Ellie took a moment to look me over, as if measuring my worth. I must have passed some internal barometer, because she nodded her agreement but cautioned, “Take care of my girl.”

  “Always,” I replied. Her eyes flared wide at my use of the word, but I didn’t correct whatever assumptions she’d made. They might have been right. Something in me had shifted when I saw Finn talking to AM. They were just laughing and joking, but I realized that I wanted to be the one to make AM laugh and feel at ease.

  Always. Maybe I wasn’t so uncertain. The question was whether I could overcome AM’s reservations.

  Chapter Eleven

  BO

  I RETURNED WITH A MESSAGE. “Ellie says I should take care of you.”

  “No woman left behind, you know?” AM said awkwardly.

  “No explanations necessary. It’s smart,” I reassured her. “Finn will make sure she gets home safe.”

  I put one hand on her lower back as I guided her through the crowd to the bar’s rear entrance and held open the door with the other.

  “Shit, did you bring a coat?” I pressed the remote starter on my car and hurried us to the vehicle. Even though it wouldn’t be heated fully, inside the car was warmer than out here in the cold.

  She shook her head and pulled my sweatshirt tighter around her even as she asked, “Do you need this back?”

  “No, I’m fine.” I wasn’t, actually. My Texas blood wasn’t well suited for the cold. But there I was in the frozen Midwest, ass-deep in snow at times, with a coat in my closet made of the wool of at least five sheep and wearing two pairs of socks at a time inside my old Marine boots. I once saw some dude tromping in the snow wearing shorts and boots and wanted to go punch him in the face. Wearing the wrong gear in bad weather doesn’t make someone look tough. It makes them look stupid.

  “What is this car?” AM asked, trailing her fingers across the smooth hood of my sports car. I followed behind and opened the passenger door for her.

  “Audi TTS. Three-sixty horsepower. V-eight. All-wheel drive.” I ticked off the important components of the car as she swung herself into the seat. When I clim
bed inside, she was taking deep breaths and stroking the soft leather.

  “It feels very luxurious.”

  “Drove this puppy all the way from San Diego. Got three tickets, got out of three more.”

  “How’d you manage that?”

  “Still had my Marine Corps sticker on the back. Some of the state troopers either were former Marines or knew someone who was and let me go with a warning. Still, insurance is a friggin’ bitch.”

  “Hmm. I may have you drive me everywhere from now on.” Her voice had a dreamy quality to it, like she was imagining something really good.

  I wondered if AM had any idea how suggestive that sounded. I was guessing no, but if she didn’t stop stroking the leather seat, I might have to pull over. Changing the subject before I proved to her that I was only one step above the pig I’d described myself as, I asked her, “You ever get in a fight? Learn some self-defense moves?” I wanted to know exactly how the rumors about her had started, if she’d been attacked or something, so that I could figure out how slowly I needed to take things with her. And who I needed to hunt down and destroy.

  “Not really. I know they offer some on-campus classes, but Ellie and I have never gone.”

  “Do you know what a pressure point is?”

  “Maybe.”

  “It’s a weak point. Place pressure on it and a girl like you could take down someone twice your size. Like Zhang Zhi.”

  “Who?”

  “Chick from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.” At her blank face, I added, “House of Flying Daggers?”

  “I never would have pegged you for a Chinese art house film buff.”

  “I’m not. I’m a fight film buff. Chicks throwing down? Even better.”

  “So I could bring down a guy your size if I knew pressure points?”

  “Right. Like this Clay Howard the Third.”

  At his name, a silence filled the car and I could only hear the muted roar of my 360 horses eating up the pavement between the bar and AM’s apartment.