by Lara Swann
She grins. “Well, why else would I want to go running?”
“You said you like walking.” I point out. “So it’s just—”
“That’s completely different! Running is actual effort.” She retorts.
“That’s actually kind of the point. It gets some adrenaline and life flowing through you - that sort of physical effort makes you come alive. Work off the lethargy of sitting and studying all day - plus, it’s got the benefits of walking too - you could enjoy the cool, crisp air and we could find somewhere nice—”
“Okay, okay.” She holds up her hands in surrender. “Thanks, but getting red-faced and sweaty and out of breath isn’t my idea of a good time, so I think I’ll just stick to my original plans.”
And suddenly I’m not thinking about running anymore. Not at all.
Red-faced and sweaty and out of breath…fuck.
“Ohh, it isn’t, is it?” I can’t help myself. I go there. I grin slowly at her, and when she doesn’t quite get it, start expanding. “Baby, I promise, if I got you red-faced, sweaty and out of breath…we’d be having a good time.”
Her eyes widen, and then she exhales sharply as she finally get it, turning back to her meal with a decisive response. “I’m studying! That’s all! Enjoy your run.”
She shoves a piece of chicken into her mouth as I chuckle quietly, watching as her face turns a very pretty shade of pink. Red-faced already.
One down…
But I don’t push it, even as much as she’s tempting me right now. In fact, that’s exactly the reason I have to shift the conversation back to safer grounds.
“Tell me.” She looks up suspiciously at my voice, and I lean forward almost conspiratorially, “Do you really understand anything Professor Hart…or any of them…are saying? I swear it’s all just a made-up language to fool us.”
She laughs, and relaxes slightly, and I get a small thrill at accomplishing that.
“Yes, I do. And if your focus wasn’t on finding the best parties in town, and drinking and partying, maybe you would too.” She grins, her intense scrutiny of the chicken subsiding.
“Is that why you don’t drink much?” I tilt my head, still curious about that. If she was going to try the partying, I would’ve thought she’d do it properly. “Maybe after you see Mel and Lily can have a little alcohol and not flunk out, you’ll change your mind.”
I’m still grinning and teasing, but even I can sense something shift between us as I say it.
“I’m still not convinced they won’t.” She makes an attempt at the quip, but it’s half-hearted and her easy confidence slips as she looks off to the side.
I wonder what I’ve done wrong now and I’m about to apologize for whatever it is, when she sighs and I get the feeling that it’s not me at all. So I wait.
When she turns back to look at me, it’s slightly awkward, and there’s a hesitancy there that I don’t like.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly.
“It’s silly…I just had a bad experience when I was younger.” She gives me a small smile and shakes her head. “It’s not even a big deal - I just kept it to myself for long enough it kind of seems that way, I guess.”
I watch a her take a sip of water, unsure how to respond.
“I didn’t mean—” I start.
“I know, it’s fine.” She interrupts. “As I said, not a big deal. But the first time a friend from school dragged me out to a party - you know, typical cool underage drinking - I had way too much. It felt good, and I was fascinated by that bubbly light-headed feeling, so I figured, why not?”
I nod slowly, not quite sure why she’s suddenly talking to me about this, or why it seems like the air has become so close and heavy. But hey, if she wants to swap stories of over-indulgence and mass hangovers, then—
“And there was a guy there - to be fair, he was probably as drunk as I was, and I was probably dancing on top of him at some point, so, y’know, it’s not hard to see why he got the wrong idea. But—”
Oh fuck. I don’t want to know this. I really don’t want to know this.
I can already feel the anger simmering, almost waiting for the chance to explode, and unease tightens in my stomach as she continues.
“But things got scary for a few moments there. Like, really scary. And so—”
“What happened?” I ask, stupidly.
But I can’t help myself. I’m getting that same red haze I got earlier, but so much worse - and this time, so impotent. How can I beat the fuck out of a kid from years ago?
“Nothing.” She gestures dismissively, but her eyes are distant and I don’t like it. “Nothing, okay? But for a few moments, I thought…well, I thought something would. And it wasn’t even that—”
“Alana…” I grind it out. It’s driving me crazy how casually she’s talking about this.
Her eyes flick back up to me, seeming almost confused at whatever she sees on my face. “It was fine. Really. A friend - the one that took me out in the first place - she found us and barged in, so nothing happened. You’re missing the point. It wasn’t even any of that - it was how it felt when…when he was…it was just how fucking helpless I was. Because I couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, couldn’t do anything. It was like one big, hazy fog where my limbs were heavy and everything was difficult. Like I was fucking paralyzed or something and just…ugh. I don’t want to get that out of control again. So I don’t drink, basically. Because now that fluffy-fun-lightheaded feeling just reminds me of being so completely helpless in my own body.”
I’m so far past the point of caring about whether she drinks, it’s unbelievable. My whole body is tense and hurting from the need to keep it restrained, to stop myself from bursting out of my seat and making a scene like some crazed person. I feel like a crazed person.
How the fuck am I supposed to just listen to this and act like it’s no big deal?!
I’m meant to be protecting her, and I don’t care that this happened years ago or even that she thinks she’s over it - the images of someone scaring her like that won’t leave my mind, and all I can think about is how badly I want to find the bastard and make him regret the day he ever laid a hand on her.
She’s looking at me for some response, and I know I need to say something but none of the thoughts rushing through me are even remotely acceptable.
“If I ever find that bastard, I’m going to leave him unable to walk for weeks.” My voice is low and dangerous, but even as she stares at me in shock, I can’t help it.
That’s the tamest possible interpretation of the murder running through my veins, and I’m silently pleased it didn’t come out as a death threat.
“Caleb…shit. I—that’s really not why I told you about it.” Alana’s eyes are wide and slightly disbelieving. “You can’t—just say stuff like that.”
“Fuck it, any decent guy would.” I snort and shake my head - she can’t be that sheltered, not with Sullivan… “Hell, you must’ve heard worse from your father at the time.”
It comes out before I can think better of it, but even as I regret bringing him into the conversation again, the image of his reaction to all of this suddenly overwhelms me. He must’ve—
“I didn’t tell him - he wasn’t even there at the time.” She gives me a strange look as she continues. “But god damn it, Caleb, he’s a straight-laced accountant from Baltimore - he wouldn’t have said anything of the sort. You’re the only guy I know who might start throwing threats like that around.”
I stare at her for a moment.
An accountant?!
The image clashes so hard with the Sullivan I know that I have to force myself not to immediately object. Fuck it.
Really? Fuck.
Then the rest of her words sink in and something inside me chills - he doesn’t know. About any of this.
“Why didn’t you tell him?” I ask without thinking, and the strange expression on her face deepens.
“Really?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it as she sh
akes her head at me. “Why would I? It would’ve just upset him, ended any chance of me going out again, and there was nothing anyone could do about it anyway. How many teenage girls do you know that would’ve done that?”
I don’t answer. I’m too busy trying not to panic over having this completely unwanted, dangerous information thrust on me. I want to ask what the hell she thinks she’s doing, telling me things like this.
Information that Sullivan would expect me to pass on - and I already know I’m not going to. I can’t imagine breaking her confidence, even if I never wanted it in the first place.
And I know what he’d do. Of course she never told him. Of course she doesn’t know what his reaction would’ve been.
If she had, that guy would have disappeared shortly afterward. I should know. I do enough of the disappearing.
Even years on, he’d probably find a way. For this. For his daughter.
I’m suddenly not hungry anymore, and the weight of what I’m doing here is crashing down around me again. Every time I almost forget for a moment, start to relax or have a good time…there’s some reminder.
She’s his daughter. And he is…who he is.
Which is not some fucking innocent accountant.
“You know, I really can’t work you out, Caleb.” I look up again to see Alana looking at me, the previous distance in her expression replaced by a considering gaze as she watches me. “I’ve told a couple of people what happened, back then…sometimes they ask why I didn’t go to the police…or talk to my Mom…or the school. You’re the only one to start making threats and asking about my out-of-state father.”
“And?” I tilt my head at her with a small smile, as if I’m just amused by the comment, but my heart starts thumping harder against my ribcage. I just need to stop fucking talking about certain things. Or anything.
A small frown-line appears across her forehead as she concentrates, and it’s enough to sharply remind me just how damn pretty she is - and lift me out of my unhelpful preoccupation with Sullivan and the mob and…everything I need to stop thinking about. “And…you’re just different, somehow.”
I also need to get her to stop thinking about that, before it gets too dangerous. But the worst thing I could do is deny it, so instead I lean back and let my smile widen.
“Maybe I am, hun.” I look her up and down, and that’s enough to get her ever-so-slightly flustered and distracted again. God I love the way this girl reacts to me. And how obvious it is. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”
I want to draw us back to that light-hearted, easy banter of the beginning of the evening, but it doesn’t quite work. She’s still looking at me with that far-too-perceptive gaze, as if I’m a puzzle she’s trying to figure out. And there are still shadows and memories in her eyes that I want to banish.
So before she can respond, I decide I’m done with this conversation. It’s been too heavy and dark and altogether confusing, and I need to get back into a safe area again.
So I ask a question that I just know will get a reaction out of her. “So, this date’s going pretty well, huh? You promised me tips, remember.”
I’m pretty much just giving her an excuse to insult me some more, but right now, I’m missing that about her. Those sweetly disparaging remarks with all her fire and spark behind them. And after this far-too-serious conversation, I want to see that again.
She obliges immediately, leaning back with a laugh and shaking her head at me. “Yeah, not so much, buddy. You’ve clearly got a lot to work on.”
I raise an eyebrow and she starts ticking things off on her fingers.
“Opening with how much you’ve slept around, calling me fat—”
“I didn’t call you fat!” I interrupt.
She continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “…making inappropriate comments…”
“Girls like those.” I inform her.
“…and threatening serious violence—”
“That was in your defense!” I object again, but relax a little when she moves on without dwelling on that.
“Yeah, sorry Caleb. I might have thought you were hot initially, but after all that, even your infuriating charm won’t save you. Gonna have to try harder for the next girl.”
“Ha! I knew it.” My grin widens.
“What?” Those frown-lines appear again.
“You think I’m hot.” I don’t even want to avoid the smug satisfaction in my voice.
She rolls her eyes. “Of course that’s what you take away from that.”
“Well, what else matters?” I’m teasing her, but it’s so much fun I can’t help myself.
“I’m not even going to…” She shakes her head again, but she seems more amused than annoyed.
I finish the last bit of my pasta and then give her another look. “Maybe you’re right, though. Maybe I should just avoid dating. You know…focus on what I’m good at. I’ve never needed any of this before.”
I gesture around at the restaurant to make my point, watching the way her eyes dance as she looks at me. I fucking love seeing that expression on her face.
“You’ve never tried to find a quality woman before.” Alana says, then immediately groans. “Ugh, and I can’t believe I just said that. We’re not commodities, you know.”
I’m still smiling, but somehow her words go right through me, to some part of me that secretly agrees with her. I don’t like it but…sitting here, laughing over dinner with Alana, it’s hard to deny. Not one of my dime-a-dozen women have come close to eliciting what she brings out with every light comment.
She’s clever and feisty and somehow able to avoid my charms. My innuendos go straight past her more often than not. And despite myself, it’s as intoxicating as it is infuriating. Damn it.
I make some non-committal reply, but I can’t get that thought out of my head as we finish up dinner and start walking home.
And every time I look down at her beside me, my pulse pounds harder in my blood again. Thank god I didn’t have alcohol, or this light-hearted walk would be truly impossible. She’s temptation itself, and as she laughs and obviously enjoys our casual banter, it’s all I can do not to pull her into me and claim her mouth as mine.
It’s late now, and the quiet streets and cool night air only make her vibrancy and life seem to echo around us. I’m vaguely aware that I should be watching the shadows and paying attention, but all I can think about is how…normal tonight seemed. How simple and free and nice it was just to go to dinner with an innocent college girl.
I turn back towards the college campus and Alana doesn’t even hesitate as we turn away from the direction of the party - and her friends. That won’t start winding down for a long time, and I feel selfishly pleased that she doesn’t want to find them again. I have no idea what they’re up to, but Mel seems like she can take care of herself - and probably Lily too.
“I’ll be a gentleman and walk you home, shall I?” I smile at Alana as we reach the edge of campus, and she elbows me.
“I’d be impressed if that offer wasn’t entirely because you live right next to me.” She wrinkles her nose again and laughs at me.
“Might as well take what you can get, hun.” Impulsively, I reach out and wrap an arm around her waist, the way I’ve been wanting to all evening.
To my surprise, she presses herself up against my body, and my heart jumps into my throat.
I’m not meant to be doing this. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.
We cover the short distance to our dorm building in a silence that’s far more comfortable than I want to admit. And I try to ignore that I can feel every sweet breath she takes, smell that unique vanilla-spice scent that I’ve already come to associate with her, and feel the heat of her body burning mine.
When we get to thirty-seven - my room - Alana tilts her head at me, but I continue forward, gliding us the next couple of paces to her door.
“See? What did I tell you - I’d walk you home.” I grin at her, but when I meet her eyes, there’s far
more than amused banter sparking there.
“Mmhmm…” She murmurs, looking up at me with big fuck-me eyes, and my half-hard cock stiffens instantly.
Oh fuck.
I know that look. Her head is tilted just so, her breathing getting heavy enough that her lips are starting to part…she’s waiting for me to kiss her.
Expecting it. Wanting it.
And every part of me wants to oblige. The sudden heat and desire is overwhelming.
I even have the perfect excuse - an end to our date and the practice she promised…
But I can’t.
She’s light and laughter and life, and as badly as I want to kiss her…the need to protect her is even stronger.
Even if it’s from myself.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” I give her a crooked smile, then turn without another word.
My door is only a few steps away, but I feel her confused-disappointed stare sliding down my back for the rest of the night.
Chapter Seven
Alana
“Your sex-god is back there again.” Lily says casually, adding a couple of books to the pile in the middle of our table and sitting back down.
I groan and try not to look back towards the shelves of biology textbooks she just came from.
“He’s not my anything.” I insist, burying myself in the suddenly incomprehensible symbols in the book in front of me.
And they need to stop stop calling him that.
Mel had mentioned it once, in her overly dramatic way - and for some stupid reason sex god had stuck. I mean, maybe the name fit, but—
“Not with that attitude!” Mel interrupts, “I don’t understand you - something must have happened on that date…maybe you just didn’t pick up on it. But I’m sure he’ll work out you have no clue—”
“Mel!” I hiss at her, glancing around - the library is far too quiet for this conversation, and it’s been happening for the last three days. “Can we please stop talking about this? I said I’m not interested! It wasn’t a date, nothing happened and I don’t want anything to!”
Well, two out of three are true…