by Calia Read
Folding the paper in half, I place it on my lap and look Macsen directly in the eye.
“Why do you hang out with Chris? You’re so different from each other.”
Macsen shrugs. “I know … but he’s a good roommate. Other than bugging me about girls … he leaves me alone.” He looks at me seriously. “Why do you ask?”
“You just seem like an odd pair, unless maybe you’re hiding something.” My heart thunders wildly and I watch his every move, waiting for a clear-cut sign that would show his guilt. All I see is honesty.
“No, this is me. I’ve always been this way.”
His words have more of an effect on me than I expect. Quickly, I look away and frown at the floor. “Give me something about you.” He looks unsure. I press forward, trying to find that off button for my feelings. I need to just shut down. “You just saw me freak out over a newspaper article, so make me feel better.”
He’s going to tell me no. I just know it. After a few seconds, that cautious expression fades and he gives me a brief nod. “Something about me...”
“And not simple,” I say quickly.
“Okay...” Macsen sits back and drums his fingers against the chair. “I always have to be on time.”
That confession makes me frown. “That is...”
“Weird. I know. That’s why I wear this.” He taps the watch on his wrist. “Everywhere.”
All that shows me is that he’s a control freak. That’s nothing for me to use. Adjusting my skirt, I cross my legs and lean closer. Macsen’s eyes dilate and drift over my legs. When his eyes move back to my face, I know he’s thinking about me in a way he shouldn’t.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “What else can you tell me?”
“I like reading.”
I give him a dull expression. “I know that.”
He smiles at my look and gives me another tidbit. “I hate parties.”
That one makes me pause for a second. I didn’t expect that. “Keep going.”
“I need my coffee in the morning or I don’t function.”
My face scrunches up. “Coffee is nasty.”
“Because you haven’t really tried it. You probably had only one small sip and gave up.”
My expression turns normal, and I shift in my chair to watch him better. “It will always be nasty in my mind. But don’t change the subject. Keep going.”
“I like to swim, but I’m sure the swim trunks gave that away.”
An image of him in only his swim trunks fills my mind. It’s a thought that sneaks up on me and leaves my cheeks red because it’s not a bad thought at all.
I stare ahead and pretend to tighten my ponytail. “How long have you been swimming?”
“I started swimming at eight. Before that, I would stay in the shallow end. I couldn’t swim worth a shit. One time, as a joke, three other boys held me under.”
I’m frantically looking for the off button, because what he says makes me feel a bit of sympathy. Just a bit. But I want to feel nothing.
“That sucks,” I murmur lamely.
“Not really, Emilia.” I look over at him with my brows furrowed and he shrugs. “It scared the shit out of me, and after that, I started taking lessons. The only embarrassing thing after that was being the only eight-year-old in a group of five-year-olds.”
A smile slips through my armor. “I could see that.”
He smiles back and I feel another tiny crack in my defenses. “I just remember how I felt that day and it pushes me a bit further.”
“And that was your payback?” I blurt out.
Macsen gives me a strange look. “I guess ... you’ve never wanted to prove someone wrong, show them what you really have inside you?”
All the time. Every day. I shake my head, even though I want to nod and smile anxiously. “No.”
I swear he knows I’m lying. His eyes narrow for a brief moment. “I do.”
He stares directly at me, past my skin and everything I work so hard to hide. His green eyes hold me in place. My hands have the cushion of the seat in a painful grip, but I still don’t attempt to look away.
“There you are!” Tosha walks up to me, with Chris behind her.
My body pops out of the chair. Macsen slowly stands and blinks repeatedly at me, like his eyes are adjusting to the light.
“Sorry, I was just...” I search for the paper and find it in my chair. “I was reading.”
Chris and Tosha look at me skeptically. “Okay,” Tosha says slowly. “I’m ready to go. Are you?”
“Yep.” My voice is way too perky.
I grab my bag and move toward the front door without looking at Macsen. He doesn’t let me slip away that easily. “I’ll see you later, Emilia.”
When I turn around he’s standing there with his arms crossed, looking at me curiously. I stare at him with no response and follow Tosha outside.
“Did you have fun talking to Mr. Macsen?” she asks with a devious gleam in her eyes.
“I wasn’t talking,” I mutter. “I was listening.”
She digs through her purse for her car keys. “No, you were talking. And that’s freaky because I always thought you were mute when it came to guys.”
“I’m not mute.”
“You’re right. You aren’t. You just choose to be.” She stops on the sidewalk and gives me a look. I slide my sunglasses on to protect my eyes from the sun and from my friend who’s trying to figure me out. “Macsen is always quiet,” she tells me with a pointed look.
Adjusting the strap of my bag, I look away. “Is he?”
“All the time. Hates talking to people. But he was talking to you.”
I only shrug my shoulders before I step off the sidewalk and toward her car. When Tosha unlocks the car, I go to open the door but her words stop me.
“Emilia, is there something go-”
“Nope,” I interrupt her quickly. “There is nothing.”
She doesn’t bring it up in the car. We switch to a lighter subject and I’m grateful. Inside, I’m confused and angry. This isn’t adding up. In one hand, I hold what was done to my sister, and in the other I’m discovering more about Macsen.
Is it wrong for me to want to quickly leave and run back to all my comforts in New York?
Chapter Nine
MACSEN
Emilia scrunches up her top lip whenever she’s confused. I look back down at my book, knowing that when she is completely stumped she’ll ask for help.
When I first saw her, I knew she was trouble. But the minute she opened the door to the tutoring the room and looked around the room nervously, I couldn’t look away. She looked scared as hell. It intrigued me because she’s nervous in class, but more controlled. That day she just looked frantic. I watched as she talked with Melissa. The two of them talked quietly and I knew that whatever Melissa was saying, it was frustrating Emilia.
I stood up without thinking. I wasn’t the nice guy, like Thayer. People didn’t expect me to help them, and it made no sense for me to step up and volunteer to help her. But I couldn’t stop myself.
My mind screamed out that I had way too much on my plate. I should have taken my exit the minute Emilia stared up at me with terror. But that look spurred me to stay put until she agreed to let me tutor her.
If I knew half of what I know now, I would have backed away slowly and run like hell. Emilia is more than a quiet girl.
She proved just that when she lied about Professor Woodell. It should have pissed me off, and when it happened, it did. I walked into the library ready to tell her to find a new fucking tutor, but she had a mischievous smile on her face that made some of my anger diminish.
Since then, I’ve been trying to figure her out. And I’m still just as confused as the first day I met her.
“Have you worn glasses very long?”
She’s looking at me expectantly. I straighten my back and frown. “Huh?”
Emilia reaches out and taps a fingernail against the black rim. “The glasses you’re wearing
. How long have you needed them?”
“I’ve worn glasses since I was five and contacts since I was fourteen.”
She stares at the lenses for a long second. “I wear glasses sometimes.”
“You do?” I lean close. “You still wear them?”
She sets her pencil down and laces her fingers in front of her. She seems so serious. The dimple in her right cheek gives her an innocent look. “I wear contacts. But, for a while, shoving something in my eye freaked me out a bit. I started wearing contacts at sixteen.”
After our talk at the rec center, I know she has a bit of fire in her. When she talked about that article, her eyes took on a haunted expression. She was with me, but she really wasn’t. All her anger was directed at me that day, and I had no idea why. I had agreed with her and understood her disgust. Somehow, she still seemed mad at me.
Now, the longer I sit across from her, I see that Emilia is good at masking her feelings. If I look closely, I’m beginning to recognize when she’s upset, confused or angry.
“What do you do besides read, swim and drink all that gross coffee?” Emilia leans forward, waiting for me to answer.
To the right of her, a grad student named Sebastian stares at her. He looks her up and down, practically drooling. I want to aim my pencil at him like a fucking dart and hope it’s a bull’s eye. She’s oblivious.
Even at the rec center she was blind to any looks directed her way. I was leaving with Chris when he caught her playing with Tosha. I stood next to him and watched with everyone else. She had on a short tennis skirt and a tight tank top. She was fast. I ended up leaning closer and watching her for more than her little outfit. When she talked to Tosha, a bright smile was on her face.
I have never seen her smile. It was a sucker punch to my gut because I wasn’t prepared for it. Maybe I wasn’t prepared for Emilia, in general. I’m trying to stick my neck out here, and all my efforts pass right above her head. I don’t know what it takes to get someone’s attention. With Severine, there was no effort from me. She pursued; she talked. There was no challenge with her.
Emilia is nothing but a challenge, and I’m finding myself wanting to rise to the occasion. It must be the Sloan blood in me.
Looking down at my book I reluctantly tell her, “Why don’t you work on your problems?”
Quickly, she tosses her pencil on the table and slides her calculator away. “I’m done.”
She leans back in her chair and stretches. I look at the curve of her neck, knowing my eyes are about two-seconds away from veering south.
I lift my glasses off my face and rub the bridge of my nose. “No, you answered number five wrong.”
Her brows slant low and she looks down at her notebook. “How do you even know that?”
“I’m your tutor.” I slide her calculator to her. “I just know.”
Her hands lower and I feel relief. Until she crosses her arms underneath her tits. She’s wearing this dress that most girls would wear in the summer. It’s driving me crazy how it plunges into a v-neck. Emilia fills it out perfectly, making it even worse. When she leans over her notebook, I lean with her just to catch a glimpse of her cleavage.
She picks up her pencil and taps the eraser against notebook. “So I re-read As I Lay Dying last night.”
“The whole thing?”
“Most of it,” she admits.
I raise my brows. “You like the book that much?”
“No, I was jut trying to see the Darl you see. I thought ... maybe I’m not seeing all the pain Darl is in.”
“And did you see it?”
“Nope.” She smiles with a challenge in her eyes. “I didn’t see it.”
Shaking my head, I lean back in my chair. “You didn’t get it, then.”
“I did too!” she insists. Her mouth opens to say more, but she pauses and cocks her head to the side. “I just think you’re looking so hard for the good in him.”
“Or maybe you just love to find the villain in stories and he seemed like a good candidate,” I point out.
“Who doesn’t love a good villain? They keep books alive!”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her that when you’re viewed as the villain in real life, it makes finding them in books all the more depressing.
“They keep some books alive,” I admit. “Not all.” She opens her mouth to say more and I quietly say, “Just work on your derivatives, okay?”
Emilia goes back to her work just as my phone stops vibrating in my pocket. I finally pull it out and see a text from Chris: I have a girl over. She brought a friend...
I haven’t been with a girl in months. Fourteen-year old boys are getting more action than me right now. My finger hovers above the call button, and I’m close to calling Chris to tell him yes. I could tell Emilia that we need to cut this short, that I have other plans and everything would work out.
Just then, Emilia coughs. I glance at her, and all her concentration is on the textbook spread out in front of her.
I press call and Chris picks up on the fourth ring. “You got my text?” he asks. I hear females in the background.
“Yeah.”
“Are you coming?”
“I can’t.” My fingers drum on the table, and I watch Emilia scrunch her lip again. “I’m busy.”
I snap my phone shut and go back to reading my book. I can feel Emilia’s eyes on me.
“Who was that?” she asks curiously.
“No one, just my roommate. Keep going,” I urge. “You still have six problems left.”
Emilia keeps her dark eyes on me for a second. Her quiet demeanor prevails and she goes back to work.
My head is down, making it look like I’m reading. I had a chance to fuck someone, but I skipped out to stare at the girl I tutor. But it’s Wednesday and I won’t get to see her like this again until Friday.
I’ll take what I can get.
Chapter Ten
EMILIA
Macsen has been tutoring me for five weeks.
I’m learning more about him during each session. Maybe I’m weaker than I thought because I’m feeling something for the guy that I should completely hate.
It makes my conversations with Aniston tense. I’ve never hidden things from my brother. We’ve been this strong unit, and now I’m keeping things to myself.
Sometimes I think he can tell, but it doesn’t really matter because when we get off the phone, I know he goes straight to the bar and drinks all his pain away.
Looking down at my phone, I stare at Aniston’s text: Shouldn’t take this long to get revenge.
I’m trying.
Quickly, I slide my phone back into my pocket. When I look up, Macsen is shutting his book. “Texting your boyfriend?”
I give him a dull expression. “Yeah,” I say sweetly. “We just got done talking about your bad taste in fictional characters.”
Macsen rolls his eyes. Around us, people are slowly starting to filter out of the room. We’ve lost track of time. Again.
“Shit,” Macsen glances down at his watch, “it’s eight already.” He glances over at me as he shuts down his laptop. “Are you going to read The Woman in White tonight?” he asks.
I gather my papers and neatly stack them. Macsen just spent the last hour telling me about this book. “I plan on it, but I have a roommate that religiously watches reality shows. I need ear plugs just to concentrate.”
I’ve rambled and realize my blunder when Macsen asks, “Who’s your roommate?”
My hands stop shuffling things around, and I briefly look over at him. “Severine Blake.”
He slides off his glasses. I want to tell him to put them back on. When he looks down at the carpet, I grind my teeth, mad that I even mentioned her name. “I didn’t know you were her roommate.”
“Yep,” I reply lightly.
He stands and slings his bag over his shoulder. “So then you’ve heard about me.”
“Do I know that you used to date her? Yes.” I slide my notebook int
o my bag and continue gathering all my things. “Do I know that you cheated? Yes, but that’s it.”
“I doubt that.” Macsen leans against the table. When I start walking, he matches my strides. I’m used to walking with him outside. He stopped hurrying out the door two weeks ago and now talks to me. “Every girl on campus hates me.”
If he thinks that, then he’s just flat-out paranoid. He may receive a few glares, but I know his fan club outweighs the anti-Macsen club on campus. “I think that statistic is really, really off,” I say dryly.
He looks over at me with a funny expression. “I just find it hard to believe she hasn’t filled you in on everything.”
Honestly, it’s surprised me too. “Maybe she’s so happy, there’s just no reason for her to ... mention you.”
We’re halfway out the door when he stops walking and turns around. I run into his chest and he straightens me, saying nothing.
I break the quiet and ask, “Does that bother you?”
His hands are still on my shoulders. I don’t think he even realizes it. “That she’s with Thayer?”
I nod my head and he says nothing. His green eyes won’t leave my face. Unblinking, completely unmoving.
“Do you still have feelings for her?” I blurt out.
He moves away, and his hands disappear from my body. “Do I still have feelings for her?” he repeats to himself.
I nod again and follow him outside.
“I think about her ... but not in that way,” he finally says. “It’s more along the lines of thinking about what I did to her.”
“Would you take it back?”
Macsen deliberates over my question before he answers. “Every single second, even my time spent with her.”
My head pulls back and I stare at him skeptically. “Why?”
“Severine and I ... we never matched, Emilia.” He pulls his hat out from his back pocket and speaks so casually. There’s no pain in his voice. If I was questioning whether he still wanted his ex, I no longer had to wonder. “From day one, we were all wrong.”