by Danica Avet
“It’s yours,” I blurt and turn back to the bar. “And I’m keeping all the tips from twenty-five.”
Cassie fluffs up her boobs, making sure they’re showing to their best advantage. “Whatever. This is gonna be worth it.”
Thinking of the Ramen noodles I could buy with a hundred dollars and the humiliation I’ll be spared, I have to agree.
Anders
On Wednesday, I’m in my seat at the back of the auditorium before Lena is. While Tight and Cuba thought it was hysterical that I mooed at her, I feel like shit. I saw the hurt look in her eyes, like I’d slapped her and I hated it, but considering it took every brain cell to say what I did, I knew there was no way I’d be able to apologize.
The waitress who took her place at our table wasn’t nearly as pretty, nor smelled as sweet. Plus the new girl, Cassie, wouldn’t stop flirting with me or Tight long enough for us to enjoy our meal. Ms. G was not happy to have her birthday ruined by an obvious cleat chaser, but Tight’s mom is classy and she didn’t say anything out loud. Although she sure gave me the evil eye a few times when she saw Lena clear on the other side of the restaurant.
I sigh and slump in my seat. I’m a smart guy. Not bragging or anything, but I’m one of the few players on the team with a 4.0 GPA and that isn’t by taking bullshit General Studies classes. My major is Chemical Engineering with a focus on Nanotechnology. At Sauvage, which has one of the most aggressive Engineering Departments in the country, it’s a curriculum that sees a lot of students dropping out by their sophomore year, yet I’m more than hanging on, I’m excelling. At school.
But with pretty Lena…?
I don’t know what it is about her that turns me into an idiot. It’s like the minute those eyes turn my way, looking all sweet and innocent, shy and admiring at the same time, the one commodity I’ve prided myself on—my brain—refuses to work. And I fuck things up.
Moo. Fucking moo. I swipe my hand over my face, scratch my bristling chin, and sigh again. She probably thinks I’m a dumb jock or something. Or an asshole. Or hell, who knows what she’s thinking? She didn’t look at us the rest of the night, instead bringing her sweet voice and pretty smile to the old geezers at another table. Geezers who stared at her ass more than men their age should.
I couldn’t even eat, knowing she’d leapt at the chance to switch sections, contrary to what Cassie said. I left The Medallion with Tight and Cuba picking at me, Ms. G giving me an understanding pat on the shoulder, and didn’t even stop to get something on the way back to Galjour Hall. I wasn’t hungry, which was a first for me.
Tuesday dragged ass. Music Appreciation 101 is a Monday, Wednesday, Friday class and while I searched each of my other classes just in case, Lena isn’t in any of them. But she is in band, I reminded myself, sitting up in my chair as an idea churned. I know the Marching 300 practices every day after sixth period because Cuba mentioned it once. I have conditioning at the same time, drills on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and the Edwards Athletic Center isn’t far from the band hall or practice fields. Maybe I could catch her there?
Would I be able to talk to her though? That’s the real question. If I can keep her from running away, would I be able to look at her and speak intelligently? Fuck, I hope so. The thought of not getting to know her kills me.
Students start flooding the auditorium and I try to look casual, sitting there all by myself, but my leg bounces as I wait for the gorgeous Lena to enter the room. Several other players look like they’re about to sit around me, but I shake my head. Their puzzled expressions don’t matter. There’s only one thing I care about and that’s making things right with Lena.
Who enters just then, as though she knew I was thinking about her. She’s wearing another baggy T-shirt and what looks like an old pair of gym shorts that stop right at her knees. She may as well be wearing that uniform though because now that I know her shape, I’ll never forget it.
As soon as she clears the doorway, her big, brown eyes go straight to me before she looks around the auditorium. I follow her gaze to see the room’s mostly full, with a few empty seats here and there, but the majority have bags or books on them as though they’re being reserved for someone else. Frosty’s class is popular with under- and upperclassmen. It’s fun and she’s adorable. Not as adorable as Lena though, who seems to realize there aren’t many places to sit and, as I watch, her shoulders slump.
I wait, my leg bouncing faster as she makes her way down the aisle toward the seat she’d been in last time, the one between me and the wall. She keeps her gaze on her feet, carefully stepping over bags and legs, some of these dickheads not even bothering to be polite enough to move their shit to make it easier for her. She stumbles over a pair of black boots and gives an awkward smile to their owner, only for it to freeze on her face. Her eyes get huge as she stares at the guy, so I look to see what the deal is.
I have to bite back a growl. I know the dick. Ivan the Terrible. He’s like a campus legend, taking classes at random, fucking girls—as well as a few instructors—whenever and wherever, and generally not giving a shit about anything or anyone but himself. As far as I know, he doesn’t have any affiliation with any clubs, but the asswipe looks the part with his tattoos, piercings, and attitude. Normally, I could give two shits about him or what he’s doing, except he’s eyeballing Lena like he wants to fuck her. Or fuck her up. I can’t really tell which because of the red haze starting to come over me.
“Lena,” I grunt without meaning to, causing her head to snap up, her brown eyes wide. “Sit.”
She looks from me to Terrible and back again, panic obvious on her face, but just when I think I’m gonna have to go and get her, she hurries over to me and slides into her chair like it’s home base. Terrible meets my hard gaze with a smirk that makes me feel violent in a way I haven’t experienced since leaving home. It’s like he wants me to go over there and rearrange his face with my fist, but, unlike Rien, I’m not much of one to do anything without carefully examining the effects of my actions. Most of the time at least. And I force myself to weigh the consequences of beating the shit out of him.
Punching him in his face would have me hauled before the Disciplinary Committee for misconduct and probably suspended if I beat his ass the way he deserves. So, even though everything in me roars to teach him a lesson about how to act towards a classy girl like Lena, I can’t touch him. But I can show she has my protection. That appeals to my inner caveman more than anything else, so I reach out to drag her desk—with her in it—close enough that our legs touch.
Her squeaked, “What are you doing?” echoes around the auditorium, causing a few people to look back. But my laser focus is on Terrible who cocks an eyebrow at me. Like a challenge.
“Root, what the hell man?” one of my teammates asks from a couple of rows away.
I glance over at him to see he and several other guys from the team are staring at us. “Fiancée,” I tell them with a tilt of my head in Lena’s direction.
Their eyes widen and their gazes bounce between me and the girl making like a statue next to me. Then they smile, turning back around. I look over to see Terrible’s shoulders shaking like he’s amused, but he’s no longer staring at Lena, so I figure I got my point across.
Sitting back in my chair just as Frosty enters the auditorium and clip-clops down the aisle to the front, I relax and rub my thumb against silky skin. This time I’m the one who freezes. It isn’t until now that I realize I’m holding her bare leg. I’m facing forward now, but I can’t resist a glance down and to the left.
Sure fucking enough, my tanned mitt is wrapped almost all the way around Lena’s ivory-pale knee. Silky, smooth, pale skin that I’m almost afraid to stroke with my rough hands, but I can’t help myself. Just like I can’t help the erection that threatens to punch through the fly of my cargo shorts. I’m touching her bare knee in the middle of class without any hope of anything more taking place, but I’m as hard as though I’d spent the last hour making out. Because it’s her kne
e.
Instantly, my mind is flooded with images I shouldn’t have in the middle of any class, but they flash anyway, full of naked limbs, soft skin, and sighs. I make a strangled sound in the back of my throat. I really need to fucking let go of her leg. Like now. But my hand refuses to obey my brain. So while Frosty starts class I’m stuck there with my hand gripping Lena’s knee like she really is mine. And while Lena squirms a little, she doesn’t pull away. Rewarding her stillness with a stroke of my thumb on the outside of her leg just adds to the torture.
Then I hear a tapping sound to my left, drawing my unfocused gaze from Frosty at the front of the room to a paper shoved to the very edge of Lena’s desk.
What in the hell are you doing?!
The words are written in big, messy script. I glance up at her to see her studying me intently, curiously, her face flushed. I nod and turn back to my own notebook, the page woefully empty of lecture notes, and scribble something back, angling it so she can read what I wrote.
I didn’t like the way Terrible was looking at you. How do you know him?
The first sentence is true, the second is more to assuage my curiosity. If she’s into him, then I’ve just fucked things up for her, but thinking back to the expression on her face when she tripped on his feet, I don’t think that’s the case. I’m praying that’s not the case.
I don’t know him. And what does that have to do with you telling your friends I’m your fiancée? Are you nuts?
Okay, that’s good at least. As for answering her question, I’m not sure I have a rational explanation to give her. The claim that she’s going to marry me was a little extreme, yes, but I’ve come to just accept the fact that Lena makes my brain stop working. I’d blurted the first thing I could think of, just like at the restaurant.
I pause, the pen swaying as I try to decide if I want to write something more personal. I mean, I haven’t been able to talk to her. The foot-in-mouth bullshit I have going on has left me practically mute. If passing notes is my only means of communicating with her, I’ll take it. So I start off with the most important thing first, leaning over the paper to write it all down.
Lena
As I wait for Root to push the notebook back my way, I resist the urge to wipe my slick palms on my clothes. I’m sweating despite the room being cool. All because his hand is still on my leg. Not just like there, but every now and then his thumb rubs. Just a little circular motion, but it’s one that travels up my thigh to the spot between my legs. It takes everything I have not to squirm like I have ants in my pants.
I should throw his hand off my leg. He told people we’re engaged for crying out loud! But I don’t. In spite of the rudeness of his comment the other night, I’m still harboring a crush on him. I shouldn’t. I may not be the most beautiful girl in the world, have more than a few…issues, but I deserve someone who’ll treat me like a queen. Right? Every woman deserves that.
I’m on the verge of reaching down and peeling his hand off my leg when he tightens his fingers and taps his pen on his page. I blink. He’d written a friggin’ essay in big, block letters. Good thing because I don’t want to strain my eyes to read it.
First off, my name is Anders De Groot. Everyone calls me Root, but I’d really love like it if you called me Anders.
I’m so sorry about my idiocy on Monday evening. I was thinking about something else and said the first thing that came to mind. It wasn’t intentionally rude. I think you’re pretty beautiful and I apologize if I made you think otherwise. You make me
Ivan the Terrible isn’t the kind of guy you want to get involved with and, like an idiot once again, I said the first thing that came to mind to make sure he understood you were with me were protected. Don’t worry, no one will even remember this by the end of class and if they say something, I’ll correct them. But to make sure he leaves you alone, I need to I think you should let me walk you to your next class. Or at least leave with a big group if you don’t want to be around me. He’s trouble.
Do you Would you Maybe we could grab a cup of coffee sometime, or study together? You can text me, or call me, at 555-343-5403. Any time at all.
I sit back, my heart pounding fast and furious, the tips of my ears hot as though they’re burning. Okay, so if I thought I was crushing on him before, it had nothing on right now. I glance around the classroom to make sure no one’s paying attention to us, glad to see everyone—with the exception of Ivan the Terrible, which is perhaps the most accurate name I’ve ever heard—staring straight ahead. Terrible’s eyebrow goes up when he sees me looking and I drop my gaze again. I have no idea why he tripped me, or is even looking over here, but I don’t like it at all.
So instead of thinking about that, I stare at the note. I’ve never had someone flirt with me via written word before. Okay, so no one’s ever flirted with me before and I don’t know what to do with myself, or with the invitation to coffee, study, or contact him. The only sexual relationship I’ve ever had has been with the vibrator I bought online when I started reading erotic romance this year. Romance? I get that from my books as well. Yet this guy is asking me out.
Is he being serious? Or is he a player? I’m sure most athletes are. Girls tend to flock to them whether they want the attention or not. If that’s the case, why would he want to be with me when there are easier pickings?
I peek at his face to see him looking over at me. To anyone else, it’d seem that he’s staring down at his paper, but he has his face angled toward me, those blue eyes intense. To my complete mortification, something about that look makes the tingle between my legs travel up my torso, right to my nipples, which harden. Forget about red ears, I feel the tidal wave of blood roll up my neck until it settles in my cheeks.
Horrified by my reaction, I duck my head and stare at my own notes to him. What are we doing here? I’m not in college to date or crush on boys who are way out of my league. But there’s something about Root—no, Anders. I sigh a little at that because it’s a cool name. Very Nordic, which only reinforces my Viking theory.
I shake my head, making myself get back on track. I need to focus on school, on work, not boys. Yet with his hand still holding my leg, big, warm, and strangely comforting, it doesn’t sit right with me to say no either. Remembering that I decided to do something more with my life than just watch everything happen from the sidelines, I evaluate the situation. Girls talk to boys all the time, they go on dates, have coffee, study with them. Agreeing to go with him isn’t the same as making a lifetime commitment. It’s just a girl deciding to hang out with a guy.
Biting my lip, I let my pen hover over the page as I try to make up my mind whether to agree or not. His thumb rubs, the pad slightly rough against my skin, sending another tremor through my body.
Okay.
I scribble the word quickly, pressing down harder on the paper than I need to and when I shift the notebook for him to read it, his fingers give my knee another gentle squeeze. Sitting back, I try my best to pay attention to the rest of Frosty’s lecture, but it’s hard with Anders’ hand on my leg, that thumb making my hormones go crazy, and the anticipation of walking with him to my next class strumming through my veins.
With all that craziness going on inside me, it seems as though the hour is over quicker than I could blink. The bell sounds and everyone starts moving for the door, heading to their next class, but I don’t. Because Anders doesn’t. Darting a curious look his way, I see him watching Ivan the Terrible, who’s slumped back in his chair.
“Barbie,” Frosty says as she approaches the back of the room, clearly heading to her office or her next class. Her green gaze darts from me to Anders to Terrible and back again. “Root, good to see you.” She cocks her head to the side. “What are you guys doing?”
I open my mouth, but it’s Terrible who speaks up. “We’re talking about whether or not the three of us could work together on the group project you have scheduled for mid-semester.”
Those shrewd green eyes of her shift over to me. I know
I have to be gaping like a fish out of water, but she doesn’t remark on that. Instead, she nods slowly and continues approaching the exit, although she looks a little confused. “Barbie is an excellent musician and Root is an amazing student. You’ve made a wise choice, although I suggest you continue this discussion in another location as Music Theory 543 will be starting soon.” She pauses at the door and looks back at me. “I’ll see you at practice, Barbie.”
I can’t speak, but I nod vehemently, hard enough that I feel my ponytail flopping around.
Her lips tremble as though she’s fighting a smile, but she just says, “Good. Have a good day.”
The door slams closed, leaving a charged silence behind. The auditorium is huge, but it suddenly feels like it’s about the size of a shoebox with all the testosterone flooding the room. Anders is still holding my knee, his fingers clamped down firmly, but not painfully so. And it makes me feel secure. He makes me feel secure.
“What kind of bullshit is that?” he asks. He’s staring at Terrible, who’s watching us—no, watching me—like a lazy panther waiting for his prey to tire. “Eyes to me, asshole.”
Something gleams in the pitch-dark eyes resting on me before Terrible finally looks at Anders. “Is she mute? Is that why you’re speaking for her?”
“I’m speaking for her because she doesn’t need to talk to you,” Anders growls. I’m amazed. I’ve never actually heard him hold a conversation with anyone. “But what you need to do is leave her alone. Don’t talk to her. Don’t even look her way.”
“You mean like you?” Terrible smirks when Anders snarls. He climbs from his seat and holds up his hands. “I just need to ask her a question, then I won’t look at her unless she wants me to. Scout’s honor.” Except instead of the three fingered salute I’m so used to seeing, he does a devil’s horns, which is kind of funny, but I don’t feel like laughing.
“W-What question?” I ask in a very low voice. This is just too weird. Everything is too weird.