by Billie Dale
“Are you serious? Are you sure you’re feeling ok?” she asks, again checking me for a fever.
“Yes, I’m fine. I just want to be a little healthier today,” I reply swatting her hand away. I’m unsure of what brought on the urge to cut out some calories but it sounds good so I’m going to go with it.
“Ok, go grab us a table and I’ll get our drinks,” she says, stepping to the barista waiting to take our order.
Scanning my eyes around the small area, bustling with people looking to get warm, I see one empty table for two by the window. Moving quickly to grab it, I set my backpack on the table as skinny red headed woman slips into one of the chairs. “Oops, sorry I was here first,” I say to her with a smile.
“Tough shit, fatty. Find somewhere else to plant your fat ass,” she snarls, her face crinkling in disgust.
Turning to seek help from Ronnie, feeling heat crawl up my neck, I slam right into a steaming cup of coffee. The contents of the cup dumping down the front of my shirt covering Pooh Bear in scalding coffee, burning my skin as it soaks through the soft fleece.
“Oh, shit. Oh, shit,” a deep voice rumbles while a large hand grabs mine pulling me toward the restrooms.
Pulling my sweatshirt away from my skin to stop the burn, “Ouch, that’s hot,” I mumble. I don’t notice who has my hand pulling me, too focused on my burning skin. All of sudden, my sweatshirt is pulled up over my head and a very small something is pushed on, the person trying to squeeze it over my chest. My glasses were skewed when my shirt was removed making the offending person a blurry mess of dark hair. My arms are pinned at my sides from this person still trying to cram me into this, whatever they are trying to cover me with, I manage to move my hand enough to right my glasses. The blurry becoming clear, the person comes into view; Kohl Black is standing in front of me, his tongue curling up over his top lip, a bead a sweat forming on his forehead from him trying to cram me into what I am assuming is his practice jersey.
“Kohl, stop. What are you doing?” I ask, trying to push him away but my arms are constricted by the shirt.
“I didn’t want you burnt, I got your sweatshirt off then I realized I didn’t have anything to cover you with. I took off my practice jersey and I’m trying to get it to cover your chest but it’s not working,” he answers, grunting and pulling on the shirt. “I’m sorry,” tug, “I’m such a klutz,” he rambles.
“It. Doesn’t. Fit. Kohl,” I say each word ending on a pull as he is trying to get this thing past my boobs. “STOP,” I shout, finally getting his attention. “It’s not going to fit. I feel like a sausage inside a casing right now. Grab my sweatshirt, it should be cool now,” I order, holding out my hand for my shirt. “Shit, I don’t have time to go back to the dorm, I’ll have to go to the student union and grab a shirt,” I mumble.
A cold draft hits my skin, my bare skin. Looking down at my bra clad chest, I gasp attempting to cover myself with my hands. I’m standing in the hall, at The Brew Station, in my bra and he’s standing right in front of me. Ripping his jersey off my head sends my glasses flying but I’m able to cover myself with my hoodie. I’m blind without my glasses, I don’t know how I will find them now. Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I wonder if any pictures were taken of me as I stood there. Damn it, I was just getting over the last picture that was out there, I think as tears brim in my eyes.
Warm hands gently set my glasses on my face. When he comes into focus, I see his bright smile. “No one saw you. I made sure to keep you blocked with my body. I was trying to save the day by telling off that bitch at your table, but I just made it worse by spilling my coffee on you,” he confesses with red tinting his cheeks. The blush gives him the look of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, mischievously sexy but adorable. Plus, he has this halo of white surrounding him, must be the sun reflecting off the wall, I think. Glancing outside, there’s no sun, only dark snow clouds, that’s odd.
My face on fire, unable to meet his eyes, I try to move the conversation along so I can get out of here, “Thank you for trying to help, Kohl, but I would like to drink my coffee and I need to get to class soon.”
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry about the mess,” he apologizes, hanging his head.
Edging around him, rushing into the main part of the coffee shop, I feel guilty at his saddened tone, offering him a smile over my shoulder, “It’s fine, Kohl.” Continuing to the table I had chosen, where Ronnie is sitting, I slide into the chair across from her.
“Where did you go?” she asks.
“Someone spilled coffee on me, I was trying to dry some of it off. How did you get this table? That rude bitch made it clear that it was hers.”
“She’s a sorority pledge, I told her to move her ass. I heard what she said to you. She won’t be joining our sisterhood anytime soon, snarky bitch,” she snaps, pushing my coffee to me.
Checking the time on my phone, I realize I need to go if I’m going to make it to the union before class. “Shoot, I gotta go, Ron.”
Grabbing my coffee and backpack, she asks, “Want me to walk you?”
“No, sit. Enjoy your coffee. I’ll see you after class,” I reply, racing to the door. Hurrying I pushing it open not paying attention to where I’m going, slamming into a wall of the impressive chest and another steaming cup of coffee. Once again dumping its contents down the front of my sweatshirt when the cup crushes against me.
“Damn it,” I shout. The face of the offender is none other than Kohl.
“Jesus. You need to wear a bell,” I huff frustrated while the cold air hits the liquid on my shirt freezing it to my skin.
“Ah fuck, I’m sorry, again.”
“Fine, fine. I’ve gotta go. I have to get this off me before it’s permanently frozen to my skin,” I say, shoving past him.
His long legs eat up the distance I’ve made as he falls into step beside me. “Wait, I brought you a shirt,” he calls holding out a balled up white t-shirt.
“You bought me a shirt at the union?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he says, “Um, no. I went to my room and grabbed you one of mine.”
“Kohl, we tried this earlier. You’re tall and skinny. I’m not. Your shirts won’t even fit over one of my boobs. Why do you even care? Shouldn’t you be off with Chase and the team finding a new conquest or bouncing a ball or something?” I ask frustrated, looking at the mess on my shirt.
“This one’s big. I made sure it would fit you,” he says. “Wait, no; that sounded bad. I mean, I think it will fit over your chest,” he corrects himself while red rises to his cheeks and he stares longingly at my chest. Shaking his head, he continues, “I care because I spilled coffee on you. Not just once but twice and you may not know this yet, but I’m one hell of a nice guy,” he informs me smirking, forcing the shirt into my hands.
Arrogant asshole, I don’t have time for this bullshit, if I keep up this conversation I’ll be late for class. Ripping the shirt from his hands. “Fine, I’ll try it. But don’t be offended if it doesn’t fit,” I retort stomping into the union to change.
Once I’m sealed away in the bathroom, cursing his clumsiness under my breath, I toss my sweatshirt off. Shivering when the cold material clears my head. Pushing the white shirt over my head, my heart drops to my feet when I see Kohl’s reflection behind me in the mirror.
“Ack, fuck. What the hell are you doing?” I screech.
“I wanted to make sure you actually tried it on instead of telling me it didn’t fit,” he says with a devious grin.
“I don’t know who the hell you think you are or what the fuck you think you’re doing but this is not ok with me,” I fume, forcing the shirt down over my chest. It’s tight. So tight it rolls up at my waist. But it’ll work. Looking down to the front of the shirt I see it says, “JSU Fighting Berries Team Squad.”
“What shirt is this, Kohl?”
“One of my practice shirts,” he answers. His eyes feasting on the tight material stretched across my chest. “It fit
s you nicely,” he acknowledges while his eyes peruse my chest.
“Uh, actually, no it doesn’t and my eyes are up here not down there. I’ve got to get to class, so thank you. I’ll wash it and get it back to you later this week but I will warn you it will be stretched out in the chest area,” I explain pulling my coat and gloves back on. Thinking, at least my coat will cover it.
“No, it’s fine, you keep it. I want you to have it,” he offers. “Can I walk you to your class?”
Frustration is making my eye twitch, this man is becoming a pain in my ass, “Why?” I bark.
“Look, I know you have had a rough month but I’m not the enemy here, Tensanne. I’m a nice guy wanting to get to know a nice girl. I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while and the coffee gave me a perfect reason.”
Squinting my eyes at him, I relent, “I’m going to be late; I don’t have time to argue. If you want to walk with me there is really nothing I can do to stop you but I need to go.”
* * *
Kohl
I’m such a fucking clumsy idiot. It’s bad enough that I spilled one cup of coffee on her but what are the chances of dumping two down the front her? That has to be some astronomical shit right there.
I’ve been wrangling to control my dick since my eyes met her porcelain skin bounding out the top of that red lace bra. I’m trying to be a gentleman but my thoughts are the definition of carnal. I’ve seen her in the flesh and that photo that went around is nothing compared to the real thing. Smooth white skin, stretched tight to contain her breast. Fuck me, her beauty is boundless. My fingers have been itching to touch her, my tongue battling for a taste.
My shirt is hugging her ribs, rolling up at the waist, giving me a glimpse of her creamy skin. My tongue clicking my teeth dying for a sample, my dick in the permanent upright position.
Would she slap me if I touch her?
Would it be worth it to feel her under my fingers?
Hell, yes it would.
Does she realize that my name is on the back of the shirt? Coach told us only a few people can have them. I smile inside that she’s branded with the word “Black” across her back. I feel like beating my chest and giving a caveman roar. Baby steps. I need to take baby steps with this girl, I think, putting my caveman back in his box.
I need to figure out a way to spend more time with this girl. Think, think, think.
“Are you taking Advanced English Comp this semester?” I ask.
“No, why?”
“English isn’t one of my strong points. If you were taking it, I was going to ask for your help.”
Stopping, her hands fisted on her hips, her eyes hardening, she fumes, “I’m not writing your papers for you, Kohl. Is that why you’re being nice to me, so I’ll do your homework for you?”
Shit, this took a wrong turn fast. Trying to make a little small talk and I dig myself into a bigger hole. I’m going to need a shovel to get out of this mess.
“No, I want someone to be a proofreader, someone to make sure my work isn’t shit,” I reply, nudging her shoulder, “How about Dr. P’s class, have you started on your bully assignment yet?” I ask, hoping to put the pin back in the grenade I just launched.
Raising one eyebrow, she eyes me from behind her thick lenses, “No, I’m working on it tonight after study group.”
Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she hesitates. My eyes zero in on her mouth, I want to bite it. Holding her chin, using my thumb I softly pull her lip from her teeth. Fighting the urge to soothe the teeth marks she left behind with my tongue. She gasps blushing redder than the cold has already turned her cheeks, recoiling from my touch.
“I-I guess I can look at your English papers when you get them done. You can email them to me,” she offers wringing her gloved hands together.
“I work better one on one. We could set a time to meet. In the library maybe? What study group do you have?” I have her where I want her, now I must reel in my catch.
“One for my human brain class. It’s my friend Wren and me, cause no one else shows up. Do you know Wren? Wren Morris, the other kid on campus that’s my age?”
Anger inches up my spine. A sore spot blooming in my heart. Is that jealousy? Am I jealous that this guy gets to study with her, that he’s her age? I’ve seen Wren, he’s in my English class. Skinny, scrawny guy. Maybe five foot seven inches, if even that. Big ears, big nose, his head shaped like an egg with dirty blonde floppy hair. Nah, I can’t be jealous of him; must be something I ate.
“Yeah, I have English with Wren,” I grumble.
“Do you want to get together after my group?” she offers.
“What time?”
“Eleven p.m.”
“I can’t, I work out every night at eleven,” I say.
Damn it, now what? Do I give up my work out? I’m pondering when an idea blooms in my head, “Hey, why don’t you come join me? Keep me company while I work out?” I suggest.
Her mouth in a grim line, she scowls at me, “Do I look like I work out?”
“I don’t mean for you to work out. Just sit there and talk to me. The gym’s always empty that late and I could use someone to push me. We could talk about our classes?” I offer hopefully tempting her with her love of school.
Looking up to the wet, salt covered steps of the Social Sciences building, I realize, I’m out of time. I can see the wheels turning behind her eyes, she’s thinking deeply about my offer. This could be my way in. Come on, Ten; you know you want to, I think.
Chapter Six
The best thing about Social Media is the filters that make your face all wonky and your voice sounds like a chipmunk.
—Ronnie to Tensanne
Tensanne
HE’S SMILING AT me. One side of his mouth rises further than other. A flaw, I found a flaw in his perfection. His smile is dropping. Oh, he asks me a question.
“So, you want me to just sit there and talk to you? That’s it?” I probe.
“Yes”
“I-I guess I can. If I don’t have to do anything, I’ll meet you at the campus gym.” What the hell am I doing? Why am I agreeing to this? I just couldn’t tell him ‘no’. His eyes looked so happy at the thought of me being there.
His smile tilts all the way up to its blinding, panty-melting position, lighting his sea-colored eyes, “Great, see you then,” he calls backing away from me.
Taking a deep breath, I steel myself for the class ahead. Another class with Chase Masters. Blowing out a breath slowly, carefully I ascend the icy stairs into the building.
A tall brick building with three floors. A tower spire in the center with pointed capped peaks covered in snow with an American Flag waving from the tallest peak. Lush trees that are divine in the spring but now barren and drab with snow covering their branches, line the lawn.
The inside is warm with shining wet tiled floors, door after door of offices and classrooms line the halls. Taking the stairs to the second floor, huffing and puffing when I reach the top.
Sweat runs down my back into my pants, removing my coat and gloves the cool air chills my over-heated skin. This is the reason I always take the elevator. Exercise is bad for my complexion.
Three girls huddle outside my classroom, giggling, whispering and playing bashful, peeking inside the door. A common occurrence when Chase is in the room. Moving closer I see what they are wearing. My breath catches and dread crawls along my spine. They’re wearing the same shirt I am. Only theirs is fastened behind their backs with a hair tie because it’s too big for their little size two bodies. Each one is little, blonde thinks they’re perfect and a cheerleader. Oh, this isn’t going to go well, I think.
Slow and on my tip toes, I try to secretly inch my way, silently, past them praying they don’t notice me. One of my shoes makes a squelch on the floor drawing all three set of eyes in my direction.
“O-M-G, Bethany, she’s wearing the same shirt we are,” one of the Barbie triplets says.
Fuck, I’m at the damn door. I
almost made it.
“Where did you get that shirt?” Bethany spews stepping in front of me.
With my fake smile in place, “I picked it up at the student union, showing my Berries support,” I state giving a thumb’s up. Kicking myself for being such a dork.
“She’s lying, Bethany. Check out the back of it,” the other Barbie clone sneers.
The back, what is on the back of my shirt? Grabbing the material at the shoulder, I can see big black letters across it but I can’t make out what it says.
“You’re wearing Kohl Black’s shirt. Where did you get it? Don’t tell me the union; you can’t get these at the Union. These shirts are reserved for girlfriends, family members, and cheerleaders. No one else is supposed to have one,” Bethany barks, her lip snarled in disgust.
Barbie number one chimes in, “Did you break into Kohl’s room and steal that shirt?”
“Holy shit, you can’t fit any more of her inside of it, Christ, it’s rolling up on the ends. It can’t stretch to cover her fat,” comes from Barbie number two.
Once the insults start, it’s time to get out of the situation. The class is about to start anyway and there is no way I want to piss off Dr. Morgan. “Kohl spilled some coffee on me and I needed a shirt. He had this one handy so he told me I could borrow it so I wouldn’t be late to class. He was being a nice guy. Now I’m going in. You have a good day,” I say with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes, choking on my words, wanting to kill Kohl for giving me this shirt.
It’s none of their damn business why I have this shirt and the fact that I lied to justify it pisses me off. Why can’t I stand up to these types of people? I need to develop a backbone and tell people like them to fuck off but fear of retaliation keeps me trapped inside my shell.
Why would he give me a shirt with his name on it? One that only a select few are supposed to have? He put a target on me, a target that I’m sure Chase is going to hit in just a few moments. Was his goal to humiliate me?
“I knew he wouldn’t let her keep it, he must have really pitied her to give her that shirt. He’s such a nice guy,” I hear one of them sneer while I walk away.