Love Rewritten

by J. Saman

  “Fine.” He nods, looking to Brandon again. “See you around.” His tone is still hard, but softens a little as he addresses Brandon. Clearly I’m the only one he dislikes in this group.

  “Yeah, later,” Brandon says trying to hide his amusement. We make it three steps before Brandon asks, “He’s really into you, huh?”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, loves me,” I say dryly, rolling my eyes. “But he’s my brother’s best friend, so . . .” I trail off with a shrug like this explains everything. “How do you know him?”

  We walk around the tall, modern, mostly glass, science building–my second home–and about twenty feet ahead, across the street is Jive.

  “He’s in a lot of my classes.” I look up at him just as he looks down on me, our eyes locking for a second. “I’m doubling in business and finance. Xander is too.”

  “Right.”

  We leave it at that as we look both ways, crossing the relatively busy street. Jive sits directly in the center of a strip, with multiple shops flanking it. There’s a 24/7 convenient store and Dough—the local pizza place—on one side of it, and on the other is a UPS store and a Chinese takeout place that never fails to give me a headache with the copious amount of MSG they use in their food.

  Jive’s opaque, fogged over glass never bothered me until this very moment.

  I can’t see inside and find myself wishing that I could. A lot of my friends frequent this place and I’m not exactly sure what I’d tell them about Brandon if I ran into them.

  Probably because I don’t know what I’m doing with him myself.

  CHAPTER 3

  BRANDON OPENS THE DOOR FOR me and as I enter, I’m instantly assaulted with the familiar scent of ground coffee and freshly baked pastry. The hissing sound of machines steaming milk and the low hum of people talking fills the space. But as I scan the small, brightly colored room, I don’t see anyone that I really know. Maybe one girl who’s in my French class, but I could care less about her being here or what she might have to say.

  Since when you do you care what people think about you? Today, evidently.

  “Why don’t you find us a seat and I’ll grab our drinks?” Brandon says from behind me. I spin around to face him as he gestures with his hand towards the fairly crowded seating area. “What would you like?”

  “Café Americano with skim and sugar, please.”

  “Café Americano with skim and sugar,” he repeats my order, trying to memorize it. “Got it.” He nods, stepping into line behind a few people. “Anything to eat?”

  I shake my head and he smiles.

  “Okay, I’ll be there in a sec.”

  “K.” I spin back around, scanning the various tables, clustered cushy leather chairs and a few booths. Spotting a couple getting up from two of the tall black leather chairs in the corner, I make a beeline for them so that no one else decides to snag those coveted seats.

  “Are you guys done?” I ask the two younger-looking girls.

  “We are,” the one with dark brown hair and equally dark eyes says with a grin, as she picks up her empty coffee mug and walks away. Her friend follows with her own empty cup. I sit down quickly, slipping my bag from my shoulder and placing it on the floor, leaning it against the leg of the chair.

  I hear my phone make a pinging noise, indicating a text message, so I reach down, unzip the outer pocket and pull it out. Sure enough, a text from Aubrey. Xander must have notified him about Brandon.

  Fabulous.

  Aubrey: Heard you’re having coffee with Brandon Kessler. I have way too many jokes to make at your expense over this than I’m in the mood to type. Can’t wait to see you later, sis.

  I roll my eyes. Those two gossip worse than old women at Bingo night.

  Me: What’s the file for your business class? I can email it Xander and avoid going there.

  Aubrey: Don’t remember. Anyway, it will be good for you to play nice with Xander.

  I groan, because I know Aubrey won’t tell me and allow me to avoid seeing Xander. Aubrey is all about trying to get us to declare a cease fire. He wants us to be friends. Just not too friendly.

  So I slide my phone back into my bag, zipping it up just as Brandon arrives, carrying our drinks.

  “Here.” He hands me mine, before setting his down on the small, dark blue circular table that is heavily stained with coffee rings.

  “Thanks.” I nod my appreciation as I bring the red porcelain cup to my lips, blowing off some of the steam before taking a sip. It’s perfect.

  Brandon sits in his oversized chair that he still somehow manages to look too big for. I’m glad I didn’t pick one of the smaller tables. He adjusts his chair so that he’s closer to mine before stretching his long legs out in front of him.

  “Did I get it right?”

  “You did.” I grin, taking another sip before placing my coffee down on the table. Bringing one of my feet up and tucking it under my other leg, I angle my body towards him.

  “So, you’re an English major, huh? How’s that working out for you?”

  I laugh a little, raising an eyebrow at him. “How did you know I was an English major?” I challenge. “I was undecided for the majority of my freshman year.”

  “I’ve been keeping tabs on you,” he says matter-of-fact, without any artifice or embarrassment. He’s actually the epitome of cool, casual confidence.

  “Are you serious?” I squeak.

  He shrugs, taking a sip of what looks like regular coffee, lightened with cream.

  “You don’t strike me as the type of guy who waits two years to talk to a girl, while keeping tabs on them,” I tell him honestly. He’s gotta be full of shit, right? “And your spying missed that I’m a bio minor as well.”

  Brandon shrugs one very large shoulder. “I’m not usually,” he admits, crossing his feet at the ankles. “But I don’t have classes with you and I’ve never seen you at any of the parties I go to, so I haven’t exactly had that many opportunities to talk to you again.”

  “Okay,” I draw out the word. “We’ll go with that for now.” There really is no point in arguing with him on this, especially when I have more important questions. “So that night that we did talk at the party,” I pause, deciding how I want to phrase this. “We talked about movies and music and school?”

  He chuckles lightly at my skeptical tone. “We did.”

  He could still be making this up, because I’m not known for forgetting or blacking out, or whatever you’d call this. I just can’t believe that I had a conversation with a guy and not remember anything. And I don’t go to frat parties. Unless it was that night.

  “And did we have anything in common?”

  “We did, actually.” His light blue eyes sparkle. “Not really in the music or movie department, you’re more of an indie rock girl and I’m . . . not.” He chuckles. “I’m also not so into old or cult classic movies all that much.”

  I nod, trying to maintain my impassive expression, but in reality, I’m reeling here. The fact that he knows I like classic movies tells me that we did in fact talk. My music preference is not hard to discover. I go to shows frequently, wear band tees and listen to music on my phone in the quad regularly. But my movie preference is, because only people who know me know that I’m not all that into modern films.

  “But we both have brothers,” he continues, not noticing my inner struggle. “Even if mine is not a twin. Our fathers are both lawyers, and we like to read a lot.”

  “Okay,” I laugh, picking up my coffee again, because I suddenly need the distraction.

  I can’t believe this guy remembers all of this about me from one thirty-minute conversation two years ago. I’m flattered, if I’m being honest. A little freaked out, but flattered all the same. I can’t remember the last time a boy showed that much interest in me. Probably not since Kyle in high school. That’s sort of sad in a way, but that’s a conversation for another day. Right now, Brandon is watching me closely, monitoring my reaction to everything he jus
t said and I find my cheeks starting to heat.

  “You have a good memory, Brandon.”

  He nods, leaning onto the arm of his chair in my direction. “I do,” he agrees. “But that’s not why I remember all that stuff.”

  “Oh?”

  “I liked you that night, Abby, and was pretty bummed when you bailed on me without a word.”

  “Jesus, you don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. Not really my style.” He bends into me a little more with that crooked smile again. His forearm resting along the soft leather of the chair. “So, English? Do you like it?”

  I smile, looking down and biting my lip like an insecure girl would, before I raise my eyes back up to his. I like the way he looks at me. He makes me feel pretty and special with just his eyes. Like he’s able to look past the other things that most people see.

  “I do, but I’m having a bitch of a time in my fiction writing class. That’s actually what I was working on when you started bothering me.” I smile so he knows I’m kidding. Well, sort of kidding.

  “I didn’t have much of a choice.” He shrugs. “What’s the problem with your class?”

  “I’m not really a writer.” I laugh, bringing both of my knees up to the chair, resting them on the leather seat against the arm. “I mean, obviously I can write, but it’s not what I’m good at and this is an advanced writing class. We have to have at least an eighty-page manuscript done in a little under two months and I’m only fifteen pages in.”

  “Is two months not a long time for that?” His eyebrows scrunch with confusion, not understanding the problem.

  “Yes, at least for me. For everyone else, it’s fine. But as I said, I’m not much of a writer, so coming up with something I wanted to write about is tough, and forming the story the way I’d like it to come out is proving harder than I anticipated.”

  He nods like this makes sense to him. “I wish I could help, but I’m not much of a writer either. At least not the creative type. That’s why I’m a business and finance person.”

  “Yeah, I’m a bio minor so that science part of my brain seems to overshadow the creative side. You like business and finance?” I surmise.

  He smiles, taking a sip of his drink before resting the mug on his thigh, his large hand wrapping around the porcelain. “I do. I’ve done a few internships over the summer at a couple of different financial companies, and I really enjoyed them.” He shifts a little, moving his mug back to the table between us. “I’m not exactly sure what I want to do after I graduate, but I’m hoping to narrow that down a bit after the summer.”

  “Wow.” I shake my head, looking at my hands that are folded on my knees. “I’m so not there yet,” I admit. “I have no idea what I’m going to do with my English degree, or my bio minor for that matter. They’re just so vague, ya know?” I chuckle to myself a little before looking up. “I’ve thought about being an editor or a literary agent or even a doctor.”

  Brandon’s head is tilted up towards the ceiling, tapping his lip like he’s thinking seriously about this, before turning his eyes back to me. “I could see that. All of it actually. If you’re ever interested, my uncle works for Penguin in New York. I’d be happy to talk to him about you.”

  “I may take you up on that.” I smile, lowering my legs back to the ground and crossing them at the knee. “I already have an internship set up in New York for the summer, with a small independent publisher.” I shrug. “I’m hoping this helps me decide on something. Last summer I worked for a company that edits and publishes science text books. Jesus, that was beyond boring.” I scrunch my nose.

  He laughs, reaching over and touching my arm, running his hand up and down my bicep over my shirt. “So we could both be in New York this summer?”

  I smile, trying not to think too much about his hand on my body.

  “I guess we could.”

  He grins, sliding his hand down until his fingers brush against the exposed tattoo on the inner side of my wrist.

  “On ne voit bein qu’avec le coeur, l’essentiel c’est invisible pour les yeux,” he reads aloud in broken French, before his questioning gaze finds me.

  “One sees clearly only with the heart, the essential is invisible to the eye,” I translate.

  “What’s that from?”

  “The Little Prince.” His fingers continue to trace over the black ink. “It’s my favorite book, but I only read it in French.”

  He laughs. “Of course you do.” His fingers play with the edge of my shirt sleeve. “Why is that?”

  God, I’m all butterflies and he’s only touching my wrist.

  No lightning bolts shooting out of my ass or anything, but legit butterflies are always a good sign.

  “Because it sounds much better in French. That’s how it was originally written and that’s how it is meant to be read.”

  “I guess I can’t argue with that then.” His hand pulls away from mine as he sits back in his chair, adjusting his position until he’s comfortable. “We should get going. I have a class in a little bit and you have a project to deliver to Xander.”

  “Oh, Right.” I had been so involved in our conversation that I completely lost track of time. I reach down for my bag, unzipping the pocket that houses my phone and pulling it back out to check the time. I press the home button and the screen illuminates, showing a picture of Aubrey, Nina and I last fall.

  “It’s noon already.” I shake my head not understanding where the time went.

  “It is. I have class in a half an hour.”

  We both stand and I slide my phone into the back pocket of my jeans instead of my bag, because I’m just going to have to take it back out in a second to call Xander to meet up. Bending down, I pick up my bag, tossing it onto my shoulder before I reach for my coffee cup to carry it up to the counter, but Brandon beats me to it.

  “I got this.” He smiles, holding a cup in each hand.

  Brandon walks his massive body up to the counter where I notice the barista smiling and batting her eyes at him. I wonder if he gets that sort of attention and reaction from girls everywhere he goes? Probably.

  Tall beautiful man plus lacrosse star equals chick magnet.

  He’s back in a flash, grabbing his own bag, before reaching out and taking my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. We don’t walk though, instead he just stands there, staring at me.

  “Can I see you again? I’d like to take you to dinner sometime this week.”

  I’m surprised and instantly taken aback. I figured he’d be done with me now that he got his long suffering curiosity over with.

  “Sure. I’d like that,” I tell him, finding that I really do mean it. I think I could like him. He’s nice and attentive. The fact that he’s hot is an excellent bonus too.

  “Great.” He smiles big, releasing my hand and reaching into the front pocket of his jeans to retrieve his phone. “What’s your number?” he asks, eyes on his screen. I tell him and he types it in his phone before sliding it back into his pocket and meeting my eyes again. “You coming with me back to campus?”

  “Probably not.” I shake my head. “I’m sure I’ll have to meet Xander at his place,” I tell him, looking over my shoulder as he holds the door open for me and we exit Jive.

  “Okay. I’ll give you a call. I have practice most days, but I’d like to do dinner this week, so . . .” he trails off, standing on the sidewalk in front of me. Looming over me to the point where he blocks the sun from my face.

  “Sounds good.” I smile up at him.

  He reaches out, brushing his fingers across my cheek, making small butterflies erupt in my stomach. “And don’t worry about your paper. Sometimes there’s no harm in putting off a piece of work until another day.” He smirks, making me laugh.

  “I see you are as familiar with my favorite book as I am.”

  He shakes his head, surprising me as his hand drifts from my face. He scans the street around us, his attention focuse
d on nothing in particular. “Not really, actually. My mother always said that when I was younger and I felt overwhelmed by homework.”

  “Ah. Makes sense.”

  “I gotta run or I’m going to be late. I’ll call you, Abby.” He leans down and glides his lips softly against my cheek before pulling back just as quickly.

  “Thanks for the coffee.”

  He winks before walking off, leaving me standing there on the sidewalk. My eyes follow him for a moment as he crosses the street. He’s confident in his own skin and it’s obvious in the way he walks. Like nothing can touch him and everyone is beneath him.

  Which maybe they are, since he’s so freaking tall.

  I reach into my back pocket to retrieve my phone, but just before I hit send on Xander’s name, Brandon’s voice calls my attention back to him as he stands across the street. “Oh, and Abby?”

  “Yeah?” I call back, a little amused.

  “Don’t let Xander be a dick to you.”

  “Thanks,” I yell back, but don’t offer anything more since Brandon doesn’t know my history with Xander or anything else about me. He throws me a wave before turning back around and finally walking off towards campus.

  I hit send on my phone, which rings a total of three times before Xander’s voice fills my ear.

  “About freaking time, Abby,” he snaps and I sigh. Maybe Brandon is right and I shouldn’t continue to let Xander get away with it.

  “Jesus, Xander, I just finished up coffee. Give me a break. You said before three and it’s not even twelve-thirty yet. Did you get Aubrey to tell you the file name so I can just email it?” The last time Aubrey did this to us, he hid the file in some obscure place on my computer thinking it was funny. He’s really freaking lame like that.

  He sighs heavily into the phone. “No, he refused as always. I’m at my place. Can you come by?” He’s trying for civil, I’ll give him that.

  “I’m on my way.” I hang up the phone before he can make a further comment at my expense. The phone rings in my hand instantly, but to my surprise it’s not Xander calling back, it’s Aubrey. I slide the screen to answer.