by Jenna Rose
“Thought we could grab a bite,” I tell her. “Off campus.”
“And you thought we’d go out with you wearing a robe,” she replies. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“I’ll change if you really want me to,” I tease. I take a step toward her, but she steps back. She’s timid. Afraid of me. My reputation proceeds me.
“Why don’t you just head back to your dorm?” she replies, then turns her back on me.
“Hey!” I say. I try to push past Martha, but she’s not having it. She steps in front of me and puts her hands up, shaking her head.
“Sorry, slugger,” she scolds. “Can’t just come barging in here like that, even if you are half-hard.”
“Would you just – hey, Emma!” I call after her, but it’s no use. She goes into her room and closes the door behind her. “Shit.”
“What can I say?” Martha shrugs. “She’s shy.”
“Is she really a virgin?” I ask. It’s hard to believe; running into a virgin on this campus is like running into an alien riding a unicorn in the woods somewhere.
“Jesus, dude. Is that all you care about?” she asks.
“No! I just – I dunno.” I smile. “Just an added bonus, I guess.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to tell her you want to pop her cherry,” Martha says as she backs me into the hall. “Maybe she’ll have a change of heart.”
She’s just about to close the door on me when I stop her. “Don’t tell her that,” I say. “Tell her I want to take her out. Because I do.”
“You don’t just want to fuck her and leave her?” she asks.
“No,” I say firmly. And I mean it. This girl has a hold on me. I can’t explain it, but I know I won’t be able to let her go. “But if she wants me to pose for her again, all she has to do is say so.”
“See?” Martha replies. “You were doing well until that little remark.”
“I’m serious—!”
“Bye, slugger,” she says, closing the door in my face.
“Fuck,” I grumble as I head out. I could stay and be more persistent, but that would only get me on both of their bad sides, and I don’t want that. The last thing you want to do is to piss off a girl’s friend/roommate. That’s a sure way to cock-block yourself, and I’m not going to do anything to hurt my chances with her.
Emma. My goddess. The girl who bought me to my knees.
I won’t stop until I have her.
6
Emma
“Today’s the day?” Martha asks from her bowl of oatmeal on the futon.
“Would you stop asking that?” I grumble. “I’m not going to call him.”
It’s been four days since Jay came by the dorm in his robe looking for me. Jay Moore inviting me out to dinner. Sounds like the plot out of some impossible movie. According to Martha, he is “super into” me, and every morning for the last four days she’s been asking me if today will be the day that I’ll finally give in and throw myself into his arms.
“That may be,” she replies. “But you’re going to be drawing him again today.”
I turn around and look at her, confused for a moment, then slump against the wall when I realize what she means; today is the second day of our figure-drawing class.
“Do you really think he’ll be there again?” I ask. “We all finished our drawings, right?”
I finished mine, and although I’d never let Martha know this, I’ve been looking at it every night before I go to sleep. I’ve never been into porn, but looking at the lines of Jay’s body that I drew get me just as excited as when he was sitting there naked in front of me.
So I’m attracted to him! I’m not going to deny that. Doesn’t mean I’m going to just jump into bed with one of the school’s most notorious ladies’ men. That would be silly. I don’t want to end up as another notch on his belt or number on his body count or any other expression they use these days. Maybe if I had already had sex with a few guys and thought I would be able to remain emotionally distant from him.
Maybe.
But I know that if I was to give in, go to dinner, and God forbid, sleep with Jay, I’d get attached. I don’t know how I know; I just know. Despite the fact that I really can’t stand him. Just thinking about that cocky expression on his face when he was standing in our door half-hard makes me twist my lips in rage. How can one man be that full of himself?
“Oh, he’ll be there,” Martha assures me. “It might have been a one-time thing before, but then…”
“Then what?” I ask.
“Then he met you.”
Grumbling, I get my things together and we leave the dorm. I realize my heart is racing all the way across campus to the art building. What am I going to do when he sees me? How am I going to be able to draw him again without completely losing my shit? Martha just looks at me as she opens the door. Taking a deep breath, I step inside.
To my surprise, there’s a different model at the center of the room. This time it’s a very healthy-bodied man who looks more like Santa Claus than Derek Jeter. He’s sprawled out on a dais like a sultan or Roman emperor, with a simple towel draped over his mid-section.
“Huh.” Martha shrugs. “Guess he didn’t come.”
I should be relieved. I’m not. In fact, I’m angry.
Why wouldn’t Jay come today? He had to have known I was going to be here; he’s not that dense. Right?
So if he knew I was going to be here, and he knew that he was supposed to be our model, why wouldn’t he show up? Mrs. Potter is doing something at her desk, so I stride right over to me.
“Where is he?” I ask.
She looks up confused, looking flustered. “He who?”
“Jay,” I say. “The guy who’s supposed to be modeling for us today.”
Slowly, a smile forms at the edges of her lips and she laughs gently. “Ohhh, looking forward to today’s class, eh?”
“I – I just—”
“Don’t worry,” she whispers, leaning in. “I doubt you’re the only girl in class today who will be missing that physique.”
Still smiling, she puts a finger over her lips and brushes past me as she goes to address the class. I’m fuming. My cheeks must be as red as Kool-Aid. I can’t even hear what Mrs. Potter is saying as I take my seat and get my supplies out. I’m barely even aware of my hand moving as I start my piece.
Why wouldn’t he show up today? Was it me? I thought he wanted me? Is he really going to give up that easily?
Questions, questions, questions. But the more I think them through, the more I don’t like the answers.
He didn’t show up because he didn’t want to, Emma. Of course it was you. He never liked you that much anyway. He has countless other women lined up to have sex with him; why would he hold out for you?
My drawing sucks. I want to crumple it up and throw it away, but I’m one of those people who always has to finish what they start, and even though this isn’t my class and I’m not going to be graded for it, I keep my butt planted in the seat until it’s time to leave, at which point, I feel like I’m ready to explode.
“Can you believe that!?” I snap at Martha as she steps out of the classroom. She just about jumps out of her shoes and glares at me.
“Jesus, Emma. Believe what?”
“He didn’t show up!” I hiss as we start to walk.
“I thought you’d be happy about that?” she asks. I just frown, drawing a smile from her. “Ahhhhhh, I get it. You don’t want him; you just want him to want you. Is that it?”
“Oh, shut up,” I growl as we step outside. “I don’t want him to want me.”
“You’re right. You don’t have to,” she agrees. “He already does.”
“Do you really think so?” I ask. I’m curious. I can be curious, can’t I? Doesn’t mean I actually want him.
“I think he had a half a boner when he came to our room,” Martha laughs.
“That doesn’t mean he wants me,” I reply. “I mean – maybe he wants me, but he doesn’t want me
want me.”
“Is someone paying you to say ‘want’ as many times as possible?” she asks. “Admit it, Emma. You’ve got a crush on him.”
“I do not!” I protest.
“Do too,” she laughs.
I sigh. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. He didn’t show up, so it’s a moot point.”
“Wow. It’s a good thing no one’s writing stories about you and the power of love.”
“What are you talking about?” I reply.
“The baseball team is having a huge party tonight to celebrate their win yesterday,” she says. “If you actually wanted to see him, you could just go show up.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t,” I reply. Martha doesn’t answer; she just gives me this look like a mom might give her daughter when she’s denying having a crush at school, and we walk in silence the rest of the way home.
Baseball team party? Yeah, right. Not a chance.
7
Jay
“Hell yeah!” everyone cheers as Alex – or is it Allison? – does a keg stand causing her neon-pink '80s skirt to flip up over her thighs. She’s wearing a black G-string and has a killer ass. Normally it’s the kind of thing that would get me going, but not tonight; tonight I’ve got my mind on other things.
Well, one other thing. My goddess. Emma.
I could have killed Coach for scheduling an emergency practice today. I was waiting all week for that figure-drawing class so I could see her again. She made it obvious she didn’t want me showing up unannounced at her dorm, so I spent the last four days doing something I’m not used to doing: waiting.
I haven’t waited for a girl in years – not since I first started hitting home runs at least. Hell, I haven’t even pursued a girl like that since high school. Why would I? They just come to me. Even just making the walk across campus to see her was a big deal for me; if only she knew that, maybe then she would have reacted differently.
“Doubt it,” I grumble as I take a sip of my beer. No, there’s something about Emma that I can’t quite figure out. She’s different. Or maybe I’m just reacting differently to her because she’s not fawning all over me like I’m used to.
Maybe that’s what I like about her.
It’s great to have hot chicks wanting to get into bed, but at the same time, I know it’s not going to lead to anything. It’s college fun – nothing more. My mom told me to watch out for “loose women,” as she put it, and my dad told me that any girl who tells you “no” is a keeper. I guess it wasn’t until right now that I realized what he was saying.
“She’s dtf, dude,” Rob whispers in my ear, eyeing the keg as Alex (or Allison) gets up and pulls her skirt down.
“Yeah, yeah.” I nod.
“What, you don’t want a piece of that?”
“Nah,” I reply, taking another sip. We’re celebrating our victory over Xavier, and normally I’d be going hard and looking for a wife-for-the-night, but even as I watch Alex/Allison twist her hips seductively while fixing her eyes on mine, I can’t help but wish I was somewhere else right now.
With her.
I set my cup down on the table and head inside, passing the DJ booth and a game of beer pong. The party’s being held at Chris’ apartment off-campus, and there’s basically a club’s worth of people dancing in the kitchen. A girl grabs my crotch as I’m threading my way through, but I just give her a slight wink and keep moving. Her friend laughs at her.
It’s quieter out on the front lawn; it has to be so no one calls the cops on us. A couple of guys cheer for me as I come out onto the steps. I give them a smile and a wave and walk up the sidewalk. I’m so not in the mood for partying.
What I want to do is leave and go over to Emma’s dorm, barge in, and pull her into my arms. I’ve never wanted a girl like this before in my life and it’s honestly boggling my mind that I can’t shake my feelings for her. There’s a challenge to her – like a flame that makes my flame burn all the hotter for her. A riddle I don’t know the answer to.
I think what kills me the most is that she has this perception of me – a perception I’ve cultivated for sure, but still the wrong perception. I’m not an asshole; I’ve just been having a good time, and as I lean against a tree and take a deep breath, I wonder what my life would have been like had I met her four years ago.
“Shouldn’t you be inside?” a voice asks. My chest tightens and I open my eyes to see Emma standing on the sidewalk in front of me. “You’ll disappoint your guests.”
“Fuck ‘em.” I grin as I come alive inside. “I don’t owe them anything.”
I drag my eyes up my goddess’ body; she may be an art student, but she’s the real work of art.
She’s trying to look like she didn’t dress up, but she did. She did her makeup, but not in a way that would make it stand out. Her hair is perfect, flowing down her shoulders like sparkling waterfalls, framing her perfect chest and the curves that drive me insane. Instantly, I feel a rush of blood to my power source.
The things I would do to you…
“You’ll disappoint them,” she says with a voice as sweet as honey. “Especially the ladies.”
“Fuck the ladies,” I say, stepping close to her. She raises an eyebrow. “Well, not literally. Unless that lady is you.”
“You really are an asshole; you know that?” she asks with a frown-smile that makes me lick my lips. “I come all the way here and that’s your opening line? Why not just tell me you have something you want to show me up in your bedroom?”
“Because that would be cheesy.” I grin. “And I don’t think you like cheese.”
“I do,” she replies. “Especially Brie. Brie on crackers.”
“Uh huh.” I nod. I can’t take it anymore. I move right in and slide my hands around her waist. She’s soft, warm and smells like heaven. My dick is throbbing, my body aching for her. But just as I’m pulling her close, she presses my arms down and steps away.
“I’m not one of those girls,” she tells me.
“I know.”
“Then why are you treating me like one?” she asks.
“I – I didn’t mean to,” I stammer like an idiot. She has a point.
“This was a mistake—” she starts to say, but I grab her hand before she can turn away.
“No, it wasn’t,” I tell her. “Come on. We’re getting out of here.”
I start to pull her up the street toward my truck. “To your bedroom?” she asks sarcastically.
“Now is that nice?” I ask as I hold the door for her. “I’m trying to be a gentleman here if you’d let me.”
Emma frowns at me, examining my face for signs of bullshit. But I’m not bullshitting, so she doesn’t find any, and slowly, she gets into the truck. I close the door behind her (not before checking out her ass) and hop in the driver’s side.
We sit in silence for a few minutes as I drive, and only once I’m pulling down the road to the reservoir does she finally say something.
“Is this where you bring the bodies?” she asks as the road turns to dirt.
“Baseball may be my career”—I smirk—“but serial killing is my main hobby.”
“Is it weird that I only think you’re partially kidding?”
“Hey, guy’s gotta be a little dangerous, right?” I ask as I pull off the road and park. I shut the lights off and wait while our eyes adjust to the darkness.
“A little…” she replies softly. “But Jay—”
“There!” I interrupt, pointing out her window. “See them?”
“See what?” she asks. “I don’t—oh!”
She does.
“Fireflies!” Emma says with delight. “Oh my God, there are so many of them!”
I smile as she glances back at me, the soft green-yellow glow of the bugs dancing behind her.
“Jay, what is this place?” she asks.
“This is my spot,” I tell her. “A special spot I come when I need to relax and clear my head. And you’re the first person I’ve brough
t here.”
8
Emma
Jay’s words hit me harder than I anticipated. Maybe it’s because of the magic of the place we’re sitting, or maybe it’s because he’s just that incredible. I tried to fight it all day; I tried to pretend that I wouldn’t be going to the party tonight. I even waited until after Martha had gone out to get myself together, but I knew all along that I’d end up by his side tonight. I just didn’t know what would happen after that. I certainly didn’t expect to be sitting in his truck by the reservoir watching a dance of fireflies out my window while an impossible heat pulses between my legs.
“The first one, huh?” I ask. I don’t know if I’m actually skeptical or just pretending to be. “I don’t know if I buy that.”
“Well, you should,” he says.
“Why’s that?”
He gives me that million-dollar grin again that causes the heat between my legs to tingle.
“You really think I’d need to bring a girl here?” he asks. “Be honest.”
“You brought me here,” I counter.
“Well you’re not—”
“What? A girl?” I suggest.
Jay shakes his head. “I sure hope you are!” We both laugh. “No, what I was going to say was that you aren’t a typical girl.”
I’m half-offended, half-flattered at the same time. I decide to focus on the second part.
“No? What’s not typical about me?” I ask.
My breath catches in my chest as Jay leans in, bringing his lips mere centimeters from mine. What am I even doing here? Weird, curvy art-girl with the school’s most sensational jock?
“Nothing,” he whispers. “Nothing is typical about you. Not your amazing body, your hypnotic eyes, the way your lips pull me in and the way you go toe to toe with me when we talk.”
“You—you like that?” I stammer.
“I don’t just like it,” he replies. “I love it.”
He leans in and kisses me, and although part of me still thinks I should do something to stop it, I don’t. I can’t. I’m smitten – absolutely fucking smitten.