“Yes, what?” he sounds confused.
“You can say…” My tongue won’t cooperate now. “…those words in other contexts.”
Then we’re both cracking up because I do blush after all and because I know just how to tease him and he knows just how to call my bluff.
5
Kyle
So that was hard. I mean, literally. I’m pretty sure this partner thing is not supposed to include sexual fantasies, but it’s too late for that. I officially think about Lani waaaay too much now. I can’t help it. She’s so easily shocked but never offended. And I’ve been doing my damnedest to offend her. Or, to put it another way, she’s so nice but she doesn’t seem to mind that I’m not. That’s an unbeatable combination. And her hair is really soft too.
I can’t believe I promised not to do anything to Dickhead. It would feel so good to flatten him into the pavement. But I promised Lani. And partner confidentiality is sacred. Whatever else is going on with her, I get that much.
So, yeah, I get up on time for that 8 a.m. class. I’m practically whistling while I walk there through the melting slush. Besides we have work to do. I’ve got to up my game. She’s helped me with that draft but I haven’t done shit for her yet.
“Yes you have,” she says when we’re back in class. “I feel better.”
I’m torn between feeling pleased and exasperated. “But I want to fix your problem, dammit!”
“Awww!” she says, smiling. I blink. Holy crap, we’re in trouble. How are the other partners doing? I look around at the other pairs talking and strategizing. Matt and Annika are going head to head. She’s got a finger jabbing at his chest as she talks in a loud whisper and he’s wearing a perma-smirk. Two girls are doing some role-playing exercise. I shudder at the near misses I didn’t even know about. The geeky guy, Noah, is listening solemnly to some pretty girl I hadn’t noticed before. Her fingers are flying over the keyboard of her laptop and she looks really excited. She keeps glancing at Noah to make sure he’s keeping up.
“Who’s that?” I elbow Lani.
“Who? You know Holly!” Her golden eyes go wide. Every once in a while they hit me like they did the first day. Amazing.
I squint at the girl, trying to place her. “She the one in the hoodie?”
“That was just the first day, Kyle!” Lani pokes me in the ribs. Then her eyes narrow and she is looking back and forth between me and Holly.
“She’s with Noah,” she says tightly.
“Really? In what sense of ‘with’?” I drawl.
“You know, they’re partners. Which means loyal.” She’s looking daggers at me.
“Got it. Partners are partners.” I try to keep a straight face. This shit is getting complicated.
Marjorie interrupts this very satisfying exchange. “You know this course started late, and we’re already three weeks in so this seems a good check-in point. I want each of you to report what you’ve figured out for your partner.”
My dread grows as I listen to the others. They’ve created challenges to help their partner’s self esteem. They’ve set goals with rewards and reminders. Matt and Annika snark and spit at each other—and then Lani is talking about me and I want to hide in some hole. She explains how much dictation helps with my writer’s block and makes me sound like some goddamned hero.
“Lani,” I say, impatiently. “That’s all you. You figured all that out. You solved it, not me.”
“I’m just the amanuensis, Kyle.” I roll my eyes. “The pen, the messenger, the muse. The catalyst otherwise unaffected by the chemical reaction, as T. S. Eliot would say.”
I snort because she’s showing off. But I know what she means. My muse. Inwardly I like the sound of that, but outwardly I scowl.
Marjorie beams. “So what have you figured out for Lani, Kyle?”
“Uhh.” I shoot a panicked look at Lani, who looks serene as usual. Calm, unflappable, confident. She’s got super-straight posture. All that dancing, I guess.
“He’s—“ she starts.
“Let him speak for himself,” Marjorie interrupts. She gives me an encouraging nod.
I inhale. “Well, she finally told me what she’s in here for.”
“What’s that?” Matt asks.
“I can’t tell you,” I say quickly. “Partner confidentiality. But now we have to figure out how to help her stand up for herself more.” I’m purposefully vague.
“So she’s found someone she can trust. That’s pretty big,” Marjorie says. I start to feel a little better.
Lani nods. “I’m choosing my friends more carefully.” And I feel a lot better.
Then Holly pipes up. “Standing up for yourself is not something you can help someone else do though. By definition, it has to be self-motivated, no? Otherwise you’re just swapping one influence for another. If Kyle prods Lani into standing up for herself what happens when Kyle’s not around? To work it’s got to come from Lani.”
There’s a silence as we digest this. Maybe this is why I’ve been unable to think my way around how to help Lani. It’s felt…complicated.
“Holly’s right. So don’t work on the symptom then. Work on the cause and let the symptom take care of itself. Figure out why Lani needs help standing up for herself,” Noah suggests slowly. And I can tell that Lani is hating all this attention.
“Is this a goddamned group therapy session now?” I burst out, annoyed on her behalf.
Noah shrugs. “Sorry. My parents are shrinks.”
Before I can respond Marjorie turns to me, her eyes sharp. “Have you figured out where your writer’s block is coming from?”
Ah, hell!
“That’s his business,” Lani says quietly. She shoots me a warning look like she knows I’m about to lose it again, but also manages to face down Marjorie, who backs off.
“Trust,” Marjorie tells us as we start to pack up to leave. “You should all be working on trust—when to give it and when to withhold it.” She says something privately to Lani, who looks thoughtful.
“What was that?” I say, moving closer. Maybe it’s obvious that I’m a shitty partner.
Lani turns and her hair swings over her shoulder like a dark curtain. Her gaze is hesitant.
“You can tell me,” I insist, mentally girding my loins.
Her words are neutral, her voice calm. “She said that when you trust me you’ll tell me why you won’t write.”
I chew over that comment for a whole week. It’s been bugging me. Because I do trust Lani! And I don’t know why Marjorie seems to think that I know what my writer’s block is about. How should I know? Why can’t it not be about anything? Like some books aren’t about subtexts and some paintings aren’t about symbolism…. I try this out on Lani because she gets this kind of stuff, right? We’re walking across the quad after another Extra Credit class in which we (again) made no progress on how she can start standing up for herself. I feel like gnashing my teeth.
“I do trust you!” Christ, I really sound defensive, but I swear I don’t even know what I’m defensive about!
“I believe you, Kyle.” Her voice is quiet and her shoulders hunch against the wind. It’s March now but spring’s still at least a month away. I wrap an arm around her and pull her into me because I know she’s always cold. And because I need to touch her even if I shouldn’t.
“But…?” I prompt, peering down at her. She’s looking at the ground.
“But what?”
“I don’t know! It sounded like there was a but!”
She glances up at me, her beautiful mouth twitching. “No but,” she says solemnly.
I stare at her. “Okay then.”
We agree to meet up Friday night but I hate that I still have no clue how to help her. Her roommates are studying so we head to my room to order pizza and work on this some more. My roommate is almost always at his girlfriend’s. Matt invited me—invited us—to a frat party, but I’m not feeling it.
I dump my stuff on the floor and motion her to make h
erself at home. “You want tea?” I head for the kitchen. She always wants tea. Even with pizza, she’ll drink tea. She nods.
There’s no tea kettle so I improvise, filling a pan with water and setting it to boil. I start rummaging through some cabinets. There’s got to be tea here somewhere. Then Lani appears, holding out a tea bag.
“Seriously? You travel with your own tea bags?”
“Yep. Emergency supplies.”
“Is this an emergency?”
“Yep. Stranded in a tea-free dorm room.”
I laugh and leave her to it so I can order the pizza. Soon we’re sitting on the living room floor surrounded by greasy paper plates, empty water bottles, notebooks, and phone chargers. We had homework for Extra Credit that we finished in half an hour so now we’re just hanging out and it feels…comfortable.
“Did you hand in the paper?” She stretches her legs out in front of her, pointing and flexing her toes.
“Uh huh.” I finish my fourth slice and wash it down with about a liter of water.
“Edited? Proofread? Why didn’t you send it to me?”
“Yes and yes. Because it’s my paper and you’ve helped me enough.”
“I didn’t do anything! But you’re right. You don’t need my help.”
Oh, for eff’s sake! Obviously I need her a lot more than she needs me, which is fucked up.
I frown. “That’s not what I said. Anyway, it’s YOUR TURN, goddammit!” It makes me crazy when she keeps trying to shift things back to me.
“Mmm hmm,” she says, licking her lips. Is this some new evasive tactic? Because it’s totally working. I’m staring at her mouth, wondering what we’re talking about.
I study her clothes, trying to find a gap in the armor, but as usual she’s covered in layers from head to toe. No, wait. Neck to ankle. Her socked feet stick out from under one of those godawful parachutes she wears. The sight is weirdly sexy and I have to wonder at myself. How desperate am I that Lani’s not-even-bare feet are turning me on? True, it’s been awhile. Maybe four weeks.
I’m sitting across from her on the floor so I just have to lean forward to pull one foot onto my lap, then strip off her sock. She makes a muffled a squeak and flinches but I hold on.
“Ticklish?” I ask, smoothing a thumb over the sole of her foot experimentally.
She shivers and shakes her head. “Embarrassed.”
“Why?” I use my hands to check out her feet. I start to feel bumps and maybe bruises and loosen my hold.
“My feet are ugly. Banged up. Broken.” She sighs. “That feels good though.”
“These feet are heavy duty, huh? You really wear those torture devices and stand on your toes?” Her feet are long and narrow with high elegant arches and I can’t believe she can balance her whole weight on one of these tiny toes.
“Well duh! That’s what ballet is. You really want to put on a uniform and march around in formation?”
“Yeah, I guess it’s sort of the same.” I’m entranced by the softness of her skin and by the little sighing noises she’s making.
“Ballet is all about lightness though—lift, lift, lift. Arms up, feet arched, legs extended.” She starts to rise almost instinctively.
I stop rubbing her foot. “Show me.”
She frowns. “Now?”
“Yeah.” I lean back on my hands and wait.
“Okay.” She sits up slowly, pointing and flexing her feet. She stands and her posture, always ramrod straight, seems to stiffen. Her shoulders drop so her neck looks endless.
I stand up too so I can see her better. She raises her arms overhead as she lifts onto the balls of her feet and, holy shit, it’s beautiful. She’s perfectly poised and still, hovering like a hummingbird. I just blink. I want to bend her over my arm and suck on that neck. I might look a little shaky because her dark eyes darken.
“Put your hands on my waist. Loosely.”
I’d jump off a cliff if she told me too. Her waist is tiny.
“This is how we’d partner in a pas de deux.”
French is so fucking sexy coming out of her mouth! Then without warning she turns, slowly at first, then faster until she’s whirling around so fast that her skirt flares out and wraps around my legs. Her hair whips into my face. She’s balancing on one foot, the other knee bent, spinning and spinning until I’m dizzy and I don’t know how she’s still standing, so perfectly straight and light as air. She pauses and her hair tumbles back down around her shoulders. My mouth is hanging open and my hands tighten at her waist.
“See?” she says, huskily. She lowers her heels to the ground as I nod and the world seems to settle back into place a little. Except that I feel like we’ve just done something very, very intimate. We stare at each other, breathing hard. It’s like a camera has zoomed in on us and cut out everything else in the whole world. All I can see are her warm golden eyes, her impossibly smooth skin, her sweetly parted lips.
I brush my mouth against hers briefly. Because I Have To Kiss Her. Her lips are so warm, so soft. My eyes drop to look at them. So pink. So full. I groan and go back for more. Just a taste, then pause. I glance back at her eyes and she’s all golden, wide-eyed, glowing. Then I’m back at her mouth and her lids sink closed with a little moan and she feels boneless against me. I feel her arms wrap around my neck and tug me closer and I’m going down, down, down a deep, dark rabbit hole.
“Lani,” I murmur into her mouth. She tastes unbelievably sweet and her fingers are in my hair, scraping against my scalp. The kiss feels endless and I’d be content to stay like this forever, which is crazy because I’m not even thinking about sex or coming. I just want this soul-satisfying pleasure to last forever.
But it doesn’t. She breaks away, panting, and as she catches her breath I can see her brain catching up too. No, no, no, I think, tightening my hold. But she pushes against me.
“Maybe I better go.” Her voice is low and sexy as hell. I’m shaking my head but I’m too out of breath, too wild still, to find the right words, whatever they are.
“Mmm.” She makes an incoherent sound as she pulls away. She’s grabbing at her stuff while I’m standing there stunned. What should I do? There must be something I can do! But my brain is still trying to figure out what that kiss means. I feel a rush of frustration at myself—that I ever thought some things might not mean anything. I already know that kiss meant something. But what?
Before I know it she’s at the door. “I’ll…um…see you in class,” she says. She’s already snatched up her stuff and she’s holding her winter boots in one hand, for Christ’s sake.
“Lani! Wait—” By the time I say something she’s gone. And what would I have said anyway?
6
Lani
We ignore it. Because if you pretend something never happened then it never did. This works especially well if you don’t talk about it either. So we don’t talk or text or meet. Thus, we never kissed.
But still, I miss him. When I finally see Kyle in class Wednesday morning he’s like a caged animal—tapping his fingers on the desk, shifting in his chair, chewing on his lip, eyes roaming restlessly. When he sees me at the door of the classroom he stills and his eyes drop to avoid mine. I drag my feet toward my usual chair, feeling awkward. He mumbles something. I mumble something. We don’t look at each other. Great.
Marjorie surprises us by insisting that we break out of our partnerships today. I’m not sure if she’s responding to something she senses in the room or if this was the plan all along, but she announces that we have to spend today’s class working with new people.
“But why?” Whiny complaints rise all over the room. Everyone seems unsettled by this abrupt change. I’m both relieved and disappointed.
“This course is about getting out of ruts, changing bad habits. So we have to make sure we don’t just replace one bad habit with a new one. Holly brought that up earlier and she’s right. If you rely too much on your partner’s help you’ll get stuck again. You should be internalizing new w
ays of working or thinking….”
I know that some students don’t like Marjorie’s new-age-y explanations but they always make a lot of sense to me. Maybe it’s because she teaches writing and I’m a bookworm but we seem to speak a similar language. I get it and don’t resist too much. I just grab my stuff and head toward Holly. I can see Kyle revving up again though, all that roiling inner frustration and impatience resurfacing. I resist the urge to soothe him. Again. But I can’t help sneaking glances. He’s talking to Matt and Noah, but his mouth is tight and his whole body tense.
“What’s with you and Kyle?” Holly asks. Then Annika pulls up another chair and I’m disconcerted. I have nothing against her personally but she reminds me of all the popular girls in my high school who lay in wait for anyone to slip up so they could pounce and laugh their heads off. Maybe that’s not fair. I know Holly has taken Annika under her wing for some reason and Holly doesn’t stand for any bullshit. If Holly can deal with Annika then I guess I can too.
I scramble for an answer. “I’m not sure. It’s kind of intense. How are things with your partners?”
Instinctively Holly and I both turn to Annika because, yeah, we assume she’ll want to bitch and moan. “Okay,” she says quietly. Holly and I exchange raised eyebrows.
“Really? That’s all you got?” Holly asks, her amusement evident. She leans back to study Annika’s expression, which is suddenly flushed. Holly is petite—smaller and shorter than me or Annika—but she makes up for it with enthusiasm and energy. Her hair is a dark red and her eyes are the brightest blue I’ve ever seen. Not dark and stormy like Kyle’s, but blue like the sky at home. Today her corkscrew curls are all around her face and she’s wearing a tee shirt with a cartoon drawing of a dog sitting at a computer. The caption reads “On the internet no one knows you’re a dog.” I smile and wonder if Holly has any idea of her own appeal. She’s like a firecracker.
“Really!” Annika raises her chin and levels her gaze on us. “What about you and Noah?”
The Partnership (Extra Credit Book 1) Page 4