by Audrey Bell
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I meant it’s a lot of work and it’s pretty thankless.”
“Alright,” he said. He laughed into his beer. “Ah…” He looked back at me, chuckling. “Want to dance?”
“Sorry?”
“Do you want to dance?” he nodded at the dance floor. “You didn’t make a rule against that.”
I squinted at the dance floor. “I’m not a good dancer.”
“You just haven’t had enough to drink. Everyone’s a good dancer when they’re drunk.”
“Are you a good dancer?”
“Amazing,” he said. “C’mon.”
I followed him downstairs past the bar to the dance floor. He grabbed my hips and I’d had just enough to drink to not care who saw.
I wrapped my arms around his neck. He pulled me close, and he moved against my hips.
Yeah, he was a good dancer.
I was not. And I don’t think there was enough alcohol in the world to make me one. But, he didn’t seem to mind, so I held onto his shoulders and moved when he moved and spun when he spun me. And we laughed. Every time I did something stupid, he started laughing and so did I.
I kept spinning the wrong way. His feet kept slipping and he kept grinning each time, gripping my forearms, pressing his forehead to mine, his laughter low and gravelly close to my ear.
When a slow song came on, he shook his head. “This against the rules?”
I shook my head. “This is the only kind of dancing in which I don’t feel like a spaz.”
I felt small in his arms and I couldn’t remember feeling small before, and warm. Too warm—really—but I didn’t want to let go. I could feel every place where we touched.
He grinned. “It’s too hot.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“We need drinks.”
“Yeah.”
He grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards the bar. He got the bartender’s attention.
“Jack!” the bartender said. He grinned and they shook hands and bumped shoulders.
"Xander, this is Hadley."
He nodded and grinned. "Right. Nice to meet you."
I shook his hand.
"You're the one who seems like a trap, right?" Xander asked.
"Shut up," said Jack.
“I think so,” I said.
Xander laughed. "Do you like tequila?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I like margaritas."
Xander nodded and poured four shots skillfully, pushing them towards us. "On the house," he said, turning to a girl shouting for his attention.
I looked at Jack. "I don't know about this."
Jack grinned and licked his hand, shaking salt along his hand.
He reached for my wrist and pressed a damp kiss beneath my pulse point. Without looking up at me, he poured salt along the imprint of his mouth.
It stung slightly, the salt, where it clung to my skin.
He handed me a shot glass, tapped his against mine, and licked the salt and downed his, biting down on a lime last.
I spluttered with the mouthful of salt and alcohol.
"Bite it," he said, holding out a lime while my eyes streamed. I did, turning away from him as the juice dripped down my stinging hands. I winced.
"Blergh. Oh my god," I said. "I'm sorry, that was incredibly inelegant."
He laughed. "Another?"
I shook my head. "I don't think so."
A slim, gorgeous redheaded girl who I knew was the president of Kappa-something, slipped by us.
"Shots?" Jack asked her, offering our leftovers.
"Oh my god, love you," she said, taking them. She grinned at me. "Hey! Are you rushing? How do you know Jack?”
"Sorry?" I asked.
"Are you rushing? You are, right? I think I saw you at our event today. I'm the president of Kappa Delta. Let me know if you have any questions at all. We mix with Jack's frat all the time."
"Oh, no,” I smiled. “I’m actually a senior.”
She frowned. "Oh my god! Sorry. I'm totally mortified. I'm sorry."
"No worries," I said. "I'm Hadley."
"Reese."
"Nice to meet you," I said.
Jack laughed again. "See you around, Reese," he said. He wrapped his arm around me. “It’s too fucking hot in here,” he said, pulling at his thick flannel shirt. His hair was damp with sweat. Mine was, too, but it was a good look on Jack. It made him look strangely alive.
“Want to get back out there?” he nodded at the dance floor. I pulled my hair into a high ponytail. The air against my neck felt delightful.
“Sure,” I said.
The alcohol and the heat got to me quickly. Jack got cuter and cuter. We danced and danced. My legs ached. And every time he spun me, I started to laugh.
"You want to get out of here?" he asked, when we were both breathlessly and giggling.
I looked at him. His sweat-soaked hair, his rumpled plaid shirt. And I said exactly what I wanted to say. “Yeah.”
He pulled me through the crowd and out the door into the winter night. For five fleeting seconds, we both stood in the chilled air without our coats.
“This feels so good,” he said holding out his arms and walking up the sidewalk, in between two banks of snow.
But we quickly started to shiver and I pulled on my down coat and he slid on a Patagonia fleece and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“So, what’s your deal, Hadley Arrington?”
“No deal,” I said.
“Please. Everyone has a deal.”
“What’s your deal?”
“I’m an underachiever,” he said. He smiled. “Your turn.”
I grimaced.
“I bet you’re an overachiever.”
“Not really,” I said.
He glanced at me. “Editor-in-Chief of the newspaper?"
I shrugged. “I like it.”
“Because you’re a masochist?”
“Because—because I feel like I’m actually creating something instead of just...flopping around aimlessly.”
“See, I flop,” Jack said. “You should try it. It’s not nearly as dreadful as you just made it sound. It has some advantages.”
“Like what?”
“Well, you’re never disappointed in yourself. Flopping is easy.”
The frat house wasn’t far—four hundred or so yards down the road. And we walked through the unlocked front door to the sounds of video games and the smell of pot. I crinkled my noise and he laughed. “Come on.”
His room was upstairs, down the hallway and in a corner. It was small and cozy and absurdly clean. He had countless books, lined on shelves. And an open sketchbook on his desk. I walked over to glance at it, but he closed it before I got there.
I didn’t know what to do with myself, where to sit, what to say, or how to say it. I looked at him and tried to sound cool. “So, what do you want to do?”
He closed the door and put his hands lightly on my waist. His hands had rested there all night, but the dancing had been more about fun than about sex. Now the light hands made my heart beat quickly in anticipation. He leaned forward and kissed me again, pushing me back onto the bed.
"Jack..."
He stopped kissing me and frowned. “You okay?”
I rolled my eyes, took a breath, and disentangled myself from his grip. "Fine. So, how do you know Reese?"
He grinned. "The most clueless girl on campus? How could I not know her?" He raised his eyebrows. "I'm guessing you never went in for the sorority thing."
"I went to rush," I said.
"Seriously?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I was trying to cut through the student center to get to the library, went right through some kind of cheer. Lots of clapping. Very weird."
"Ha. I thought so." He got up from the bed and took off his shoes. He started unbuttoning his shirt. I watched him pointedly.
He grinned, unabashed. "So, Hadley Arrington."
"Yes," I said.
"You're not a bad dancer."
"I'm not a good dancer either."
He smiled. "Don't be so hard on yourself."
"I don't get flowers and you don't get to lie to me," I said.
"Okay, you're not a good dancer," he said.
"I'm devastated," I said.
"I bet.” He pointed a finger at me. “You're an overachiever."
"Completely devastated. There are almost no serious journalists who can't dance."
He grinned, his eyes crinkled, and he tossed the sweat-soaked shirt on top of his dresser. His wide shoulders were smooth and brown, like he’d been in the sun, despite the fact it was January in Illinois. A thin white scar ran from his left rib to his right groin, diagonally splitting his rippling muscles.
I met his eyes, feeling panicked. “How’d you get that?”
“Slip and slide,” he said. “There was a sharp rock underneath the slide. And I had to go down first. Of course.”
I winced, imagining.
“Yeah,” he said. He smiled, eyes sparkling. “Don’t try that one.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
"So, I have a question,” he said.
"Shoot," I said, trying to sound calm. I got to my feet and took off my coat and draped it over the back of his desk chair.
"Am I freaking you out?"
"No. Why?"
"You seem ready to bolt."
"I'm not going anywhere," I said. I sounded kind of like a coke addict, though. I didn't even believe I wasn't going anywhere. I cocked my head and he stepped towards me.
“Relax,” Jack murmured. He pressed his lips against my neck.
“I am relaxed.”
“Bullshit,” he whispered. A smile played at the corners of his mouth when he kissed me. He spun me around so I was facing him and walked me back to the bed. I sat when we reached its edge.
He then leaned forward, pressing me back onto my elbows. I thought he was going to kiss me, but he dropped his head next to my ear and whispered, “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”
“Says Jack as he pins me down.”
He laughed softly in my ear. The breath was warm against my neck. He moved his mouth from my ear to my mouth and kissed me.
“Maybe I'm nervous."
“You don’t get to be nervous. I’m nervous,” he said. He kissed me again and I smiled, breaking the kiss.”
"But I'm an overachiever."
“You’re not going to underachieve in bed,” he smiled. “Not with me anyways.”
I closed my eyes, lifting one hand up to his strong jawbone, and kissed him. My fingers tangled in his soft, still-damp hair. My heart started racing, like it was going to explode. “Well, I could be rusty?”
“Shut up,” he whispered gently. He lifted me up and slid me further back on the bed, so I was lying underneath him. I could feel his heat, but he braced his weight on his own hands. And he kissed me again.
I broke the kiss abruptly, pulling my head aside and sitting up. He sat back on his heels.
“Okay?” he put his hand on my lower back.
I nodded.
“Too fast?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you want?”
“This. Just. Not sex. Not tonight, I mean,” I managed. I looked at him. “Sorry. I want to. Just not so fast. And I wanted to say something before we got ahead of ourselves.”
He nodded. “I never took that for granted.”
I nodded. “Good.”
He smiled and coaxed me onto his lap. I straddled him and put my hands on his shoulders. They were warm. His cool fingers ran up my ribcage, he dropped kisses along my collarbone. He pulled me closer. I felt him beneath me.
He reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. He unhooked my bra gently with one hand and bit one strap and pulled it down my arm. His teeth scraped ever so softly against the hairs on my arm.
I shivered as he thrust up slightly and dropped his mouth gently to my breast.
I ran my hands through his hair.
“You taste like vanilla,” he said, lifting his mouth. He stood up, lifting me with him and knelt onto the bed and dropped me onto my back.
“You taste like beer and tequila,” I replied.
He smiled. “That’s what I brush my teeth with.”
“So, we’re just going to have a long make-out session?”
“A shirtless make-out session,” he teased. “I think the kids call it second base.”
I smiled. “Benefit of the friendship?”
He nodded. “Absolutely.”
We made out until our lips ached. And when we had stopped, we lay silently against each other. I felt sleepy and I laughed, reached for my shirt, and said I had to go. He sat on the stoop and waited with me for the cab, both of us shivering.
I leaned back on my hands, breathing in the cold air. He was easy to be near, when he wasn’t making me nervous, and after rolling around in his bed shirtless, I wasn’t nearly as nervous.
“We should do something fun,” Jack said, when the cab came. “Not a date,” he said when I gave him a look. “Like some kind of friend thing. What do you do for fun?”
“The newspaper.”
“That’s fun?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “It is, actually.” I meant it too. It could be stressful, but it was voluntary. I liked it.
He smiled. “Well, we can read some newspapers.”
“Maybe you should be in charge of fun.”
“And you can be in charge of achievement?”
“I’ll be in charge of rules.”
He chuckled and walked me down the path towards the car. “I’ll see you around, Hadley.”
“Later, pal.”
I heard him laugh as I got into the car. He watched me leave. There was something about that that I liked. And something else about that scared me a little.
Chapter Fifteen
By one o’clock, my hangover was starting to get the better of me. I couldn’t remember comma rules, and I kept missing split infinitives and all the other nasty grammar mistakes that riddled freshmen’s articles.
When the door to the offices swung open and Andrew appeared, I let out a sigh of relief. He held two large Starbucks cups. He handed me one.
“I love you almost as much as I love coffee.”
He looked over my sweatpants and the empty Pedialyte bottles on my desk. “Rough night?”
“Oh, not really.”
He laughed dubiously and nodded. “Right.”
“Hey, at least I showered this morning,” I said. “This is why I don’t go out,” I informed him. “Socializing melts my brain.”
“I think that’s probably just the alcohol,” he said.
“You’re awfully judgmental this morning, Brenner.”
“Sorry.” He yawned. “Tired, I guess. Did you find David last night?”
“Yeah, I did. Finally. He was wearing a polo shirt. Confused the hell out of me."
He leaned over my shoulder to look at the article I was reviewing. “Verb agreement, first paragraph.” He tapped the screen.
“Shit. I should not be copyediting right now,” I said. I fixed the mistake and reached for my coffee.
“So, I was talking to Juliet, and she thinks we should do something big for Valentine’s Day.”
I gave him a look. “Like what? I’m not putting Valentine’s day on the cover.”
“What about a special edition? Like a six-page, Love at Northwestern thing.”
“That needs six pages? We gave Obama’s reelection six paragraphs,” I said.
“Oh, don’t be such a Grinch. It would be great for readership,” he said. “Like, we could do an article on LGBT life, Greek life, and Juliet had this idea to do like a Secret Admirers section for a week.”
“And where would we put the Secret Admirers? Before the sports section or after the international section?” I demanded sarcastically.
“Would you just think about it?” Andrew said. “It’s not a bad idea. Y
ou could write an editorial on why you’re opposed to Valentine’s Day.”
“I’m not opposed to Valentine’s Day. I’m just not giving it six pages in my newspaper.”
“Your newspaper?” he repeated.
“You know what I mean. I’m the first girl to be Editor-in-Chief in nine years. I’m not presiding over the first Valentine’s Day Special.”
“You should consider it,” he said seriously. “I think it’s sort of unfair that you’re shooting it down because you don’t want people to think you’re too girly. If I were the Editor-in-Chief, I’d do it.”
I sighed. “Can we just focus on this issue and worry about Valentine’s Day closer to Valentine’s Day?”
“Fine,” he said. “But think about it. Seriously, think about it. We could get people to write about their love lives. It could be a mix of opinion pieces and news stories. Look, we always talk about culture at Northwestern, and love lives are a big part of culture.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow. I just don’t have the energy right now.”
He smiled, albeit frostily. “Okay.”
Chapter Sixteen
“I’m in love,” David declared when I got back from the newspaper around 11 on a Saturday morning.
"I don't have time for your love," I said. "I was about to report you missing. I haven't seen you for a week. You missed dinner on a Friday."
He smiled as he poured batter into a waffle iron. "I've been here."
"When have you been here?"
"I was here Tuesday night."
I rolled my eyes.
"And you'd be too busy to notice otherwise," he said. "I know when you stop making your bed."
When my schedule felt crazed, I stopped sleeping underneath the covers so I didn’t have to make my bed in the morning. I hated making my bed. It was wedged in a corner, and I couldn't get the bedspread flat unless I yanked the frame all the way out.
"Waffle?"
I nodded, grudgingly. "Please. So, I guess things are going well with Ben?"
He beamed. "Yes. Plate."
I pulled a plate down from the cabinet over the sink and handed it to him. "Well, I missed you," I admitted.
He smiled. "I bet you were here for five minutes."
"Still," I said. “So tell me.”