“And you cleaned him up?”
“Yeah.” Why does it sound so wrong the way she asks it?
“If you need something to take care of, we can get a cat.”
I turn to face her and burst into laughter. “A cat?”
She shrugs. “I hate cats, but I’d rather see you get attached to a cat than Tucker Price.” She looks over her shoulder. “Where is he anyway? Is he gone?”
I take a deep breath and turn back to the sink. “He’s passed out on my bed.”
“What?” She stomps down the hall to my room and throws open the door.
I run after her and put my hand across the doorway. “Caroline! What are you doing?”
She watches him with a scowl. “Well, look at that. Tucker drools.”
I swivel my gaze and sure enough, he’s drooling on my pillow.
She leans her shoulder into the door jamb. “I have to admit he’s kind of cute, passed out in your bed.”
“Sure, if you like the drunk look.”
Her face softens, and she turns to face me. “You don’t, do you, Scarlett?” Her question comes out as a plea.
The corners of my mouth lift into a hint of a smile. “No. You know me better than that.” I close the door, and we go back into the kitchen.
“Tell me about the guy I saw you dancing with.” Caroline grabs a Chinese container from earlier tonight out of the fridge and eats her leftover lo mein cold.
I put mine in the microwave and watch the glass base spin around and around. “His name is Daniel, and he’s a business major at Southern.”
Caroline squeals and claps her hands together. “A business major? Two boring people! It’s a match made in heaven.”
I tilt my head back as I look over my shoulder. “He is not boring. He’s sweet. I like him.”
“And?”
“And what?” The microwave dings and I take my food to the table. I know what she wants to know, but I’m going to make her dig for it.
“You’re so mean!”
I laugh and take a bite of my cashew chicken. “He wants to see me again. I didn’t have my phone to put his number into, but he said he’ll find me.”
Her smile falls. “Oh.”
I remember his face and his smile. “He’ll find me.”
She tips her head to the side, her fork in the air. “Well, listen to you. A man in your bed and a man waiting in the wings. I always knew you were an overachiever.”
I purse my lips together. “It’s not like that.” I look into her eyes. “Sometimes you just know when you connect with someone, you know?”
She grins and nods. “I do. And I’m happy for you.”
Sighing, I look down at my food. So why am I thinking about the man in my bed and not the man who kissed me?
Chapter Seven
Caroline and I finish eating, and she gets ready for bed while I clean up the kitchen. I’m still wearing her shirt, and I need to get something to sleep in.
I crack the door to my bedroom. Tucker is still asleep, snoring even louder. Part of me wants to wake him up, have him call someone, and send him on his way. But another part of me wants to let him stay, and that’s the part I don’t understand. There’s no logical explanation. I just do. That fact alone is troubling. I never just do anything. Everything is carefully thought out.
Even tonight when I danced with Daniel and let him kiss me, I gave it some thought before it happened. I danced with him because he was nice. I let him kiss me because I liked him and hoped I’d feel something. Split-second decisions, but decisions nonetheless.
But not Tucker. No matter how deeply I search, there is no answer to be found.
Tucker Price is getting under my skin.
I creep in the room and open a drawer. It creaks, and I stop for a second, then continue pulling. Between my mother and her friends, I’ve been around enough passed-out drunks in my life to know when they’re out. Tucker is definitely out.
I grab a t-shirt and a pair of shorts and notice that I no longer hear snoring. When I turn around, Tucker’s eyes are open and focused on me.
Turns out Tucker isn’t like most drunks.
“You promised to come back.”
“And here I am.” I press against the dresser. Why do I feel this push-pull? The need to dig deeper into his secrets and the desperation to run away? “Why don’t I get you a glass of water?”
He closes his eyes. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
I go into the bathroom and change before I get Tucker’s water. When I return, he’s snoring again. I set the water on the nightstand then turn toward the door.
“Why are you always running away from me?”
I look over my shoulder and his eyes are closed, but the back of his forearm covers his forehead. “You were asleep. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Where are you going? This is your bed.”
“It’s okay. I’m going to sleep on the sofa.”
He pushes himself into a sitting position. “No, Scarlett. It’s your bed. You should sleep here.”
“It’s okay, really. You need to sleep it off.”
“Please. Stay.” He reaches for me, hopelessness washing off of him in thick waves.
Hypnotized by the despair in his eyes, I sink to the edge of the mattress.
He smiles, but it’s sad. He slips his hand into mine. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
“Tucker…I can’t… I’m not…”
“I know, Scarlett. I would never ask you to. I’m still drunk, and you deserve better than that.”
The sincerity in his words freezes the air in my lungs.
He pulls me down next to him, and I find myself unable to resist.
We’re both on our sides, facing each other. He releases my hand and reaches for the side of my face, brushing the hair off my cheek. His fingertips barely touch my skin, yet send shivers down my back. My stomach clenches.
“Sweet, sweet Scarlett.” His palm presses against my cheek as his fingers dig into my hair.
I close my eyes, my stomach tightening even more.
“I’ve never felt this with anyone. Ever,” he murmurs, his words fading.
Neither have I remains unsaid, but buried in my heart.
My panic builds like a storm in the back of my head. How can I be lying next to Tucker Price? How can I let him affect me so? But part of me is tired of basing every single decision in my life on reasoned and thought-out choices. Part of me wants to live.
I can’t help thinking about my conversation with Caroline days ago, when I told her that one didn’t live a little or a lot, they simply lived.
I finally get it.
Nevertheless, I can’t give any part of myself to this man. There may be a hidden window to his soul, but it is not my job to plumb its depths. I’m neither experienced nor jaded enough to survive the attempt.
But maybe I can steal this moment. Just for tonight.
Our breathing fills the silence in a synchronized rhythm that soothes my distress. My shoulders begin to unknot. My hands unfist. My jaw unclenches. The only part of us touching is his hand on my face, tangled in my hair. Yet a peace washes over me, loosening my anxiety and peeling it away.
His hand slides down my neck, and brushes the bare skin of my arm, then curves around the small of my back and slowly, ever so slowly, pulls me closer to him. My head tucks under his chin and he continues to pull until my chest is pressed against his. I can feel the thud of his heart, the rise and fall of his ribcage as he breathes. Such simple, involuntary acts, yet they permeate my consciousness, draw me in with a hypnotizing lull.
Several minutes later, I know he’s asleep again, and I tell myself to move, to get up and sleep on the sofa, but I can’t make myself do it. In twenty years, I’ve never felt this close to anyone.
That’s what makes this all the more dangerous, to let myself feel this with him, but I’m like the proverbial moth drawn to the flame.
Why do I think the end result will be any diff
erent for me?
I drift off to sleep and wake to sunlight peering through the crack of my curtains. Tucker is still asleep, and thankfully so is Caroline. I duck into the bathroom and spend much longer than necessary in the shower, washing the scent of alcohol and smoke from my body and my hair. When I go back into my room, Tucker is gone and nowhere to be found in the apartment.
Part of me is glad. He stirs too many uncomfortable emotions in me. But part of me misses him. A ridiculous thought. I’ve obviously lost touch with reality.
***
On Monday, I leave my set and logic class and see Daniel in the hallway, leaning against the wall and looking down the opposite way.
He turns his head toward me and smiles. “I told you I’d find you.”
My mouth turns up into the barest of grins even though I’m beaming inside. I remember telling him I took this class. “I’m glad you did.”
“Do you have somewhere you need to be?”
I usually study after this lecture, going over what we learned, but I’d rather spend the time with Daniel. Anything to purge the lingering memory of Tucker. “I have some time before Arabic.”
He leans back and studies me with a teasing glint. “Arabic?”
“Did I forget to mention I’m minoring in Arabic?”
He winks. “Did I mention I’m minoring in making ramen noodles?”
I laugh, but my guard is still up.
“I have class in about thirty minutes, but I’d love to spend time with you at The Higher Ground.”
“I’d like that.”
We walk across the small campus to the coffee shop, discussing what we did over the weekend. I leave out any mention of Tucker. In fact, I’ve tried my best to block him out of my memory as much as possible.
Daniel tells me that he spent most of the weekend helping a friend put a deck on his house.
“You built a deck in January? Isn’t it too cold?”
“It’s better than the middle of July. I hate the heat.”
“Then what are you doing in Tennessee?” I tease as he opens the door to the coffee shop for me.
“I ask myself that every day,” he says woefully, then chuckles.
We order our drinks and wait at the counter. I study the bakery case, finding it difficult to look him in the eye.
“Where did you learn construction?”
“My dad owns a construction company, so I’ve been swinging a hammer since before I could walk.”
“I hope you don’t have any siblings.”
He laughs. “Thankfully for my little brother, I learned some self-control before he was born.”
The barista hands us our drinks, and we sit at a table by the window.
Daniel leans his forearms on the table. “We’ve discussed enough of my exciting weekend. What did you do?”
“My weekend was so much more exciting that yours. My roommate forced me to watch Gossip Girl, but mostly I was studying.” Caroline had fallen back into her depressive state on Saturday and spent the weekend re-watching the first season. She wanted to watch people falling in love since she declared it was never going to happen to her again. I made two Ben & Jerry runs until I finally cut her off.
“You really know how to have a good time.”
“This semester is the make-it-or-break-it semester of my entire academic career. Set and logic is the class that decides my fate. I can’t blow it.”
“What do you do for fun, Scarlett?”
His change in topic makes me pause. Tucker asked me the same question a few nights ago, but I can’t bring myself to give Daniel the same answer. I give him the one I keep on file when I’m asked such questions. “I like to watch movies.”
He holds his hands out and a grin covers his face. “What a coincidence? So do I.”
I chuckle and look down at my coffee. “What are the odds?”
“Since we both like movies, how about we see one together?”
I slowly twist my coffee cup. While he’s nice and attractive enough, part of me is reluctant to take this next step. I take a moment to analyze why and come up with no reasonable explanation. I need to do this. Maybe this is what is missing in my life and will give me the elusive happiness I’ve begun to seek. But I want to take it slower. Ease my way into it. “Would you mind if we just stick to coffee for now?” I ask, keeping my gaze on the table.
“Is this you brushing me off or is this really ‘let’s start with coffee’?”
I look into his anxious face. I realize it seems kind of backward after we’ve already kissed. Twice. “I like you. I just need to take it slow. If you don’t want to, I understand.”
“As long as I really have a shot, then I’m fine with coffee. Now that I know where to stalk you on Monday, I’m guessing I can find you at the same place and time on Wednesday.” He closes his eyes and groans. “Wow. That sounded wrong when I’m trying to convince you that I’m not a serial killer.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m not scared off yet.”
“Good.” He stands and picks up his bag. “I’m going to be late to class.”
“Thanks for the coffee. I’m really glad you tracked me down.”
“Me, too. I’ll see you Wednesday.”
Daniel walks out the door. When he reaches the sidewalk, he turns and waves.
I break into a grin and wave back. I’m actually looking forward to Wednesday. Until I realize I have to get through Tuesday. I still have to face Tucker.
Chapter Eight
Tucker is already at Panera when I arrive on Tuesday afternoon, and I’m ten minutes early. I wasn’t sure he’d be here at all since he didn’t show up for Western civilization earlier today. I didn’t want to come here at all, but I had an obligation, awkwardness aside. It’s moments like now that I wish I’d agreed to go on some type of anxiety medication, even if I can’t afford it.
He’s standing inside, next to the door waiting for me, looking a little rough. His eyes are bloodshot, and his skin has a sallow appearance. His shirt is wrinkled, as though he pulled it out of the laundry hamper. He looks hung over, which explains why he wasn’t in Western civ. I can’t help wondering how effective our tutoring session will be.
When I pause outside, trying to calm my nerves, he watches me for a second with his sad eyes. As though he’s aware of my inner struggle, he steps outside, the blustery wind tossing his hair around. He stops in front of me, close enough for me to catch a whiff of his shampoo. He may look disheveled, but at least he’s showered.
“Scarlett, before we go in, I want to apologize for Friday night. I’d like to say that doesn’t happen very often, but it does.” He runs a hand through his hair and looks across the parking lot. “But I’m sorry it happened with you.” His gaze returns to me. “I want you to know that I don’t think of you”—he pauses and looks away again—“like that. What I did was wrong.” His chest rises and worry etches lines around his eyes as they shift and search mine. “I understand if you want me to find a new tutor.”
Most of me wants him to find another tutor. The rational, logical part, and the reason has less to do with him and more to do with me. Being with him dredges up insecurities from my past. The hopelessness, the fear. I need to keep these feelings locked up and buried.
But one small part of me likes that he makes me feel something, even if it’s bad.
“No. It’s okay.” I finally say.
He exhales, and his shoulders sink with relief. “Then let’s get started.” He opens the door and waits for me to enter. When I order at the counter, he requests a coffee and pays for both.
“You don’t have to do that, Tucker.”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “I know, but I wanted to.”
I’m suddenly aware that I’ve had two men buy me coffee in two days. Look how things have changed.
We find a table in the corner and Tucker pulls out his book. “I’m getting linear equations now, but I’m having trouble with linear inequality.”
I study his work an
d show him where he went wrong, applying the wrong distributive property. To my surprise, within minutes, he’s plowing through several problems. He looks up. “You don’t have to sit there and wait for me. Do you have something you need to work on?”
I’m being paid to work with Tucker, not do my own homework.
He sees my hesitation and his eyebrow rises. “You do.”
I cast a glance to my bag. “I shouldn’t.”
“You’re creeping me out just sitting there.” He grins, and I know he’s teasing. “Do your own thing, and I’ll tell you if I need you.”
“Okay.” I feel guilty pulling my own work out, but I have an upcoming test in set and logic a week from Friday, and there aren’t enough hours left to make me feel prepared.
He winks. “See? I knew you could do it.”
When I open the textbook and my own notebook, Tucker leans over and spins the pages around to face him. “You’ve got to be kidding.” He looks up, his mouth parted. “You actually like this?”
“Yeah.” I say with confidence even though I feel self-conscious.
His amusement fades to concern. “I didn’t mean it to sound negative, Scarlett. If anything, I’m in awe.”
I’m shocked he could read me. I’m used to masking my reactions, as long as my flushed skin doesn’t make an appearance and give me away. But he’s not looking at my cheeks—which are amazingly blotch-free—and is staring instead into my eyes. I notice his aren’t as red as before and that some of the color has returned to his complexion. I realize he’s not hung over, but he doesn’t look sick either. It’s as though he was upset before and is getting over it.
“So why do you like it?” His gaze holds mine, challenging me to not look away.
“I’m good at it.”
“Obviously, but I’m good at soccer. It doesn’t mean I like it. I’m asking if you like math.”
I remember him saying that no one ever asked if he liked soccer. The fact that he asks me whether I really like math warms the inside of my chest. As though my liking it or not matters. I give him a soft smile. “Yeah, I really like it.”
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