Vérité

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “What you two up to?” Trey asked, lifting his chin toward us.

  “Eating,” I answered.

  “Cool. We’ll sit with ya’ll.” Lamar mugged at us as if he were joking, but then he grabbed a giant Gatorade and a few slices of pizza and made himself comfortable.

  We took up a table large enough for ten people, so the guys could make themselves comfortable with their impossibly long tree-trunk legs spread out in front of them. Then they woofed down more calories than I’d ever imagined was possible.

  Tiberius was making his way through a meatball hoagie, a side of fries, and a blue drink when he waved a fry at me. “Want one?” he asked.

  “Are you sure you can spare one?”

  “Yeah,” he said, before adding with a chin nod, “There’s more up there.”

  I grabbed the fry and plunged it into the ketchup before popping it in my mouth. Sadly, a small moan escaped my lungs as I had my way with the salty, greasy, crispy piece of potato.

  “You know you wish she’d do that for you,” Trey said slyly, taunting Tiberius.

  “Here, have another.” Tiberius offered up another one and I lunged for it, nearly falling out of my chair.

  “What, you starve yourself? That why you’re so skinny?” Lamar asked with another chin lift. These guys loved their chin lifts as much as their not-so-gentle ribbing and nicknames.

  I shook my head. “Nah. Just a bad habit from growing up. We didn’t eat fried food,” I said without thinking, then froze. The differences in our two worlds crashed head-on with my lungs inside my chest, stunting my breath. I was worried I’d offended them, but they continued to surprise me, these basketball boys.

  “Shit, girl, we got to get you some fried food and put some meat on your bones.”

  Trying to hold the emotional storm raging inside my heart at bay, I said, “A little fried food is a go, meat on my bones is a no-go. I need to stay lean for my season. That would be like me suggesting we chop a few inches off your height.”

  That earned me a huge laugh from Trey. “Nah, girl. Our boy Tiberius needs something to hold on to. Little bit’s all you need,” he teased with a glance at Ty, tormenting his roommate again.

  “All right, enough, you two,” Tiberius said. “You make a habit of interrupting people’s dates?”

  This got another big laugh, this time from Lamar. “Is that what this is? Come on, man. You gotta wine and dine her a bit.”

  Trey clamped a huge paw on Ty’s shoulder. “Bro, we gotta talk when you get home. Don’t worry, Tingly, I’ll set him straight and next time, you’ll be eating some damn good food somewhere nice and shit.” With a grin, he stood up and smacked Tiberius on the back. “We outta here. Come on, Mar, let’s let the kiddies play in the sandbox. Don’t forget we got a team meeting in the morning, Ty. Coach’ll be making sure we didn’t party too hard over the weekend. We all know that’s not you, dude, so try to be happy.”

  Trey and Lamar walked away, chuckling and working their swagger as every head in the room swung their way, following their progress out the door of the Union with interest.

  Watching along with them, I realized most of the room probably had had their eyes on the four of us when we were sitting together. Surprisingly, I didn’t care, because for the first time in my life I was doing something normal—or as normal as I could.

  “Who’s there?” I called through the door.

  It was Sunday afternoon, and I wasn’t expecting anyone. In fact, I’d had the place to myself and was still sweaty and gross from my mandatory weekend practice and run. I’d been lounging around in my running shorts and tank, studying and watching TV when I heard a knock on the door.

  “Ty.”

  “Ugh, I wasn’t expecting you,” I said as I unlocked and opened the door.

  “Thanks. Great to see you too,” he said with an award-winning grin.

  Unlike me, Tiberius had showered. Quite recently, considering his hair was a little damp and a few drops of water still clung to his fresh buzz cut. Much like his long frame and powerful arms and legs, his scent overpowered me as he entered my quad’s common room. Pheromones floated on the air like dust bunnies.

  We’d parted ways the night before after Tiberius walked me back to my place and took his time planting kisses on my neck, cheek, nose, forehead—anywhere but my mouth. To say I was turned on was an understatement. Yeah, I wanted him, but my body craved the comfort and affection it had come to know for the first time with Tiberius. And his friends, even Jamel.

  “Sorry I’ve been AWOL, but Coach had a team meeting and some of the older guys were acting up, so we had to stay for a last-minute practice . . . which was really us running suicides. Wanted to know how your practice was. Any problems?” he asked as he leaned in and backed me into the wall, running his hand over my cheek as his thumb ghosted over my lips.

  “None.” I shook my head. “Logan apparently copped to a fight at a party and took his one-meet suspension. Which he needs anyway, the guy is beat up.”

  Tiberius backed up. “I told you that wasn’t me.”

  “I know. I was there and saw Jamel in action,” I said as I headed toward my room.

  “Were you scared? Of Jamel?” Tiberius asked from behind me.

  I shook my head again. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s in the rearview.”

  Opening my door, I caught a whiff of myself. “Ugh, I smell. Shit, you probably think I’m so gross.”

  “Rex, I’m an athlete. I get the odor; it means you worked hard. Plus, on you it’s sexy. I can’t stop thinking about you all slick with sweat.”

  Okay then.

  “What are you doing now?” I asked, unsure of where I should sit in my room, unclear of what was expected of me—or him.

  “I came to see you. Wanna go for a walk or something?”

  “Um, sure. Let me take a quick shower and change.”

  He was leaning against my dresser, but I needed to get ready. “Do you want to sit in here or out there? While I, uh—”

  “Out there,” he mumbled while maneuvering his big body past me and out the door into the common room.

  “I’ll be quick,” I yelled after him.

  Cleaned up, in jean shorts and a long-sleeved tee with my wet hair loose and combed out down my back, I walked next to Tiberius up the hill toward the Ag building. It was early evening and the sun was starting to set, painting the fields in front of us with a golden hue.

  “It’s so wild every time I see this, coming from LA,” I said as we hiked up the path, neither of us out of breath.

  “Yep, I felt the same the first time I saw it, coming from right outside the city. I couldn’t believe all that space and open air.”

  “Made me appreciate small-town living, breathing room. I don’t think I ever want to go back,” I added.

  “Well, I like both. Glad I’m getting to experience all this, but I love the noise of the city. Actually, I sleep better with ambulances and police sirens in the background. That was my favorite part of having to go back home last week. The noise. And the grime.”

  Tiberius grabbed my hand like he had the day before and slid his fingers between mine. I was shocked with his soft touches and gentle ways of showing affection—in a good way. For a guy who didn’t have a dad or live with a positive male influence, he was incredibly considerate and warm to women. At least, to me. Then again, I’d never had soft touches growing up, and I was lapping up each and every one Tiberius doled my way. I definitely wasn’t complaining.

  Without any words, we stopped at the top of the hill and took in the view. I experienced the same awe at the open cornfields most people did for the Hollywood sign. We continued to stand there, hand in hand, swinging our arms, acting corny until he turned toward me and laid a kiss on my lips.

  His arms wrapped around me, drawing me close and pulling me to my tiptoes, pelvis to pelvis, his mouth soft and warm, inviting in a way I didn’t know or understand. My tongue stroked his, exploring his mouth and learning
how to make him moan, and I swallowed his growls. I didn’t know how long we stood there kissing as the air chilled, the sun dropped to the horizon, and time stood still.

  Tiberius broke the moment, shifting his body and angling back the way we came. “Come on, let’s go get something fried in town.”

  It wasn’t what I was expecting or hoping for, but I agreed with a quick, “Okay.”

  “Where do you want to go?” he asked as we made our way back down the hill, no longer holding hands, but cloaked in some strange sexual tension.

  “You’re the fried-food boss, lead the way,” I said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. Truth was, my heart was pounding and my nerves tingled; I wanted to get close to Tiberius. But he was putting it off, and it wasn’t about control like it had always been with Pierre. Not for Tiberius or me.

  With Pierre, he demanded control and I was always vying to break his spell over me, seducing and luring him into my lair. Fuck, I didn’t want this moment to be tainted with even a thought of the French prick.

  Plush. Poseidon. Pink. Papyrus. Papillon. Pearl Jam.

  Following my inner monologue, I took a deep breath and then released it, letting out my anger with the carbon dioxide.

  “You good?” Tiberius asked.

  “Yeah, my mind wandered,” I admitted. “Sorry.”

  “S’okay. So, fried food . . . let me think. You like the diner? They make wicked fried chicken patties and pie.”

  “Never been.”

  The streetlight at the corner of College Avenue came into view as he stopped and faced me, his expression incredulous. “Come on! You’re kidding.” His blue eyes pinned mine as if trying to catch me in a lie.

  “Nope. Never been. It’s not really a fave with the track team.”

  “Let’s go. What are we waiting for?” he said, dragging me across the intersection.

  Minutes later we were seated in a booth, his legs stretched out in front of him, crowding mine as he flipped open his menu. “Let’s see. We should get sandwiches and an order of the meatloaf. And milkshakes first, pie last.”

  I nudged his knee with mine. “I’m not sure I can eat all that, Ty.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll finish what you don’t.”

  Tiberius was like a young boy in a candy shop, completely and utterly excited to eat junk food—with me. I had practice in the morning and a meet at the end of the week, but I couldn’t spoil his fun. A little junk wouldn’t kill me, but I couldn’t make any bets about the man in front of me. He might do me in.

  “Let’s do it! Bring it on,” I said, pumping my fist into the air.

  With an Oreo shake resting on the stainless-steel table in front of us, a straw on either side of the cup, we settled in and waited for the pig fest. Journey played in the background, the smell of grease wafting around us.

  Ty caught my eye. “This place reminds me of a joint we used to go to at prep. It was an all-night diner we’d go to after a late game. The owners loved us and would just throw food at us. They’d say, ‘Ya’ll win? Then ya’ll deserve to get treated right,’ in that West Virginia twang. And they’d start bringing shit out. Meatloaf, turkey with gravy and all the fixin’s, fries, burgers, sodas, whatever we wanted,” he said with a far-off look on his face. “Took my momma once when she visited. They treated her like royalty. Never been happier for her. That’s the only other time I took a girl to a diner,” he said with a weak smile.

  I nudged his knee with mine. “Oh, come on. I don’t believe that. Nicest, sweetest, sexiest, hottest baller I know. Don’t lie, you probably got a string of girls all over the place, like Jamel does. I think he told me something like ‘I got a girl at home and one here’ when he rescued me,” I half joked. Part of me wanted to believe I was special, but I knew I wasn’t.

  “Seriously, Rex.” Tiberius leaned back against the red vinyl, his arms coming back to support his head and neck.

  I leaned forward. “You’re full of it.” More half joking.

  “Go ahead and ask,” he taunted me.

  The place wasn’t that crowded, so I assumed he felt it was quiet enough for us to have the past body count conversation in public.

  Just then, our server started tossing down plates in front of us. The aroma steaming from them was intoxicating, and I was concerned for my overall sanity. I couldn’t eat like this every day, but today was an exception, so I dug in.

  Lifting the chicken sandwich and taking a large bite, I couldn’t help but moan. Oh God, it was so greasy and salty. My mom would be glaring at me and dabbing her chin at the sight of the grease traveling out of my mouth and rolling down my chin. Then she’d cluck her tongue at me and worry her lip. “Ladies don’t eat junk or with their hands, Tingly Simmons,” she’d say. “And they don’t run and sweat either.” So I took another bite of my sandwich as a mental fuck-you to her. I was going to enjoy today because there were a lot of things ladies didn’t do that she did.

  “This is really good,” I said to Tiberius between bites and chewing. He had already inhaled a sandwich and was watching me with a curious expression.

  “So, you gonna ask your questions?” A smirk—half cocky, half innocent schoolboy—flickered across his face.

  “I don’t think I want to,” I answered honestly.

  “Think you’ll be surprised if ya do,” he said, raising an eyebrow and giving me another one of his enigmatic looks.

  “Okay, fine. What’s your history? You got a girl at home? One tucked away here and another at prep?” Cocking my head to the side, I asked, “What am I? A little fun on the side?”

  “Don’t got a girl at home or prep. Got nobody but you here. Had one girl in my life,” he admitted. “We liked each other in high school, grew up together, explored and did shit. But that was it for me. She went the wrong way when I went to prep. Been nobody since, and I’m not really sure why. I just think I never wanted to go down the same road as my dad. Now I realize what a fool I was ’cause I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

  “What?” I nearly choked on a bite of chicken. Acid raged in my stomach, burning its way back up my throat.

  “Only been one. Told you back when we met. The guys are fast, but not me. In this case, you got the upper hand.”

  “Seriously, is that what this is about?” My voice was a raspy whisper fueled by embarrassment and anger as I waved my hand between the two of us. “A joke or something? Maybe learn a trick or two from the campus slut?” Before I could spew any more venom, I tossed down my napkin, then stuck my hand in my pocket and grabbed a few bills to throw on the table.

  “Listen, Tiberius, and listen good. I appreciate you and your friends looking out for me, taking care of shit the other night, but I’m not some girl you can toy with, learn the ropes from and make a fool of. I’ve already had that done, so see ya around.” Then I turned and bolted.

  “Shit!”

  Tiberius swore softly and cursed behind me, and I imagined him trying to swing his long legs out from the table as I burst through the door and thanked the heavens I was wearing a pair of running shoes. The fried food gurgled and churned inside my belly, trying to make a reappearance, but I wouldn’t allow it.

  I set a brisk pace and steered myself toward the dorm, not stopping until I was deep inside the double doors of my building. Bypassing the elevators and making my way to the stairwell, I raced up one flight three steps at a time before I stopped and slid down the wall, dropping on my ass on the cold concrete. Tears came. Heavy droplets ran down my face, soaking my sleeves as I wiped them across my snotty nose.

  I was such a desperate, love-hungry fool. When was I going to realize that I wasn’t meant for love? It wasn’t in the cards for me, especially the unconditional kind. I let my head fall into my hands, providing a cup for new tears and a curtain between the world and myself.

  That’s when the date occurred to me. September fifteenth. The day Pierre officially left last year, his last day on American soil as far as I knew. I’d caught a glimpse of him leaving the
languages lab as I’d made my way to therapy that bright, fucking cheery fall day. The walking was supposedly good for my recuperation from the whole spleen issue. Not to mention, I had to get back to running eventually. So, every day but Sunday, I made my way to my shrink at the student health center—each day leaving and pushing myself to take a longer stroll than the day before.

  Pierre had been carrying a few boxes that afternoon, his blond hair ruffling in the wind. He’d let his beard come in full, and he’d been wearing jeans and a navy dress shirt. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I imagined next to his shirt, they were as blue as the Atlantic—the ocean that now separated us. Well, that and his wife. And the little-known fact that I’d ruined his career.

  My pulse sped up as soon as I’d spotted him that day. I was certain he intentionally came on a Saturday, convinced he wouldn’t see anyone. My entire body itched to go to him, and I scratched at my skin as though it was covered in hives of want, trying to put out the itch. Even with everything that had happened, I wanted him that day. I held tight to a stone wall, my fingers gripping the ledge until they turned white, forbidding myself from running to him. Finally, he left the quad, heading toward the parking lot, and I jogged—against doctor’s orders—to my shrink.

  It was that day we came up with the P game. I had no clue I’d still be using it a year later, or that I would reinvent it after I’d fallen for someone else.

  Putrid. Telescope. Potatoes. Truffles. Paris. Touché.

  Touché was right; I was such a cliché. Spoiled little rich girl from LA with mommy and daddy issues falls for the teacher, has a breakdown, and then falls for the good guy. The one who was trying out a new look, who wanted a walk on the wild side with the bad girl.

  I stayed there in the stairwell long after the sweat and tears had chilled on my body, long past my butt ached from the hard floor and my muscles begged for relief. When I finally went upstairs, the apartment was quiet and still, the only noise coming from the mini fridge humming in the corner and my cell phone vibrating in my pocket.