by Rowena
But at least I got her growth cycle, and I’m hesitant to get rid of signs of that part of me, that part of her.
I know it’s silly, but it still feels so recent since she left me behind to navigate the world without her.
In some ways, three years is a long time.
In other ways, it’s far too short.
Three years is not nearly enough time to get over the death of your mother.
I arrive at my English class early enough to snatch a seat at the back.
There was a time I didn’t mind sitting at the front of the class, raising my hand frequently to answer questions, but I quickly realized that kind of visibility makes you a target.
No one likes a know-it-all, so I get my A’s quietly these days.
Sitting at the back also gives me a chance to low-key check everyone out as they enter the class.
I try not to make eye contact with anyone, but I produce a small smile when I do because it’s always better to be friendly when given the opportunity, isn’t it?
A few smile back automatically, since we’re trained to mirror, but some just stare at me coldly—or through me.
Eventually, I stop watching the influx of my fellow classmates. No doubt, we’ll be forced to introduce ourselves once things settle anyway.
I get lost in my head for a moment, and when I look up again, my eyes collide with bright green ones on the chiseled face of the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my life.
My breathing changes a bit.
The guy beats me to the smile because my mouth hangs open for a moment, about to release drool, I think.
No way I’m letting that happen.
I quickly gather myself and smile back at him, and it dawns on me who just practically melted my panties with a mere half-smile—Abe “The Babe” Stone. College football star.
I heard about Abraham long before I stepped foot on campus—or rather, read about him during my research on the school.
I doubt any of the straight guys call him by his nickname—it’s obviously one he earned from the quivering ladies of A.U., and now I fully understand why; it’s well-earned.
Initially, I wasn’t all that impressed with the few photos I saw of him—not that he wasn’t obviously good-looking. He was handsome, no doubt—very symmetrical with a typical athletic bod, so whatever. I could definitely see why some silly-ass girls would give him the nickname; I don’t expect much of shallow ditzes who get so easily swayed by muscles and a player smile.
But in person, Abraham Stone is absolutely magnetic, and it’s immediately clear that his photos don’t do him any real justice.
I keep my eyes downcast while willing my body to return to its usual temperature, trying not to think of how much my physical form just completely betrayed me.
There’s no way he missed me flushing red—my skin’s not dark enough to hide it.
He’ll know I reacted to him like pretty much all the girls, and he’ll think I’m easy like them.
Wait, why should I care if he thinks I’m like anyone else? Why care about his opinion at all?
Besides, a guy like that doesn’t come after a girl like me unless he thinks it’s easy pickings.
Crap.
A guy like him would totally ruffle the feathers of a girl like me for kicks, running a short countdown in his head for how long it takes to get me into bed.
He has probably already made a bet with himself. Hmmm…less than eight hours to wear that one down and have her spread for me.
He probably wouldn’t brag about nailing a girl like me to his friends, though; they wouldn’t be impressed with a nerd like me as a conquest.
You know what? I’m not even sure why I’m thinking these ridiculous thoughts—from what I’ve heard, Abe has a steady girlfriend.
No doubt she’s hot stuff herself—a guy like Abe never has to settle for anything less.
Chairs scrape the floor, books slam close, and backpacks zip as everyone gets ready to take off for whatever’s next for them.
I have another class after this—I stacked my classes so they run from morning to early afternoon, so I’m done every day before one, giving me the rest of the day to study, do homework, and prepare for the next day of classes.
Being an introvert really helps with sticking to my goals—there’s no way I’m going to get pulled into some social outing when I’ve got work to do.
Although my mom advised me to keep my eye on the prize at all times, she also advised me to remain open, so don’t get me wrong—I’m not anti-relationships or anything; I’d be happy to pick up a friend I can keep.
Moving around a lot hasn’t done much for me in that area since a lot of friendships tend to be maintained by proximity.
I was close to having a real friend at my last college, but I doubt we’ll be able to continue since I moved to another state, and I’m careful about my time and energy.
I have another chance here, but I’m not exactly a sought-after type; I’ve become pretty badass at being invisible.
“Hey—Madison, right?”
The rich deep voice literally stops me in my tracks.
That’s my name, but someone’s not actually talking to me, right? There must be another Madison here.
Still, I turn toward the masculine voice.
I nearly melt on the spot again, and for a moment, I think I must’ve drifted into a daydream on the short walk to my next class.
There’s no way Abe the Babe is right next to me now, looking at me with those gorgeous green eyes of his—there’s no way he just uttered my name.
Not that he hasn’t heard it before—we all had to give a lame introduction in class—but he remembered it after listening to twenty others give theirs?
I actually couldn’t wait until it was his turn, hoping he’d say “Abe the Babe” so I could laugh on the inside, but he didn’t.
I stammer when I finally answer, “Yes.”
Boy, did I underestimate him—he’s not just a pretty face, after all. Anyone can get over a pretty face; this guy has charm for days.
He has this way with familiarity, making me feel like we’re sort of acquainted already, and it’s incredibly disarming.
God, no wonder he has people gushing about him on forums, and again, I feel like an asshole for all my assumptions about other girls earlier. Abe is unnervingly hot and mesmerizing, and if I’ve fallen victim to the jock’s tangible and intangible charms, who really stands a chance?
“Are you new here?” Abe asks.
“Yes,” I say more steadily. “I just transferred here.”
“Thought so,” he says with a slight nod. “I definitely would have noticed you before.”
I almost laugh.
But wait, is he flirting with me? Has my brain shorted? Am I still daydreaming?
“I doubt it,” I say softly, shaking my head and glancing away.
“I noticed you today, didn’t I?”
“Class of twenty made it easy, I guess.”
“True. But you stand out anyway.”
Okay, fuck this guy.
He has already started the clock on the bet with himself to bed me, and I’m not gonna encourage him.
I mean, who does he think he is? He thinks he can just have anyone he wants? The nerdy transfer is now his latest intended conquest? Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?
The reminder of his status is like a bucket of cold water dumped on my overheated body.
What entitlement.
This egotistical athlete feels he can have his cake and eat it too, and his poor girlfriend just has to take it because she’s understandably stuck on him, unable to quit the unfairly gifted piece of man meat. A man this handsome, this buff, with that silky masculine voice and those sparkling eyes, that square jaw, and those ridiculously broad shoulders…I can’t blame her for being unable to let the gorgeous cheating bastard go.
But he’s her problem, and shall remain so.
I won’t be the next lamb to the slaughter; I won’t fall victim to the cocky jo
ck.
There’s just no way I’m enabling disgusting cheating swine.
“What’s your major?” he asks lightly.
“Look, I’d love to continue this conversation—” Why the fuck did I say that? “—but I have a class to rush to.”
I quicken my steps, taking off as fast as I can without actually running.
ABRAHAM
I stare at Madison’s rapidly retreating form, watching her slight frame navigate the crowded hallway as a strange peace fills me.
Maddy’s here; I can’t believe it.
Madison Mills, if I remember correctly.
Either way, it’s her—the shy, slippery girl is definitely the ethereal creature who lived a few doors down from me a lifetime ago.
She was pretty much the only light back then, back before things got even darker.
In those days, I’d forget my worries for a moment and watch her and her mother tend to their gardens, wishing I could join them but fearing ridicule and laughter, so I never dared to.
My dad would have, no doubt, had a few choice words about my desire to help out two women in a garden, and ‘sissy’ would be the least of them.
He wouldn’t understand I just needed to bask in their warmth, to be around the joyous younger girl.
He wouldn’t approve of me reaching out and doing anything for them—girls were supposed to do things for you. Everything for you.
The ladies were obviously close, and despite their differing physical features—the oval face and extra long hair just about all they had in common—they were very clearly mother and daughter.
They seemed so happy together.
I never saw Maddy’s father around, and I always thought about how lucky she was in that sense.
I start walking to my next class, still preoccupied with memories, barely aware of fellow students trying to say hi or sending me a smile as my mind sticks on Maddy and the old days.
I used to watch her at every opportunity—peeping through window blinds and from house corners—trying hard not to let her catch me staring.
For the most part, it seemed she had no clue I was visually stalking her every move—watching her learned hand prune, water, fertilize, and sometimes, display a matured vegetable proudly to her mother.
Maddy was the loveliest creature I had ever seen—her serenity a sort of drug. I became addicted to the calmness of her spirit, the quiet beauty of her face.
I knew she was around my age—several years away from being a woman—and yet every fiber of my being said she was to be my woman; she was meant for me.
But there was no way I could bring her into my life as it was.
I held back from introducing myself many times, knowing the moment we took that step, she’d be drawn into my world, even if just a little bit, and some of my darkness would eat her light. Perhaps swallow her whole.
She didn’t deserve that.
I always imagined she went on to live a happy life, full of laughter and smiles and sunny skies, but it seems some darkness reached her after all.
I wonder what happened?
She is no longer joyous; she no longer seems at peace.
Whatever went down, I wish I’d been there for her.
I need to find out what went on in the eight years since we crossed paths, why she looks so sad. Why she seems so guarded and closed off.
I have no doubt I’ll find out soon.
Other than the gloom about her, the years have been good to her.
She is still beautiful, despite how much she obviously tries to hide it; her natural beauty shines through.
She wears no makeup, but her golden skin is flawless, blemish-free and glowing with youth, and her unpainted lips stir my imagination.
I’m dying to see her hair down.
I wonder if she kept it long?
I don’t think she remembers me, and I don’t blame her—our eyes met few times in my short time living in her neighborhood, and since we never spoke, she had no real reason to register me.
She is burned into my memory, however, since I watched her so much, unbeknownst to her—although I think she caught me once. Maybe twice.
Still, it was a long time ago, and in those transformative years since leaving that old neighborhood, I went from a tallish, sinewy fourteen-year-old to a much taller, much broader muscular man.
Lots changed in my physical appearance, but to me, Maddy still looks about the same. I think she’s even the same height.
She might be wary of me now—likely due to my reputation—but I’ll infiltrate her defenses and more.
I’ll tease that light out of her again and find out what dimmed it in the first place—hopefully without bringing up our past. Part of me wants to, since mentioning our brief history would probably be the easiest way to get her to open up to me, but it would mean opening up a can of worms I’d rather keep sealed.
If it wasn’t for young Maddy, I might have completely blocked that period from my memory.
“Hey, babe!” Bethany’s piercing voice almost makes me jump in guilt.
Where the hell did she just come from? And why should I feel guilty? It’s not like I was having dirty thoughts about Madison; I haven’t betrayed my girlfriend.
“Hey,” I return brightly, accepting her light embrace.
“I heard you made a new friend today,” she says just as brightly.
We both just lied to each other with our tones.
Wait, what the fuck? She heard about ‘a new friend?’
I control my reaction, keeping my face neutral.
I know I’m just being paranoid again—there’s a good chance she’s not referring to my little chat with Madison at all—I mean, it just fucking happened.
I better tread lightly.
“What do you mean?”
“A little birdie told me they saw you chatting up some plain, nerdy type. I figure you must be fishing for a tutor.”
She smiles widely, but the way she said the words, it’s not as casual as it seems at all.
There’s a dark inquiry beneath—a sharp accusation—despite her neutral blue eyes and that purchased million-dollar smile.
“Maybe,” I say with a casual shrug, trying to figure out how best to frame my interaction with Madison.
The last thing I need is Bethany trying to form a wedge between Maddy and me before I can even begin to work on her, which there’s no doubt I’m going to do.
Seeing Maddy today, sitting in the back of class while everyone filed in—it was like a lock clicked into place.
The clarity I felt was all-encompassing, every fiber of my being taken over by one thought, one unassailable bit of knowledge—Maddy is the one for me.
From then on, I pulsed with the need to make her mine as soon as possible, far beyond claiming her slight body, so different from Bethany’s accentuated curves.
Everything about Maddy is understated, and it only makes me want her more.
I had always known I wouldn’t stay with Bethany, despite knowing she’s practically picking out china patterns by now, but I had no idea when to finally bother breaking things off officially.
We’ve been together a few years—ever since she made it clear she had her eyes on me—and it’s been convenient having her around, taking care of basic needs while I maintain the necessary emotional distance required for distraction-free play as I work on my future.
I was betting on the two of us parting after graduation, but I have even more reason to get it over with sooner than later.
As a couple, the optics are good. Beth and I fit a certain image—sought-after football star with the hottest girl on campus—so everyone’s rooting for us.
And there is no doubt about it—Bethany is steaming hot. She’s pretty much the most wanted chick around.
Maybe even without me attached to her, she would have been, so we’re definitely status symbols to each other. A power couple.
But that’s it.
I never really connected with her, but she i
nitially pursued me pretty aggressively, and with no real risk for me involved, why not?
I knew from the get-go what her endgame was—girls like her come after guys like me for one thing only—to lock us down and bask in our glory. To perhaps never have to work again as a sports wife, a well-paid athlete’s trophy.
She’s from a solid upper-middle-class home, but with me being up for the draft, the dollar potential is huge—bigger than she’s used to, anyway.
She wanted the most eligible pick, and she got it.
But the run is over.
I figured maybe something would spark for us eventually, but now that Maddy’s back in my sphere, there’s just no fucking way.
Nothing has changed about the way I feel about her in the eight years since we last saw each other—there’s still no doubt that Maddy should be mine.
I just have to figure out a way to let Bethany down gently.
“I was mostly being friendly,” I continue. “She’s new, looked a bit lonely…”
“How’s that your problem?”
“I actually sort of know her; we used to live in the same neighborhood.”
“Oh.”
Bethany’s voice is different, and I can feel she has backed off, but I’m not sure how she’s actually processing the information.
That’s one of the things that trips me up about her—I can never really tell what’s going on with her outside of when she’s being jealous and possessive.
I feel like even now, after almost three years together, she has never shown me the real her.
Everything she has ever done, everything she’s shown me, has been to convince me in some way that I’m supposed to marry her. She has worked hard on staying with me; she has a plan for her life involving me.
She won’t take me dumping her well.
“Anyway, I was thinking we could go to that new restaurant Saturday…”
“For what?” I ask before I can stop myself.
She gives me a reprimanding look.
“Um, our anniversary? You mean you seriously forgot?”
“Yeah, I guess I did. I mean, it’s just that I’m doing some scrimmages Saturday, and the guys will probably want to hang out after.”
I think she actually she stomps her foot, like a toddler at the beginning of a tantrum.