by Dana Fredsti
I turned around to see the douchebag himself behind us in line, as stellar good-looking as I remembered and doing as much for jeans and plain white cotton shirt as Matt did. Maybe even a little bit more. Had he been there the entire time I'd been bitching about what an asshat he was? I mean, could I be that clueless? Judging from his expression, the answer to both those questions was a big old yes.
Ugh.
Okay, so he'd heard me call him a douchebag. Obviously the only defense at this point was offense. Disengaging myself from Matt's arm, I crossed my arms and glared at him. “What the hell do you care about what I eat?”
Gabriel smirked down at me from his superior height. “Not a hell of a lot, except for the fact you're wasting Professor Fraser's time by being sick and then coming in late.”
“Ash, is this the douchebag?” Matt bristled behind me and I waved him back.
“I'll handle this, Matt.” This was my war.
“Are you for real?” I took a step towards Gabriel to show him he didn't intimidate me. “I mean, do you just wake up every morning and say, ‘Today I will be an asshole to the first innocent bystander that crosses my path’? Or did I, like, accidentally kill your puppy or something? ‘Cause I would really like to know.”
“I just don't believe in being late or in abusing my body with carcinogens and other living creatures.”
“Class hadn't even started yet.” My teeth were clenched so tight I was in danger of lockjaw.
“That's not the point, now, is it? Class is supposed to start at eight a.m.. Professor Fraser is there to teach the students. You're not there to teach her. So the least you can do is show up on time, whether she's late or not.”
“Gee, so I missed the sight of you fiddling with the projector. Damn. Guess I'll fail my midterm now.”
Gabriel narrowed those gorgeous blue eyes. “Why are you even taking Professor Fraser's class anyway?”
“It sounded interesting,” I shot back.
“I bet you're a liberal studies major, aren't you?”
“And that's supposed to mean what?”
“That you don't know what you want to be when you grow up, so you're wasting the time of the majority of your college professors.” Gabriel followed this up with a look so condescending and superior, it was all I could do not to punch him in the face. The fact that he was right didn't help.
Matt, on the other hand, felt no such compunction. Testosterone crackled in the air and before I knew what was happening, he stepped in front of me, straight-armed Gabriel with a hand to the chest and said, “Back off!”
I'm not exactly sure what happened, it all happened so quickly, but next thing I knew there was yelling, Matt was on the ground, one arm twisted up behind him, and Gabriel's foot braced against his back.
“You jerk!” Never mind that Matt had thrown the first, er, shove. I smacked Gabriel on the side of his head as hard as I could. His head whipped around and his expression very nearly got an ‘I'm sorry’ out of me. His pupils were dilated so they were more black than blue, and he honestly looked as though he'd kill me without a second thought. Talk about Jekyll and Hyde. I was just stubborn and hungry enough, however, to stand my ground. Low blood sugar is a great equalizer. “Let go of him now!”
To my surprise and relief (although I'd never admit to the second), Gabriel slowly backed off, lifting his foot and releasing Matt's arm at the same time. He moved out of the way as Matt rolled onto his back and jumped to his feet, fists clenched. I quickly stepped in between them just in case Matt decided to take another swing. Probably not the smartest move, but a) I didn't want Matt to get hurt and b) I wanted my lunch.
Fortunately Matt's surge of protective testosterone faded as quickly as it'd risen, replaced by the male bonding urge. “Damn, that was fast!” Matt looked at Gabriel in admiration, fists uncurling as he relaxed. “Judo?”
Gabriel shook his head. “Aikido. You okay, man?”
Matt nodded. “Maybe a little embarrassed at being taken down in front of my girlfriend.”
“Don't be,” said Gabriel. “I've been training for the last fifteen years.”
I couldn't resist it. “In what? Being a pain in the ass?”
Gabriel's lip twitched in what might have been a smile if it had a chance to grow a little. “Sorry. I owe you an apology.”
I waited expectantly, finally giving him a “yes?” expression.
“Er … I'm sorry.” The words didn't quite stick in his throat, but they at least paused briefly. “I'm working on five hours’ sleep over the last three days and it's made me short-tempered.”
“Oh, dude, that sucks,” said Matt before I could decide whether or not to accept Gabriel's apology. “I did a couple of all nighters for mid-terms last year. Totally screwed with my head. Sorry I swung at you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Um, Matt? Can we get some food please?”
Gabriel ended up sitting with us during lunch. Normally I'd be totally jazzed to be sitting with two guys as majorly hunky as these particular specimens (and okay, I did get a kick out of the envious stares of the cheerleaders two tables over), but I'd had enough of Gabriel this morning, and there was something really irritating at how fast Matt went from protective boyfriend to total boy-crush on Gabriel.
I dared Gabriel with a glare to say one more word about my buffalo burger-and-onion ring combo, but he seemed to be out of self-righteous snark for the time being. I'd cut him a little bit of slack for the sleep deprivation—it really can mess with your head—but I still had to wonder what I'd done to be labeled with a big old bull's-eye for his shitty temper this morning.
“So you don't eat any meat?” Matt took a big bite of his burger, oblivious to the irony.
“No meat, no poultry, no dairy.”
“No fun,” I muttered, dipping an onion ring in ketchup.
“Not true,” Gabriel retorted. “You'd be amazed at the variety of foods I eat.”
“I bet I would. What about onion rings? There are no animal products in onion rings, are there?” I waved one at him.
“Vegan diets are free of cholesterol and are generally low in saturated fat.” Gabriel sounded as if he were reciting from the Vegan Bible or something. “So, no onion rings.”
“I repeat,” I said, shaking my head, “no fun.”
Chapter Three
“Ash, have you seen my Sassy exfoliating scrub?” This was followed by a rattling coughing fit, reminiscent of mine two weeks earlier. Poor Zara had been bitten hard by Walkers, but even bedridden she insisted on following her skincare regime.
I ran into the kitchen where she huddled in front of the open fridge, feebly digging through apples and diet Cokes for her facial supplies. She looked terrible, the circles under her eyes so dark she looked bruised, and the rest of her skin sickly pale. Her dark brown hair hung in sweat-soaked hanks down her back, strands plastered to her face. All the exfoliant in the world wouldn't help right now.
“Zara, get back in bed!” Putting an arm around Zara's shoulders, I led her back to the twin bed across from mine. “You can exfoliate later, okay?”
Zara coughed again, then smiled weakly up at me. “You'll find it for me, though, right?”
I held up my right hand and crossed my heart. “By the time you're ready for a facial, I will have unearthed your Sassy scrub from the veggie drawer.”
Zara heaved a sigh, as though a heavy burden had been removed from her soul, and fell sound asleep. I felt her forehead; it was hot and clammy. She'd been really sick for the last three days despite having gotten the flu vaccine. If she weren't any better tomorrow, I'd get Matt to help me drive her to see Dr. Albert.
With all the fuss this year about the latest flu, I thought maybe, what, around six hundred people actually died from it so far? Yeah, six hundred is not exactly a small number, but given the population of California, let alone the entire U.S. of A., it didn't seem too alarming. So while I was a little concerned about Zara, I pretty much assumed she'd get over it like I did. Still, I'd
keep an eye on her in between classes until Matt picked me up for our date tonight.
Speaking of class, I was going to be late for Pandemics in History if I didn't leave now, taking into consideration my cappuccino/muffin stop, so I grabbed my bag and dashed out the door.
There was only one other person in line at the coffee kiosk: an androgynous-looking hipster with the mandatory asymmetrical pixie cut, American Outfitters hoodie over distressed jeans tucked into L.L. Bean boots. The smell of cloves tipped me off to his (at least I thought it was a he) cigarette before he raised it to his mouth for a long inhale. He started coughing right after the puff, a deep, rattling cough that made me step back a foot. I didn't think I could catch Walkers again, but still.
While I waited for the girl manning the kiosk to make the hipster's grande, foamy, double, extra-hot vanilla latte, I looked around me, seeing surprisingly few people. True, we'd had a lot of people out sick the last two weeks, including Gabriel (and you can bet I planned on razzing him unmercifully about his Vegan immune system letting him down as soon as he returned to class), but the campus resembled a ghost town this morning.
I ordered my usual double cappuccino and blueberry muffin. “Is it just me or is it kind of dead today?” I commented.
The girl tamped down two shots of espresso with an expert hand. “It's crazy dead today. You're, like, my fifth customer this morning. Normally we have a total mad rush by eight.” Frothing non-fat milk, she made my cappuccino as automatically as a robot would. Total android barista.
“Weird,” I said. “I mean, I know a lot of people have gotten sick the last couple of weeks, but you'd think they'd be back in class by now.”
She handed me my cap. “I heard the ER's been hopping with cases of Walkers.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded, using tongs to pull out a fat streusel-encrusted blueberry muffin from the case. I tried not to drool.
“Yup. And I guess some people have been getting kind of crazy.”
“Crazy like how?”
She shrugged, putting the bag on the counter. “Fights and stuff. Sick people attacking other people.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“I haven't heard any of this stuff.”
“My brother works for the Redwood Grove PD. They're trying to keep it quiet so people don't freak out. He says it's no big deal, but you know how people get.”
My turn to nod. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Forking over four fifty, I stuffed a buck in the tip jar and headed to D.B. Patterson Hall. I hoped Gabriel was back today. I couldn't wait to ask him how his diet of fruit, nuts, soy, and whole grain had let him down.
Granted, my student/T.A. relationship with Gabriel was slightly better than it had been that first contentious day, but we still sniped at one another as if it were second nature. His sanctimonious attitude definitely brought out the worst in me. And if I behaved badly, well, he started it.
I made it to Room 217 five minutes before eight, plenty of time to have my pick of seats. I probably could have arrived at eight-thirty and still picked a seat pretty much wherever I wanted, though. The classroom was only half full.
Jamie (who I still thought of as Miss Hot Topic) was in Gabriel's usual spot at the lectern, getting the projector set and whatever else Gabriel did to make himself feel important before class. She looked up at the sound of the door creaking, but when she saw it was me, she went back to her work without acknowledging my presence. I don't know if it was because Gabriel and I didn't get along, but she did not like me. I'd figured this out after three consecutive classes when my efforts to talk to her had been studiously ignored. Maybe she had a crush on him or something.
Whatever.
I took out my copy of Professor Fraser's The Black Death to Ebola: Plagues Through History, and by the time Professor Fraser arrived, looking like a forties movie star in wide-legged black trousers and a white silk blouse, we were still missing at least a third of the class. Of the two-thirds there, half were coughing miserably.
Professor Fraser stood at the lectern and surveyed the class, Jamie a few steps behind her like a worshipful shadow.
“So. How many here feel perfectly healthy?”
About ten of us raised our hands.
“And how many would rather be home in bed?”
Everyone raised his or her hands. We all laughed, a lot of the laughter followed by more of those nasty coughing fits.
Professor Fraser smiled and shook her head. “Let me rephrase that. How many of you feel like death warmed over?”
This time the number of hands counted for at least half of the students present.
“Excellent! I'd like all of those who just raised their hands to go home immediately.”
A few students laughed, but she looked quite serious as she said, “Now, please. You are ill and should not be here. The irony of germ-infested students attending a lecture on pandemics in history is not lost on me, but I'd rather the germs you carry would be.” People still hesitated. “If you're worried about your grades or credit, I guarantee anyone who misses any portion of this class due to illness will be given every opportunity to make up the work missed. Experiencing a potentially lethal virus certainly should count for part of your grade.” She clapped her hands together briskly. “Go!”
At least half the class slowly trailed out the doors. The rest of us stayed where we were.
“Jamie?” Professor Fraser nodded to her intern, who promptly grabbed a box and started handing out small packets to all the remaining students. She dropped mine on the little foldout desk attached to my chair. It was a Clean ‘n’ Wipe sanitizing towelette.
“I suggest you all use these to wipe down your hands, desks, and the desks of those who sat next to you.”
Nobody argued with her.
“Miss Drake, you are looking much healthier this week.” Professor Fraser smiled at me approvingly.
“I think I pretty much kicked Walkers’ butt,” I said.
Professor Fraser nodded. “Good. You're very lucky.”
And that was that.
I caught Jamie glaring at me, and suddenly her animosity made sense. Total girl crush going on here. Jamie had pretty much had me on her shit list since day one, ever since Professor Fraser had told me to take care of my health. Although, excuse me for being dense, but someone please tell me how Professor Fraser's inquiry into my health could be construed as any sort of favoritism.
Did I mention “whatever”?
When I stopped back at the dorm to check on Zara after my first two classes, she was still sound asleep. Her breathing seemed kind of thick and uneven, but her fever had gone down and her color was less moldy cheese and more healthy college co-ed. I felt much better about being gone the rest of the day.
Later I stopped by for one more quick peek before my date with Matt; she looked so much better, I felt sure she'd be up and about in the next day or so.
“You sure you're okay if I'm out tonight?”
Zara nodded, taking a few tentative sips of the chicken broth I'd heated up on our hot plate. “Yeah. I'm okay.” She ate some more soup and had a swallow of ginger ale. “Thanks for making this.”
“No prob. Just stay in bed, okay?”
“I promise.”
I handed her a tube of apricot and olive oil exfoliant. “It was behind the tomatoes. Just don't try to use it tonight.”
Zara yawned. “Thanks, Ash. You're the best.”
My cell phone beeped. Matt, texting he was waiting for me in front of the dorm.
“Gotta go. Call me on my cell if you need anything!”
But Zara had already curled back up to sleep, clutching the tube of face scrub to her like a teddy bear.
I smiled as I headed out the door. She was definitely on the mend.
Chapter Four
“Mmmm, baby, you smell so good.”
I giggled as Matt nuzzled against me. He did this thing where he pretended to be a dog and sniffed up and down my neck a
nd shoulders. It tickled and he sounded like a Saint Bernard with asthma. Disgusting and cute at the same time.
Pushing him away, I ignored Matt's pout, pulling my sweater back down and jeans back up, just in case there were any passersby wandering the woods behind campus after dark. Not too likely, especially when the weather was chilly and overcast, plus the grove of redwoods where we'd spread our blanket was pretty much private, but you never know who might be attracted to the light from Matt's battery-powered lantern.
“Pass the champagne, ‘kay?”
Matt sulked a little, but filled one of the little flutes (glass, not plastic) he'd brought with some Italian bubbly. “It's Prosecco, not champagne, Ash. It's only champagne—”
“—if it comes from Champagne,” I finished for him. “I know, I know.” It's what I get for dating a wine snob-in-training. I usually don't complain ‘cause it means I get to taste some wicked good stuff when most people my age are still working their way through White Zins of the World.
Matt decided he'd sulked long enough (I swear, he had a timer for his mood swings) and smiled at me. “Like the picnic, Ash?”
I nodded. How could I not? I mean, how many college guys took the time to pack full-on picnics? We're not talking a bucket of KFC and a six-pack. Nope, roast chicken, bread, brie, and bubbly. Bread knife, cutting board, and cloth napkins.
Yeah, Matt had ulterior motives—he was a college boy, after all—but I'd rather be seduced with sparkling wine than Pabst Blue Ribbon.
I took another sip and used my other hand to hide a delicate little belch that bubbled out of nowhere. Bubbly burp, I thought, and started giggling.
Whoa, tipsy much? I probably should have had more of the chicken and bread before diving straight into the alcohol. I'm a cheap date. So sue me.
Matt didn't mind. “What's so funny?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. Good thing ‘cause I couldn't stop giggling now that I'd started. Matt started nuzzling my neck again, making low growling noises that vibrated pleasantly against the sensitive skin, both tickling me and turning me on. One thing led to another and we were soon happily in Stage One of making out, i.e. hands groping under clothing, bra pushed up but still fastened, no actual disrobing, lots of hip and groin action.