Spitfire in Love

by Isabelle Ronin

  I leaned against the locker, watching her walk out of the lecture hall. Classes had just ended. Students spilled out from classrooms, crowding the halls. She stopped where she was, braced her side against the wall as she waited for the coast to clear.

  She looked tired but so damn cute in her blue knit sweater—the one that looked like a dress sack and ended just above her knees. She had on those dark leggings that girls wear all the time and boots. Her usual backpack was on her shoulder and her usual water bottle in her hand.

  She ignored everyone around her.

  It seemed like she was in her own world, waiting for everyone to get the hell out of her way so she could move on.

  My eyes shifted to a guy standing a few feet from her. He looked interested as he eyeballed her up and down. He walked closer, trying to get her attention. But she didn’t even look at him, didn’t even know he was alive, didn’t care that he was trying to breathe in the air she exhaled.

  She shifted, ready to move. The guy deliberately blocked her way but made it look like an accident. He stood in front of her, smiling.

  She moved to the left; he moved to her left. She moved to the right; he moved to her right.

  My jaw ticked.

  When I noticed she was looking at him with dead eyes, I nearly laughed. She stopped, waited for him to move, but he wouldn’t.

  He looked at her as if he was undressing her, looking down his nose at her. Son of a bitch.

  I was just about to walk up to them when I heard her say, “Is it filled with air?” Her voice sounded sweet.

  My eyes narrowed, watching her with rapt attention. She only sounded sweet when she was going to deliver a blow.

  The guy, clueless, took it as an invitation. He smiled at her and stepped closer. “What’s filled with air?” he asked.

  “Your brain. I don’t want to look at you all day. Can you move?”

  The guy glared at her but backed off.

  Coward.

  That’s right. Move aside, I thought, watching the guy slink off. You’re not the one for her.

  “And you are?” I heard Levi say. I scowled at him, found him flirting with a girl. For a moment, I’d thought the question was for me.

  And you are…the one for her?

  Am I?

  I watched her fill her water bottle from the fountain.

  She’d bulldozed a guy who wouldn’t stand up to her. She could be blatantly rude, and her jagged edges could cut like a chainsaw to wood.

  She wouldn’t want a gentle or weak man who capitulated to her every whim. She’d get bored with him easily. She needed a guy who could match her temper, who could take her sharp jabs and see them for what they really were. They were her line of defense. Her thorns. Her walls.

  I knew firsthand how high and thick those walls were. And I also knew that if I kept hacking at them, she’d put her defenses down and let me in. She’d already done it a few times. She’d put them back up quickly, but she’d let me take a peek.

  She presented a tough exterior to the world. She had to, but I knew what she was hiding, what she was protecting so fiercely was her soft heart.

  I saw her glance at the bench where I was sitting yesterday. She craned her neck to see inside the other lecture halls, almost hitting a trash can in front of her.

  My smile felt huge on my face as I walked to her.

  “Looking for me?” I asked.

  “Oh shit.”

  She jumped, backing up a step, her hand flying to her chest. She looked guilty—like a little girl caught trying to sneak a little kitten into her room.

  “Why would I look for you?” She sounded embarrassed. “I don’t even know if your classes are in these lecture halls. I’m looking for my friend.”

  “Uh-huh.” I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. “You’re definitely looking for me.”

  She ignored me, walking faster. I followed her. My teammates were looking at us weirdly. They hadn’t seen me show this much interest in a girl before.

  “Where are you headed?” I asked.

  “Why? You want me to drive you to your next class too?”

  “Well, you didn’t drive me yesterday. Or this morning.”

  She kept going, kept ignoring me.

  “At least you’re not talking about me today. Yet.”

  She glared at me over her shoulder, but her eyes were smiling. She kept walking.

  At this rate, she’d disappear before I could get her attention.

  I grabbed the hair tie holding her ponytail together, pulling it down her hair. She squeaked, spinning around to glower at me.

  “What the hell is your problem? Do you know how long it took me to do this hair?” She looked red.

  “I’m keeping this,” I said, shaking the blue hair tie at her. “See you at the gym later.”

  I whistled, walked away. And laughed.

  * * *

  After practice, I showered quickly, got dressed, and didn’t stay around to chat with the guys. I felt…excited. I hadn’t felt this way in a while, and it felt damn good. It felt like how Christmas should feel.

  I walked back to the gym and laughed softly when I saw her there.

  She was sleeping.

  Without a care. Like a little child who’d gotten tired and needed a nap, she’d stretched out on the lowest bleacher seat, arm covering her face, hair spilling around her like a halo. Her other arm hugged her backpack in front of her. Her water bottle was by her feet.

  Carefully so as not to wake her, I sat on the bleacher seat above her. I’d watched her sleep before, but watching her now, it felt like the first time.

  I only saw half of her face. A little bit of her small nose and her mouth. Her lips were pale, a little dry. And somehow, seeing that…I felt a pang in my chest.

  She always had a water bottle with her, but I bet other than water, it was coffee she sipped most of the time. Always trying to stay awake to keep up with her responsibilities.

  She was strong. There was no doubt about that, but even the strong needed rest.

  I should’ve told her to go home and get some sleep, but if I didn’t ask her to pick me up today, I bet she’d have picked up another shift.

  I removed my jacket and draped it over her.

  A lock of her hair touched the floorboard. I held it in my fingers, feeling the texture. It was soft, silky. The color reminded me of burnt caramel—gold and dark brown. I leaned down, close enough to smell it.

  Peaches.

  Thirty minutes passed, an hour. And then the janitor came in. That woke her up. She pulled her arm away from her face, and her hazel eyes found me.

  She looked confused and so damn adorable I wanted to wrap her in my arms.

  “It’s time to go,” I said, and remembering yesterday morning, how she needed coffee to wake up, I reached for her water bottle, opened it. I smelled coffee. “Here.”

  She sat up slowly and drank dutifully. Without a complaint this time. A few seconds later, the caffeine had hit her system. She looked exhausted but a little more awake.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  She walked mechanically, hugging her bag to her chest like a shield. Her hair hid her face from me.

  The only time I’d walked with her without talking was that night when I’d first kissed her. And still, I had felt impatient energy coming off her in waves.

  Tonight, that energy was not present. She felt subdued, as though she was hiding herself from the world.

  “You can hold on to me,” I whispered. “If you want.”

  She shook her head and kept walking. When at last we were seated in her car, she leaned her head against the headrest and just closed her eyes.

  I sucked in a breath when I felt her rest her head on my arm.

  “Five minutes,” she said softly
, her voice breaking. “Five goddamn minutes. Let me just…”

  “You can take more than five minutes. You can take…” I stopped myself before I said anything stupid. “Take all the time you need, Kara. I got you.”

  “I’m so tired.”

  “I know, baby.”

  Her breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling fast. I was expecting her to cry, but there were no tears.

  We sat in the parking lot for a quarter of an hour. I didn’t dare move, just in case she was asleep again. I didn’t want to wake her up but realized she was awake and was just quiet.

  “What’s your last name?” she asked randomly.

  I knew hers was Hawthorne.

  “Saint Laurent,” I answered.

  “You’re no saint though,” she laughed softly, teasingly. It sounded so feminine that I wanted to kiss the tip of her nose.

  “Sometimes I feel like one,” I said.

  I had a feeling she rolled her eyes at me. “Middle name?”

  “Jeremiah.”

  “Jeremiah,” she repeated. “That’s one of the prophets in the Bible. He’s an ass kicker.”

  She pulled away. I could still feel the imprint her body heat had made on my arm.

  Her voice was soft, whispery. Like we were talking in candlelight.

  “You look like a Jeremiah,” she added. “Not Jerry though. Jeremiah.”

  My lips wanted to twitch. “What’s yours?”

  “Cammilla.”

  I said her name in my head a hundred times.

  “Doesn’t it sound like a stripper name? Don’t obsess too much on it though.”

  This time, I smiled.

  “We’re still waiting for some of the parts on your motorcycle. Just letting you know, in case you’re wondering.”

  I shrugged. As long as she had it, she was bound to me. It was more than fine if she kept it for a while.

  It seemed she was getting nervous, filling up the silence with chatter. I wondered if she was thinking what I was thinking—about that moment she rested her head on my arm.

  “Tell me what you like,” I said.

  She stilled at my question. I heard her breath hold for a moment, a split second before it released. I frowned.

  “You have a way,” she said.

  “What way?”

  “Like you’re seducing me with your words.”

  My face relaxed into a lazy smile. “Am I?”

  “See?” She blew out a breath. “Put a lid on it, all right? I got it.”

  I chuckled. “Tell me.”

  She looked up at the ceiling, then breathed deeply. She muttered something under her breath. I thought I heard Lord have mercy, but I wasn’t sure.

  “Hold on.” She cranked her window open a little more. “Hmm, let me think,” she started, chewing her lip. “Like, what I do for fun? I like decorating. And designing.”

  I was hoping she’d answer my other question—if I was succeeding in seducing her with my words. But I liked her answer too.

  “Houses?”

  She nodded. “I probably would have taken interior design if I had the money, but that’s what the internet is for, right? I just watch videos about it and I learn a lot.”

  She preferred an eclectic style, I knew, remembering the time when I was in her house.

  “What else?” I prodded.

  “When I was a kid, I had this huge swing at our old house. Whenever I felt sad or angry or misunderstood, I’d just go there and swing the day away. If I had money to spare, maybe I’d buy some candy or a milkshake, and I wouldn’t get hungry while I was there. I didn’t have many friends so…” She jerked a shoulder. “I was too much for girls my age, I guess.”

  She placed her hand on the steering wheel, her thumb rubbing the groove on it. “Dylan sometimes came with me, but mostly he stayed in the tree house. He and my dad built it and I decorated it. I think that’s where I started to love decorating.”

  She pulled her seat back, tucking her long legs under her and leaning against the door so she was facing me. I liked that. I liked that a lot.

  “I like fireworks too. When we were kids, Dad used to take me and Dylan to the Forks in Winnipeg. We’d drink milkshakes and eat spaghetti and feed the ducks in the river.”

  The smile on her lips looked tender. Her childhood memories were happy ones. I wished I could tell her the same.

  “Dylan wanted to ride the boat, but Dad didn’t have money. I don’t remember us having enough money ever.” She frowned. “I used to ask my dad every year to buy me new shoes for the new school year. I was a kid and didn’t know better, until I heard Andrew giving my dad shit about paying off his debts or something like that. I thought at the time, because I was so young, that I didn’t understand what they were talking about, but I realized I did. Because I never asked my dad to buy me anything after that.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “Hmm. I like makeup. I feel pretty with makeup.”

  “You look pretty without it too.”

  She snorted, not taking compliments from me. I wondered if she knew I meant every word.

  “What about you?” she asked. “What do you like?”

  “I like you.”

  She blushed, then said, “Do you sleep around a lot?”

  I paused. “Do you really want to know?”

  She looked at me directly. “I guess I know.”

  I was surprised how much that hurt coming from her.

  “It didn’t mean anything to me,” I said. “And I feel like shit talking about it to you.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because it’s…you.”

  And since I had a feeling she’d ask me more about myself, questions I wasn’t ready to answer, I asked, “Why do you have a bruise on your face?”

  I tried to soften my voice, hiding the anger I was feeling. It wasn’t the same anger I felt when I was a child. Back then, I was angry for and at myself—for being mistreated, the unfairness of the world, for being weak and not growing fast enough, so I could run away from everyone. The anger I felt now was for…her. Anger so hot and sharp I wanted to destroy something out of helpless wrath because I couldn’t protect someone special to me.

  Was that what she was to me? Special?

  I’d seen her bruise earlier when she got up from the bleachers. I knew she was confrontational. Had she been in an argument and someone had hit her?

  She sniffed. “I thought I hid it pretty well with makeup.”

  “You did,” I answered calmly. “But I think you wiped it off when you were sleeping.”

  “A patient got confused and hit me.” She was whispering, and so was I.

  “Does that happen a lot?”

  “I’ve heard stories from coworkers, but it was my first time.”

  She exhaled softly, her hand on her lap curling. I wanted to hold it. No, I wanted to do more than hold her hand.

  Slowly, I turned toward her. It was getting dark now. The lampposts in the parking lot were on, and only a couple of cars were scattered in the huge parking lot.

  The car felt like our own little world.

  Her eyes looked vulnerable. I held her face with both my hands, my thumb stroking her lip. I wanted to kiss it, taste it, but I leaned closer and kissed her bruise instead. I felt her body soften and lean into me.

  I want to take care of you.

  There was a hunger I felt for her inside me. It was always there, so strong I’d never felt it with anyone else before. But it felt like I was taking advantage of her vulnerability if I kissed her now.

  “I’ll drive,” I said. Damn, my voice sounded rough. I’d drive her to her place, park her car, and walk home.

  “No. I got it.” She pulled away from me and ran a hand on her hair. “I just needed a moment. Thanks,” she sa
id softly. “Cameron.”

  That was the first time she said my name. It sounded…good coming from her lips.

  Would it be all right to reach for her hand right now? I’d never wanted to hold anyone’s hand before. I wondered how her hands would look in mine. They looked dainty. Mine would swallow hers whole.

  “I got you a drink,” she said.

  What did it mean, I thought, when my heart jumped in my chest at what she said? When warmth was sneaking in like a thief?

  “I got it because I didn’t want to give you a dollar,” she added.

  “Where is it?”

  “At home.” She laughed. “Just kidding. In my bag.”

  She grabbed her bag, unzipped it, and reached inside.

  There was something so soft and sweet about her when she was like this. I must’ve stared at her longer than what was normal because she nudged me with a can. It was ginger ale.

  I cleared my throat. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, starting the car. “Thanks for helping me yesterday too.”

  She threw me a smile—a genuine one. I thought there was affection in the way she looked at me. Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe, but I was keeping it.

  She didn’t turn the radio on this time. She’d opened her window a little wider, letting the wind inside the car. I noticed she liked doing that while she drove.

  We were quiet, but it was comfortable. It surprised me. I’d never had a comfortable moment with a girl before. Not like this. There was usually an expectation to be met—between the sheets. I never wanted anything else after that.

  I could see how empty, how shallow all of it was when I was sitting beside her. I raked my hands in my hair, feeling uneasy. When she threw me another look, another smile, every thought in my head quieted down.

  And…I relaxed.

  She slowed down when she reached my street. When she laughed softly, I turned to look at her. I’d been trying not to look at her all throughout the drive—just in case it freaked her out. We’d reached some sort of truce tonight, and I didn’t want to ruin it.

  “What’s funny?” I asked.

  “You’re right. I owe you a shirt and pants. You made me very mad at—”

  The rest of her words didn’t register when I saw the black Ferrari as we pulled up to my driveway.