by Claire Adams
“I think you’ve got to give him the benefit of the doubt,” she said, sitting back in the chair. “I mean, he’s a really nice guy. He was even nice to me at that party and he didn’t have to be; I wouldn’t have blamed him if he only paid attention to you all night. But he made sure I had a drink, and he got me involved in the conversation. That’s not the kind of guy who’s just being a player.” Georgia considered for a moment more. “Besides—remember all those girls who were wrapped around him hanging on his every word? As soon as he saw you, he walked away from them. Obviously, you mean something to him—or he would have just come along whenever he felt like it.”
I had to admit that she was right. “Ugh,” I said, shaking my head. “I do not want to be one of those stupid girls who gets her head all twisted around by some guy just because he’s hot and nice…and an incredibly good lay.” Georgia smirked.
“Granted, you had been deprived for what—a year? You were hardly going in with realistic expectations. It would have been great even if it was really mediocre.”
I rolled my eyes. “Trust me; I know the difference between good sex and bad sex.”
“Yeah, but do you know the difference between good sex and mediocre sex?” I couldn’t think of anything to say to that—it was such a weird question that I just laughed. “I rest my case. Come on, Beck—let’s grab some food and you can put Johnny Steel totally out of your mind for at least an hour.” I considered it.
“Nah,” I said finally. “I’m going to stay here and enjoy moping over the fact that the first guy I’ve had sex with in over a year is too busy to check his phone and might have been involved in someone’s suicide. You know, like the good English major I am.” Georgia laughed.
“Careful; I don’t think they refund your housing fee if you pull a Sylvia Plath,” she said, standing up finally. “Besides, you’ve got Greenpeace to look forward to. Don’t ruin that over a guy who’s probably not even that bad.” She grabbed her purse and was out the door a few moments later, calling out to someone down the hall to wait up.
For a while after Georgia left, I did indulge myself in brooding over Johnny, covering all the ground I had the entire afternoon, ever since the girl—I should probably find out her name—had told me about Claire White. What the hell had Claire White’s suicide had to do with Johnny? I went back and forth in my mind, wondering if I should just decide that the girl was being the kind of snotty, jealous ass that would put doubt in someone’s head just to see a potential relationship crash and burn, or whether she had actually known Claire.
It just didn’t make any sense; if she had had any concern at all about Claire White, why would she have been flirting with Johnny before? I had mostly settled on the idea that she had just been trying to get into my head and make me doubt Johnny, to remove what she saw as competition. But then, she could have stuck with just calling Johnny a player. If he really was, and if she had any proof of it, wouldn’t she have given me a list of names of different girls he had slept with? I frowned in thought as I stared at the TV, unable to work it out. If she was just trying to get some competition out of the way, why would she pick on the story of a girl who committed suicide? Why would she imply that I would follow in Claire White’s footsteps, just for having dated Johnny? It didn’t make any sense at all. I wondered if Claire had somehow had something to do with Johnny romantically. If she had killed herself over the fact that he was cheating on her. That would make the story make the most sense—though I thought to myself wryly that if Johnny ever cheated on me, if we got to the point where we were that serious, I would kick him out of my life, rather than take my own.
My fingers itched to pick up my phone to text Johnny again. But I told myself firmly that all that would accomplish would be to make me look like a crazy, unhinged person who assumed she was in a serious relationship with someone she’d slept with once. And here I thought that relationships in college would be so much simpler than high school. It was only two weeks into my first semester in college, and I was already having trouble focusing in class. I had spent the first week of classes distracted by the possibility that Johnny was into me, and now—unless I got some kind of control over myself—I was going to end up spending the second week of classes just as distracted, but this time with doubt instead of interest.
Just as I was reaching the point where I was getting tired of my own stupid brain, my phone vibrated against my leg, my ringtone cutting through the sound of the TV. I jumped, my hand fumbling for the phone, and nearly dropped it onto the floor trying to turn it over to look at the screen. I half-expected a call from my mom, or from one of my friends—and I irritably thought that maybe Georgia had told someone about my moping and this would be a concern-call from one of my dorm-mates. Instead, I saw Johnny’s name and number flashing, and I immediately tapped “accept.”
“Hey, babe!” I said right away, trying to keep my relief out of my voice. Over the phone I could hear the sound of dozens of guys—shouting, laughing, and joking—even if I couldn’t make out any specifics of what they were saying. If they were anything like most guys, I thought, I probably wouldn’t want to know what they were talking and joking about.
“Becky! I’m so glad I got you—I thought you might be at dinner.” I could barely hear Johnny’s voice over the yelling and laughing going on around him, and I wondered where he was specifically; was he in a locker room somewhere, or on the bus? I shrugged it off. I couldn’t bring myself to mention the rude upperclassman girl or even what she had told me; it was still too raw, and I knew better than to try and touch on a serious topic like that when he was clearly among his friends and teammates.
“Nah, I’m vegging out in the dorm,” I said, smiling to myself. I wished that he was talking to me in person; I wished I knew where he was, what he was doing, whether he had actually gotten my text, or if he was just calling me because he wanted to call me.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Johnny said—I caught his words only barely. “I was hoping that if I got your voicemail, you didn’t have the stupid automatic version, and I could hear your voice.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “You’re crazy—I wouldn’t miss a call from you for the world,” I told him.
“I wish I could hear you better—these guys are a hot mess, you know?” I nodded, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “I can’t wait to see you again, Becky.” Someone on the other end of the line—not Johnny—made some kind of joke about him being whipped, and I rolled my eyes. I heard the meaty sound of someone being smacked—not in any way that would really hurt them, but enough to make them stop while still being playful. “As soon as I get back, I’m going to find you right away. I’m not cut out for not seeing a beautiful woman for so long.” I felt myself smiling and remembered—suddenly—the question that had weighed on me earlier in the day.
“Hey, speaking of that—when are you going to be back?” the sound of boys shouting and joking was getting louder.
“Sorry, Becky; I’ve got to go. I couldn’t go another moment without hearing your voice, but we’re heading out somewhere now, and I can’t be on my phone.” I sighed. He hadn’t been able to hear me over the noise on his end; that much was certain. I managed to get him to hear my goodbye, and then the call ended, the boop-boop-boop tone leaving me disappointed.
Earlier in the day, I had thought that if I could just hear Johnny’s voice, or even get a text from him, some kind of contact, I would feel better. Of course, like with so many things, I had discovered that what I wanted wasn’t enough once I had it. I wished that he could have stayed on the phone with me a little longer. I wished that Johnny could have given me something more to cling to so I could be more confident that I had any idea at all about what there was between us. I wished that he’d called me while he was alone, so he wouldn’t have been distracted by his teammates.
I decided that I needed to get some food in me. I still didn’t feel hungry, and the prospect of walking all the way to the dining hall an
d maybe running into the girl once more was more than enough to keep me in the room. I rummaged through the junk food scattered around the room and mined what I wanted: snack crackers, a packet of ramen, and a few squares of chocolate for dessert. It wasn’t exactly a great or even nutritionally-sound dinner, but it filled my stomach and gave me something to think about for a few moments other than Johnny. I wished that I had been able to just enjoy the call Johnny had made and rejoice in the fact that he had been thinking of me enough to want to call me, in spite of hanging out with his teammates. It should have been a relief, but I still couldn’t make myself relax.
Chapter Three
The next morning, even though I barely slept the night before, I forced myself to get out of bed and to make my way to class. As I got up, got dressed, and made myself pack my books into my bag, I tried to think of something that I could hold onto to be grateful for. The fact that Johnny had called me at all, I decided to summon up at least a bit of happiness for. The fact that my class—while early—wasn’t painfully early, I could be relieved to know. I hadn’t had to wake up at 6am, the way I had done for high school. 7:30 in the morning was still early, but I knew there were classes that were already in progress as I was dragging myself around my dorm room, rubbing at my face and wishing that it wasn’t so gray and gloomy outside.
I stopped at the dining hall on my way towards the class buildings and swiped my card; the menu board proclaimed that the special attraction for the morning was a “smoothie bar,” which manifested itself as a table with about a dozen blenders, a few extra carafes, and piles and piles of various fruit, juices, and mix-ins like protein powder and spirulina. I wondered to myself how much of my own personal food dollars had gone into the scheme. But it was as good an idea as any, considering that I had to get to class and didn’t have time for anything more substantial. I loaded up a carafe with broken up pieces of banana, a handful of strawberries, some blueberries, a scoop of whey protein, some peaches, a dollop of yogurt, coconut shreds, and apple juice, and let it blitz while I snagged another cup for some coffee.
When I sampled my finished smoothie, I decided that it tasted a little weird, but not bad; certainly, I’d probably made worse ones in my life. Some of the other students were loading their carafes with greens, which gave me a shudder, or with weird fruits just to see what odd combinations they could come up with—papaya-pineapple-strawberry-grape, or cherry-blueberry with chocolate protein powder. I left them to their concoctions and gathered up my liquid breakfast, heading for the door.
I was halfway across the campus, starting to finally feel good about being awake, when something—someone—grabbed me from behind. I gasped, nearly spilling both of my drinks all over the place and immediately squirming to break free of whoever had had the brilliant idea of grabbing a girl who was just trying to get to class. “Hey, Becky—don’t spill!” I heard Johnny’s voice in my ear, and I very nearly ended up spilling my drinks a second time, startled at the sound of him. His grip on my waist loosened just slightly, and I turned to face him, feeling a mixture of shock, startle, and relieved delight. If someone was going to come up and grab me from behind, at least it could be someone I was into.
“Oh my god, you’re back!” I was grinning like an idiot, and I knew it; but I couldn’t care what I looked like as I carefully threw my arms around Johnny, trying not to dump my breakfast all over him. Johnny hugged me tightly, and I felt my body heating up in spite of the early hour and in spite of how horribly I had slept the night before. I buried my face against Johnny’s neck and breathed in the smell of his cologne, beyond happy to see him.
Johnny disentangled my arms from around him and looked around quickly. I started to say that I had to get to class—that I wasn’t in the DH because I couldn’t spend the time to actually eat breakfast there. But before I could protest or even tell him the issue, he led me off of the walkway and towards one of the smaller classroom buildings, pulling me around the corner away from the sight of anyone trying to get to class, away from all of the windows. He pressed me against the brick wall, his hands snagging my to go cups away, setting them aside somewhere I couldn’t see. I kissed him back, for a moment forgetting completely about everything that I was thinking about—about class, about how little I liked waking up so early, about how hopeless it was to even go to class when I knew I wouldn’t take in more than half of what the professor was saying. I kissed him back, my heart pounding in my chest, my body warming up more and more.
I shivered and moaned softly against Johnny’s lips as I felt his hands beginning to slip up underneath my t-shirt, his fingers cold against my skin. He teased my breasts through my shirt, and I arched into his touch, forgetting everything that the nasty girl from the dining hall had said about him, forgetting about Claire White, forgetting about everything but how good it felt to kiss Johnny, to feel his body pressed against mine. “God,” Johnny murmured against my lips, his hands wandering all over me underneath my shirt until I felt my pussy starting to get wet. “I wish I could just rip off all your clothes right now and screw you right up against this wall.” I could feel the hard ridge of his quickly-hardening cock straining at his jeans, digging into my hip, as Johnny pressed up against me, kissing me more and more hungrily. He pulled back with a shudder, taking a shaking breath. “You have no idea how much I missed you,” he told me, smiling sweetly.
“Probably about as much as I missed you—though in fairness to me, I didn’t have a game to occupy my thoughts.” Johnny laughed, kissing me on the lips again lightly, giving my breasts one last lingering caress through the fabric of my bra before he backed off slightly.
“I thought about you the whole time,” he said, reaching out and tweaking at the ponytail I’d put my hair into. “Especially on the bus home, when half the team was snoring—you’re a lot more fun to sleep with.” I rolled my eyes.
“I certainly hope you’re not sleeping with your teammates the way you slept with me—that would make things pretty complicated on the team.”
“That would bring a new meaning to ‘male bonding,’” Johnny countered. “God, it’s good to see you. I thought I’d be happy just hearing your voice, but it only made it worse. I almost called you late last night, just to hear you again.” I was grinning, blushing, unable to help myself—I was so happy Johnny was back, so happy he’d immediately come to look for me, that he had kept enough information about me in mind to know I’d be going to class.
“Shit! I just remembered—I’m going to be late for class!”
Johnny laughed, leaning in and kissing me on the forehead. “Let me walk you there,” he suggested. I nodded; maybe if I was late but showed up on Johnny’s arm, it wouldn’t be so bad—certainly he seemed to be able to get away with anything. “I meant to ask you,” he said, pulling me free of the wall and leading me back towards the walkway. “What have you got going on tonight? Any plans?” I grinned, rolling my eyes at him.
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Real hot date. I was planning on sitting in my dorm room all night, waiting for you to call me, hoping you would.”
Johnny grinned, draping his arm around my shoulder and holding me close as we walked towards the Marchman building.
“Well, since we don’t have a game tonight, and I’d rather spend time with you than any of the guys at my frat…” Johnny gave me a playful nudge. “Would you let me take you out? I promise I won’t keep you out late unless you absolutely want me to.” My heart leaped in my chest, and I could barely contain my excitement; Johnny might not be serious about me—and of course I couldn’t expect him to be so soon—but at least he wanted to see me again. At least he had made an effort to get up early and chase me down on my way to class, and at least he wanted to take me out on a real date. That was something—a much bigger deal than just inviting me to his frat’s party.
“I do not even care how late we’re out,” I said, shaking my head. “It’d be worth it to be all sleep-deprived tomorrow morning.” Johnny grinned and pulled me close against him
as we made our way down the walkway. As he walked with me towards my first class of the day, I felt myself finally starting to relax for the first time since the girl from the dining hall had dropped the bomb on me about Claire White; in fact, I felt even more relaxed than I had even the morning after Johnny and I had slept together for the first time. Nothing could bring me down from how good I felt just to be with him and to know that he wanted to take me out, that he wanted to spend more time with me and that he had missed me.
I felt like I was walking on air, joking and laughing with Johnny as we went along. He told me about the game—and I somehow managed to cover for the fact that I knew absolutely nothing at all about hockey. I grinned and reacted with surprise and as much enthusiasm as I could muster even as I struggled to puzzle through the different terms he used and tried to piece together anything more than a basic understanding of the fact that our team had won. When he told me about a brawl, I shuddered and listened to the gory details, the timeout someone had been forced to take, the foul shot. I told myself that I was going to make sure to look up as much as I could about hockey when I got back to the dorm later in the day, so I could at least pretend like I could follow what he was saying.
I was barely looking around, so I barely noticed that the girl from the dining hall was in front of the Marchman building, smoking a cigarette before her class, as Johnny and I approached. She must have caught sight of us before I had noticed her there—the look she gave me was so disgusted, so bitter, that I almost laughed at her to her face, but I told myself that I had been raised better than that; I would be classy, even if she was an asshole. I simply turned my attention back onto Johnny and laughed as he finished up telling me a story about a prank the team had pulled on the coach during their rest stop the night before. It felt good to ignore her, and it was especially good to know that there was nothing she could say to me in front of Johnny. I thought to myself that it absolutely served her right to see me looking so happy with the guy I was rapidly developing feelings for. I wanted her to absolutely know that none of her stupid tricks were going to get in the way of my happiness.
