eyond Desire Collection

by JS Scott, M Malone, Marie Hall, et al

  Claps and jeers surround us and all I want to do is disappear.

  I’m not this girl—this petty, ugly girl who does things to make guys jealous. It’s mean and selfish. I feel his stare on me, know if I look I’ll see the questions, maybe even the hurt.

  Why did I do that?

  Ashamed of myself, I wipe my mouth and toss the cup into the garbage, deciding to wait for Monique outside.

  It takes another thirty minutes before she finally comes out looking for me. Ryan doesn’t follow and I know I’ve blown it.

  That’s the meanest thing I’ve ever done and in this moment, I hate myself.

  ***

  Monday morning I have economics class. Frankie blew right past me, didn’t stop to talk, didn’t even look in my direction. Which is both good and bad. Good because I had zero desire to say anything to him, bad because though I didn’t like him, it sucked knowing just how little he respected me. But my thoughts don’t linger on Frankie long.

  I’m trying my damndest to focus on the lecture. But it’s boring as hell and honestly I don’t know why I signed up for this class. I guess I thought it would be an easy credit. Not. This class has been a lesson in humility. Thank God the term is almost over, and summer break is just days away. All I have to do is focus a little longer and then the nightmare is over. Though the finals are gonna blow, I’m just hoping to get out of here with a B.

  Sitting in my seat, I’m staring at the slightly balding but still kind of adorable Professor Simmons as he talks about the theory of capitalism and know I’m in deep trouble because I can’t pay attention.

  I hate to admit this, but he sounds like one of the adults in Peanuts with Charlie Brown. “Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah…”

  I groan, slumping in my seat, knowing I’ll have to read the book later tonight. My neighbor, who I don’t know all that well but know his name is Zander, was nice enough to tell me at the start of class that I looked like shit this morning.

  Nice.

  Considering he’s the Mohawk, tatted Goth, it sorta means something when he thinks you look bad. I just smiled and thanked him politely before rolling my eyes and giving him my shoulder, even though I know he’s right.

  This morning I did not look my best. I’d done what I could, but you can only do so much when the bags under your eyes are dark and heavy. At least I’d washed my hair. But I hadn’t gotten a chance to straighten it—Javi and I had been running late. I’d had just enough time to knot it into a messy bun, toss on a pair of bright green skinny jeans and a gray belly shirt that somehow had gotten a bright blue paint mark on the hem in the size of a small thumb (Javi and his finger painting), and brush my teeth.

  At least I smelled clean, small consolation though it was.

  I lean toward Terra and whisper, “Can I get a copy of your notes after class?”

  She frowns, her furry thick brows scrunching at me. Terra is annoyingly smart and she knows it. Which is even more obnoxious, but I need her notes, so I try to charm her with a big, bright smile.

  “You should be paying attention.” She casts me a dirty look and I nod, because I know she’s right. Annoying or not.

  “I know. I just can’t, okay. Can I get your notes later, please?” I don’t typically resort to pleading, but I’m afraid without a thorough set of notes I’m going to tank the final on Wednesday.

  Something on my face must have softened her, either the pitiful pout, the huge eyes, or maybe the thread of shamelessness in my voice, because she exhales loudly and grunts.

  Which I assume has to be a yes.

  I hope.

  I try, I really do, to focus through the last twenty minutes of class, but I can’t. Because last night I’d had a bad one. I dreamt of Ryan again, I was covered in his blood, he was looking at me with deep blue eyes and pleading for me to save him. To rescue him.

  I woke up covered in a sheen of sweat, heart racing so hard I felt it in the back of my throat. It’s been like that all night, every time I close my eyes, anytime the dreams come, they are always of him and always the same thing: Save me, Lili…

  I’m not one who thinks there’s some hidden meaning behind a dream—practical to a fault, my father always used to say. But I can’t help but wonder if what I did Saturday is why I’m being plagued this way. Maybe it’s God, or fate, or karma telling me I screwed up big and I need to find him and apologize.

  But then shame creeps in, and I hate the thought of facing him… of telling him “I’m sorry, Ryan, that was really stupid. I’m really stupid sometimes because you’re making me feel crazy, impetuous things I don’t want to feel.” I have his number, I could always just text him, or call even. Get it over with.

  I rub my temple, trying to soothe the thread of pain that’s been lancing through my skull since Saturday night.

  But I can’t, because an apology deserves to be done face-to-face. Whether Ryan even wants anything to do with me anymore, and that’s a big if at this point, it doesn’t matter. He at least deserves the courtesy of an apology.

  Maybe once I do it, I’ll be able to stop obsessing about this. About him. Wondering if I hurt him that night, wondering if he slept with Bimbo. There can never be anything between us; just the fact that I’m going nuts proves that. I can’t handle more distractions, my life is hard enough as it is. I can’t bring this in too.

  I come to that conclusion the second class is over. Glancing at my sheet of doodles and scribbles, I groan.

  No, I definitely can’t bring Ryan into my life, I won’t survive it.

  Terra shoves sheets under my nose. “Here. I won’t need them anyway.”

  When she lets them go, they scatter to the floor. She doesn’t try to help me pick them up. In fact, no one does.

  She flounces out of her seat, and as she walks away, she doesn’t look back. Looking at the scattered notes on my desk and the floor, I can’t help but wonder if this is a metaphor for my life—a scattered, hopeless mess.

  I’m the last one out of class and only have thirty minutes between classes. But I know if I don’t do this right now, I’ll talk myself out of it again.

  Marching to Chai, I clutch the backpack straps in my fist and run through what I’ll say. I have no clue if he’ll even be there, but odds are good because I know Alex is. Not that I’m stalking Alex’s work schedule… Okay, so maybe a little. But he makes the best drinks, and he knows what I like.

  Stopping at the crosswalk, my heart threatening to choke me, I stare at the brightly stenciled Chai Time sign.

  “Ryan, I’m sorry,” I mutter, stuttering at first. The next time I repeat it, I get through it without tripping over my tongue. “I’m an ass. That wasn’t fair. I really do want to be friends.”

  A guy wearing ear buds glances at me, his brows dip when he realizes I really am talking to myself and not to a Bluetooth.

  Blushing, I clamp my lips shut as he takes a step away.

  Then the little white Walk icon flashes and just as I’m getting ready to walk across the street, the door opens and my stomach bottoms out.

  It’s Ryan.

  He’s dressed in a pair of distressed jeans that hug his slim hips in a way that makes me breathe hard, a black Affliction shirt that clings and shows off his finely chiseled chest and abs, and a dark pair of sunglasses. Brushing a strand of wavy hair out of his face, he leans against the brick wall and tilts his head up to the sun.

  Someone bumps into my shoulder, making me stumble.

  “Sorry,” I hear a mumble, but I don’t look and I think I might have said something back, but I’m not sure it’s anything coherent.

  Ryan is gorgeous.

  Drop sexy, beautiful. The sun glints off his dark hair, highlighting strands of red throughout. He’s not looking at anything, I have to think his eyes are closed, which means I can’t stop feasting on him.

  The man reads books—great, wonderful, literary classics. He loves sushi. Has terrible taste in coffee, but that’s such a minor sin compared to the fact that he makes me laugh
and for whatever reason, makes me feel again.

  All that talk this morning about not wanting him in my life… it’s all lies, all stupid, stupid lies. Because I’ve never been so intrigued in my life—he’s funny and sweet and so terribly wounded that it calls out to me.

  Just as I’m ready to finally walk across I notice the light has switched again. Impatient now, I debate whether to call his name and beckon him over to me, but then the door opens again and a woman walks out.

  I recognize her immediately and the claws come out, a hot tide of heat slithers and slinks through my gut and I recognize it for what it is. I’m jealous. Disgustingly, getting ready to snarl, jealous.

  It’s the blond bimbo, and she’s rubbing up next to him. My nails dig into my palms. Smiling broadly, he tilts his head back down and then wraps his arm around her waist as he whispers something in her ear.

  She drinks from her cup and then, rubbing noses with him, steals a kiss.

  Anger burns through my eyes, heats them, and my vision starts to blur and I can’t believe I want to cry. I’m so stupid to care—he and I aren’t dating. Because of me, because I shot him down in the zoo, because I rubbed myself like a freaking cat in heat on Frankie… I did this.

  Then he stills, like some sixth sense draws him to me, and I know he sees me. His entire body is tense, his arm drops from bimbo’s waist, and I bite a corner of my lip, wishing I could say something, do something.

  She’s running her fingers through his hair and he’s shrugging her off, looking like he’s getting ready to take a step forward.

  But I can’t talk now, not without letting him hear my voice break or see my eyes tear up. So I do the only thing I can. I twirl on my heels and run.

  ***

  It’s been two days since I’ve seen Ryan. I’ve avoided Chai Time like the plague.

  And I keep telling myself that running off the way I did wasn’t really that bad, that maybe he hadn’t really seen me, had been too busy with the bimbo groping him up, but unfortunately my heart doesn’t agree. Every time my phone rings I experience a momentary thrill of adrenaline, only to have it replaced by disappointment a second later when I read the number.

  I’m an idiot to hope he’ll call. Especially after the way I ran off, but seeing him with Blondie, hugging him, him smiling and laughing and looking so good, my heart twisted painfully. I like this new Ryan a lot. Too much.

  So much, that I kept forgetting this Ryan and the one from February are the same guy.

  Mama notices my mood. She notices everything. I think she knows it’s about a guy and probably even knows which guy, but she doesn’t mention him. Just hugs me and tells me everything will be okay.

  She’s always my biggest cheerleader, even when I’m the one who screws up.

  Sighing, I look up at the sky—blue and bright and not a cloud in it. It’s sunny, blindingly so, a typical Texas day. Swatting a fly away from my face, I huff.

  I want a coffee.

  Not really.

  I want to see Alex.

  I’ve been trying the last two days to find excuses to go back, to get brave, but no sooner do I take the first step than I remember seeing Ryan leaning against the brick wall and Bimbo clinging like a baby monkey and I just can’t see that again. So I leave.

  Which is ridiculous. He and I aren’t dating, it’s a free world. If I want coffee I should be able to get coffee. Who the hell cares who he spends his free time with?

  Trying not to overthink this, I stuff my books into my bag and get up, following the scent of coffee like it’s a homing beacon. Even if he’s there again, I’m going in. I might even be brave and smile and wave and pretend nothing ever happened, pretend he’s just another random face. Another guy.

  I swallow hard as I nibble on my lip. I still owe him an apology though. No matter what, I’m going to do it this time. If he’s there, I’m going to do it. Not for his sake, because obviously he doesn’t care anymore, but for mine. I’m not that girl who tries to get guys jealous by kissing other guys, never done it before in my life and I’ll never do it again.

  I open the door and sigh with relief the moment the icy AC kisses my face. Quickly I scan the milling faces, heart beating a rapid tattoo in my skull, proving yet again what a liar I am. No matter how much I try to shake him, the man is under my skin, making me freaking crazy.

  “Lili Bean.” Alex’s call is a welcome sound. Turning toward his voice, I manage to smile despite my frustration that Ryan isn’t around. But Alex doesn’t sound angry with me and that’s a good thing, because maybe it means Ryan’s not as pissed I’d feared.

  “Heya, Alex. How are you?” My voice sounds unnaturally perky and fake, and I have to breathe to settle my nerves.

  “Oh you know, life…” He shrugs and winks and yeah, my heart does pitter patter. I might be seriously obsessing about his cousin, but Alex is easy on the eyes.

  Why couldn’t I like him instead?

  He has such a gorgeous smile. Surfer good looks and seems infinitely more normal. He doesn’t make me want to act stupid or kiss him until I can’t breathe. He’s safe and Ryan’s the great unknown and that scares me.

  Grabbing a cup, he starts my drink.

  “Can you add ice this time?”

  “What?” His brows shoot up to his hairline. “You don’t mean to tell me you can’t handle the heat.”

  Sticking out my tongue, I lean against the counter and cross my sandaled feet. “Yeah, well, shocker… it’s hot as hell out there and I don’t particularly feel like sweating my ass off today.”

  “I could grind the ice for you. Make it real smooth…” His tone is suggestive and I have to laugh.

  “Have I told you how much I love you lately?”

  He snorts as he grinds my beans. “What you doing Friday night?”

  “Considering that it’s the start of summer, not much. Thank God. I need a break.” I slump my shoulders. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Oh no reason, just the guys at the frat are throwing some stupid dance. Back to the seventies or some shit like that.”

  I grip the edge of the counter and do a small shimmy. “You mean to tell me you don’t dig those bell-bottoms, dude?”

  “Hardly. But…” He snaps the lid onto my cup. “I’ve got a fro, the vest, and some snazzy pants. No date though. So whaddaya say?”

  If it was anyone else I’d think he really meant it. But no matter how much we flirt, with Alex, I know it’ll never get beyond that point, not to mention the fact that Mama’s been hounding me to go out again. Also, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to being a little bit hopeful Ryan might show up. I take the cup from him and drink; the sweet and creamy coffee is like ambrosia. “I’m pretty sure I can find something in my closet.”

  “Awesome.” He wipes his hands on his pants. “Now give me three bucks.”

  “Thief.” I fish the quarters out of my pocket. “There, saved all week.”

  Laughing, he wiggles his brows. “Hey, if we were dating, I’d buy. You know how it is.”

  “Be still my beating heart.” I plant my hand against my chest and flutter my lashes. “My hero.”

  As I’m turning to go, he asks, “Heard from Ryan?”

  My stomach bottoms out and the smile freezes on my lips.

  “How is he?”

  “Beating the shit out of stuff. He’s down at the gym.”

  Is that a hint? I glance at my watch. No way I could make it there in time. Probably better this way anyway. I doubt he wants to see me right now. “Can’t. Got anatomy finals in thirty minutes. But tell him I said hi, okay.”

  “Yeah.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’ll do that. Take it easy, Lili Bean. Tomorrow at seven, ’kay?”

  Walking out the door, I can’t stop wishing again he was the one I liked and that he had no issues with my Javi.

  But reality is never so easy.

  ***

  Ryan

  “You look like a moron.” I laugh the second Alex walks out
his door. He has on a black afro wig ten sizes too big for his head that bounces with each step he takes, a purple sleeveless vest with stripes and some sort of fringed beading on the bottom, and blue jeans that come up way too high on his waist and flare huge at his ankles. To top it off, he’s wearing honest-to-God chunky-heeled boots.

  “You’re just jealous ’cause I make this look good.” He smiles and twirls, then does some sort of stupid crotch grab before doing a Michael Jackson “he he.”

  “Wrong decade and, dude, good luck getting laid tonight.” I take a sip of the tepid water I’d been nursing the past hour.

  It’s a Saturday night and I have nowhere to go. Normally I’d just hang with Alex, hit the streets, and whoop and holler at anything walking in heels. Which tells me two things: (a) I have a fucking boring life, and (b) I desperately need more friends.

  “Come with me.”

  “Nah,” I get up and walk to the kitchen, dumping half the bottle down the drain. Hate warm water. “I don’t dress up like a clown. Not my style.”

  “No one’s gonna care how you look, man. I’m a brother, that’s why I got to dress like this. But it’s not mandatory.”

  Glancing down at my jeans and shirt, I wrinkle my nose.

  “C’mon. Who knows, you might meet someone.”

  “Yeah, right.” Rolling my eyes, I head to the bathroom. “Met one, she kissed the first thing walking past. Think I’m done for a while.”

  “Whatever, dude. Not like you didn’t make up for it that night. Are you coming or what?”

  What the hell. Not like I have anything else to do and sitting on the couch watching porn all night doesn’t appeal right now. “Yeah, just let me hit the head. Meet you outside.”

  Twenty minutes later, I know something’s not right. We aren’t headed toward campus, but down a road I never wanted to see again.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “Gotta pick up my date tonight.”

  “What the hell, man!” Glowering, I whip around. The knuckles of my left fist are bruised and tender, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to punch him in the face right now.

  “It’s a non-date, okay. Two friends hanging out. I like her. I already told you that.”