by Kristie Cook
Looking up from scanning the printout, a smug smile graces his lips as he says, “I am sorry, there does not appear to be an Evie anywhere on my list. You must be in a different group after all.”
No, there is definitely no creepy in his voice now. It’s just the voice one expects from someone this appealing—strong and kind of sexy.
“That’s because my name’s Genevieve Claremont, and I am on your list, about half way down in the second column,” I counter quietly. He locates my name easily. “But my friends call me Evie …” I continue with a hint of a smile that trails off, along with my voice as I become aware that he is again frowning at me.
“So you are … Genevieve,” he replies with polite coolness, while tucking the clipboard under his arm. “We should go now; we’re holding up the group.”
He turns then and walks to the front of the crowd of students. Soon, everyone begins to file out of the auditorium. I follow them into the waning sunlight, shuffling toward the back of my group while praying that this will all be over soon.
CHAPTER 3 - ARDEN LAKE
I have heard it said that if you stay in one place long enough, the whole world would eventually pass by you. I’m not sure if I buy that, but if you have four miles to walk to a lake, while stuck behind a bunch of teenage girls, you will hear quite enough gossip about the place you are in, not to mention the people who reside there, to make that world quite interesting. I have already learned quite enough about Reed Wellington, my beautiful sophomore guide with a penchant for rudeness.
According to Christy, the brunette with the sling-back sandals, Reed is on the Crestwood lacrosse team. He is not affiliated with any fraternity house on campus, but he sometimes attends the parties at the Delt house. He doesn’t have a girlfriend on campus, but it’s generally thought that he has a hometown girl because he’s way too hot not to have someone. He has a house just outside of town, but he didn’t grow up there, he was originally from somewhere “out east.” His family is very wealthy, with residences scattered around the globe, but no one knows much about them—they never seem to visit.
I listen intently to the Reed fan club as they dredge up tidbits of salacious gossip and toss it around like one would an urban legend. The girl with the sandals encrusted with Swarovski crystals heard that Reed’s family was responsible for most of the improvements made to the new science wing at Crestwood. She adds that the Dean is constantly trying to get Reed to be an ambassador for the school.
I snort when I hear this. Ambassador of what, ill will? I think as I plod along.
No sooner had I thought that then I feel a nudge in my side as the tree-like person next to me jabs his elbow into my ribs. I look up to see the guy I had hidden behind earlier in the auditorium looking down on me.
“Shoot,” he says with a twang in his voice that instantly gives away his southern roots, “if they keep goin’ on like this all day, I might be in danger of proposin’ to Reed by the end of this walk … and I don’t even fancy men, if ya know what I mean.”
Grinning at me with two boyish dimples, his warm brown eyes dance. “My name’s Russell, by the way, and before ya ask, I’m from North Carolina, near Asheville,” he informs me.
Clutching my side where there is sure to be a bruise from his well-placed elbow, I laugh at his statement. “North Carolina, huh? What brings you this far north? Let me guess, you just want to experience a Michigan winter?” I ask, seeing him cringe at my sarcasm.
“Ya mean they weren’t messin’ with me when they said all y’all get piles of that cold, white stuff that falls out of the sky?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye. “Where’s that recruiter?” he demands, looking around in faux anger.
“I’m afraid I’m not messin’ with you in the least. So, you were recruited to come to Crestwood?” I ask.
“Yeah, football scholarship. Couldn’t have come here otherwise. I got a full ride, and I get to play ball, too. What’s a little snow compared to that?” he asks innocently.
“Let’s see if you can still make that statement in four months, when football is over for the season, and you’re freezing while walking to class,” I say with a wry smile.
“Well, Red, that sounds just a bit pessimistic to me, and I didn’t have ya pegged as a doubter, but I’ll take ya up on yer wager,” Russell says.
“Red?” I ask in surprise.
“Well, ya haven’t exactly blurted out yer name, and ya have all that hair—I thought it was brown when we were in the Sage Center, but now that we’re outside and the sun’s shinin’ on it, I can see that it’s more red—kinda fiery—ah dang, I don’t know—it’s pretty, that’s all,” Russell stammers as a blush stains his cheeks.
“Ah … thanks, I’m Evie,” I reply, feeling a blush creeping into my own cheeks. “We have something in common,” I go on, trying to lessen the awkwardness of the moment. “I’m here on scholarship, too. Full ride academic, couldn’t have come here otherwise,” I say, trying to mimic his drawl and failing miserably.
“Now, I knew there was somethin’ special ‘bout ya, Red. I have a nose for these things,” he smiles, pointing to his nose, which is slightly crooked as if it had been broken once or twice, but reset so that it just adds character to his face.
Beneath the clear blue autumn sky, Arden Lake appears around the bend in the road. Following the path that winds its way near the cattails at the edge of the water, I catch a glimpse of the snowy white tents in the distance. They grace a small inlet where the water meets the sky in a hazy blending of shapes and colors. The barbeque appears to be in full swing and the aroma as we near the tents is nothing short of mouthwatering.
“I can’t believe we finally made it,” Russell says, as we get closer to the tents. “Walkin’ behind those girls is like herdin’ cats, ya know. It’s pointless to try to hurry ‘em,” he jokes, and I laugh at the mental picture that represents. “Now when I heard the gal talkin’ ‘bout a barbeque, I have to admit I was a bit skeptical, ‘cuz after all, this is the north and y’all may be unaccustomed to the finer points of the grill. But, I’m feelin’ more and more optimistic the closer we get.” His smile is infectious and I grin back. “Can I buy ya supper?” he asks.
“Uh, sure, but I think it’s provided by the school, so maybe I’ll buy you dinner,” I say wryly.
“Wicked, it’s a date,” he says, taking my hand and hurrying me along the path.
Making it to the first tent, the grandeur of it amazes me. Snowy-white linens veil the tables. The chairs are also covered in white linen, which are tied with black satin sashes. Elaborate flower centerpieces adorn the tables and, in the middle of the tent, a large crystal chandelier hangs radiantly over our heads.
Russell gives a low whistle, “Y’all put a new spin on the word barbecue,” he says as he places one of his large hands on the small of my back, leading me toward the line of banquet tables. Handing me a plate, we walk together through the maze of food.
When our plates are full, we shuffle past several tables of diners, toward the back of the tent where there is still available seating. As we near a table that is crammed with athletic looking guys, I hear them trading insults with one another as they scarf down enough food to feed a small village.
One of them, noticing Russell and me, lets out a loud wolf whistle. “Hey, Russell, where’re you going?” Russell ignores him as he ushers me by the rowdy table. “Who’s your friend with the legs?” he calls after us as we continue on. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
Smirking over his shoulder, Russell calls back, “Naw, Mason, she’s much too clever for ya.”
Blushing, I scan the tables ahead for a couple of empty chairs. “Friends of yours?” I ask Russell with a raise of my eyebrow. “Do you want to sit with them? I can find somewhere else to sit.”
“Naw,” he says swiftly.
“No, they’re not friends, or no, you don’t want to sit with them?” I ask, continuing to follow him away from the other table.
“No,” he says, �
�I don’t wanna sit with them, but they’re my crew. Well, some of ‘em are, anyway. Mason is on the team, along with a few of the other guys. The rest are from the dorm, Brady Hall. We’ve been chillin’ together most of the summer, since we had to be here for trainin’ camp. I could use a night off from them, if ya know what I mean.”
Spotting Freddie a few tables ahead of us, sitting alone, I call out to him as we approach. “Freddie! Hey, can we sit here with you?” I ask in relief at finally finding a seat.
As I set my plate down on the table next to where Freddie is sitting, I begin to pull the chair out when it is tugged out of my hand by Russell, who holds it out for me. “Wow,” I say in surprise, “a true southern gentlemen. Your mother must be proud.”
“Yeah, she and my Auntie Emily worked on me for a while, tryin’ to get me to learn some manners, and eventually I caught on when I found out they weren’t gonna let me eat ‘til everyone was seated, and they wouldn’t sit down ‘til I pulled out their chairs for them. When yer fifteen, in the middle of a growth spurt, and havin’ just finished a gruelin’ practice, ya will do just ‘bout anythin’ to get to the food,” Russell says with a laugh.
I laugh too, trying to imagine him at fifteen. He was probably tall and lanky with sharp elbows. He’s not lanky anymore, I think as I covertly assess him. His large frame is filling out the chair, making the chair look delicate by comparison. He looks rugged and maybe a little dangerous, but his dimples offset his powerful physique, making the total package very attractive.
“You’re Russell Marx,” Freddie says next to me as he addresses my dinner companion. “You’re the new quarterback the Chargers just recruited!” he goes on excitedly, and I remember my manners just then.
“I’m sorry, Russell, this is Freddie Standish. Freddie, well, it seems you already know this is Russell,” I explain.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the king of the ‘Hail Mary’ or something like that?” Freddie says to Russell.
“Yeah, well, yes and no. I had a great receiver on my high school team by the name of Wes Larson. Now, Wes was the fastest runner in four counties, and he had hands that could catch any slop I threw. I just had to launch the ball down the field, and damn if that kid didn’t just fly to the other end of the field to get it. Ya see, there’re really only two things ya need for a Hail Mary to be effective: one, ya need a fast receiver, and two, one of these.” As he says this, he pulls out a small metal medallion from his pocket; it’s a Mary medallion.
“See here,” Russell goes on, “in order for the Hail Mary to work properly, ya have to have her on yer side,” he says grinning, showing all of his perfectly straight, white teeth. “This one was a gift from my team.”
I must have a strange look on my face because Russell adds, “Don’t tell me yer an atheist, Red.”
“No, I’m not an atheist,” I reply quietly—my head is spinning.
I have the strangest feeling now. It’s like I’ve met Russell somewhere before—like I know him—but not just know him—it’s something more. He smiles at me, and I feel it again, it’s a distant sort of recognition. Maybe I had read something on the Crestwood website about him, but that doesn’t seem to be it. I think about it through dessert and well into our discussion about the next day’s registration.
I relax in my seat, listening contentedly to Russell and Freddie talk about the football team’s chances this season. Looking over at one of the tent flaps, I notice that the sun is just about to set. “It’s getting dark outside,” I say. “Does anyone know how we’re supposed to get home from here? Are we walking back?”
“No,” Freddie says as he gets up from his seat. “I think they chartered some buses for us to ride back. I heard them pulling up outside when we were getting dessert.”
I start to stand, picking up my bag, and find my chair being drawn back from the table for me. “Thank you,” I say to Russell, trying not to stare into his face, which is becoming more attractive to me by the second. “I think I’ll go and see if I can locate the bathroom before we leave.”
“I’ll go save some seats on the bus for us. I’ll see you over there,” Freddie says, nodding his head in the direction of the front of the tent.
“Thanks, Freddie.” I watch him walk away in that direction.
“The bathroom’s not a bad call, I’ll go with ya, Red,” Russell says.
We walk over to one of the tent flaps near the back of the tent and out into the twilight. We are very near the water now, and the breeze carries with it a balmy scent that is a mixture of the water plants that surround the lake and the water itself. Following the path away from the lake, we locate a small brick building that serves as a public restroom. When I come back out, I see Russell waiting for me a short distance away, on the path back to the lake.
“You waited for me,” I say, a bit in surprise.
“Well, yeah,” he grins, “we can’t have ya walkin’ alone out here at night in such a shady part of town. There could be any number of Crestwood gang bangers ‘round here just waitin’ to jump out at ya from the brush,” Russell says outlandishly.
Sweeping his arm around in a wide, arching motion, he seems to be highlighting the fact that we are completely alone out here. Sensing that his argument is flimsy at best, he flashes his dimples at me and says, “Now, c’mon. The buses are fixin’ to leave without us, and then I’ll be forced to defend ya all the way back to the dorms.” Taking my hand in his, we begin strolling back toward the tents.
“Do they teach charm in the south, or do you just come by it naturally?” I ask him, feeling warmth radiating from his body.
“Why, do ya find me charmin’?” he asks, stopping before we reach the tent to smile down at me again.
About to answer him, I feel a fluttering sensation in my stomach again. Looking around at once, I notice a figure materializing out of the shadows of the large willow tree. Startled, I shy nearer to Russell.
When the figure becomes recognizable as Reed walking toward us out of the darkness of the trees, I grudgingly admit to myself that he has an incredibly sexy way of walking—it’s effortless, fluid. I wonder if he knows how attractive he is just walking, I think, watching him near Russell and me. Some guys adopt a swagger to look more like players, but this is no swagger; this is raw, aggressive power that is restrained just enough for me to admire the strength it takes to control it.
“Genevieve, may I have a word with you?” Reed asks with cool politeness, nearing us on the path. I feel an inexplicable pull toward him that makes me want to comply with his request. Watching Reed’s eyes flicker to Russell, I see his body grow still.
“Ah, sure, Reed, what’s on your mind?” I ask him, trying to focus on something other than how amazing he looks coming out of the darkness.
If I have surprised him by knowing his name, he isn’t showing it as he looks past me to Russell, saying, “The conversation that I have in mind is best executed in private.”
It is a not so subtle hint to Russell to leave. Russell’s posture changes immediately; standing up straighter, Russell begins paying closer attention to Reed. They seem to be assessing one another, sizing each other up.
“Well as you can see, I’m kind of busy right now. Maybe we can set up an appointment later for this private discussion,” I reply because his interruption is so rude. “You might want to set one up for Russell, too, because he indicated earlier he has a proposal to run by you.”
I’m gratified to hear the smothered intake of breath from Russell as he gets the joke I have just made. You don’t fancy him now, I’ll bet, I think wryly.
A look of frustration crosses Reed’s face as it becomes clearer to him that I’m not going to give him my attention now. “When?” Reed asks me abruptly.
“I’m not sure right now. Can I get back to you later?” I ask him slowly.
Clenching his teeth, Reed looks at Russell again, but longer this time as his eyebrows come down slowly into a frown. “Am I interrupting your reunion?” Reed asks us
in a thoughtful tone.
“Our what?” Russell asks, looking at me to see if I understand what Reed is saying. Shaking my head, I shrug at Russell.
“It is important that we talk now, Genevieve,” Reed says, dissing Russell by failing to acknowledge him.
My eyes narrow as I say, “I so don’t get you, Reed. When I was in the auditorium, you wanted me to go away, and now that we’re here, you want to talk. What do you want to talk about?” I ask him. I feel like he is about to accuse me of doing something wrong. I think that that clipboard he had earlier must have gone to his head.
“I want to talk about you leaving tonight,” Reed replies coldly, staring at me.
“My leaving … why, have the buses left already? Did we miss the ride back?” I ask him anxiously.
Reed almost looks bored. “I was actually talking about you leaving school. Genevieve, please try to keep up. You cannot really be this naÏve,” Reed replies, studying me with a cold detachment. I feel my heartbeat picking up as I try to stop the blush from creeping into my cheeks.
Before I can say anything, Russell asks, “Why would she leave school?”
Still holding my hand, Russell takes a step forward, putting himself just slightly in front of me. It was subtle, but I notice it, and looking at Reed, I can tell that he notices it, too. It seems to be making Reed angry. Never having been in a situation like this, I’m at a loss as to what to do next.
Reed frowns at Russell. “This is between Genevieve and me. If you choose to follow her elsewhere, that is your concern, but she is not staying here,” Reed replies as if he is bored with this conversation and ready for us to go.
“And if she decides to stay, what do ya plan on doin’ ‘bout it?” Russell asks Reed calmly, sounding almost friendly … almost.
