by Mona Kasten
A quivering breath escaped me and he froze. Then he pushed the last plate into the machine and straightened up. I threw the crumpled napkins in the trash and leaned against the counter.
“What’s up?” he asked without turning around.
“I thought you might want to talk,” I ventured, looking at his shoulders and following the seam lines of his shirt.
He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to.”
“Spencer, I only wanted to offer you…”
He whirled around. “Dammit, Dawn, I don’t want to talk to you! Why don’t you get it?”
Biting my lower lip, I stepped toward him and placed my finger on his chest. “You broke down in front of me, Spencer. You were crying, dammit. Just because I don’t want to date you doesn’t mean you don’t matter to me!”
He pushed my hand aside and made as if to leave, but I caught his arm and held on. Spencer let out a low growl, grabbed my other hand and spun me around. The shock at suddenly finding my back against the fridge drove the air from my lungs.
Spencer pressed hard against me and—oh, hell—he was stronger than he looked. With one hand he held one of my hands above my head; the other was on my back. For a moment he stayed like that. Then he slipped his hand down my spine to the top of my butt. He spread out his fingers and pressed my lower body firmly against his. I gasped.
“The last thing I think about when I see you is talking,” he whispered. “I don’t want to talk, Dawn.”
With his lips he traced the line of my jaw and I held my breath. My body was flooded with sudden, lava-like heat.
“What do you want, then?” I breathed the words.
He interlocked his fingers with mine, pressed our hands firmly against the refrigerator, leaned back a bit and looked at me.
His pupils were dilated, his cheeks flushed, and every time he inhaled his chest brushed mine.
“I don’t think you want to hear what I’d like to do with you, Babe.”
Actually, I did want to hear it. In fact, I wanted to hear it in detail, because my body was now completely at his mercy. He was so hot that I wanted to tear his clothes off. Now, here, and regardless of the fact that our friends were in the next room.
“What do you want, Spence?” I whispered as breathlessly as if I’d been jumping rope for three hours.
He leaned in until the tip of his nose touched mine.
“I want you to stop feeling sorry for me and start treating me like a man.” His hand on my lower back continued to slide until it cupped my bottom and squeezed.
I gasped.
“And if you don’t want me to do this every time we’re in a room together, you should do what I asked and do it now.” He let go of me and stepped back. “Give me space, Dawn. For both our sakes.”
Chapter 11
So that’s what I did—I stayed away. Or more accurately, I avoided running into Spencer. Allie came to see me in the dorm, but I didn’t go to her place much. After all, Spencer had made his feelings pretty clear at our last meeting: he didn’t want to see me.
So I focused on the publication of Hot for You, putting the finishing touches on the story so I could finally upload it to the usual Internet platforms.
And Isaac met with me regularly to work on our presentation for Professor Walden’s class. We’d break out in a sweat whenever we thought about it, but Isaac always tried to be encouraging.
“Don’t worry, it’s gonna be good, we’ll get it done,” he said through his teeth, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his forefinger before cleaning the lenses with the hem of his shirt.
We sat in the library and spread out our papers over two tables. For hours we polished the conclusion of our presentation. Luckily, Isaac knew how to create impressive charts and a clear timeline.
We were going to show that damn professor what we could do. No one was going to push me out of this class. Okay, it wasn’t my favorite, but I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of dropping out. Tomorrow I would stand up in the lecture hall and give the best presentation that this jerk had ever heard. True, I’d probably puke beforehand and sweat bullets, but it didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was that Isaac and I were giving it everything we had.
I held the index cards in my hand and walked across the room while talking. When a slide was supposed to come up, I would wave my hand in that direction.
“You’re driving me nuts,” Sawyer interrupted.
“What do you think those headphones are for? I lent them to you so you could block me out,” I responded. Damn, I’d lost my train of thought. Back to square one.
“Not again,” she groaned.
“Well, you interrupted me. I have to start from the beginning. It’s good practice for tomorrow,” I said.
“You’re driving yourself nuts with this crap,” Sawyer said too loudly. She was still wearing my headphones and couldn’t hear her own voice.
“It would drive me much crazier if I didn’t learn it inside and out.” I took a deep breath and let out the air in small, concentrated puffs.
Sawyer stared at me like she’d seen an alien. “What the hell are you doing?” Finally she removed the headphones.
“Breathing exercises that help cut anxiety and build a stronger voice,” I explained.
“Man, you’re insane.”
“Thanks, Sawyer. That’s so nice and helpful of you. Maybe I’ll mention you in my next foreword.”
“How about naming your next heroine after me? I always wanted to play the lead in something arty and soft-core but somehow it always seemed a bit too risqué. But for a book, I’m all in,” she said with a hint of a smile.
Ever since she’d figured out my secret, we hadn’t spoken about it. It felt like my answer to this question would determine how we would deal with the subject from now on.
I held her gaze. “Okay, agreed.”
Sawyer grinned. Then she got up and went over to her closet at the back of our room. She opened the door and leaned down to rummage for something. A moment later she stood up, clutching a bottle of vodka triumphantly. “Here. This’ll distract you.”
“No, thanks. This would be the worst time for alcohol.”
“You are the biggest liar in the world. Really.” She put the bottle back in her closet and threw a few pieces of clothing over it. “Come on, what’s really going on?”
Huh? “What do you mean?”
She gestured impatiently as she walked over and flopped on to her bed. “The story behind your unnecessary sobriety.”
I still didn’t know what she meant.
“It’s obvious, in your eyes and in the tension in your shoulders. You want a drink, but something stops you. And it’s not that dumb presentation.”
It was true. There was nothing I wanted more than to numb my anxiety and calm my nerves. But drinking before the presentation was not a good idea. Partly because I tended to do really dumb things under the influence.
“Oh. Oh,” Sawyer said dramatically. “It’s about a guy.”
“Oh, shut up.”
She patted her bed and leaned against the headboard, adjusting a pillow. “Come on, Dawn. It feels like ages since I swore off men; I need something to keep me entertained.” Again she patted the bed with her palm, more firmly this time.
How annoying. I groaned in protest and shuffled across the room, sitting on the edge of her bed.
“So?” she asked. “Is he an alcoholic? Is that why you don’t want to touch the stuff?”
“What? No!”
“Does he have a daughter, so you have to meet in secret?”
“Where are you coming up with these ideas?”
“From The Bachelorette. God, I love that show,” She grinned impishly, looking so much like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland that I couldn’t help laughing. “You don’t hav
e to tell me, Dawn. But you ought to know that I’m a good listener and all that shit.”
“What shit?”
She let herself sink a little deeper into the pillows. “You know what I mean.”
My back was literally against the wall.
“Okay: I can’t drink because I might do something dumb and call someone who doesn’t want to have anything to do with me right now,” I said slowly and cautiously.
“Okay.” Sawyer pronounced it nice and slow. “Is that also why you’re always hanging around here looking like you’ll burst into tears any second?”
“Yeah, that’s more or less it.” My throat suddenly felt dry. “I had a falling out with a friend.”
“What happened?” she probed.
“He made it clear that he wanted more from me than I can give. And then I found out that he has a shitload of problems, but he doesn’t want to talk about them with me because he thinks I’ll pity him, and actually I’m really worried about him and… it’s all gotten out of hand.”
“Guys with problems are always the hottest,” Sawyer sighed. “Do you want more with him?”
I thought about all the times I’d spent with Spencer, about his touch and his voice and his beautiful hands and… my eyes opened wide. “No. No, I don’t. No!”
“That was one ‘no’ too many.”
I shook my head vigorously. “I don’t want anything with Spencer!”
There was a moment of silence in the room.
Then Sawyer burst out laughing.
I covered my face with my hands and made a mental note to keep them there forever, to hide my burning cheeks. All I needed was a little super glue.
“Come on, Dawn. We don’t have the same taste in men, but there’s nothing wrong with wanting a guy like Spencer Cosgrove.” Sawyer playfully kicked my thigh.
“I don’t want him,” I mumbled, slowly removing my hands from my face. “Getting involved always means getting hurt. And I’ve been there, done that.”
Sawyer snorted. “When did you break up with that other guy? A year ago?”
“More than a year.”
“Maybe now’s the time to stop thinking and let off some steam. It doesn’t have to be some great love. Give in to your desires! You’re probably a wildcat in be—”
Grabbing a pillow, I swatted her until she was laughing uncontrollably.
That night, Sawyer learned how deeply this thing with Spencer unsettled me. I told her of my worries and fears, and felt lighter by the second. It helped to talk to someone who was somewhat removed from the situation.
“And that’s why you’re avoiding your friends?” Sawyer finally asked.
I nodded.
Sawyer frowned. “You guys really have to work this out, Dawn. You can’t go into hiding just because he can’t cope.”
I sighed. “You’re probably right.”
“If you’re not ready to get involved yet, then he has to accept that. Don’t let yourself be pushed around just because he’s unable to hold back any more.”
She lay there surrounded by pillows, staring at the ceiling, her arms crossed behind her head.
“You’re really terrific, Sawyer.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Is it okay if I continue practicing my presentation now?” I asked, eyebrows raised.
In answer, she grabbed my headphones from her nightstand and put them on.
Chapter 12
This morning most of the girls on our floor kept their distance from the bathroom. I’d been throwing up since 5 a. m., losing everything I’d eaten the night before.
I felt sick as a dog. It was hardly the first time I’d been a nervous wreck, but my anxiety over today’s presentation was something else. My whole body was shaking as I puked myself dry. Everyone probably thought I’d been partying last night.
A hot shower helped calm my nerves a little as well as wash away that clammy, sweaty feeling. Back in my room, Sawyer regarded me with a frown.
“You look awful, Dawn.”
“Same to you,” I snapped.
“Here,” she said, extending her palm. “I take these for nausea. If one doesn’t help, take two or three.”
She held a small plastic bottle in her hand. “What’s that?” I asked skeptically and reached for it.
“An herbal thing that my sister gave me. It helps calm you down a bit,” she explained.
“Oh. Thanks.”
“You don’t want breakfast, do you?” Sawyer asked, to which I shook my head.
At this exact moment, I doubted I’d ever keep anything down again. I stashed the little bottle from Sawyer in my backpack.
“Get ready to go. Then you can go through your index cards one last time. I’ll even listen this time,” she said and grimaced. But I was impressed that she was trying.
Isaac and I met in front of the Campus Café, where he was picking up yet another coffee. He looked kind of the way I felt. He had dark circles under his eyes and his bow tie was crooked. I straightened it while we stood in line.
“We’ll be fine,” I said, trying to be enthusiastic.
“I feel like I’m about to die,” Isaac said. “And he wasn’t even as mean to me as he was to you. How are you managing to look so calm?”
Of course, the opposite was true. My hands were trembling and as clammy as my armpits, which were surely staining my shirt with sweat.
“I puked my guts out this morning and I’m still pretty much a nervous wreck.”
“Maybe I should give that a try,” Isaac mused.
I patted his shoulder. “No. You’ll be fine. You’re the best, you’re so smart, and you’re going to make Professor Walden choke.”
Mission accomplished. My classmate flashed me a grin.
We grabbed our coffees and sipped them on the way to the lecture hall. Gradually our nerves took over and we stopped talking. The pressure I was putting on myself was greater than any that Professor Walden had placed on me. My main goal was to prove that there was no need for me to drop the class. I belonged there, and even if it took a huge effort to make it happen, I was going to give a great presentation.
Just before we entered the room, I dug into my backpack and took out the pill bottle with Sawyer’s tablets.
“What’s that?” Isaac asked.
“Some kind of herbal medication that my roommate gave me to calm my nerves,” I mumbled and took off the cap. By now, I was willing to try anything that would help me get through our presentation. I shook out three green tablets and looked at them in my hand for a moment before tipping them into my mouth and washing them down with a sip of water.
“You want some, too? They’re Sawyer’s, but…”
“Nah,” said Isaac, lifting an eyebrow. “I’ve got… my coffee. Though it’s probably not the best idea to drink it right now.”
I clapped him on the back again. “We’re going to do great.”
He just grunted at me. We entered the lecture hall together, arriving a bit early to plug everything in and get ready. The room filled up pretty quickly. When Professor Walden arrived and sat in the front row, right in front of us, I greeted him with a smile and gave him a copy of our handout, where we’d listed all our main points.
“And? Is he in a good mood?” Isaac asked when I returned to him.
I shrugged. “Hard to say. His beard hides his facial expressions.”
“True. Oh well. It’ll be all right.”
We took our places at the podium. My entire body was electrified. I fidgeted with the index cards in my hands, bending the edges.
When the room grew quiet, Isaac introduced us, gave a brief introduction to American romanticism and named the texts we’d selected. We didn’t even get past the first slide before Professor Walden made a noise that threw Isaac off track. He hesitated and took a moment to continu
e. When he had picked up speed again, Professor Walden snorted again. Isaac paused and swallowed. He fumbled at his collar, loosening his bow tie.
Without skipping a beat, I took over the last part of the slide, which was linked to a chart that listed all the most important writers of the time and their works. I explained each of them with a couple of sentences. Somehow, my anxiety had evaporated and I gesticulated wildly, paced energetically and talked without pause. When I clicked on the next slide, Professor Walden cleared his throat loudly.
His bushy eyebrows were pulled together and he’d crossed his legs, resting his elbow on one knee. He rubbed his beard between his thumb and index finger. With a sour expression, he read the bullet points on our slide, shook his head slightly and then scribbled something in his notebook.
“Is there some kind of problem, Professor Walden?” I asked, pausing in my presentation.
The entire class held their breath.
“Your chart is incomplete,” said our professor, unblinking.
“If you mean that Whitman and Hawthorne are missing, please be patient,” I said, cheerily.
Someone in the back row tittered.
Professor Walden waved his hand, like he was swatting away an annoying insect. “Keep going.”
Isaac was going to have a heart attack any second. His face was already beet-red. Hesitantly, he stepped forward and continued where I left off, introducing the first text.
“That was an extremely poor choice,” Professor Walden soon interrupted him. “I would prefer if you’d move on to the next text.”
Isaac’s index cards fell to the floor. He cursed to himself and we both bent down to pick them up.
“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the little pile of cards from my hands.
“No prob…” The second syllable of the word was stuck in my throat because I lost my balance, and abruptly tipped against Isaac. He started to wobble, but quickly righted himself and held me up.
“You okay?” he whispered and I nodded.
