by Red Phoenix
What guy hasn’t fantasized about a librarian?
I don’t want to complicate things between us, however, as I take the book from her, I look into those dark brown eyes and make a silent promise. If she’s still interested when I’m ready to graduate, we will indulge in our mutual attraction for each other.
Returning to my seat, I open the old book and begin skimming the pages. This is exactly what I need. A problem solver at heart, I’m not about to let a language barrier be the difference between my getting a good grade and failing.
Pushing my homework aside for the moment, I dive into the book. That Russian won’t know what hit him.
Solidarity
I don’t head back to the dorm until way past dinner and, by then, I’ve forgotten to eat. My stomach growls the moment I enter the room and smell fresh popcorn. I watch as Anderson empties the last of the contents of the microwave bag into his mouth.
When my stomach growls again, he looks up. “Sorry, buddy. I would have saved you some if I knew you were hungry.” He shows me the empty bag. “This was my last one.”
“Not your problem,” I assure him, feeling foolish for not making it to the cafeteria before it closed. I sit down on my bed and pretend to ignore the grumble of my stomach.
Anderson gets up and starts rummaging through his closet. “I may not have popcorn, but I’ve got something even better. Never fear.”
“Don’t bother. It’s my own fault.”
He looks back at me. “You never skip a meal if you want to stay on top of your game.”
I give him a half-hearted smile as an especially painful growl cuts through my mid-region. “Sometimes, I get lost in my studies and forget everything around me.”
“You know, I can’t say that has ever happened to me—not even once,” he chuckles as he gets out a bowl and fills it with water, throwing in a dried noodle mix from a package before shoving it in the microwave and hitting Start.
“Well, it’s happened to me more times than I want to admit, but I normally have access to food when I realize it.”
He nods toward my empty area. “Yeah, you didn’t really come prepared for college life, did you? But that’s okay. I’ve got your back.”
Anderson pulls the bowl out of the microwave and stirs it before handing the steaming concoction over to me. “Nothing like a hot bowl of ramen.”
I look down at it and snort. “I’ve heard this is the official food of college.”
“Hey, this isn’t that cheap stuff. I only go to authentic Asian shops to get it. That other stuff…” He shudders. “It shouldn’t even be called ramen.”
I laugh. “What? Are you a gourmet or something?”
“I take cooking seriously. Nothing wrong with that.”
I smile as I watch another layer of his personality peel away. “Never said there was. My own father cooked a mean Ribollita.”
“An excellent Italian dish.”
I’m surprised he knows the Tuscan dish. Not wanting him to delve into my own family history again, I ask, “Who taught you about food?”
“My mama taught me everything I know, and she told me that LA has an incredible range of cuisine to sample. It’s part of the reason I chose this school…in addition to all the California girls, of course,” he adds with a cheeky grin.
The ramen is still too hot to eat. But I’m starving, so I blow on it, struggling to remain patient. “Does that mean you came here to learn cooking management?”
Anderson laughs. “Hell no. Cooking is just a pastime of mine. No way would you find me slaving away in a restaurant kitchen.”
I finally take my first sip of the soup, expecting to be hit with copious amounts of salt, but the spicy miso broth is actually quite pleasant, and the rehydrated bits of vegetables and mushrooms have retained their natural texture. I look up at him in surprise. “This is actually good.”
“The Japanese know ramen.”
Another angry growl erupts from my stomach in protest of my leisurely eating.
“Go ahead. Shove it in. No need for niceties between us,” Anderson assures me.
I decide to take him at his word and slurp up the noodles the way I saw the Japanese do on my father’s Asian tour. I was told it was considered good manners.
“That was seriously good,” I tell him after sipping the last drop of broth from the bowl.
“I can make you another. It’s the least I can do after kicking you out of our room without warning.”
I hold a hand up. “No, I’m good.” Glancing at his side of the room, I see no telltale signs of his afternoon tryst. “I made it a point to stay away as long as I could.”
Anderson snorts with amusement. “You could have saved yourself the trouble. She wasn’t here that long.”
“What? Things didn’t go well? She sounded perfectly happy when I came by.”
He arches an eyebrow as he shares, “Everything was proceeding as planned. I had her all nice and juicy after a satisfying tongue session, but the minute I pulled my cock out, she completely froze.”
“Really? I assume, by the way girls talk that they all lust after big dicks.”
“They must lust after them, but I never know how they will react until they actually see what I have to offer face to face.”
I can just imagine a girl staring wide-eyed, like a deer in the headlights, as he pulls his massive shaft out from his pants the first time.
“Needless to say, they tend to eat those words,” he adds with a chuckle.
I shake my head. “Never would have guessed.”
“Thankfully, most girls are more than happy to suck me off, but getting a deep fucking? That is always the hope, but it’s an extreme rarity for me.” Anderson looks down at his crotch, shaking his head sadly.
I laugh in response, but I can appreciate his plight. Not to enjoy the unspeakable pleasure of a warm, wet pussy wrapped around your shaft when you come—that was a minor tragedy in any man’s book.
No wonder he seeks to couple with so many girls.
“So basically, you’re on the hunt to find the right Cinderella to fit your massive shoe.”
Anderson surprises me when he starts howling in laughter. He’s so loud, the guys on the other side of the wall start knocking against it, telling him to shut the hell up.
He wipes away tears as he swallows down his mirth, shaking a finger at me. “Gotta admit, I never thought of it like that before.”
“Now that I understand the full girth of the situation, I’m sure we can work out a system so you can try on as many slippers as you need.”
Chuckling, he tells me, “Works both ways, buddy. Feel free to bring your lady friends up here. I’ll promise you two things: I won’t go after your women, and I won’t listen at the door, no matter how tempted I am.”
I snort humorously. “I can assure you, I won’t be bringing anyone up. I have no interest in personal relationships.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those scholarly types who doesn’t believe in love? Hell, don’t you know that love makes the world go round?” Anderson states with a teasing grin.
“I’m not saying it doesn’t exist. It just isn’t for me.”
“That whole monk thing again?”
“It’s more like…self-protection.”
“Been hurt bad by a girl, huh?”
“Not even close.”
If I’d been thinking, I would have said yes. Then Anderson would have dropped it, instead, he proceeds to take out his aged whiskey and pours us both a drink. “So, what happened?”
“You shouldn’t waste that stuff,” I inform him.
“It’s not wasting when I really want to know.” He hands me a glass. He tips his drink to me and lets out a satisfied sigh, savoring the first sip.
I stare at the amber liquid for a moment before swallowing. Anderson’s easy charm seems to have a way of pulling me in against my will.
After taking a drink, I stare at him. I trust my instincts and feel no hidden agenda behind his in
terest. The fact is, I’ll need someone to have my back when shit hits the fan. Thinking back on that blonde today, I decide it’s better to be on the offensive.
Enjoying the warmth of the smoky malt, I tell Anderson, “I have no parents.”
“Gah…” Anderson gasps, his green eyes flashing with a mix of sympathy and pain. “You’re an orphan?”
“By choice. My uncle offered to adopt me, but I would have ruined their lives. God, I was so angry back then…”
“That’s not right,” he mutters.
“What? That I have no parents, or that I chose solitude over family?”
He looks me in the eye. “Both, if I’m being honest.” Anderson shakes his head in disbelief, muttering, “I have an abundance of family. Parents, sisters, grandparents, cousins, second cousins, aunts and uncles…you name it. I can’t imagine my life without their support.”
“You only think that because it’s what you know,” I reply. Taking another draught of the whiskey, I think back to the huge family gatherings we used to have on Isola d’ Elba. I had experienced the stability and strength of familia once—only to have it ripped away.
Like Anderson, there was a time I thought I couldn’t live without it, but the fact that I’m here now is proof otherwise. Amazing what the human spirit can endure when forced.
“Do you believe you make your own destiny?” I ask him. I’m leading him; knowing there’s only one right answer.
He seems a little thrown by my question, but answers, “Ah, yeah…sure…” Then he adds, “However, it doesn’t hurt to have a posse behind you.”
I like his answer and hold up my glass to him before finishing the last of the whiskey and setting it on the desk.
Without missing a beat, he pours me more.
“Stop wasting it,” I complain. “Your grandfather meant it for you, not me.”
His grin widens as he pours another splash into my tumbler and pushes it toward me. “You can’t tell me what to do, Davis.”
I shake my head, chuckling as I pick it up. “I trust you on a gut level, Anderson, and I can count the number of people I trust on one hand.”
“I’m honored,” he replies, holding up his glass to me.
“Know that I have your back, as well.”
“Appreciate it, Davis.”
“And I’ll do everything in my power to support your endeavor in finding your perfect fit…”
Anderson smirks. “I promise to keep that damn secret of yours. Whatever it is.”
My smiles falters as bright red blood flashes before my eyes and that horrifying scene begins to play out in my head. I suddenly realize I’m not ready to tell him anything. Hell, I’ve spent years in counseling, and I still can’t face the memories of that day—much less voice them aloud.
Pushing back the bloody vision, I confess, “I need more time.”
Anderson stares hard at me, eventually nodding. “When you’re ready, Davis, I’ll carry that burden with you.”
Laundry
I only have one extra class on Friday, Photography. Although it has no direct application to business, I need it to meet my arts and humanities requirement and can see the advantage of understanding composition in regards to marketing.
I enter the classroom and immediately realize I’m in the wrong place. The room is filled with the smell of incense, and a soothing chime sounds in the background. I head back out and recheck my schedule. Looking at the room number again, I’m dismayed to see they match, but I assume the Photography class has moved.
Returning inside, I scan the room, looking for the professor. I finally settle on the woman dressed in a bright purple muumuu who is swaying to the music.
“Are you the professor here?” I ask her as I approach.
She looks up at me with a relaxed smile. “Yes…I am.”
“Where has the photography class been moved to?”
“It didn’t move.”
I silently groan when I realize this is the class I signed up for. “Then I take it you are Professor Brooks?” I state, holding out my hand to her.
She takes my hand, her smile growing wider.
I glance around the room uncomfortably, feeling completely out of my element in this liberal arts class. The others must sense it, too, because I can feel their disdain as they stare at my white shirt and tie.
Professor Brooks takes my arm. “Why don’t you sit up front? The vibe feels right for you.”
I sit down reluctantly, already contemplating heading straight to the registrar office to drop the class.
I look up to see the blonde who was staring at me the other day striding into the class. As soon as she enters, she stops short and scowls at the burning incense. She quickly turns to make a quick exit, but Professor Brooks is too fast for her.
Taking her by the arm, she steers her in my direction. The blonde is dressed as conservatively as I am, and she looks equally out of place.
“Seems to me, you two have a lot in common,” the professor states as she seats the blonde beside me.
I stare intently at the girl, waiting to see if there’s a spark of recognition when our eyes meet, but I see only a look of utter shock when she sees me.
She quickly recovers, settling into her seat and getting out her notebook. I can tell, however, that she is acutely aware of my presence by the way she keeps licking her lips and moving nervously in her chair. Although she is stunning with that long blonde hair and those perfectly arched lips, I don’t feel any attraction toward her—which I find odd.
Even with my curiosity piqued, I still plan to drop the class and avoid having further contact with the girl.
My decision made, I turn my attention back to Professor Brooks and am surprised to find myself drawn into her lecture. While her teaching methods may be unorthodox, there is no disputing her years of professional experience as a field photographer or the deep passion she has for sharing that extensive experience with our class of novices.
By the time the hour is through, Professor Brooks has won me over. Despite having zero personal interest in photography before this class, she has me looking forward to attending next Friday. “Your only assignment for the week is to take a single subject photo that speaks to you personally. I don’t care what the subject is as long as it is something you feel passionate about in some way. Heck, it can even be your lunch.” Laughter follows. “What I want is to see a glimpse of the world through your eyes. That’s the magic of a photo.”
The blonde pops out of her seat as soon as Professor Brooks dismisses the class and heads straight toward the door.
I stay behind, wanting to thank Professor Brooks. Shaking her hand, I tell her, “I look forward to the semester ahead.”
Rather than shaking my hand this time, she pats it gently. “I’m glad to hear it. I have a suspicion you have an eye for structure. It will be interesting to see how it plays out in your photos.”
“Really?”
She nods. “I have this sense about people.”
I can’t explain what it is about Professor Brooks, but I feel both challenged and relaxed around her.
As I start to leave, she says, “I recommend you wear something a little looser next class. You’re going to need to move freely.”
I cock my head. “Meaning?”
She just gives me an amused smile.
Truly, Professor Brooks is unlike any teacher I’ve ever had. I leave the classroom feeling revitalized, despite the lingering odor of incense that follows me.
Before I’m out of the building, I’m accosted by the blonde in the hallway.
Grabbing my arm, she demands, “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
Not interesting in causing a scene, I walk her over to a secluded area. “Why are you stalking me?”
When she frowns, those shapely lips turn down flirtatiously even though her eyes do not reflect those feelings. I wonder if she’s even aware of it.
“I haven’t been stalking you,” she insists.
“Then e
xplain why you were staring me down outside the library, and suddenly show up in this class today?”
“Okay, I’ll admit to staring at you, but you would, too if you were me.”
“Explain.”
She looks extremely uncomfortable when she answers. “You remind me of someone.”
I don’t like playing foolish games and demand, “Who?”
I fully expect her to say my given name, so I’m unprepared when I hear, “You bear a strong resemblance to my brother. It’s eerie how much you look like him.”
“Okay…”
She lowers her eyes for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “He died a few years ago.”
The pain I see in her eyes rekindles my own, and I am suddenly overcome with sympathy for the girl. “I can only imagine the pain you must feel.”
Tears start to well up in her eyes, but she shakes her head slightly and wills them away, explaining, “Joseph wouldn’t want me to cry.”
“I’m sure he would understand.”
She wipes any remaining wetness away and meets my gaze again. “It’s strange how alike you are. Even your voice reminds me of him.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say, shifting on my feet, uncomfortable with the ghostly role she’s forced me into.
The girl seems to realize how unnerved I feel and smiles apologetically. “I really didn’t mean to stare, but I can’t help myself. I miss Joseph…”
The depth of loss I see in her eyes draws out my protective side. I feel a connection to her because of our shared pain.
Holding out my hand, I formally introduce myself. “I’m Davis. And you are?”
She stares at my hand for a moment before taking it. I can feel her whole body trembling as she squeezes my hand to shake it. “I’m Samantha.”
“Last name?”
“Clark.”
“Would you like to get some coffee, Clark?”
She hesitates for only a second before answering, “Yes. I would like that very much.”
As we walk toward the campus café, I note the way she hunches her shoulders as she clutches her books as if in defense against the world—it only serves to make me feel more protective of her.
