Claire (Hart University Book 2)

by Abigail Strom

  I was worried I’d be late if I walked, so I drove my car to the science building parking lot.

  I was five minutes early, but Will and Becky were there before me. They were stretching together, using one of the iron benches scattered along the lake path for balance, and I saw them before they saw me.

  Becky wasn’t gorgeous, but she was pretty. She had brown hair in a ponytail, thick dark eyebrows, and a long, lean, strong-looking body.

  She and Will had their left legs up on the back of the wrought iron bench and they were stretched out over their thighs, their heads turned toward each other as they chatted. They both looked a lot more serious about the jogging thing than I did with actual running outfits (Becky’s was purple) and actual running sneakers (Becky’s were neon green).

  I slowed down as I approached them. The sun was just beginning to come up, and the scene in front of me was spectacular.

  The early-morning mist on the lake was touched with red and gold. There were geese on the water floating silently by. The sky was a clear, transparent blue and the trees lining the lake path were moving softly in the breeze.

  Set against that background, Will and Becky looked sort of perfect together—happy and healthy and athletic, like they were about to film a Nike ad.

  Standing there in my yoga pants and T-shirt, with my music geek sneakers and black socks—I didn’t own any white sports socks—I felt like an interloper.

  They still hadn’t seen me. If I turned around now I could leave before they knew I was there. I could send Will a text to explain that I—

  “Claire!”

  Will straightened up and waved, and I forced a smile onto my face as I closed the remaining distance between us.

  “Hi,” I said, looking at Becky. “I’m Claire.”

  “Becky. It’s so great to meet you. I saw your band last spring at the student center. You guys were amazing.”

  She liked my music? Damn.

  “Thanks. I, um, hear you play soccer.”

  She nodded. “We’re having a great season this year, but you’d never know it.” She sent a mock glare Will’s way. “Considering that all the money and attention go to football.”

  Will grinned. “Hey, I’m with you on this. I know it’s not fair. But that article you wrote was great, and if people keep speaking up maybe things will change.”

  “Article?” I asked.

  Will nodded. “Becky covers sports for the Hart Star. She wrote a pretty tough piece on college athletics, showing the disparity of resources between men’s and women’s sports.”

  She was a feminist? Damn.

  Once again, I considered bagging out. I could tell them I had a headache or a stomach ache or a leg cramp or—

  Becky moved closer to Will and bumped his hip with hers. “Are you ready to go?”

  It wasn’t a big deal. One little hip bump. But something flared up inside me, and when Will said he was ready I said, “Me, too.”

  “Great. It’s two and half miles around the lake, so we’ll do two laps.”

  I nodded. “Two laps. Great.”

  Will spoke up. “You can stop after one, you know. And let us know if you need to slow down the pace or—”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said quickly.

  Will looked like he wanted to say something else, but then he just shrugged. “Okay.”

  The first section of the path was wide enough for the three of us to run side-by-side. We started off at what seemed like a pretty reasonable speed, and I felt confident that I could keep it up for two laps.

  I continued to feel that way for about a minute and half.

  After ninety seconds, I was panting and wheezing. My leg muscles were burning and there was a stitch in my side.

  Will and Becky were having some kind of fitness geek-out about aerobic and anaerobic exercise and target heart rates. Becky had a Fitbit and she was telling Will how much she loved it. I was trying to shore up my determination to keep going when Will asked me a question.

  “What?” I gasped out.

  “I said, can you talk? That’s a good test to make sure you’re not exercising too hard.”

  If that was the case, then Will was doing fine. He wasn’t having any trouble talking. He might as well have been sitting down.

  I took a few deep breaths and made a mighty effort.

  “Yes, I can talk. Don’t worry about me.”

  Two sentences without a huff or a puff. Yay Claire.

  Will took me at my word and he and Becky went back to their conversation. I didn’t even try to listen to what they were saying, focusing all my energy on moving my arms and legs. When the path narrowed, I gratefully dropped behind the other two.

  “How are you doing?” Becky asked me over her shoulder, her voice as unstressed as Will’s and her smile sweet and friendly.

  I hated her.

  I marshaled another massive effort. “I’m great.”

  After that things were a little easier. The two athletes were ahead of me, so at least I didn’t have to worry about them seeing my red face and the ever-increasing pain and agony in my expression. And they couldn’t hear my heavy breathing, either.

  As we kept going on the path to hell, I focused on Will. He was like a machine, his legs pumping like pistons, up and down, up and down, as measured and tireless as pile drivers.

  My eyes shifted over to Becky. She matched him stride for stride, her legs as piston-like as his were. And it was obvious from the way she was talking that this wasn’t even a stretch for her.

  She was probably taking it easy because of me.

  They probably both were.

  The insanity of what I was doing swept over me. What had I been thinking? How could I have thought, even for a second, that going on a five-mile run with two jocks was a good idea?

  They were both so healthy and strong, so vibrant and glowing. A sudden image of the two of them in bed together filled my mind.

  They’d make love with all the gusto and vitality they were currently displaying. And then, after all the wild, gymnastic sex, they could head to the kitchen to make postcoital spinach smoothies.

  Was that a thing? Spinach smoothies?

  What the hell did I care. It was the sex part that bothered me.

  Because I was jealous. Obviously.

  Jealousy had dragged my aerobically-challenged ass out of bed at five-thirty in the morning. Jealousy had started me on this hellish journey around a lake I now loathed. Jealousy might actually end up killing me, since there was a good chance I would drop dead any second now.

  On and on it went. Out of some misguided sense of something or other I refused to stop, pushing myself further and further until—

  “Claire?”

  Will had turned his head a few times to check on me, and I’d managed to smile and offer a few words as proof of life. This time, though, he figured out I wasn’t doing so hot.

  He stopped in his tracks and I did, too, never more grateful for anything in my life as the simple cessation of movement. I couldn’t hide the fact that I was gasping for breath, and I knew I was tomato-red and not in an attractive way.

  Sweat was pouring down my face. We’d stopped near one of the iron benches, and Will grabbed my hand and led me over to it.

  “Shit,” he said, looking worried. He had a water bottle attached to his belt, and now he pulled it loose and handed it to me. “Here.”

  I took a sip but I felt nauseous on top of everything else, and I was afraid if I drank too much I’d puke.

  “You’re overheated,” he said, making me sound like a car engine. He knelt down in front of me, his handsome face so sweet and concerned I wanted to cry.

  Now Becky pulled out her own water bottle. “You should pour this over your head,” she said, sounding as concerned as Will did. “That will cool you down.”

  Maybe it would, but it would also render my humiliation complete. “No, that’s—”

  “Good idea,” Will said, taking the bottle from Becky. He raised it
over my head, turned it upside down, and let it gush.

  I’d never experienced such a total dichotomy. The water felt wonderful on my body—glorious, even. But the utter humiliation of this moment seemed to wither my heart until it could have blown away like a dried leaf.

  Dramatic much?

  Yep. But as I sat there with water dripping into my eyes and soaking my clothes, I’d never felt such overwhelming despair.

  I used the back of my hand to wipe my face.

  “Okay, thanks. I’m good now. Why don’t you guys finish your run and I’ll—” I gestured back toward the way we’d come. “I’ll go back.”

  Will was still kneeling in front of me. “No way. We’ll go back with you.”

  At that moment, I would have done anything to keep that from happening. Trudge back to my car soaking wet with Will and Becky hovering solicitously? Oh, hell no.

  I shook my head. “I’m fine. Really. You guys go on and I’ll—”

  “I’m going back with you. This whole thing is my fault. I knew you weren’t a runner and I still let you come.”

  Just when I thought I couldn’t sink any lower. “Will, please. Please. I want to go by myself, okay?”

  “We haven’t come that far. Just let me—”

  Instinct made me turn toward Becky. “Please. I’ll be fine. I want you and Will to finish your run. Please?”

  I’m not sure how much Becky understood about how miserable I was or why, but she gave me the help I needed.

  “Do you have your cell phone with you?”

  I nodded.

  “All right. Let’s go, Will. Claire will call us if she needs anything. Right, Claire?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.” I made a shooing motion with my hands. “Go, run, be free.”

  Becky put a hand on Will’s shoulder. “Come on.”

  “All right.” Will rose reluctantly, his face unhappy as he looked down at me. I smiled as cheerfully as I could and made the shooing motion again.

  “I’ll see you later,” I said, even though, at that moment, I was planning to crawl into a hole and pull it in after me—and never face Will again.

  Finally they left. I watched them until they were out of sight—man, they were in good shape—and then I slumped down on the bench and stared at the lake.

  The mist was gone now, but it was still peaceful. It was so silent, in fact, that I could hear my heartbeat still thundering in my ears and the harsh rasp of my breathing.

  I sat there for a good five minutes. I would have stayed longer, but I was afraid I might run into Will and Becky back at the science building if I didn’t head back soon.

  So I dragged my sorry ass off the bench and plodded back the way we’d come.

  Chapter Ten

  I worried about Claire until we finished the first lap. When I saw that her car was gone from the science building parking lot, I knew she’d made it back okay.

  Becky was the perfect jogging partner. She kept pace with me, she was fun to talk to, and she obviously loved running as much as I did.

  I just hoped she couldn’t tell that my mind was on Claire when it should have been on her.

  Once the run was over I did my best to refocus. “So, tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven?” I asked while we were doing our post-run stretches.

  “Sounds great.”

  If dinner went well, I’d be kissing Becky good night in about fifteen hours. If the kiss went well, maybe she’d invite me into her apartment.

  Lissa was the first and only girl I’d been with. How was I supposed to know if I was a good kisser, or if Lissa and I had just been used to each other? What if I was a bad kisser?

  What if I was bad in bed? What if—

  Becky had said goodbye and started to leave. Now she stopped, came back, and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek.

  “See you tonight,” she said, flashing a brilliant smile before turning away again.

  I sank down onto the bench and stared after her.

  Once she was around the corner of the science building and out of sight, I let go of the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  Becky was nice, and I liked her. She wasn’t beautiful like Claire, but then no one was. Lissa wasn’t beautiful, either, but I’d loved the way she looked and I was definitely attracted to her.

  I was attracted to Becky, too. Wasn’t I?

  The touch of her lips hadn’t thrilled me the way the touch of Claire’s fingers did, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t attracted to her. Claire seemed pretty well committed to her singlehood pledge, and I’d decided I’d better make peace with that fact if I didn’t want to start mooning around writing poetry about unrequited love.

  Then, when I’d made the date with Becky, Claire was the first one I told.

  Was that because we were getting to be really close friends? Or because a part of me hoped she’d be jealous?

  This morning’s run had shot that theory all to hell. No girl who liked a guy would go for a run she wasn’t in shape for and let herself get all blotchy and sweaty.

  Of course Claire probably had no idea that when her face was red and glowing all I could think about was making her come, and wondering if she’d look like that afterward.

  I sighed. Time to forget about the girl I couldn’t have and think about the girl who might actually want me.

  * * *

  I took Andre’s advice and dressed up that night, wearing khakis and a button-down shirt.

  “In the current climate of casual sex and hookup culture,” he’d said, imitating our psych professor’s pedantic delivery, “a girl will appreciate a little retro courtship. Do it up right, man.”

  I’d also taken his advice about the date itself, making a reservation at a restaurant downtown.

  Becky lived in an off-campus student apartment building. I got there at six-thirty, realizing after I found a parking place that I couldn’t show up at her door half an hour early.

  Okay, no big deal. I’d just wait in the car.

  I watched the traffic going by for about ten minutes. Then I pulled out my phone and texted Claire.

  I’m supposed to pick Becky up at 7. I got here early and I’m sitting in my car. I’m nervous as hell and I feel like an idiot. Help.

  I sat and stared at my phone, waiting for her response.

  It came after a minute.

  What are you nervous about? That girl’s crazy about you.

  She was?

  I started typing again.

  Why do you think that?

  I only had to wait ten seconds this time.

  Are you kidding? She hip bumped you this morning.

  That was true. I remembered it. And she’d kissed me on the cheek. But—

  That doesn’t mean she’s crazy about me.

  Oh, please. Any kind of touching at this stage is a sign. But hip to hip? Dude, that’s below the belt touching. Very close to the danger zone. SHE WANTS YOU.

  When Claire texted in all caps, I could visualize her talking—her arms and hands getting into the action. When Claire was excited or emphatic she talked with her whole body. She was like that on stage, too.

  I grinned as I typed my response.

  Maybe you should come with me on this date to translate the body language. I obviously don’t have a clue.

  That’s what makes you adorable. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.

  Claire thought I was adorable?

  What if I’m not?

  OH MY GOD. Just get out of your car and go. You can be a few minutes early.

  I checked the time; eight minutes till seven. If I walked slow I’d be at her door right on the dot.

  Okay. But keep your phone close just in case.

  Just in case what? You need me to rescue you? Forget it, buddy. I’m already in my pajamas and I’m not leaving the dorm tonight. I have a hundred pages of biology to read.

  I pictured Claire curled up in bed with a textbook.

  I won’t ask you to leave the dorm. But what if I need advice?


  During your date? What are you going to do, text me under the table? Here’s some advice: DO NOT DO THAT. I’m signing off now. Good luck and have fun, you goofball.

  I smiled as I slid my phone into my pocket. Then I got out of the car, took a deep breath, and went to knock on Becky’s door.

  * * *

  An hour or so later, Becky and I were at the restaurant. We were finishing our salads when her phone buzzed. She looked at the screen and made a face.

  “Do you mind if I go outside and answer this? It’s my dad.”

  “No, of course not. Take your time.”

  I waited until she was out of sight and then I pulled out my own phone.

  Are you there?

  The response came almost immediately.

  Yes, I’m here. How’s it going? Please tell me you’re not texting under the table.

  I smiled.

  No, she had to take a call from her dad. She’s outside right now. It’s going OK, I guess. But our conversation’s a little boring. If I’m bored, doesn’t that mean she’s bored?

  Not necessarily. What have you guys been talking about?

  Classes. Movies. It’s me, isn’t it? I’m boring.

  No you’re not! Don’t be silly. Maybe get a little more personal? Ask something revealing. Or tell her something revealing.

  Like what?

  I don’t know. What are you most afraid of?

  I didn’t have to think about that one.

  Fire.

  You’re afraid of fire? I didn’t know that.

  Not fire in general. A fire. My house burned down when I was a kid.

  OMG. Was anyone hurt???

  No, we were all fine. But if I have a nightmare that’s what it’s about.

  Do you have a lot of nightmares?

  Not anymore. None at all for the last year.

  That’s good. I’m glad.

  I wasn’t sure what to say next. Apparently Claire wasn’t, either.

  After a moment I started typing again.