The Campus Jock: A College Bad Boy Romance

by Serena Silver

  “You can take whatever I bought for you and – ” Jon started to say as

  he threw open the door to the apartment. Abruptly, he started in shock. His mouth dropped open. He looked at Marika and then back inside, his mind unable to reconcile what he was seeing with reality.

  “I am sorry. I did not thinking you vould be so angry,” Marika whispered from beside him, tears filling her lovely eyes in shame. Slowly, Jon stepped inside his front room staring dumbfounded at his surroundings. It had been completely redecorated, new furniture replacing the mismatched, worn futon and chairs. A black leather sectional surrounded a mounted flat screen with two wooden end tables and the matching coffee table. Tasteful artwork graced the walls, mostly still life and landscapes, all in warm tones. Somehow, Marika had even managed to paint the living room a soft olive green, warming it from the sterile white it had always been. She had ordered a classic table and chair set for the dining room, and an island with barstools for the kitchen. Everything was handcrafted in wood and gave the apartment the feel of a farmhouse. The window treatments had been replaced with heavy drapes which were drawn to allow for the glorious view from the seventeenth floor. As if seeing it for the first time, his breath was stolen by the beauty of the sight. Jon slowly made his way through the apartment, he saw that Marika had redecorated the main bathroom. It was a soft mauve with white accents, and she had bought matching bath mats and towels to accessorize.

  “I didn’t going in your office,” she told him after realizing he was thrilled by the changes. “I knowing men are private about office.”

  “Oh, no I’m glad you didn’t go in there. It’s a mess, and I barely know where anything is now. This is amazing, Marika! I don’t know how you got all this done! Did anyone help you?” She shook her head and shrugged modestly.

  “I have no one to helping me here. Anyway, I having fun,” she told him as they kept walking through the condo. Jon glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, thinking he heard a hint of wistfulness in her tone but she only smiled happily as the tour continued. Finally recognized the room where Marika had been the previous night. Gone was his double bed and dilapidated mattress without a box spring. In its place was a king-sized sleigh bed. It too had been painted but a deep, blood red, infused with black and silver as accents. There was something extremely sensual about the darkness of the room and Jon could feel his heart begin to race with the promise it seemed to hold. The mattress on the bed was top of the line and brand new as were the dresser, mirror and bedside tables.

  “You didn’t have to do this for my room,” he protested. “I understand why you would want the place to look good, but I am perfectly happy sleeping on a double bed. You should have done this in your room, not mine.”

  “I did. I am not happy sleeping on double bed. And this is our room now,” she told him, taking him by the hand. Jon thought he had heard her wrong.

  “You…want to sleep in the same room as me?” he choked. She nodded, her eyes shining.

  “Yes, Jon, I vanting very much to sleep with you.” She leaned forward and deposited a soft, gentle kiss on his agape lips. “Let me show you.”

  Chapter Five

  “Marika” did not know how it had happened. When she had first landed in Connecticut, she had barely formulated a plan more than escaping Europe. All she had known at that time was that the fear and disgust which had chased her overseas like an evil shadow had diminished. With each fluffy cloud passing by her window seat, she could feel herself breathing slightly easier. Then, as the plane had descended, she had filled with a feeling of uncertainty. She was second guessing her decision, but she had been out of options. She was certain that she did not want to move in with a creep whom she had met online even though out of all the men “Marika” had spoken with through the website, Jon seemed to be the nicest. She had seen a certain kindness in his eyes, something non-threatening and sorrowful which is why she had opted to connect with him. Her scheme had been simply to use him for the plane ticket, certain that he would not be overly demanding to her online. Other men had demanded nude photos, Skype calls, and even sexual videos, none of which “Marika” was willing to provide. She was desperate to flee but not so much that she would sell herself. Once in Connecticut, she would flee to New York where she could disappear into the crowd and hope that her past would remain a distant, haunting previous life. However, seeing Jon face-to-face, she had a very strong feeling that leaving him would be detrimental to them both. The combination of his condo and the quiet, picturesque city of Burlington had proven to be therapeutic for her. Slowly, as the days progressed, she found herself becoming more at ease with him and more at peace within herself. His sweet disposition and easy nature made his companionship delightful. He was much like an eager puppy in some ways, vying for her approval, buying her flowers, finding Hungarian cuisine and even attempting words in Hungarian but he quickly forsook that task after discovering the difficulty of the language. Still, she was incredibly touched by the effort he put forth to make her life comfortable, and inevitably she found she was attracted to him. She tried to fight it at first, but then she began asking herself why. Why should she reject such a man? She was no longer the woman she once was, and she deserved someone as endearing and kind as Jon. He is lovely. He does not pressure you, he cares about you, and his intentions are pure. Why would you not open your heart to him? There is nothing stopping you from being with this man. In the end, she decided either consciously or subconsciously that she adored Jon Hewson and wanted to be with him. She had slowly tried to make herself useful, cooking his meals and doing his laundry but as she looked about his shabby apartment, she realized that the condo did not lack cleanliness. It required warmth to become a home. It needs what the Americans call “a woman’s touch.” And “Marika was just the woman to provide it. She immediately busied herself checking on furniture online and making orders as her mind worked furiously toward color schemes and artwork. It had been grueling and time-consuming, battling a tight deadline but she hoped that in the end, Jon would recognize her endeavor as a sign of the affection she felt toward him. The result had been spectacular, but as she had sat back looking at her finished handiwork, she still felt like something was missing. She finally figured out what it was; intimacy. So “Marika” had hopped in the shower, done her hair and slipped into a slinky nightgown. She had been vaguely aware that Jon had been sending her texts all day, but she had other things to occupy her mind. The garment she chose had been purchased by Jon, but he had never seen it as he had remained respectfully outside Victoria’s Secret and waited patiently for her. It was a sheer, flowing material, white and pure but left very little to the imagination. She stared at herself in the new mirror in the bedroom she was now to share with Jon and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. You can do this, she told herself. You want to be with Jon. You are not doing anything wrong.

  But something in the back of her mind was filling her with leaden guilt as she picked up the Mac Book Pro and set it up on the dresser, preparing to make the Skype call. Jon had given her the computer as soon as she had entered his apartment the first day. He had gone ahead, ordering it online after buying her plane ticket and treated it as if it was a welcome present.

  “It is your computer to do exactly as you please,” he had told her. “I have several of my own, so please be comfortable with this. Put on a passcode and keep in touch with your friends and family back home.”

  “Oh! I will message my parents back home! Thank you, Jon!” she had gasped, throwing her arms around him and he had returned her embrace gently, touched by her excitement.

  “I will give to you code. You can looking whenever you please,” she added, but she had insisted, leaving her password on a scrap of paper taped to the corner of the screen. Of course, Jon had never violated her privacy, but he appreciated the openness in their relationship.

  Dressed in the nightie and convinced she looked ravishing, she opened the computer and steadied her trembling hands as Skype
made the connection to Jon. She tried to ignore the little whisper in her mind, the one warning her that she was still a married woman.

  “Jon! We didn’t know you were bringing someone!” Mary-Anne stood in the doorway of her home, her mouth slightly open in surprise as her younger son hurried up the stone pathway, Marika in tow. Suddenly Tristan and Jordan’s head also appeared behind her, hearing Mary-Anne’s words. Jon cringed inwardly, watching their eyes widen with interest as they seemed to dangle like body-less faces above his mother. A slow smile met both of their mouths while Jon’s mother’s eyes narrowed, sizing up Marika.

  “Sorry, I forgot to mention it,” he said flippantly, trying to brush by the gathering. Addison came flying out of the living room, her freckled face lighting up at the sight of Jon.

  “Uncle Jon! I missed you, buddy!” the three-year-old squealed, throwing herself into Jon’s arms. Jon immediately embraced the red headed toddler and set her back to examine her. She had grown substantially in the two months since he had last seen her and she looked more like a child than a baby now.

  “Hey Addy! How old are you now? Twenty? Twenty-one?” The toddler scowled angrily.

  “No! I am not that old!” she countered and everyone laughed. Then she turned her bright blue eyes on Marika.

  “Who are you?”

  “Addison, that is not polite. The correct thing to say is ‘hello, my name is Addison. And you are?” Tristan piped up. She turned her gaze toward Marika, curiosity flickering in her gold speckled brown eyes.

  Jon stood up, a blush stinging his cheeks.

  “Ah yes, sorry. This is Marika Darabos. Marika, this is my mother Mary-Anne, my sister Tristan, my brother-in-law Jordan and their daughter, Addison.”

  Everyone hastily held out their hands simultaneously and Marika laughed, awkwardly trying to address everyone at once.

  “It is my pleasure to meet you,” Marika told them as Mary-Anne closed the door behind her. Tristan and Jordan exchanged a glance at the sound of her thick accent.

  “What a lovely accent you have – Maria?”

  “Marika,” Jon corrected immediately. Tristan flushed, embarrassed.

  “Of course, I’m sorry, Marika. Are you Russian?”

  “Hungarian.” The answer was unexpectedly sharp, causing Tristan to raise a dark eyebrow but Marika smiled quickly to diminish the harshness from her words.

  “I am sorry. My people have bad history with Russian people. Vee do not liking confusion with Russian people,” she explained. Jordan nodded understandingly, his face lit up with compassion while his wife continued to look surprised.

  “And I thought that was ancient history. Aren’t they allies now?” Tristan asked bluntly. Jon shot her a scathing look, and she threw up her hands in mock surrender.

  “But what do I know about history. Math was more my thing,” she finished lamely.

  “Well get out of the hallway and come into the living room,” Mary-Anne told them, shooing the group inside. “I am waiting for Chris to let me know when they are on their way. The baby was still sleeping when I spoke to him half an hour ago.”

  Tristan and Jordan grunted, annoyed.

  “I thought babies slept through everything,” Jordan groaned rolling his eyes. “Why can’t they just pack the kid up and get over here already. We’ve been waiting to meet this little brat for a week.”

  “As you know, Jordan, she was premature, and now they believe she has colic. They dare not move her when she finally sleeps.”

  “Oh, it’s always something with Chris, isn’t it?” Jordan muttered. “God forbid we move the sleeping baby.”

  “I bet you Elyse is the one sleeping,” Tristan joked, and Mary-Anne glared at her. “You had colic, Tristan. I know what kind of hell that can be. Shuffling around a child who is in constant pain is not as pleasant as it sounds. You and Jordan got very lucky with Addison. She was a good baby, but I’ll tell you, if she were a quarter the little snot you were at her age, you would be begging for death right now. That being said if Elyse is sleeping, good for her!”

  Again, Tristan threw up her arms.

  “First of all, I was not that bad, stop exaggerating. And secondly, I am not judging. It sucks being a new mom. Why is everyone so sensitive today?”

  Christopher and Elyse had welcomed Chantal Christine Hewson to the world three weeks early. The rest of the Hewson family had been biding their time, waiting for their chance to meet the tiny new addition. Finally, Mary-Anne had to lay down the law and ordered a family dinner since Chris continued to put off the introduction, citing myriad excuses. Chris had tried to reschedule, but Mary-Anne was very difficult to oppose once she had committed to something.

  Grudgingly, both Christopher and Jon had agreed to attend the function. For two and a half hours, Jon did his best to prepare Marika for his family.

  “They will ask you a lot of unnecessary questions,” he warned her as they made the trek from Burlington to Long Island. “Don’t feel like you have to answer anything you’re not comfortable answering.

  Marika had smiled, secretly touched by his protectiveness. She patted his arm comfortingly.

  “You don’t having vorry about me,” she told him reassuringly. “I can taking care of myself.” Yet as Jon slowly pulled up to his mother’s house just outside Fire Island, he felt anything but confident. Chris is going to have a field day with this, he thought mournfully and then was embarrassed by his own worry. You are such an egomaniac. Chris will have other things on his mind, like his newborn baby. He won’t pay any attention to Marika or to you. Just keep your head down and focus on your new niece. Jon proved to be a poor prophet.

  The family moved into the front room, and Jon sat with Marika on the loveseat, but Addison soon climbed to sit between them. She turned her bright green eyes on the new person amongst them.

  “Wow! You’re as pretty as my mommy!” the child declared staring at her with star-like wonder. “Are you a princess?”

  Marika smiled sweetly at her and pressed her index finger to her lips before affectionately stroking Addison’s curly mop of unruly hair.

  “Shh…I am, but no one is supposed to know,” she whispered. Addison’s eyes widened, and she nodded solemnly.

  “I won’t tell anybody!” she promised earnestly. Tristan grinned and shot Jon an approving look. Anyone who won over her daughter was okay in Tristan’s books. Jordan leaned forward, also captivated by Marika’s beauty.

  “So, how did you two kids meet?” he asked, and Jon thought he heard a sly note in his voice. Heat exploded through Jon’s body, perspiration dampening his underarms. He was partially gleeful that Jordan was finally looking at his woman the way he looked at all of Chris’ wives. Another part of him, however, flew into a panic at the question.

  “He is vorking for me,” Marika answered smoothly without pause. “He has been making vebsite for my company.” There was a murmur of surprise in the room, and Jon stared at her in disbelief. Obviously, she had been prepared for the question, and she could not have developed a more fitting answer. It made perfect sense as Jon had clients worldwide. It also explained her expensive wardrobe and elegant demeanor. She was a foreign business owner. He exhaled slowly as he realized his family easily accepted the story.

  “Well how about that,” Jordan said. “You can find love on the internet after all!”

  Tristan smacked him on the back of the head, ignoring his gasp and turned back to the blonde.

  “How long have you been in America, Marika?”

  “One year.” Again, the response flowed from her lips as she took a sip of coffee. Jon was exceedingly grateful that Marika was such a consummate actress. If it had been up to him to reply, the reception from his family would have been much colder and filled with skepticism.

  “How long have you two been together?” Mary-Anne this time. She had not lost her steely gaze, overtly looking Marika up and down without shame. Mom thinks she is too beautiful to be with me, Jon realized, and a bolt of disappointment sh
ot through his gut.

  “Three months,” Jon finally forced himself to intercept. Marika shot him a quick look but averted her eyes.

  “Three months? Are you sure, Jon? You didn’t mention anything at Christmas,” his mother said skeptically. “I would have thought you would have said something when Tristan was cursing like a trucker at your brother.”

  “I didn’t want to jinx it,” Jon told her, shifting his stare to Addison. The child smiled up toothily.

  “Anyway, I don’t have to share every bit of information with you, mother.”

  “Yeah, grandma. Uncle Jon has secrets too. Like his friend is a princess!” Immediately, she slapped a small palm over her mouth and looked up horrified at Marika. The blonde grinned and winked.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered to the little girl. “You can always share secrets with your family.”

  “Well I am happy for you both,” Tristan jumped in, a beam lighting up her pixie-like face. “Welcome, Marika!”

  “Thank you, Tristan. Jon say you to be having baby, Tristan?” Marika asked, expertly changing the topic of conversation away from her as if sensing Jon’s rising discomfort. Tristan nodded happily but before she could answer, the front door opened and Elyse walked inside, carrying an infant car seat in her hands. Christopher was close on her heels, a scowl scarring his face.

  “Ellie, give me the baby,” he was grumbling, but she seemed not to hear him as she beamed warmly at the group who had rushed to greet her.

  “Close the door, Christopher,” Mary-Anne demanded. “Chantal will catch a chill!”

  Obediently, Chris quickly obeyed and followed his wife inside the house. She slowly removed the blanket from around the top of the carrier, and everyone flocked to coo at the baby girl inside. She was a strange, prune-like creature, strange looking as week old infants tend to be. She had gained some weight, putting her within normal range for a full-term baby and she was cute in a jerky, drooling sort of way. Still, the Hewsons filled Chris and Elyse’s ears with praise and compliments, marveling at the odd faces and wide-eyed looks Chantal bestowed upon them. There were gentle rounds of “Oh she has your nose, Chris!” and “There’s her mommy’s smile!”