by Lauren Rowe
Chapter Twelve
For the past forty-five minutes or so, Tyler and I have been sitting at his table, eating our cheeseburgers and salad, and chatting about surprisingly nonsexual things. True, the songs playing during our meal have been about sex, sex, and more sex—either doing it or desperately wanting to do it. And, yes, Tyler has stopped midsentence on several occasions to suddenly and enthusiastically sing along with some particularly cheesy lyrics. His enthusiastic but off-key rendition of the chorus of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” was a highlight, I must admit. But, mostly, we’ve just…talked. And I’ve loved every minute of it.
Tyler puts down his napkin onto his empty plate and leans back in his chair. “You want to brainstorm our Shakespeare project now, partner?”
Wow, I’m shocked. I thought it’d be like wrangling cats to get Tyler to work on our Shakespeare project tonight. “That’d be awesome,” I say. “We’ve got a lot to do.”
It’s an understatement. Our Modernizing Shakespeare assignment is a doozy. We’re required to select any scene from Shakespeare, write a five-page paper dissecting its themes and language, and then write a contemporary scene inspired by it. And then, after all that, we’ve still got to do the biggest task of all. Perform both scenes—the original Shakespearean one and the contemporary scene we’ve created—in front of our entire class.
After a bit of back and forth, Tyler and I settle on our Shakespearean scene: when Romeo meets Juliet for the first time at a masquerade ball.
“So, this scene is about Romeo trying to get into Juliet’s pants?” Tyler asks.
“Yup. We shouldn’t have any trouble writing a contemporary scene inspired by this one, huh?”
Tyler laughs. “Art imitating life, definitely.” He gets up from his seat. “We threw a Mardi Gras-themed party at the house last year. I’m pretty sure we’ve got some leftover masks. Hang on.” He leaves and returns a moment later, holding two sparkling masks. “Do these look like sixteenth century masquerade masks?”
“They’re perfect.” I take one of the masks from Tyler and slip it on.
“Wow, that’s sexy,” he says, putting on the other mask. “No wonder Romeo wanted to get into Juliet’s pants. Damn, girl.”
I giggle. “Just read the scene, Romeo.”
We read through the scene in our masks, right up to the spot where the stage direction tells us Romeo kisses Juliet.
“This is where we’ll kiss,” I say tightly.
“Great. Let’s kiss.”
“Not tonight,” I say, my cheeks coloring. “Let’s just read through the scene tonight and figure out our blocking another night.”
“Blocking?”
“Our movements.”
“But we’re going to kiss for real when we perform it, right?”
“Of course.”
“So, we should practice kissing now. There are a thousand ways to kiss, after all. We need to make sure we kiss the way Romeo and Juliet would have done it.”
I swallow hard. If I kiss this boy tonight, even as chastely as Romeo and Juliet would have kissed at their first meeting, I’m positive I’ll lose all my willpower and agree to sleep with him. “Not tonight,” I insist. “We’ll practice the kiss another time. Say your next line.”
Tyler exhales and begrudgingly continues the scene. But, quickly, it’s time for Romeo and Juliet’s second kiss of the scene.
“And here we’ll kiss again,” I say flatly.
Tyler looks up from his book. “This is stupid. We should practice kissing now. Practice makes perfect, after all.”
“Not tonight.”
Tyler pulls off his mask and tosses it onto the table. I follow suit.
“You seem stressed, little freshman,” he says. “Let’s go sit on the couch and talk this over.” Without waiting for my reply, he pulls me up from my chair and leads me to the couch.
“Okay, so are you ready to talk about our Social Psych project now?” I ask weakly, settling myself on the far end of the couch from Tyler.
“No,” he replies. “I was thinking we’d relax for a bit and then rehearse those two kisses.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to ‘relax for a bit’ until we’ve figured out our topic for our Social Psych project. I’m stressed about it, to be honest.”
Tyler smiles. “All right. Social Psych it is. I definitely want you nice and relaxed for me tonight.”
I abruptly grab a notepad off the coffee table. “Great. Let’s brainstorm topics for our experiments.”
Shockingly, Tyler doesn’t argue with me. Instead, he launches into an earnest discussion about the project—and, twenty minutes later, we’ve already got a list of twelve potential topics for experiments.
“Okay,” I say, looking down at our list. “If you had to choose our general topic right now, which one would it be?”
“The power of persuasion,” Tyler says without hesitation.
“Any specific aspect?”
“Yes, thank you for asking. I’m curious to know what would persuade a beautiful, curly-headed freshman theater major at UCLA to want to have sex with an extremely well-endowed free safety named Tyler Caldwell.”
I bite my lip. “Interesting query. Unfortunately, I think that’s a bit specific for a social psych experiment. Kind of niche-y, I’d say.”
“You think?”
“I do. Although there might be some cross-over with my preferred topic.”
“Which is?”
“I’d like to explore the halo effect.”
“What’s that, again?”
Damn. This is exactly what I was worried about when I got stuck with a football player as a partner. That I’d be forced to work with a jock who doesn’t give a crap about his school work, and I’d have to do all the work for both of us.
I lean back into the sofa, my body language tight. “It was in the reading assignment, Tyler.”
He smiles. “I haven’t done the reading assignment yet.”
I flash him an annoyed look that says, Yeah, no shit.
Tyler’s smile vanishes. He flips his pen onto the coffee table. “Okay, let me explain something to you, Zooey Cartwright. In all seriousness.” He sighs. “Playing football at a school like UCLA, especially on scholarship, is a huge fucking deal. It’s a full-time job on top of all my classes. Every day except Sundays, I’ve got massive time commitments on top of my classes and homework. Take today, for instance. I was at the gym before five this morning. Worked out for close to three hours. After that, I went to two classes, after which I stuffed some food into my mouth, and then high-tailed it to a three-hour practice that kicked my ass. Right after that, I had a cryogenics session with a trainer that I skipped out early on so I could swing by the store to buy ingredients for the awesome dinner I planned to make for a pretty theater major who was coming over to my house later that evening. And then I raced home with just enough time to shower, grill up gourmet cheeseburgers, and create a playlist of bonin’ songs intended to subliminally persuade said pretty theater major to have sex with me tonight.” He flashes me a charming smile. “Now when the hell was I supposed to do the Social Psych reading on top of all that? It’s still the first day of school, dude. You think maybe your expectations for me are a bit unrealistic?”
My cheeks bloom. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…realize.”
“I’ll pull my weight in this partnership. That’s a promise. You just need to be patient with me if I need to play catch-up sometimes. I typically do my reading on Sundays. That’s my only free day of the week.”
“I get it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so pissy. Forgive me.”
“It’s okay.”
I shift in my seat, feeling stupid. “So, um…” I clear my throat. “The halo effect. It’s when people think good-looking people are smarter and cooler and funnier than everyone else, even when in reality they might be stupid or boring. Add athleticism or any kind of celebrity status into the mix, and the halo effect supposedly goes through the roof.”
&
nbsp; “You think the halo effect is real?”
“I know it is. Just look at my reaction to you. I wanted to sleep with you based on looks alone, before I’d even spoken two words to you. You could have been the stupidest, most boring guy in the world, and I didn’t care simply because you’re gorgeous. Halo effect.”
“Sounds like basic animal attraction to me. I wanted to have sex with you the second I saw you, too, even before I found out you’re a total weirdo.” He grins. “Was that the halo effect, too?”
I open my mouth and close it. “I’m not sure. Maybe?”
“At least from my experience,” Tyler continues, “the halo effect is a wash. For all the times someone thinks great things about me based on my looks or athleticism alone, someone else assumes bad stuff about me.”
“Like what?”
He grins wickedly. “That I’m the kind of guy who runs around calling other guys ‘nerd.’”
I shoot him a snarky look.
“Seriously, though, people tend to think I’m a dumb jock or a complete douchebag. Or that I’m some kind of raging manwhore who can’t keep his dick in his pants. I’m constantly having to disprove people’s stereotypical, preconceived notions about me.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got to stop you right there, cupcake. If you don’t want people assuming you’re a meathead manwhore who can’t keep his dick in his pants, then how about you stop wearing shirts that say God’s Gift to Womankind and You’re Welcome!”
Tyler holds up his finger. “Ah. The shirts prove my point. Is it possible you’re holding my T-shirts against me because of my looks? Imagine if Dimitri wore one of my message shirts. You wouldn’t think he’s a douchebag manwhore for a split second. You’d think he’s funny and charming. You’d probably think he was being sarcastic and, therefore, that he’s self-deprecating and humble.”
I make a face like he’s got a point.
“So it’s your assumptions about me, based on my looks, that turn me into a perceived egomaniac when I wear them. As a point of fact, there’s a very good reason I wear those shirts.”
“You mean besides the shirts implicitly warning Stage Five Clingers to stay the hell away?”
“Yeah, that was an incidental benefit I discovered after the fact. The reason I started wearing those shirts was because I realized I could make them the foundation of my brand.”
“Your brand?”
Tyler’s face lights up. “Think about it. Which NFL players do you think get the biggest commercials and merchandizing deals? The best players on the field?” He shakes his head. “Talent’s only one part of the equation. The thing that makes a guy the most marketable off the field is a huge personality. He’s got to be instantly recognizable. A guy everyone loves or loves to hate. So I’m creating my brand now to lay the foundation for the global empire I’ll be building when I’m in the NFL.”
“Your empire?”
“Mark my words, I’ll be a household name during my rookie season. And by the end of my career, my impact’s going to reach far beyond football. One day, I’ll be like Muhammad Ali. Michael Jordan. Michael Phelps. A global brand.”
“And all because you wear message tees?”
“No. Of course, not. Message tees will be the initial hook that’s going to make me stand out at first. They’ll be my gateway into a full sportswear line. Shoes. Nike commercials. And all that will give me the seed money for what I want to do when my playing days are over—invest in real estate.” He taps his temple. “I’m a business major, baby. I know exactly what I’m doing. And it all starts with the message T-shirts. Just watch.”
I’m blown away. “How did you start wearing the T-shirts in the first place?”
“By chance. One day during my senior year in high school, I wore a T-shirt that said Heartbreaker. I think I got it at American Apparel or wherever, just because I thought it was funny. But then, after I’d worn it a couple of times, some girls on the pep squad wore ‘Heartbreaker’ shirts the day of a big game to show support for me. So that gave me an idea. I gathered all my savings and bought a bunch of blank T-shirts and had ‘Heartbreaker’ silkscreened onto them. And then I sold them, with a dollar from each sale going to charity. Boom. They sold out instantly. So I reinvested my profits and bought more shirts. Thought up some new phrases. Wore the new phrases to make them seem cool. Put the shirts on sale with a buck from each sale going to charity. Boom. Sold out of those in lightning speed, too. And on and on. I was unstoppable. As long as I wore the new message first for a bit, then the world wanted it. Everyone wanted to dress like Tyler Caldwell. By the time I graduated, I had a drawer full of different message T-shirts, a nice chunk of change for my charity, and enough cash to buy myself a motorcycle for college.”
My jaw is hanging open. “And you seriously question if the halo effect is real? Tyler, if anyone else had worn those shirts, nobody would have cared. I mean, jeez, look what happened today in Social Psych. The professor said don’t ask to switch partners, and then three handsome football players asked to switch partners, and she couldn’t switch for you guys fast enough. Just imagine if Dimitri had asked her to change partners. Or if he’d worn those message shirts in high school. You think anyone would have bought those shirts from him?”
Tyler’s eyes light up. “That’s it! That’s our experiment. We’ll test out the halo effect. It’ll be me versus Dimitri. Let’s see if you’re right about that.”
I squeal. “I love it. You think Dimitri will help us out?”
“Oh, I’m sure he will. But if you ask your roommate to help us, too, he’ll be Johnny on the Spot, for sure.”
“Perfect.”
Tyler puts his notepad on the coffee table and pointedly scoots closer to me on the couch. “So is that enough work for our first night, taskmaster?”
“Yeah, I think we got a ton accomplished tonight. Don’t you?”
“I do.” He scoots even closer to me, his eyes darkening with heat. “So are you feeling relaxed now, little freshman?”
My crotch flutters. “Um. Right this very second? No. Actually.”
“No?” He smiles. “Why not?”
“Because you’re sitting two inches away from me, looking at me like you want to swallow me whole.”
Tyler’s smile widens, but he doesn’t argue the point.
I exhale. “Tyler, we’re not going to have sex tonight. We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re going to be working closely together for the next five weeks and seeing each other in class for five more weeks after that. Plus, now that I’ve gotten to know you a bit, and I actually kind of don’t hate you, I’m positive a one-night stand with you would be hard for me to handle. If I’m being perfectly honest, I’d probably want to have sex with you again after that first time. And I wouldn’t know how to act around you in our classes after our one-night stand. I’d worry every time I sat down within four rows of you, you’d be like, ‘Stalker! Stage Five Clinger! Don’t slash my tires!’ and I’d be like, ‘Dude, chill. I’m enrolled in this class, remember?’”
Tyler chuckles and snakes one arm around my shoulders. “Why do you assume we’d have nothing but a one-night stand?”
I look at him like he’s on crack. “Because that’s what you explicitly said is the only item on the Tyler Caldwell menu. One night and nothing more, remember?”
Tyler’s eyes are locked on mine. He’s so close, I feel his body heat. He rests his free hand on my thigh. “I said that because you were a hot girl at a party who wanted to have sex with a guy wearing a douchey message T-shirt. But now you’re Zooey Cartwright, the pretty, smart, funny weirdo-theater-major I’m going to be hanging out with for the next five weeks. Under the circumstances, I think the intelligent thing for me to do would be to adapt and change the Tyler Caldwell menu.” He grins. “‘Intelligence is the ability to adapt to change.’ Stephen Hawking.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting we have sex every time we get
together to work on our projects over the next five weeks. Beginning tonight.”
My lips part.
“Now, just to be clear,” he adds. “I’ll only be able to see you Monday through Wednesday for the next five weeks. That’s all I can manage with my schedule. But when I see you, hell yeah, I’m suggesting we have lots and lots of awesome sex.”
My mind is racing. I can’t breathe.
“Think of it like a third partner project,” he says softly, leaning close to my face. “We’ll call it ‘The Miseducation of Zooey Cartwright.’ For five weeks, Monday through Wednesday, I’ll teach you everything you need to know about sex. And when you graduate from my five-week course, you’ll be ready to bone with the best of ’em, baby.”
My heart is exploding with excitement. I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth by asking too many questions—because, God knows, what Tyler’s offering me is a thousand times more enticing to me than any of my cherry-popping one-night-stand fantasies. But I can’t go into this with any misunderstandings. “And what happens when the five weeks are over?” I ask. “After we turn in our midterm projects, we’ll still have two classes together, twice a week, for another five weeks. Won’t that be awkward?”
“Not if we agree up front that our miseducation project will last five weeks and nothing more. To be honest, I fully expect you to be chomping at the bit to try out all your newly acquired sex-kitten skills on some other dudes by the time we get to the five-week mark.”
“Oh, so you’re assuming I wouldn’t have sex with anyone else during the five weeks of my ‘miseducation’?”
Tyler’s eyes burst into flames. “That’s nonnegotiable. You’ll be my very own little hunk of clay to mold. All mine. It’s gonna be a huge turn-on for me to know I’m your first for anything and everything we do, and I don’t want anyone else fucking that up for me. But after the five weeks are up, knock yourself out, baby.”
My heart is thudding noisily in my ears. “I’d want the same promise from you,” I say. “I’d want you to have sex with only me during the entire five weeks.”
