by Sara Hubbard
“Probably to screw someone else’s boyfriend,” I mutter.
“Anyway, we’re off topic. She’s heinous. We hate her. Now back to you and Michael. Are you seeing him or not?”
Our teacher taps his microphone to get the class’s attention. He clears his throat and surveys the room while most people quiet and face the front. A couple of girls a few rows down continue to tap on their phones. Normally, my studious friend would sit up straight and have her pen at the ready, anxious to hang on our teacher’s every word. But not today. I almost wish she would focus on Mr. Foley.
She pokes me with her pencil. “Well?”
“Honestly?”
She looks at me as if to say, “well, duh?”
“No, but we’re not exactly denying it.”
“Why wouldn’t you deny it if it’s not true?”
I give her a shrug.
“To piss off your exes?” she says, her eyes going wide. Lightbulb moment.
I try to stop myself from smiling. I whisper in her ear, “We’re just friends. I’d tell you if it was more.”
“I certainly hope so. You’re my best friend.”
We listen to Mr. Foley discuss Dr. Jekyll for a few minutes. Charlie is focused on school, and I figure this conversation will resume after class, so she surprises me when she leans back over to me. “So you’re not together, but do you like him?”
Mr. Foley asks a question and lets it hang in the air. A boy near the front says something, and Foley asks him to speak up so the rest of the class can hear. I hear him, but I don’t pay attention to his answer.
“He just broke up with his girlfriend.”
“Charlie, you’re not telling me anything I don’t know or anything I haven’t considered. Michael and I are just hanging out together. I feel comfortable with him, and I don’t have a lot of close friends.”
“Emily, I know you. If you like someone, you jump in feet first and you don’t hold back. He’s not over Chloe. He couldn’t be. Promise me you won’t get involved with him. It’s too soon, and you both can be....”
I snap my head in her direction. “We can be what?”
She shrugs her shoulders and lowers her voice. “Intense.”
Chloe’s words shouldn’t bother me. We’ve always been honest with each other, but they sting all the same. I don’t think calling us “intense” is a compliment. And agreeing with me that I shouldn’t be with him makes my heart drop in my chest. I’m crazy attracted to Michael, and I’ve thought about having sex with him many times over the last few weeks. My attraction to him is unavoidable because he’s handsome and his body is insane, and what girl wouldn’t be attracted to a great guy like him when she spends a lot of time near him or holding onto his strong hands? Because of my growing feelings for him, I want to believe he’s different. That I’ll be different this time. But I know she’s right.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. And Michael and I already talked about it, and we’re just going to be friends,” I say softly.
“Promise?”
“Yes,” I say. “Stop worrying.”
But from the pouty lip and furrowed brow, I know that’s not going to happen anytime soon. She knows me too well.
Chapter 12
My alarm goes off way too early in the morning. Well, it goes off when it’s supposed to, but it feels like the crack of dawn. My roommate dresses by her closet, donning her usual black leggings and long plaid shirt. Her red hair is barely brushed, and she tosses it back into a messy pony. She’s a pretty girl, but she doesn’t care about doing anything to accentuate her gentle curves or to highlight the delicate features of her pretty face. And she could be really pretty if she made an effort. Once I suggested she let me do her hair and makeup, and she told me to hang on while she went to the bathroom. I never saw her again until I went to bed that night.
I slam my hand over the snooze button on my alarm and toss my arm over my face. “Ugh. Did you change the time on my clock? It feels like it’s five in the morning.”
“Nope. You just don’t like to get up in the morning. I almost fell over when you started getting up for your morning classes a few weeks ago.”
“I’m trying to be a better version of myself.”
“So get out of bed.” She smiles at me before leaning down to grab her book bag. “Later.” After kicking some of my stuff out of her path to the door, she leaves me to my lonesome. I debate going back to sleep. In fact, I almost convince myself one sleep-in day won’t completely derail my commitment to self-improvement, but then I think better of it. Growling, I get my ass up and start to get dressed.
Class today is long and boring. I try my best to pay attention to French, but this early in the morning, all I hear is the teacher from Charlie Brown. Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah. I might as well have stayed in bed, though I’m proud I made myself get up. There’s that—at least.
After French, I don’t have class until after lunch, so I decide to head to the Student Union and grab some coffee. Coffee is like food for the soul. If I could only have one thing to eat or drink from now until eternity, I would choose coffee. It relaxes me. It fuels me.
It completes me.
I wait in the long line at Martha’s café, eyeing the front display case and trying to decide between a chocolate dipped oatmeal cookie and a fudge brownie. Decisions, decisions. I run a finger along the length of my chin while I think.
A finger taps me on the shoulder, I turn my head to find Michael. He looks like he’s just showered. I get a whiff of his aftershave and breathe him in—and none too subtly. So I decide I might as well embrace my social faux pas. “You smell delicious,” I say.
He lets out a low throaty chuckle.
“Good enough to get me one, too? The lineup is crazy.” I glance back at the additional eight people behind me.
“Get a good spot on the wall for me, and I’ll consider it.”
“Deal.” He flashes me a wink that captures the attention of a few girls around me. I swear I hear one sigh as she smiles at him with stars in her eyes. Football and hockey players are celebrities at this school. They even get asked for autographs, though never from males, so what does that tell you? Puck bunnies and football rats, that’s what we call the girls who follow the players and who won’t date anyone without a numbered jersey. They make me sick. When I started dating Brad, I had no idea he played varsity baseball. I was a freshman looking for a good time. I liked him because he was sweet to me. In the beginning, he treated me like no other girl existed but me. Not sure when that changed. Or why I didn’t notice.
I move up in line over the next ten minutes. Michael has probably already moved on. I lean away so I can look through the large windows at the front of the SUB to the short retaining wall out front. In the fall and spring, it’s prime real estate for sitting and socializing. It’s less popular in the winter because normally there’s snow covering it, but it has yet to snow this season and it’s warmer today than it has been for a few weeks. The sun shines down, making the brown grass and shrubs take on a shinier, golden hue. The wall has a bit of shade from a big willow tree a few feet away, and I like the canopy it provides.
“Next!”
I snap back to reality and lean back to an upright position. I move to the counter and order my drink before I realize Michael never told me what he wanted. The times I’ve seen him drink coffee, it’s always been black. I get it like that and pocket some creamer and sugar and one of those weak-ass stir sticks. Why can’t they just have spoons? The sticks never stir well.
I’m almost to the door when I hear Brad’s familiar hearty laugh. I remember how long and hard he laughed when we used to have tickle fights. Memories of us come one after another, though they make me angry now instead of sad. I swallow and forge ahead, catching his eye just as I leave through the doors. I just hope to God he doesn’t follow. Michael waves to me, his blue eyes highlighted in the sunshine. I almost wish he’d left. Not because I don’t want to hang out with him, because I enjoy
being around him. I never had guy friends before, and since getting to know him, I’ve decided I missed out. Charlie’s great, but girls can be hard. Friendships are so much work sometimes. With guys—or, at least, with Michael—it’s effortless.
He claimed the exact spot I usually take—great minds think alike. I hold out my hand to offer his coffee. He licks his full lips and lets out a quiet groan.
“You never told me what you wanted.” I glance over my shoulder, searching for trouble. There’s no doubt in my mind they’d go at it again if Brad looked sideways at Michael.
“This is great. I like the taste of coffee, not the stuff you add to it.”
“Good.” I glance back at him. My smile is weak, and he notices immediately.
“Problem?”
I suck in my bottom lip and chew. Then I shake my head.
He sits up a little straighter and scowls.
Brad is outside by the doors, and he’s staring at us.
Michael’s jaw starts to tick. “Come here,” Michael says.
“What?”
“Just come here.”
I do as he says. He reaches out and takes my hand. I almost forget about Brad when his warm hand gently closes around mine. It’s different than when he takes it on the ice. This isn’t for help or support. It feels possessive, protective. He gently pulls me down so I’m sitting next to him.
“What are you doing?”
“Making him leave you alone.”
“We barely speak anymore.” I can’t remember the last time he called me, and the last time we spoke in person was at Second Base. So is this about Brad, or is it about Chloe?
Brad is with four of his teammates. He stops and stares at us, and Michaels stares right back. Though Brad’s friends look a little edgy about the standoff, they stay close at his side. It doesn’t matter, though, because a few guys start to gravitate around us. One I recognize from the hockey team, so I assume the others are, too.
Brad scoffs at us. “I thought you had better taste,” he says.
“Keep on walking, Logan,” Michael says, calling him by his last name.
“Yeah, and what’ll you do if I don’t?”
Michael shoots off the wall to stand. “Keep talking, bitch. Next time my fist flies, you won’t get back up.”
I look up at him, horrified, at the seemingly sweet guy who seems a stranger when he is flexing his primal muscles. For a moment, the set of his jaw and the intensity in his rage-filled face makes me flinch. But the people around us distract me as they start to stare, first at Brad and Michael, and then at me. Then they start to whisper, making me squirm where I sit.
Brad holds his hands out to the side. “Ready when you are.” He takes a few steps backward, grinning at Michael to egg him on. Michael flinches, about to step forward, but I hold his hand tight and pull him back down. His jaw is hard; there is a tick there that won’t stop as he stares after Brad with murderous rage.
“Prick,” one of Michael’s friends mutter. He slaps Michael on the shoulder. “Say the word, man.”
“I got it.”
The guys go back to the gaggle they were part of. A slim guy with a buzz cut and freckles on his cheeks says something and everyone laughs. Their voices and noise become background chatter as I sit alongside Michael.
“Hey,” I say, trying to get Michael to stop focusing on Brad’s back. “It’s done. You said it was done, right?”
“He started it.”
“What? Are you five?”
He rolls his eyes at me.
“You said that was about making him leave me alone, but was it? Or are you still hurting because of Chloe?”
“No, he’s a fucking douchebag, and I don’t want him within five feet of you.”
I open my mouth and snap it shut. I certainly didn’t expect that response, and it leaves me more than a little confused. While him wanting to protect me from Brad warms me and makes my stomach flutter, it also makes me wonder why. Does he think about me, too? In ways that he shouldn’t? “I can take care of myself,” I say softly. “Why do you feel you have to protect me?”
“Because that’s what I do. I won’t let anyone hurt people I care about.”
The acknowledgement that he cares about me stuns me, even if I’m not sure how and to what extent. It also makes me think about why he’s the way he is on the ice. He says he saves his anger for games, but he’s an enforcer, a protector. It’s the role he plays on the ice and in life. I wonder if there’s a reason for that. Where does it come from? It also reminds me how little I know about him outside of his life here at university.
I have the sudden urge to hug him so I do, holding him tight and leaning my head against his shoulder. He chuckles at me. “What’s this for?”
“I don’t know. For being there for me.”
“Careful, you’re fueling rumors we’re together.”
I start to let go, but he pulls me in and hugs me back. “I thought you were happy to let them think we’re together?”
“I was.”
“And now?” he asks.
I let go and pull away. After taking a long swig of my coffee, I stare at the bare Willow tree across the road. “Now I don’t know.”
“What’s going on in that head of yours? You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He groans, smirking. “I’ve been around girls enough to know ‘I’m fine’ never means a girl is actually fine.”
“It’s nothing. I just...I’m not sure I like seeing you lash out like that. It doesn’t seem like you.”
He runs a hand over his hair and sighs. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t have a temper. You knew that.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t been in the middle of it or seen it when you’re not on the ice.”
He studies me a long moment and then grimaces. He lays a hand over mine and, like always, it soothes me. My muscles relax almost immediately. “Don’t be scared of me.”
I chuckle quietly. “I’m not, it just surprised me.”
“I’d never hurt you,” he says with conviction, and I believe him whole-heartedly.
“I know that.”
“You trust me, right?”
“I’m starting to.”
“Starting to?” he parrots. “Well, that’s better than nothing.” He knocks shoulders with me. “Let’s just forget about this, okay? That pouty lip of yours is driving me crazy.”
I pull my hand away and take another drink, watching him from over the lip of my cup.
“Anything else bothering you?”
Can he really read me this well already? “Nothing, just something Charlie said earlier.”
“I’m all ears.”
“She asked me if we’re together and told me she thinks it would be bad idea.”
“Charlie? She hugs me every time she sees me. She loves me.”
“Don’t get me wrong, she adores you. She just doesn’t think I should be with anyone.”
He absorbs that for a moment. “You said that yourself.”
Shit. He’s going to think I’m into him, and that’s not why I’m upset. I’m upset because the person I depended on to build me up and believe in me knocked me down, even if she didn’t mean to. Fuck, when did I become so sensitive? It’s driving me crazy. What happened to fuck-the-world Emily? I miss her. “Yeah, I did. She just knows me and forces me to face stuff about myself that I don’t like to face. I think she thinks I’m destructive.” There’s no need to tell him she thinks he’s intense. I don’t want to hurt their relationship, and I don’t want him to dwell on it like I will.
“Shit, is that all?” He laughs.
“Isn’t it enough?”
“No, because you’re focusing on the bad. You’re not even recognizing everything great about you. You’re the first girl I’ve ever met that I look forward to seeing every single day. And I’m not even sleeping with you.” He flashes me a wink.
I jostle his shoulder and let go of a breath while I laugh at him. He wraps his arm around
me and pulls me in tight. His head leans in, and he whispers in my ear, “Stop caring about what everyone thinks. You’re amazing.”
His lips touch my hair, and he presses down lightly. They linger, and I hear him quietly sniff as if he’s breathing in my scent. It’s not a friendly thing to do, but I don’t care.
“Thanks, Michael.” I tap my head to his shoulder and straighten, and he removes his arm. People are staring at us. One girl even nonchalantly snaps a picture with her phone by her hip, as if she’s trying not to be seen. I raise my eyebrows in question. “Do you know her?”
The girl turns away and hurries down the path toward Hugh Hall.
“Yep.” He takes a long drink of his coffee and licks his lips. “Kyla Fortune. She’s Chloe’s friend.”
“Oh, well, she just snapped a picture of us.”
“I would have smiled if I’d known,” he says, deadpanned.
I take a sip of my delicious coffee with soy milk and five sugars. What’s better than caffeine? Sugar and caffeine. “How about you? How are you doing?”
He scoffs at me. “I told you, I don’t waste my time or my thoughts on people who lie to me.”
If only it was that easy.
“What are you doing now?” he asks.
“I have class after lunch.”
“Skip.”
“What?” I say, laughing. “I can’t skip. I’m trying to be good, and we have exams in a few weeks.”
“Is one class going to ruin your GPA?”
“You haven’t seen my marks.”
“Like I said, one class isn’t going to make your mark any better or worse.”
“You’re an enabler,” I say.
His grin is wide and easy. “Yes, I am.”
“My arm is usually so damn twistable, it might as well be made of rubber, but...you know what? I’m going to have to go to class. I’m sorry,” I say with a pout.
“And after?”
“Depends on what you have in mind.”
