by A. J. Pine
I walk up to him, barely enough room in the small door frame for both of us so I have no choice but to press up against him. I rise onto my toes and notice a look of shock registering on his face. It’s not horrified shock, just surprise. He’s not expecting this, though neither was I a moment ago.
I lean into him, supporting my weight by placing a hand on his chest. And I kiss him, just like that. It’s a light brush of my lips against his, and he answers me with the same tentative exploration. My lips part into a smile against his, and I let out a sigh of relief before pulling away.
“Not bad, hot-lips.”
“You either, man-whore.”
Griffin comes to me with no expectations but to enjoy ourselves. It’s why I’m here and why, without the influence of a snakebite or the reflex of bumping into Noah at the bar, I have to see if something’s here. And the kiss does not disappoint, as long as I ignore the kiss on the train, the one for which I would have stopped time to live in that moment, the one that felt so real but was anything but. Griffin is here. That’s real.
“I needed to get that out of the way,” I admit, lowering myself back onto my heels. “Otherwise I would have been anticipating it all day, which would not bode well for me in the learning-my-way-around-northern-Scotland department.” I try to maintain an air of nonchalance, but I suddenly feel hot. It must be the coat.
“I don’t know,” he says, still facing me, our bodies wedged in the door frame. “I kind of like the feeling of anticipation.”
He leans down to me so quickly that I gasp, but stops short, the tickle of his breath the only thing that touches my parted lips.
“Though I do enjoy that you don’t.”
His words are barely louder than breaths themselves, his mouth so close that each utterance lets his lips bump lightly against mine. A tour somehow seems ridiculous. If he threw me down on my poor excuse for a bed, I doubt I’d be able to resist. But he doesn’t move any closer, and though I thought I was bold in making the first move a moment ago, I’m frozen, heart hammering, and mind coming up with scenarios of how to keep ourselves busy for the day without ever leaving this room.
Memory of my first journal entry snaps me out of a near catatonic state. A memory of a kiss. The one I already want to erase.
“Dammit,” I say, not realizing until the word has already escaped my lips that I said it aloud. Thankfully, Griffin interprets it other than I intended.
He straightens back up with a devilish smile. “I know. We’re going to be late. Feel free to anticipate until later.”
I roll my eyes and push him into the hall, quietly closing and locking my door so as not to wake my flat-mate.
We almost make it out of the main entrance when the bedroom door next to mine flies open. A girl with long, black waves hanging down to her waist stands there in a tank top, yoga pants, and sleep mask pushed on to her forehead. She glares.
With a deadpan expression and heavy Greek accent, she speaks. “These walls, they are not so thick. Like paper. Sometimes, even the whispers I can hear.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. Griffin stifles a laugh before whispering, “Sorry to have woken you,” as if lowering his volume now would somehow put her back to sleep.
Before she has a chance to respond, he grabs my arm and pulls me out the door, and we both bound down the steps, peals of laughter now echoing through the small stairwell, no doubt waking everyone else in the small building.
We burst out the door and into the bright morning sun, a sun like I’d never seen in the week of mornings I experienced in London before boarding the train. Morning number one in Aberdeen has already earned two checks in the pro column. As we make our way over to the student union to meet the tour group, I think about the power of three and wonder what the third pleasant surprise of the morning will be.
I don’t have to wonder for long.
In the small crowd of people waiting in front of the building stands a girl excitedly bouncing on her toes, waving to me with her free hand. Her other arm links with another, an arm belonging to the guy next to her. Griffin and I aren’t the only third years tagging along with the first years. For the next three hours, we are going to learn the ins and outs of our new school in the company of Hailey and Noah.
On second thought, I hate the number three.
Chapter Six
“Do you know her?” Griffin asks.
If Hailey wasn’t smiling, someone might mistake her enthusiastic gesticulations for a seizure. But what I learn about this girl I’ve known less than twelve hours is she can pull off any gesture, saying, or outfit—like her skinny jeans, boots, and fitted vest—and look hot. Who knows? Maybe she is actually having a seizure.
I don’t have time to answer Griffin before Hailey detaches herself from Noah and comes running toward me. I like to consider myself a morning person, but her energy rivals most. Her blond hair flows out from under a cream knit cap, and I’m pretty positive she stepped off the page of a J. Crew catalog. I look down at my flared jeans and tennis shoes and smooth nonexistent wrinkles from my fleece zip-up, shaking my head at my fashion statement.
“Jordan! I’m so glad you’re here! Noah was afraid we’d be the only third years on the morning tour. He said no twenty-year-old in his right mind would be up at this hour on a day without class, especially when there’s another tour at three o’clock.”
She wraps me in a huge hug, a gesture too genuine for me to reciprocate with the same authenticity. When she releases me, I slowly turn to face Griffin, biting my lip in anticipation of his reaction to Hailey’s schedule announcement.
His eyes narrow into slits, and he takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly before he speaks.
“There’s a three o’clock tour?” He’s not yelling. I take this as a good sign.
I force a smile and shrug, a clear indication I willingly deceived him. It’s not like I said there wasn’t a later tour.
“I didn’t want to waste the day,” I admit. “This way we learn our way around by noon and have the rest of the day to explore.”
Hailey sticks her hand out in Griffin’s direction. “Hi. I’m Hailey, and I apparently blew Jordan’s cover. Sorry, Jordan. And this,” she continues, letting go of Griffin and backing up to drag Noah from where he still stands, “is Noah, who is as miserable about being awake right now as you are.”
Hailey offers me a conciliatory grin, but it doesn’t help the sudden onset of nausea that stems from either a lack of sustenance or from watching Griffin and Noah meet. Never mind Hailey having to introduce herself, and me, the idiot with her mouth hanging open, with nothing to say.
At this point both guys have their hands in the front pockets of their jeans, both resigned to being awake and tour-ready though they could have slept the day away.
“Hey,” Griffin says, a slow shrug and sigh accompanying his one-word salutation. “I’m Griffin.” He cocks his head in my direction. “And this evil genius is Jordan.”
Noah offers Griffin the dude nod, the primitive language of men.
“I’m Noah,” he says. He waits a beat before turning to me, and I think I see a sort of painful recognition in his eyes. But when he looks at me he smiles, and I wonder if I imagined it, if Noah seeing me with Griffin had the same effect as me seeing him with Hailey. Only one of us, however, is a douche bag in this scenario, and it sure as hell isn’t me.
“Good morning, Brooks.” Noah’s navy fleece collar circles his neck, zipped all the way to the top. The bottoms of his jeans rest above worn running shoes, and I close my eyes and envision Noah the runner, wearing the soles of his shoes thin. The silent, solitary activity suits him.
My eyes open again to reality. Mr. Silent’s barely too-long hair brushes the top of his collar, and his eyes take on the soothing color of his shirt. But solitary he is not.
The gentle coarseness of his voice, the familiarity in the way he says my last name as if it is my first, steals the words from my mouth. “Good morning, Noah,” is the obvious resp
onse, but instead I stare, wordless, at his lips.
Seriously, universe. Not funny.
“You two know each other?” It’s Griffin. In all the times I’ve bumped into Noah in the past eighteen or so hours, Griffin has always been somewhere else.
I peel my eyes from Noah to focus on Griffin. Griffin, who smells like apples and is sexy as shit in his clothes from last night, teasing me with anticipatory kisses.
“Yeah, sort of. I mean, yes. We know each other. Not well, though. The train. We met on the train. From London.”
Oh, hell. I’m losing my ability to form sentences again.
I’m still looking at Griffin, but can feel Noah smiling at me. Aside from temporary insanity, though, a tiny pang of guilt worms its way into the pit of my stomach. I remind myself that Noah’s the jerk here, smiling Noah. I’ve done nothing to merit feeling guilty.
“Good mornin’, new students!” A familiar Scottish accent jars me from my stupor. I look toward the voice and laugh. Duncan is our guide? He threw back at least two more pints than Griffin last night, yet here he is, bright eyed, ready to go…and wearing a kilt!
“Awrite, folks. I’m Duncan McAllister. I’m a fourth year here at Aberdeen, and I’m going to show you ’round the university. What’s the time? Aye, we’ve got a few minutes before we have to shove off, so if you want to pop into the store and grab a tea or coffee, we’ll start walking in five.” In the light of day I note that Duncan is quite cute, for a man in a skirt. His dark hair, cropped close to the head, complements his equally dark eyes, both a lovely contrast to his milky complexion.
The small crowd disperses in the direction of the store situated in the middle of all the residence halls. Duncan spots us immediately and heads in our direction.
“Alo, mate. Didn’t think I’d see you this mornin’,” Duncan says to Griffin. “You can buy me a pint later for walking your girl home last night.”
I could damn well kiss Duncan for breaking up the awkwardness. Griffin smiles. It’s hard not to around Duncan. “Thanks, man,” he says. “I mean, mate. I can’t believe how tired I was.”
“I’m Duncan,” he says to Noah and Hailey. “I live over there, in Fyfe house, next to me mate, Griffin.”
God I love his accent.
“I’m Hailey. I live in Burnett. Lovely to meet you, Duncan.”
My eyes fix on Noah. “Yes, Duncan is quite lovely, isn’t he?”
Noah says nothing for a long moment, and his smile falters as soon as I utter the word, my word that Noah turned against me.
“I’m Noah,” he finally responds, a strange resignation in his voice. “I live in Fyfe, too.”
Of course he does.
Taking advantage of knowing our guide, we head to the front of the group. We all took Duncan up on the opportunity for nourishment, so the four of us fight the chill of the morning with a hot Tetley’s tea. I’m grateful for Hailey’s ability to pretty much talk to anyone, it seems, as she dominates the conversation, allowing me to sip my tea in quiet contemplation.
“So, this might be a stupid question,” she begins, “but aren’t you cold in the kilt?”
Hailey and Noah walk in line with Duncan, Griffin and I trailing behind them.
“Aye,” Duncan confirms with a smile. “It’s quite chilly. I only do it for the tours and special occasions.”
Hailey looks back at me, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. Then she turns back to Duncan.
“Is it true what they say about what Scottish men wear under their kilts?”
I roll my eyes, not because I’m annoyed that she asked. I’d actually like confirmation on that answer as well. But I could never, within minutes of meeting someone, get away with asking him whether or not he goes commando.
Though I can only see the side of his face, I can tell Duncan dons an equally wicked grin. “I guess, if the wind blows strong enough, you’ll find out.”
Finally, riotous laughter, from all four of us, shatters the awkwardness. I can do this, spend the morning with Griffin and Noah…and Hailey.
As we descend the hill from the aptly named Hillhead village, we enter what has to be the most beautiful stretch of green I’ve ever seen. Framed on either side with walking paths, the rectangular runway of garden is punctuated with benches and canopied with a forest of trees. I gasp. This is going to be my walk to campus? I don’t think I’m ever going to leave this place. Though the tension seems to have left, I’m still startled when Griffin reaches his empty hand to mine, entwining our fingers. He gives me a gentle squeeze. He feels it, too, the magnificence of this place. Whatever I’m feeling for Noah I have to push away. Griffin is a good guy, not to mention pretty easy on the eyes. I squeeze back as I watch Hailey hook her arm around Noah’s, and I think to myself, enough.
Since the train I’ve been going over and over that kiss in my head. Talk about being in the moment—nothing mattered but that kiss. The roar of the train, being locked in close quarters—none of it made any difference when Noah put his hands on my cheeks. If Sam could hear my thoughts right now, she’d think I was absolutely insane, mentally torturing myself over a guy I met less than twenty-four hours ago. It would be like me to ruin something fun I could have with Griffin to wait for something that couldn’t have been real despite how real it felt. For two years I’ve been waiting for that something real, and for two years I’ve been alone. Enough. Real doesn’t exist, especially not here.
As we enter the park, Duncan turns to face the tour group but continues to walk backward, not missing a beat.
“This is Seaton Park,” he starts. “Once classes begin, this place will be filled with Hillhead residents heading to and from campus. Enjoy this lovely and scenic walk to class or to town. Do not, however, walk the park alone at night. We may be a charming seaside city, but no matter where you are, you’re always safer when you’re with someone else.”
Duncan’s safety spiel is brief, and he continues on about some of the minor history of the university. This far from home, I never thought about what it would mean to be safe, but suddenly the last thing I want is to be alone. I look down at my hand in Griffin’s—I’m not. But when I glance up, my eyes meet Noah’s. His eyes drop to our hands, mine and Griffin’s. Hailey’s fingers entwine with his. I exhale, my breath getting lost in the distance between us, though he’s close enough to touch.
Chapter Seven
We emerge from the park onto a street that will take us right to King’s College in old Aberdeen, where most undergrad English classes are held. I see the campus long before we reach it and nearly stagger at the sight. If Duncan hadn’t confirmed that we were approaching the school, I would have expected to see knights garbed in medieval armor standing guard outside what looks to be a fourteenth- or fifteenth-century castle. But no. This is where I’m going to study Austen and Brontë and Shakespeare and Forster and all of the writers who have been a part of my life since eighth grade.
That’s right. I read my first Shakespeare, on my own, when I was thirteen. It was actually to spite my mother. She wouldn’t let me watch the movie She’s the Man, not because of the nearly always shirtless Channing Tatum, but because I hadn’t read the play it was based on, Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. I have to hand it to my mom. For a math teacher, she’s got incredible taste in literature. I remember walking away from her in a huff saying, “Fine! I’ll read the stupid play, and then you’ll have to let me watch the movie!” I did read it, and she did let me watch it. In fact, we watched it together and had the best time comparing and contrasting the soccer-playing Viola and Duke with Shakespeare’s counterparts. I credit my mom not only for my love of English literature but also that of Channing Tatum. He can do no wrong.
“This,” I say to whoever listens as we approach the gray brick, the notched parapets, and pointed archways. “This is why I’m here. This is where an English literature major studies English literature. In a freaking castle!”
The crowd either joins my infectious giddiness, or the other to
ur-goers laugh at the silly American girl who has barely put a dent in her passport. I think of all I will see in this year removed from the safety of the familiar. After only hours in this place, time moves too quickly. How will I see it all?
I don’t care who watches or if they stare. I dance in the street. That’s how much I don’t care. Because I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
“Actually, the main structure of King’s College is a chapel, not a castle,” Duncan corrects, but he’s not bursting my bubble.
“I’m still calling it a castle, Duncan. Let me have my moment.”
With this, everyone does laugh, and Duncan gives me my moment with a fake castle.
“Awrite!” he calls, bringing the group’s attention back to him. “It’s time for a wee hunt to find the important spots on campus.”
Duncan’s enthusiasm is met with groans, mine included. While I may not be hung over as I’m sure others are, I was hoping that a tour meant tour, in the simplest form of the word—someone who knows where the hell they are going, Duncan, shows someone who is clueless, me, where the hell to go!
But nothing fazes our most-likely-knicker-less leader.
“Get the lot of you into groups based on your studies. Science folks with science and business folks with business—you get the idea. When you’ve found your group, send one of the lot to me for the list of what you need to find. You’ll have two hours. Make sure someone in your group has a phone to take photos. Everyone in the first group back gets a free pint at the Lantern when we’re done!”
“Who’s buying?” Griffin asks, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. But I don’t reciprocate his intimacy with any act of my own. I’m too busy scanning the group for who else might be an English major, hoping to God my group is more than a pair.
