One Hot Fall Term (Yardley College Chronicles Book1)

by Sharon Page

  I don’t have anything to hide, other than the depth of my friendship with Jonathon, which hasn’t been sexual. I think what bothers me so much is that Jonathon knows my secrets. If Ryan were to learn that, would he feel betrayed? Would I understand if Ryan had confided things to a girl at his college that he’d never told me?

  I’d like to think I would look at that logically. I suspect I wouldn’t.

  “He’s not worth that much,” I tell Ryan. “More like twenty million.”

  At one point, I leave Ryan to go to the washroom. As usual, it takes me a while to find one to use. When I get out and try to work through the crowd, I walk right into Jonathon.

  He lifts my hand to his lips, startling me. He gives me a Regency-style kiss that brushes across my knuckles. “How are you, Mia?” He asks me about my weekend, about how things were with Ryan.

  “Good. Confused.” I need to talk about what happened—the nightmares about my stepfather, and the way the memories keep clawing at me like the hounds of hell.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing with Ryan. That’s been fantastic. But I need to talk to you, just for a minute. Could we go somewhere private?” I hold up my hands. “Not your bedroom.”

  He leads me to another room, takes a keychain from his pocket, and unlocks it. It’s a gallery filled with artwork. Paintings. Statues of marble and of metal. I’ve never seen it before.

  Beside a huge statue of a horse, fashioned out of steel, I spill out everything. The nightmares. The memories.

  “You’re freaked over the stalker, angel.” Jonathon takes my hands.

  “It’s more than that. I keep thinking about the past. Stuff I never let myself remember. I can’t seem to help it.”

  He draws me close to him, and I let him because Jonathon is my friend and I feel so shaky and scared.

  It feels so good to confide. “I spent most of today telling Ryan he has to get back to school, but after I had all those nightmares, he doesn’t want to leave yet. He wants to look after me.”

  Jonathon runs his hand gently down my arm. “Did you tell him about the nightmares?”

  “No. I let him think I was reliving the stalker attack.”

  “Why don’t you talk to him?”

  “I—I can’t.” My throat is tight. “I can’t tell him any of that stuff. He’s going to think…I’m weird. Gross. Damaged goods. The truth is that I am, but I don’t want him to know. He deserves the good, sweet girl I’ve pretended to be.”

  Finally, I admit, “I don’t know what to do. I’m lying to him and he deserves better than that. But I can’t bear to lose him. And I’m too ashamed to let him know the truth.” I start to cry.

  Jonathon’s arms go around me. He holds me for several minutes while I cry so hard I can’t speak. I sputter and hiccup and finally manage to get words out.

  “I need to tell him to go, but he won’t listen,” I blubber.

  Then I hear a deep, masculine voice say, “Mia?”

  Oh. God. I pull away from Jonathon.

  It’s Ryan. He’s standing there, and just saw me wrapped tight in Jonathon’s arms, leaning against Jonathon’s chest and crying into his sweater. Jonathon’s beautiful dark green sweater is stained with my tears.

  I don’t know how much Ryan heard, but I bet he heard me tell Jonathon that I had to tell him to leave.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I expect Ryan is going to walk away from me.

  But Jonathon lets me go. Despite Ryan’s look of surprise—my heart wrenches to see the shock and confusion playing in his blue eyes—Jonathon walks toward him, wearing a friendly smile. As he reaches Ryan, he sticks out his hand.

  “You’re Mia’s boyfriend. She’s told me a lot about you. You’re a lucky guy. I was the one who found Mia the night she was attacked. She’s still pretty shaken up. Sometimes she gets upset, out of nowhere—” Jonathon turns to me. “Like just now. I just wanted to hug her and make her feel better.”

  Jonathon makes the hug sound innocent and natural, which it was. Why do I feel guilty? There wasn’t anything sexual about it, but I feel I shouldn’t have let Jonathon hold me in his arms.

  I think I feel so bad because that embrace represents the emotional connection I have with Jonathon. I’ve never wanted an emotional connection with a guy without wanting to be physically close to him too. What I feel for Jonathon, this trust and friendship, is new to me. Just as it is new to me to have love like I do with Ryan.

  Ryan steps forward and I tense. Then he clasps Jonathon’s hand.

  “Thanks for being there for Mia,” Ryan says. He and Jonathon do a masculine hug—a brief embrace, a clasp of each other’s shoulders, then they break apart.

  I’m a bit breathless. I realize Ryan and Jonathon are the two guys I love the most in the world—just in different ways.

  Pain flashes in Ryan’s eyes. “I can’t bear to think about what could have happened if you weren’t there.”

  Jonathon gives a slightly embarrassed smile. “Don’t think about. That didn’t happen.” In a lighter tone, he adds, “It’s great you came to see Mia.”

  He knows I didn’t tell Ryan what happened, but he’s playing dumb. Which is probably for the best.

  “Her mom told me what happened,” Ryan says.

  Is he now thinking that the reason I didn’t tell him is because there is something between Jonathon and I?

  “She was protecting you,” Jonathon says bluntly. “She knew you would worry. That’s the only reason she didn’t tell you.”

  “Yeah, that’s what she said.”

  But does he really believe it? It really is the truth. By not being honest though, I’ve brought the very thing into our relationship I wanted to keep out. Doubt. I try to change the tone of the conversation. “I am in the room, guys,” I say. “You two talk as if I’m not here.”

  Ryan comes to my side and slips his arm around me, his hand on my hip. He turns me in the circle of his arm until I’m facing him. “You haven’t seen that guy again since the attack, right? You haven’t received any more threats, emails, pictures?” He looks at me uncertainly.

  Oh God, he’s realizing he can’t trust me. “No, I haven’t. It’s the truth. I would tell you now, Ryan.” But is it too late. Now he knows I haven’t always been honest with him. Will that drive a wedge between us? Make him wonder what else I’ve hidden from him?

  “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you when this guy is still out there.”

  “Ryan, you have to go back to school,” I protest.

  “I intend to watch over her until the police get this guy,” Jonathon says, breaking in before we can start arguing. “But this is a party and Mia needs to relax and put this behind her.”

  “Yeah.” Ryan’s tone is gruff. “That’s true.”

  I press my cheek to Ryan’s chest and hug him. “I’m going to be careful, Ryan, I promise.”

  “Feeling better, Mia?” Jonathon asks me gently.

  “Yes. I’m okay.” I look up at Ryan. “Do you want to dance?”

  “Bedrooms are available,” Jonathon says cheekily.

  I think it would be weird to use one of his bedrooms. “Not now,” I say. As we walk out the door I whisper to Ryan, “Unless you want to go to a room? I thought it would be fun to dance. Then later we could go to your motel…” My voice dies away and I blush.

  Ryan smiles, lashes falling shyly over his eyes. “That would be perfect.”

  We leave Jonathon. As we make our way through the crowd, I grab Ryan’s arm and drag him into a corner. “Jonathon is a friend, that’s all. I met him because he was dating Lara, but they broke up.”

  There’s a long pause. I start to feel nervous. They shook hands. I prayed things were okay.

  Finally Ryan says, “I owe that guy a hell of a lot for saving you. But he wants to be more than a friend. The way he looked at you in there...I know what that look means, Mia. It’s the way I look at you.”

  Oh God. I had no idea a guy would see that so easily
. But I guess I could tell right away what girls were thinking when they looked at Ryan. “We’ve just been friends. We get coffee and I complain about classes to him. Originally I met him for a coffee because I wanted to get him and Lara back together. If he wants me, it’s—it’s for completely different reasons than you.”

  He looks totally confused, which makes sense. I realize I can’t explain Jonathon wants a partner into the BDSM lifestyle. “He’s not looking for more than sex. And I’m not into him. I care about you.”

  Ryan frowns. “But you need someone to talk to. Someone to hold you when you need to cry. Someone to be there to keep you safe. Mia, we all should have someone close to do that.” He hesitates. “I mean someone who is living close to you, who can be there for you.”

  “I know we can’t live close to each other right now, Ryan. But I’m not looking for anyone else.”

  “That guy…Jonathon…he cares about you and he’s someone you can confide in. That has to mean you care about him too. And he’s rich, so he can take care of you down the road. He can give you the things you deserve.”

  “But I’m in love with you. I want to build a life with you.” I never wanted to say that kind of stuff in case it scared Ryan away.

  Now I know I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t say it before I lose him.

  “Are you sure about that, Mia?”

  “God, of course I am. Look, let’s get out of here. I don’t want to stay. Can we go to your motel room?”

  He agrees.

  We came up on Ryan’s bike—he’d brought an extra helmet for me, a small one he bought for me in Milltown so I could ride on the back. The first time I rode with him was when we first started dating. I was terrified. I was scared I would put my foot on the exhaust and burn it. Or let my grip get too slack and fall off. When he cornered, I thought I was going to die of fright. I used to hug him so tight I’m amazed he could breathe. But I quickly learned Ryan is an excellent rider and I was totally safe in his hands.

  I wrap my arms around his narrow waist, holding him snugly. Now I know how to let my weight move with his as he drives the bike around the sweeping curves of the road. Riding behind him, I love the way he moves the bike so confidently. Plus it is uber sexy to see him sitting astride his bike.

  By the time we reach the motel, I’m trembling with desire. But we are acting awkward with each other. I want to push him into his room, knock him back to the bed, and tear his clothes off. But I feel too uncertain to do it. He takes out his key, and holds the door for me to go inside. It’s a basic motel room, with a double bed.

  We stand, just looking at each other. Until I get so nervous, I giggle like a kid, then start stripping.

  Ryan pulls off his clothes, comes to me. We kiss, standing naked in the middle of the room.

  “It’s cold.” I shiver.

  “Do you want to get under the covers?”

  I nod. We slip into bed. After the wild and wicked ways we made love on the weekend, it’s as if everything has changed. I lie down, spreading my legs, wondering if I should do something kinkier to excite him. Yeah, and that might be the worst thing I could do.

  But when he gets on top, slides his condom on, and slides deep into me, I’m glad we’re making love like this. Like this, I can kiss him and look at him. I want it to be fantastic, and I make a lot of noise. I stroke his back all over, fondle his ass, wrap my legs around his hips, even scratch his back to try to make it look like I’ve had a killer orgasm. Then I slide my fingers between us, stroke myself, and have a screaming orgasm for real.

  I’m lying there, feeling like I’ve just had the most amazing experience in the world.

  Hoping to give him something earth-shattering too.

  But Ryan doesn’t come. He thrusts and thrusts, until sweat drips from him and spatters on me. I’m starting to get sore. My legs ache from having made love so many times. I’m wishing he would just explode and we could stop. I try really rocking under him, I try faking an intense climax, but nothing gets him there.

  He pulls out. “I’m sorry, Mia. I guess I’m just tired.” He flops onto the bed beside me.

  I’m lying there, scared witless. How can a nineteen-year-old guy not come? He has to be really not into it. Or stressed. Or maybe he is just really tired, since we did make love a lot of times over the weekend.

  I roll on my side and snuggle beside him. He slips his arm around me and strokes me.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  “No. I’m sorry. Was it okay for you?”

  “Oh yes. Definitely yes. It was stupendous.”

  He laughs gently at that. But I still worry.

  We cuddle in his bed. Headlights from cars go past outside, since we’re close to the highway. Eventually Ryan drifts off to sleep, but I lie awake for a long time.

  Have I lost him? The crazy thing is: I’m not exactly sure.

  But the next morning, when I urge him to head back to school, he refuses to go.

  ***

  On Tuesday, I’m in the wood-working shop at school. I have to build a model for my major studio project, due before Thanksgiving. I’ve got my drawings done, and I’m ready to go, but I’ve been stalling. This one requires some of the heavier machinery in the wood shop, such as the big band saw. I’m also going to need to use the milling machine in the metal shop, which I’ve never used before.

  I can’t procrastinate any longer and I gather up my materials—some wood and a chunk of aluminum—which I’ve stored in my cubby in studio. It was tough enough to figure out which would be the best type of wood to work with. I was warned that maple was too hard, and oak too grainy. I’ve gone with basswood, which is really soft and can be sanded to a mirror smooth finish.

  I have to gather up the courage to use the equipment.

  But I’m so afraid I’m going to screw up and cut off a finger that I’m sick inside and my hands are shaking—

  “Mia.”

  The husky voice wraps around me. I was certain Ryan was going to go back to school today. Not because I told him to go back and insisted I would help him through his upcoming midterms, but because I’d lost him. I didn’t see him all day yesterday, even at night. I went by his motel room, but he wasn’t there, so I gave up and came back to studio.

  Now he’s here.

  I smile so wide it hurts. I’m so filled with happiness my heart aches. What are you doing here? I thought you were leaving. I don’t say any of those things. I run over to him and hug him.

  His big, strong arms come around me. I snuggle against his plaid shirt, my cheek pressed tight to hear his heartbeat. It races like mine is doing.

  Then I pull back and we talk at the same time.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I met that guy and freaked out, thinking you must be falling for him. I’m sorry I didn’t see you yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I never meant to keep things from you. I really just didn’t want you to worry about me.”

  We both stop at the same time. I rush on, “It’s not because I didn’t want to talk to you, because I did. But I know you have so much to worry about with school and your dad, and I didn’t want to burden you with my problems.”

  “You’re not a burden. I love you. Now I probably have lost you because I was acting like an ass.”

  “No, you haven’t lost me. I was afraid I was losing you.”

  He kisses the top of my head. “Never.”

  I sigh and fall against him.

  Hugging me, he notices the wood and metal sitting on my desk. I explain about my project. “I have to go into the wood shop and build some stuff. I really don’t want to go.”

  “Why not?”

  I feel like a coward but I admit, “I’m scared of the equipment. I have to cut some shapes on the band saw. I don’t know if I have to use the big one—it terrifies me. As for the table saw, I don’t even want to stand near it when it’s turned on” I tell him about the equipment that is in there and in the metal-working shop, and how I don
’t feel prepared to use stuff. “The shop techs are really helpful, but they don’t build stuff for you, and I’m scared I’ll do something stupid just because I don’t realize it is stupid.”

  Ryan nods. “I almost had a couple of accidents in the garage because I didn’t know any better. Do you mind if I go with you? I might have used a lot of the tools and I can show you how they work and how to be safe around them. I might be able to give you more tips than the shop techs did. I can help you with this project, if that’s allowed.”

  My heart does a wild dance. “Would you? I think it is okay to get help.”

  I lead him to the shops and introduce him to the technicians. I can tell they take a liking to Ryan at once, because he’s polite and also obviously knows how to use tools. They give him a spare set of shop glasses, which shows how impressed they are by him. No student would be able to wrangle free glasses.

  I roll out my drawings on one of the scarred wooden work tables and show Ryan what I need to do. He then shows me how to use the band saws, including the big one that scares me. He shows me how to use fences for guiding material through the blade. He explains how to use even the tools I don’t need to use yet, so I’m familiar with them. Under his guidance, I rip a board on the table saw, after he explains how to ensure the correct blade is in, how to set up the saw, how to run the wood through safely.

  By late afternoon, I’m working on the milling machine. I’m careful and cautious, but I feel comfortable and no longer terrified.

  “You saved my life today,” I tell Ryan. “I couldn’t face doing any of that and you got me through.”

  “I talked to your friend, Jonathon, last night.”

  My heart stutters. So that was where he was. What happened between them?

  “He told me this guy wore a mask, so you didn’t even see what he looks like. They have no idea who he is.”

  “Not yet.”

  He looks brooding.