by Teagan Kade
We sit at the kitchen table, our meal lit by candlelight. The lingering smell of charcoal isn’t exactly romantic, but she seems to be appreciating the effort all the same.
She places her fork down. “Is this your usual play? Burn the roast, causal dinner, candles?”
“My play? What’s to say I’ve ever done this before?”
She rolls her eyes, brushing her hair out of her face. “Come on. Be honest with me.”
I twist spaghetti onto my fork. “I am. The whole ‘date’ thing isn’t usually required.”
“Girls just fall into your bed, I suppose.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“You’re openly admitting that?”
I stop. “You wanted honesty. I’m an open book. I don’t typically have to go to these kinds of lengths to get laid.”
“I see.” I can’t tell what she’s thinking, the thoughts stirring behind those amethyst eyes.
I catch her looking around. “Something take your fancy?”
“I’m just checking out the size of this place.” She pauses. “No, still not big enough for your ego.”
“We can skip this part if you like, go straight to third base.”
An eyebrow lifts. “I thought you were all about the home run?”
I smile, enjoying this flirty Willow so different to the one I see at the home. “I never strike out, if that’s what you’re asking.”
We watch each other, the candle flame flickering. My cock’s about to up-end the table I want her so bad.
She breaks the silence, her shoulders shifting back as she dabs at her mouth with a serviette. “So, what’s for dessert?”
Oh, the many wonderful ways I could answer that one, but I restrain myself. “What are you in the mood for? Something sweet, something hot?”
“What’s on offer?”
I’m thinking about whether that smattering of freckles extends to her chest, her breasts, the soft skin on the inside of her thighs. I wonder what her pussy will taste like when I press my tongue inside her. I stand. “Let me have a look.”
I return with two bowls of strawberries and freshly whipped cream. If that isn’t a combination to strip away inhibition, I don’t know what is.
We settle into the couch side by side watching our own dark reflections in the TV screen.
“Mmm,” she moans, placing a spoonful into her mouth, her eyes closed. “That’s delicious.”
More lines pop into my head, but I let them go. It’s scary how natural they come to now, how comfortable I’ve become in this skin. I don’t think I’ve even realized myself the complete conversion that’s taken place over the last couple of years, the weak, pathetic boy I knew long gone. “You should wear dresses more often. They suit you.”
She places the bowl down into her lap, head turning to face me. “Thanks for the compliment, but my goal here isn’t to look good.”
“You’re here to study. I know. I know.”
She appears lost, thinking something over, mulling it back and forth in her head. She brushes her hair back and inhales. “Do you want to know the truth?”
I place my bowl down and turn sideways to match, my arm hanging over the back of the sofa. “Sure. Shoot.”
She looks so shy and sheepish. God, I want her. “I wasn’t always like this.”
“Beautiful?” I offer.
She smirks, shaking her head. “No, a… nerd.”
“Nerds are all the rage. Don’t you watch Big Bang Theory?”
She places her bowl to the side, hands folding together in her lap. “In high school I was actually a real party animal.”
I act shocked. “You’re fucking with me.”
She shakes her head again. “I’m afraid not. I was the cool kid, the one everyone wanted to be around at lunch, the girl who’d be the first to play Flip Cup. That girl.”
“I can’t picture it.”
“It seems like forever ago.”
“What happened? To Cher Horowitz, that is.”
And here it comes.
Her shoulders hunch forward. “There was this party. It was a really big deal. This guy’s parents were away on business. They owned this massive Tudor house in the hills, the kind of place with animals on the walls and rooms full of fine China.”
“I take it this party didn’t go so well?”
She nods, meek. “You could say that. I got very drunk, did some drugs. What, I don’t know. I can’t remember it all that well.”
“Hey, we’ve all been there.”
“In a puddle of puke with your pants around your ankles, pissing yourself? Because that was me. Here, look.” She pulls back her hair to reveal a thin scar running just above her hairline. “That’s what you get trying to jump off a two-story house. I damn near killed myself.”
“Shit.” It seems Leon didn’t provide the full, gory details.
“That’s one way of putting it. I took it too far, and I can’t make excuses, but I was going through a rough time at home. Dad was laid off, again, I was about to flunk out of school altogether, and I wanted to forget it, forget it all. So I did, and it ended up costing me everything. You don’t live that kind of thing down, not when everyone has a camera in their pocket. I bet you could still find photos and videos of that night if you looked hard enough, but you’d never recognize me. I’m not that girl any more. I made damn sure of that.”
“You had a bad experience. God knows I’ve done things I’m not proud of. You could fill a fucking book with them.”
“You don’t know what it was like,” she continues. “The cruelty. I had to change schools, and that’s when I decided to go straight one-eighty, draw no attention to myself whatsoever, just concentrate on studying. I’d always been smart, but being popular had become more important, you know? I’d let my grades slip deliberately, but not at my new school. I spent a whole year in the library, a ghost, and I liked it. I liked being invisible. I doubt anyone in that class even remembers my name.”
I sit back. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“I appreciate you telling me this, really.”
“You do?”
“Of course. You’re putting your trust in me.”
Willow pulls her hair together in her hands, runs it over her left shoulder, the soft side of her cheek glowing, begging for my lips. “I suppose I am. Maybe I want to have fun again, live just a little.”
I try to lighten the mood. “So Roman orgies and crack dens are out then?”
She throws her head back in laughter, lets it rest on the back of the sofa. “I don’t know. I just want to experience a little of what college life should be like. I sound so stupid, don’t I?”
I take the opportunity to shift closer, place a hand between us. “If we’re being completely honest here, I should tell you I’ve heard this story before.”
She pieces it together. “Leon told you, didn’t he? Damn him.”
“He did.”
“I bet he didn’t sugar-coat it.”
“Not really, though he neglected to mention the fact you tried this Evil Knievel stunt with your pants down… and the puke… and the pissing…”
She looks away. When she turns back she’s beet red. “Enough, enough. It was bad. What can I say? And I suppose the two of you are going to hold this over me somehow? I wouldn’t put it past Leon.”
“Not at all. Your story reminds me a lot of myself, in fact.”
“Getting your stomach pumped, your head split open, and wetting yourself?”
Here goes nothing, the big gamble. Go big or go home. “On occasion, but, like you, I was different in school. I was the nerd.”
She narrows an eye at me, pulling back. “Nice try.”
I put my hands out. “I’m serious. Everyone thinks my grades are bullshit, but they’re real. I hand in my assignments like everyone else.”
She’s still eyeing me with suspicion. “Okay, let’s say you are for real, when do you have time to do them?”
I tap the si
de of my head. “I have a photographic memory, but shhh, don’t tell.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“You’re studying pre-med, right? I flicked through this epic book on anatomy once. Ask me anything.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
She sits up, thinking. “Okay. Um, what’s the soft connective tissue between the cranial bones at birth called?”
Easy. “Fontanelles. What else you got?”
“The study of tissues?”
“Histology.”
“You’re not kidding, are you?”
I shake my head. “I am not. I read or see something, and it sticks. Always has.”
“So you have superpowers?”
“Sixteen-year-old me would have preferred X-ray vision, but I’ll take what I’ve got.”
She’s looking at me in a new light now. The gamble’s paying off, bases loaded. “That’s incredible, so why aren’t you studying to be a rocket scientist instead of playing baseball? You could do anything.”
“I enjoy playing baseball. Is that so wrong? I can’t have both?”
She’s getting animated. “But why go around acting like such a, a—”
“Dick?” I fill. “I don’t know. At first I did it to fit in, but then I kind of got addicted to it, to the attention.”
“And now you can’t go back.”
I nod. “That’s right. I was never accepted in high school. I was the kid who hit puberty late, who got picked on every fucking day, but not here. Here, I’m…”
“Popular?”
“No, it’s more than that. Here I have power, influence.”
“Wow. This is some serious confession action right here.”
“Yes. Yes, it is. I’m not holding anything back.”
It’s all there now, everything open on the table. I thought I’d be terrified at the prospect of this revelation, Clark Kent on display, but I’m excited. There’s relief, too, relief in the knowledge I no longer have to keep my past to myself. I have a kindred spirit, a soul mate.
You’re getting ahead of yourself.
A life with Willow wouldn’t be so bad. Hell, it would be fucking perfect. I know it.
We’ve moved closer to each other during the conversation. I lean forward, her eyes giving no protest. They’re wide and wanton. She breathes with her mouth open, lips parted in wait.
We don’t speak, only continue to draw together, two magnets.
I reach up and stroke the side of her cheek. It’s hot.
I move in and kiss her.
It’s light at first, a brush of my lips against hers, but soon it turns to more.
The tip of her tongue finds mine and delves deeper, my hand raking into her hair and pulling her into it, the desperation rising, her chest against mine.
This is it. This is happening, and it’s so different to any kiss I’ve experienced before that it strikes me like a fucking epiphany, that yes, this is what it should be like. This is what I’ve been missing.
I move my free hand to her thigh, run over the gooseflesh there, feel a barrier of heat pulsing out from her core, her arousal as she grows wet for me.
She snaps away, holding herself like she’s suddenly naked.
She stands and has a look of such shock and confusion on her face it’s as though she’s been struck by lightning.
“I— I—” she stammers.
She turns and runs for the door, pulling it open. I’m on my feet, but on my way I trip on her heels and fall. “Willow,” I call, but she’s fast. She makes it down the stairs before I’ve even reached the balcony. I watch her run across the courtyard barefoot, her dress floating out behind her like an obsidian apparition.
“Willow. Wait!” I shout, but she’s already turned around the corner of the complex, gone from sight.
By the time I make it down there, she’s gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WILLOW
There is moving fast and there is ridiculous. It’s safe to say my date with Asher fell into the latter.
It’s not that I didn’t want to kiss him. I did, and the kiss itself—his hot lips on my own, that fresh-from-the-field scent wrapping around us as my clit started to pulse… I mean, damn. That is what dreams are made of.
No, the kiss did not scare me, quite the opposite, but when I started to lose myself in it, started to drift away from logic and reason, that is when I started to panic. Once it started, it snowballed, growing bigger and bigger, my stomach knotting and nothing but sheer terror at what this may mean screaming at me to leave. So I did. I ran like a gosh-darn escaped convict, headed for the hills. I actually crouched behind a bush for ten minutes, shaking there in the cold hoping he wouldn’t run after me, and why? It makes no sense.
Nothing seems to at the moment.
You did the right thing, I tell myself. Another few seconds of suck-face and you’d be wrapped up in his sheets, sexted the following the morning and forgotten, another notch on the ol’ Asher Slade baseball bat.
The thought of being wrapped up in Asher’s sheets pushes me towards a different train of thought, but I soon close the door on that.
Do not become another statistic, Willow.
And yes, my inner critic does sound like a road-safety commercial.
There’s a groan from the other side of the room. “Where am I?” comes the voice of the beast.
Amy rolls over in bed, eyes struggling to focus on me balled up against the wall.
“The fifth circle of hell,” I reply. “Otherwise known as a hangover”.
“What makes you think I was drinking?” she slurs.
I point. “You’re using a beer can as a pillow. Yeah, I’d say you were drinking.”
She takes hold of said ‘pillow,’ looks and it, and replaces it back under her head. “Where were you last night? I know you weren’t in the library, because I kind of… naked… Jacuzzi… Jello. You don’t need details.”
I certainly don’t have to answer to anyone about my whereabouts, but I do. In a weird way I kind of want Amy ‘Mc-Do-It-All’ College Experience to know where I was. “I had a date,” I tell her, keeping information scarce.
She lifts her head again, exhaling like she’s giving birth. Her quilt slides off. Someone’s written ‘Beavis’ on one cup of her bra with a marker and ‘Butthead’ on the other. “A date? With who? One of your beloved professors, extra credit and all that?” she winks.
Suck this. “I was on a date with Asher Slade, actually.”
She nods with understanding. “Ah, yes. I heard he was doing that volunteer thing with you.”
I scream internally. “No, a date date. He cooked. There were candles.”
Amy sits up fully and eyeballs me suspiciously. “Did you dream this date, by chance?”
That’s it. “Did I dream him kissing me? No, I think that was quite real.”
She buys it, albeit begrudgingly. “Okay. Say he did kiss you. Why are you here and not there? You know, checking out his morning glory?”
Damn. She’s got me. “I wanted to take it slow.”
Amy nods, smiling. “I see.”
“You see what?”
She puts her hand up. “No, no. Everything makes sense now.” She lies down and turns over. “Good night.”
It’s eleven in the morning.
I shake my head and grab my cell. Enough of this.
The dormitory common room is quiet this time of morning given everyone’s nursing their hangovers and regrets.
I sit on a strangely firm couch at the back and try not to think about what has taken place on it while I scroll through my contacts. My only thought is to find a way to get Asher as far away from me as possible. Given the way my willpower melted last night, I can’t take the chance I’ll be able to resist him again. No, I’ve been down this road before. It did not lead to a good place.
I hover on the Dean’s number. He did say to call, but what am I going to say? Report Asher for arriving late that first day at the
home? That was an eon ago now.
I keep scrolling until I hit Karen Johnson. She’s largely responsible for the student population, a vice principal without the title. She was the one who proposed Asher help out at the home, put it forward to the Dean, plus she’s not a fan of the Hellcats given the ruckus they’re forever causing around campus. I’m surprised she wanted to let Asher off so lightly in the first place. The Dean happily provided her number in case I couldn’t reach him.
Do it.
I press call. I expect to get her voice mail, but she answers in an overly jovial clip. “Hi hi, Karen speaking.”
“Who is it?” comes a husky male voice in the background.
She holds the phone away and shushes the mystery man. “Sorry, who’s calling?”
“It’s Willow. Willow Grant, ma’am.”
“From the McMahon Centre?”
She remembered. That’s a start. “Is everything okay, Willow?”
“I’m calling about Asher Slade.”
Her tone changes at the mention of his name. “What’s he done now?”
I haven’t thought this through. “Nothing specifically, but I don’t think it’s working, to be blunt—the volunteering, that is.”
“I appreciate the honesty, Willow, but can you be a little more specific?”
He kissed me. I ran. Now I’m too embarrassed to look him in the face. “Call it a difference of opinion.”
“I see.” Thank god she doesn’t keep drilling. “What would you like me to do?”
“Can he be reassigned? Something like that?”
A deep breath. “I’ll have to see. It might take some time, and it will have to be cleared with the Dean, but if you really can’t bear it, I’ll find a way. After all, we can’t have the college clown bringing down a scholarship student, can we?”
It’s a sincere compliment, so why do I feel so crappy about taking it? “Thank you, Ms. Johnson.”
“Karen. Like I said, it might take a while. Can you survive a few more days?”
Something a little more expeditious would have been welcome, but this will have to do. “Sure.”
“Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”
“And sorry to call you on a Saturday morning.”
“No problem at all, Willow. Goodbye now.”
