by Billie Dale
He’s the reason I’m at this school, he’s my advisor and most times my biggest supporter. He’s the top in his field, the department head of the Cognitive Psychology and Brain Science Department. Looking at me now, his age is starting to show. His lips form a tight thin line, his pretty eyes stare hard into mine. Opening his mouth to give me the ass chewing I know he is about to dish out, I blurt, “I’m sorry,” while the big tears that have been building in my eyes since the beginning of class, trek down my cheeks.
“Look at me, Ten,” he orders. Placing his hand on my shoulder, I lift my head meeting his eyes, his warm hand provides minimal comfort. “How? How could someone so smart be so naïve?” he probes, sympathy and anger pools in his brown depths. “Who took the picture?” he demands.
“I-I did, Sir,” I mumble, feeling my ears start to burn.
“You did?” he bellows. “Who did you send it to?”
“I’d rather not say, Sir. I would like if the whole situation was forgotten.”
Standing, he stomps around to the other side of his desk, plopping down in his office chair, he slams his hands down on the desk causing me to jump.
“Damn it, Tensanne,” he curses with his face etched in frustration. “I can’t help you if you won’t open up to me. A photo like this could ruin you in the psychology world and could get you kicked out of the college.”
Wringing my hands in my lap, my leg bounces out my nerves. “I don’t want any more attention. I made a mistake, a huge mistake. I put trust in someone that couldn’t be trusted. I just want to be invisible again. For once, I acted my age. I acted on my impulses. Hopefully, it will help me later in life, when one of my patients experiences something similar.” Forcing my head to rise, I meet his eyes, “Thank you for your help, for demanding the photo disappear. I promise I won’t get fooled like that again. May I go now?”
Slumping back in his chair, he sighs, “You have a very bright future in Cognitive Psychology, Ten. I pulled a lot of strings to get you here on campus. Convincing the student housing board you are mature enough to live in the dorm with the help of a fellow student guardian. You are a beautiful, smart, young woman. I know being so young in this environment is hard but I need you to use your head first and your heart last. I have smoothed this situation over with the Dean but if anything like this happens again I’m not sure I will be able to help. Stick with the students you know, the ones you can trust. If you ever need anything don’t hesitate to contact me. I want to see you succeed while you’re here. Okay?”
“Yes, Sir. I understand. Thank you.”
“You may go now,” he states rubbing the spot between his eyes.
My body sags in relief when I step out of his office and almost everyone has already left the classroom knowing I won’t have to deal with them anymore today. Shuffling back to my seat to collect my things and return to the safety of my room, halting when I notice someone standing by my seat, his dark head looking down, his finger moving fast on the screen of his phone.
Recognizing the silky dark hair and strong jaw, fear crawls along my spine.
Kohl Black. The Ian Somerhalder of JSU. Six-foot seven inches of tanned, tattooed, basketball player. Legs that go on for days, toned and defined from years of running up and down the basketball court. Jet black hair cropped close to his head in a military style fade, eyes a bright blue-green, sunken deep, surrounded by long black eyelashes and full dark eyebrows. Arms defined and strong, covered in ink, designed for making three-point shots and they seem to be made for giving great hugs, not that I would know but they look warm, safe, and inviting. His face chiseled with high cheekbones, plump kissable pink lips and just a shadow of facial hair dusting his strong jaw, like he couldn’t be bothered to shave but always meticulously groomed. He’s pretty in a rugged way. Taking a deep breath, I tremble when his vanilla salty scent fills my nose.
Not hearing my approach, I stop in front of him. Jumping, he exclaims, “Oh, hey. You’re back,” while shoving his phone into his back pocket.
“If you’re here to get a few jabs in, go ahead and spit it out so I can get my things and leave,” I whisper looking at the floor where my backpack sits. Hardening my emotions in anticipation of his hateful words.
“N-no, I was making sure no one messed with your things. Your laptop is expensive and I know the other guys can be jerks; I waited and watched it for you,” he replies with a tilted grin raising one side of his lush full lips.
My eyes pop open wide in astonishment at his words, “Oh, um, ok. T-thanks, I think,” I mumble stuffing my pencils and laptop in my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. Seeing him still standing there I question, “Is there something else I can help you with, Kohl?”
“Oh, hey, you know my name,” he cheers with astonishment filling his bright ocean colored eyes.
“Everyone knows your name,” I deadpan. “Kohl Black. Starting point guard for the Fighting Berries.” He might be one of the sexiest men on the planet, I think to myself.
“Yes, I suppose they do. Tensanne Craig. May I walk you out?” he asks rubbing the back of his neck. I should be ecstatic he knows my name but almost everyone knows who I am after that photo circulated.
Prepared to tell him ‘no’, Dr. P steps out of his office, “Mr. Black, may I see you in my office please?”
“Next time,” Kohl grins to me with a wink, turning he follows Dr. P into his office. Stopping he looks back and calls, “Sorry the guys on the team are jerks. It was nice to-”
“Now, Mr. Black,” Dr. Parker insists. “Remember what I said, Ten? Use your head,” he tells me, closing his office door.
Sighing to myself, astonished at his apology and his ‘next time’ statement I wonder what Kohl’s angle is, why is he being nice to me? I fell for one sexy basketball player’s bullshit, I won’t fall for another one’s.
* * *
Kohl
“Hey Black, you comin’?” Chase yells.
Looking to her things set out on the desk and back to Chase, “Nah, man. I’m gonna hang here for a sec and talk to Dr. P about this new assignment. I’ll catch you guys later.”
“Whatever, man,” he waves, leaving the room.
“God, he’s a douchebag,” I mumble.
She shouldn’t leave her things sitting here like this. The MacBook she has cost too much to leave exposed to the hateful assholes in this class. I’ll just stand here and wait till she’s done. It’s the least I can do after everything she’s gone through these last few weeks.
I was glad to see her come into class today. I didn’t think she would come back after everything that happened. She was gone for three weeks. Chase laughed every day she didn’t show up. Boasting at his triumph for getting to the geek.
That picture. Holy shit, that picture is horrible and wonderful all at the same time. I about lost my lunch and got a raging hard on the first time I saw it. I’ve been watching her, in class, since the first day and I know she is a shy, quiet person. To be exposed like that, for someone like her, must have been devastating.
He’s such a dick. Arrogant, cocky and thinks he’s God’s gift to all women. I knew he was cooking up something in his fucked up brain. When we took the last test Tensanne’s perfect score threw off the grading curve, her score raised the class average landing him with a failing grade. Failing grades mean no basketball; no basketball means no scholarship. That’s why we always take classes together so the curve stays even and everyone passes. She screwed that up. Her perfect brain screwed up his perfect grade. He ranted for days about having to study because she’s in the class and how he was going to have to do something to get rid of her.
I never thought he would resort to something so cruel, but I learned a long time ago to never put anything past Chase. His spoiled rich boy demeanor and lawyer father have kept him out of trouble his whole life but if the school got wind of him being a part of child pornography scandal, I don’t think even his high-profile father could save his ass.
I love having her in cl
ass. She’s so smart and insightful, she knows the ins and outs of human psychology. She makes me work for my grade. There are times her questions even stump Dr. P. Her voice is light with a musical quality that hums through my ears like a symphony.
She sits right at the top of my ‘fuckin’ scrumptious fantasy list’. Always wearing yoga pants that cling and sculpt her plump round ass and thick lush thighs. Her silky dark hair swept back into one of those messy buns, girls like to wear, accentuating her round face. It makes me want to release it, wrap it around my hand and pull while I take her from behind. More than once I have daydreamed about her while Doctor Parker droned on during class. Her warm brown eyes popping behind those black frame glasses she wears. Her tits, my god, she has magnificent tits. That picture highlighted her cleavage and I want to sink my face into it and do the world’s largest motorboat, where I put my face between them and rapidly shake from side to side while yelling. Huge, wonderful breasts that are so full they almost meet her chin, I could lose myself in them for days. She’s smokin’ hot and young, but fuck she’s luscious.
Playing the latest version of Mobile Strike on my phone, I lose track of how long I’ve been standing here. Glancing up my heart jumps in response to her standing right in front of me, glaring at me with those gorgeous magnified brown eyes.
Kicking myself for not knowing she’s there I force my pulse to return to its normal beat. I should have noticed her sweet cucumber, fruity scent, I inhale it every chance I can get close enough to her without seeming creepy.
I need to get to know this girl better. She won’t be seventeen forever.
“May I walk you out,” I offer.
“Mr. Black, may I see you in my office,” Dr. P calls.
Shit, I’m not liking the cold tone of his voice and the way he’s glaring at me.
I’ll have to try to talk to her again another time. Watching the back of Dr. P’s head lead me to my doom, I realize I forgot the most important thing I could say to her. Stopping, I make sure I apologize for what was done. But before I can say anymore Dr. P demands I get in his office.
Plopping down in one of his office chairs, with one leg hanging over the arm, I ask, “So, what’s up Doc?”
Hardening his eyes at me, he slaps my foot off the chair arm before crossing his arms while staring daggers at me, “What exactly do you think you’re doing with Tensanne, Mr. Black?” he demands.
I’ve always gotten along with Dr. P, he’s one of the more easy-going professors, his animosity toward me is throwing me off, straightening in my chair when he mentions Tensanne, I answer, “Oh, hey, I was watching her stuff and making a little small talk. No harm, no foul.”
“Small talk? Small talk that would lead to another compromising picture spread around of her?”
Holding my hands up, “Woah, now wait, I didn’t have anything to do with that. I didn’t share it, comment on it or keep it. Did I see it? Yes. But I had nothing to do with it,” I deny.
“Tensanne is not your average college student, Mr. Black. I have no doubt you know exactly where the photo originated, I have a pretty good idea about it myself. To get justice for her would only cause more problems. With her intelligence, she requires a little more maturity than most college girls. She’s not your easy conquest. She’s not a notch on your bedpost. She needs a little more guidance and sincerity. She needs to be surrounded by people she can trust,” he states, emphasizing the word trust.
“I know, Doc. I’ve listened to her in class. To tell you the truth, I love listening to her in class. She’s so smart. I would never think of her as easy or anything of the sort. I wanted to talk to her, the opportunity presented itself and I took it.”
Rubbing his chin, his eyes lighting with curiosity, he ponders, “Maybe you could help her, Mr. Black.”
“What do you mean, Doc?”
“I think you’re a pretty good guy, Kohl. You have solid grades; plus, being on scholarship makes you try a little harder than others, more apt to steer away from trouble,” he acknowledges, tapping a pencil on his chin.
“Oh, now I’m Kohl, huh? Hell yes, I’m a good guy, Doc,” I agree, wondering where he is going with this train of thought.
“Yes, Kohl,” he says, rubbing his hands together like an evil mastermind, “I want you to become friends with Tensanne. Nothing more, nothing less. Just friends. Maybe, if she hangs around with you for a little while she can get a better feel for how college men act and build some self-esteem. Then she won’t fall into a trap so easily. She may have one of the best minds in the state but her common sense could use a lot of work.”
“Ok, Doc. I’ll see if I can get her to be friends. But, from the little talking I just did with her, she doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
“She’s leery right now, as she should be. You’re going to have to work at building her trust. Can she trust you?”
“Yes, from what I know of her I like her and I won’t do anything to hurt her. If I can get her to talk to me, I think I can get her to be my friend,” I respond.
“Just like that? You’ll do this and you don’t want anything in return? You aren’t worried about it tarnishing your reputation?” he probes, looking for any nefarious plans.
“Hell no, Doc. It’s terrible what’s happened. I have been wanting to get to know her for a while now. Plus, she’s smart enough to tutor me through all my classes.” He doesn’t need to know he just opened a window to Tensanne for me and I intend to willingly crawl through it.
Sighing, he agrees, “Very well, let me know how it goes? Don’t make me regret this, Mr. Black.”
“You got it, Doc,”
Now I have a reason to get up close and personal with those magnificent tits and the girl they belong to.
Basketball is starting, classes are going well and now I get to spend time with a girl I have been yearning to get close to, the world is a good place.
Now, I must figure out how to get her to let me in her life. Chase may have screwed up any chance I ever had of befriending her.
Chapter Three
Wisdom comes with age. Wrong, wisdom comes with mistakes. Age is just a number
—fact
Tensanne
“HEY, HUN,” RONNIE smiles, leaning on the wall, waiting for me after class, “How was your class?”
Shaking my head, feeling anxiety wiggling along my skin, “The fifth level of hell would be an accurate description,” I mumble recapping the disaster that was my Psych 1201class.
“God, what assholes,” she spews. The curse word in her debutante southern twang makes me smile. I love when Ronnie cusses with her deep southern accent it reminds me of Jessie from Toy Story on a rampage.
“I don’t know, Ron,” I sigh, tired of the anvil of sadness weighing me down. “I think it’s time for me to go back home. Maybe take the university up on its offer to take satellite courses until my senior year? I don’t think I’m ready for college life.”
“Ah, no, Sweetie. Don’t let a few twatballs send you running home. Home isn’t that great for you right now either. This is where you belong.” Taking both my hands, she meets my eyes. “Give it a little longer. Please? I have an idea. Let’s go out tonight,” she exclaims. “There’s this little store downtown I want to check out. We’ll go out to eat, do a little shopping. Come on let’s have some fun.”
“I don’t know,” I reply.
“Yes, yes,” she sings, dropping one hand and dragging me with the other, my legs struggle to keep up with her long strides. “We’ll get all dolled up and go check out that new Italian place, Marco’s. Then we’ll check out the little store. It’ll be great. You’ll forget everything and have fun.”
“Yeah, great,” I deadpan.
Reaching the room, Ronnie skips off to the bathroom to get ready. Tilting my head to the side, I look at the contents of my closet. Dressed up, I think, looking at my clothes. I own one dress. A denim jumper that goes all the way to my feet. Oh well, I think, sliding a pink blouse over my head, draping
the potato sack style dress over my head letting it drop to my feet and slipping my feet into my black Chucks. Straightening my messy bun. Checking my look in the mirror thinking a tent, I’m wearing a tent made from blue-jean material. Fuck it, this is as good as it’s going to get. Thinking about Ronnie’s dolled up idea, I decided to go with it, grabbing her mascara, I make my first attempt at wearing makeup.
My mom is such a natural beauty, she never needed makeup. I was always too interested in books to ever show interest in wearing anything on my face so taking off my glasses, squinting in the mirror at my fuzzy reflection, I bring the wand to my lashes and stab myself in the eye. Through the burning pain and tears, I wish I would have asked before I tried to use it. I’m blind without my glasses and now I’m even blinder through the irritation.
Carefully putting my glasses back on, Ronnie steps back in the room. She looks me over all the way down to my black shoes. Tilting her head with a look of concern when she notices my swollen, red eye with black streaks running down my face from the tears caused by her evil mascara wand.
“What the hell happened and what are you wearing?” she asks, her lips pulled tight trying to contain her laughter.
Waving the offending wand, I reply, “This happened. I had a bit of an argument with your mascara.” Looking down at my clothes and back up to her, I ask, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Grabbing a makeup wipe, she gently cleans the black streaks off my face. “Nothing, there is absolutely nothing wrong with what you are wearing. Except for the red, angry eye, this outfit is one hundred percent you,” she says, a smile lighting her eyes. “Now, let’s go. I’m starving and I heard this place has the greatest Portobello Ravioli and garlic butter breadsticks.”
My stomach grumbles at the anticipation of yummy food. Oh, who am I kidding? My stomach is always grumbling.
Walking single file out the door, I take in Veronica. She’s spectacular in a pleated, flirty knee length pink skirt and white silk blouse with her blond hair falling in perfect waving curls. High heeled Louboutin’s making her even more statuesque and leaving me feeling, even more, frumpier and round.
