by Lily Kay
She promptly left us standing in awkward silence. Like Gavin didn’t get her innuendo. No joke, a mini panic attack ensued. What if he figured out I felt something for him, but he didn’t reciprocate?
Or, what if he did want to date me? What if he tried to kiss me? The last guy I kissed was Rob Jones in seventh grade, which left my lips chapped, and my chin drenched in slobber.
“Soooo, I’m gonna put my stuff in my room.” I pointed down the hall toward the last bedroom at the end and cursed myself for showing him my room. Then again, it’s not like he couldn’t figure it out on his own.
Was I being too presumptuous to assume he would even want to know what room belonged to me? “Soooo, this is my room.” I pushed open the door, as he followed me inside.
Once inside, he backed me up against the door. “Louise.” He stepped toward me and reached above my shoulder to push the door shut. “We need to talk.”
I gulped. “We do?”
He leaned in closer to me. “We do,” he murmured. One hand positioned next to my head as he partially trapped me with his body. He tilted his head toward my ear. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
I wanted to tell him it’s not him I feared, but me. Guy didn’t like more than a carry-on for baggage, but right now my past could fill a plane.
My track record of “being sane” was all of eight weeks. Information I would not relay this evening. “It’s not you?” I literally squeaked. So not sexy.
He brushed a few escaped strands from my braid, behind my ear. A rush of heat swallowed my body, and I peered down. Afraid to face him.
“I’m struggling to figure you out. You’re making it pretty damn difficult.”
“I am?” I sputtered before my breath caught. Poop in a handbasket. Would he kiss me? Please say not, or at least, not yet.
What the fuck Louie? For sure you want him to kiss you. Instead I remained paralyzed by my inexperience.
“Yeah, you are. One minute you’re throwing daggers in my direction, and then you’re joking around and acting like a bumbling—”
“Odd duck?” Shit. Why did I have to go and remind him?
Gavin’s eyes glimmered before he agreed. “Something like that.”
Well now what was I supposed to say? I failed at all this flirting stuff, and maybe I should have taken a few pointers from Sierra on flirting before she left.
I did the only thing I knew how to do in a situation like this. I’d probably look back at this as un utter fail, but I couldn’t control my mouth.
“Um. You are intimidating. And I was rude to you on day one and not prepared for a critique, but you were right and I handled it pretty crappy, and so not ready for Gupta to call on me but pretty sure Nick jinxed me by reassuring me Gupta would not call on me, but he did because Dave couldn’t keep his trap shut, and then yesterday I got defensive again because you were right.” I wondered how much I resembled a conductor about to finish Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.
“Take a breath, and let it go. It happened weeks ago.”
With his interruption, I braved a look at the most gorgeous man I’d seen up-close in forever, and swiftly shut my mouth.
“You flare your nostrils a lot at me, and it’s beginning to give me a complex. Like it’s secret Morse code for get this guy away from me,” Gavin commented.
“Nervous habit.” Shit, stupid nostrils.
Gavin backed away from me a bit until his calves hit the mattress and box spring lying directly on the floor. He eased himself down to the point where his legs dwarfed the height of the bed.
No way I could join him either, no matter how tempting my feather comforter and quilted duvet cover appeared. Too scary. I remained standing against the door.
Gavin hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped under his chin. “I’m not sure what to say to convince you I’m not a serial killer. I find you quite interesting. Since we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other this year, it would be nice if it wasn’t awkward or confusing all the time.”
It was awkward and confusing because I didn’t know how to relax around guys, especially one of the most gorgeous men I had ever seen in all my twenty years of life. No lie. The new Calvin Klein underwear model on the billboards in Times Square couldn’t hold a candle to Gavin.
My knees eventually gave out and I melted down to a seated position on the floor, my back still against the door. I would have to figure out how not to hyperventilate every time I saw him. Normal behavior finally welcomed me whenever I saw him in class or for tutoring.
Too bad the social environment caught me off-balance.
I sighed and forced my lips to zerbert the air. “Honestly, Gavin. It’s not you. It’s me. I’m weird. I don’t know how to act around guys, minus Nick and Matt, but they don’t count.”
Gavin grunted. “I’m pretty certain they’d be a little offended to hear they don’t qualify as guys.”
“You know what I mean. I mean, look at you.” I waved up and down in his direction. “I’m sure you haven’t gone a month without a date since you were past the stage of acne. Although knowing you, you probably didn’t even have any acne. No clue why I’m talking about acne. Erm, forget I ever mentioned acne.” I zeroed in on the top of my feet and whispered under my breath. “I have to quit saying acne.”
I continued. “You’re kind of a big deal here. Everyone is talking about you like you walk on water, and freshmen want to have your babies.”
He stifled a groan.
“I guess I was embarrassed I mucked up in front of you and on top of everything, my staying in the major is dependent on passing the last of my theory and sight-singing classes, and I didn’t know how to recover.” After averting my eyes, I gathered courage to face him again.
“It’s like I’m not worthy to be in your presence. I am, of course, worthy.” I bit the top of my lip and fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. “I don’t know what I mean. You’re right. I’ll get over my freak-out and we’ll get along finer than a frog’s hair.”
Waaaaay too long, Louie. And finer than frog’s hair? I swear, the next time I saw my best friend from high school, I’d flog her for implanting frog’s hair in my mind. After saying the expression every day our senior year in high school, the phrase solidified in my brain.
The back of my head banged against the door, and I contemplated the shadows projected on the ceiling from my bed and nightstand.
Gavin must have gotten up from the bed because he appeared next to me on the floor. “You gotta take me off this pedestal. I’m more flawed than you think, and once you figure it out, I’ll fall too far to recover.”
Gavin nudged me. “For now, think of me as one of the guys, well, non-guys, and we can see about that frog’s hair.”
Not possible, because I didn’t want to see Nick or Matt naked. But I forced a smile. “Yeah, sure. One of the guys.”
“We’re home,” Sierra yelled from the living room.
“Shall we?” Gavin held out his hand and, fuck me, I took it.
Chapter 9
Sierra and Nick set the table when Gavin and I entered the kitchen. He still held on to my hand, and I blushed when Nick’s eyes scanned what should have been a benign gesture. I quickly released his hand, though I silently grieved the loss.
I helped in the preparations for dinner, making sure water glasses were filled. Nick, Sierra, and Gavin all snagged a beer from the fridge, too, because nothing said Thai food like New Belgium Brewery.
“So, Gavin, were you an athlete or do you work out a ton?” Sierra, not shy at all around guys, could get a job with the police department or the FBI if photography didn’t work out.
Part of me wondered the same thing. It wasn’t possible someone naturally had his physique without working on it.
“I rowed crew a
ll four years during my undergrad at Berkeley.”
Made sense. Funny, I typically didn’t think of music majors as jocks. Jocks were popular and wanted nothing to do with us band geeks. I mentally slapped myself for letting stereotypes guide my prejudice. Especially not cool given the fact I spent years dispelling stereotypes slung my way.
Yes, I can eat with chopsticks because my white Scandinavian American parents made me practice on Chinese food. No, I’m not good at math. In fact, I suck. Yes, I speak English. Learned how to speak probably the same way every other native English speaker did. No, I wasn’t a mail-order bride, though my parents did pay for me. When I stopped to ruminate, my whole body tensed. It still made me a commodity. Disturbing, really.
“Do any of you play sports?” Gavin asked.
“Louie here runs a bit, three miles a day seems to be the current distance.”
I frowned at Nick, hoping he wouldn’t delve deeper into my OCD mileage limit. My roommates recognized my three-mile limit after I ran with them. I’m no longer allowed to use exercise to purge. It’s a fine line between maintaining a healthy lifestyle and taking it too far.
According to Dr. Liz, asking for help and letting my friends know how they could support me incorporated rebuilding my new toolkit for health and recovery.
I’m sure I over-analyzed because Nick wouldn’t betray my trust. At least not in front of me. Gavin asking me questions about my stupid three mile a day restriction? Not on my to-do list. Still not thrilled with Nick for mentioning it, especially when I thought I fared well since I returned. My freak outs about food were nearly non-existent, and I practically devoured all my Pad Thai.
While I did have urges to run and could tell you how many calories I consumed, I had absolutely zero urges for taking laxatives. In fact, I hadn’t taken a laxative in five months. Again, not things I wanted to have to explain to Gavin.
Being an odd duck was bizarrely a step in the right direction. Recovering bullied anorexic/bulimic? Completely wrong direction.
I used my mad diversion skills. “Did you know Nick’s almost a black belt in Jujitsu?” Success. Gavin took the bait.
“No kidding. He hasn’t mentioned it. How long have you been training?”
Nick swallowed his bit of curry. “I moved to the States at fifteen, still scrawny as shit and got my ass kicked. My mom signed me up for Jujitsu. I’ve been doing it for almost eight years now and can’t live without it. Saved my life. Martial arts and the guitar. How’d you get into crew?” I guess the guys spent most of their time together composing music, since they didn’t know too much about each other’s personal lives.
“Pretty random, actually. My eye caught a sign on my homeroom door freshman year of high school and heading home after school wasn’t an option. It seemed as good of a sport as any of the others. Plus, living on the coast, you pretty much had to take up a water sport.” Gavin shrugged, and reached for his beer.
Huh, maybe Gavin didn’t have such a sunny home life either. I wonder if Sierra and Nick noticed. It’s possible he alluded to the typical fighting between every teenager and their parents. Apparently, Sierra didn’t notice because she grilled Gavin about his time rowing.
“You rowed all four years in college? Must have been pretty good. Probably helped you’re tall.” Sierra did her eye batting thing again. I’m certain it had to be unconscious since she lingered in flirt mode, and most of the time didn’t even realize it. It might explain why guys were pissed off when they found they starred in the friend zone.
“I was decent. Though actually one of the shorter guys on the team,” Gavin mentioned.
“Are you kidding? And how tall are you exactly?” I asked. Gavin already seemed to tower over me.
“Eh, six two and change.”
My eyes bulged, and I snorted. “The rest of the guys must have been ginormous.”
“Most of the guys were between six four and six seven. They used to tease me about giving the coxswain position a go. I still had over half a foot on our coxswain, so he wasn’t too worried.” A smile crept to one side of his mouth.
“Were you decent as in full-ride decent?” Sierra spared no one the examination, including partial responses. She typed in her phone UC Berkeley and rowing.
Gavin shrugged. “My ticket to college.” He fidgeted with his fork and lowered it to his plate after noticing Sierra googling his alma mater.
“National champs, eh?”
He didn’t say much. “It was a good run.” His modesty made him even yummier because if anyone had a right to brag, it would be him. Shit. He was beyond good. Not surprising given the size of his biceps, pecs, and the wingspan of his monkey arms.
Gavin lost the spotlight and turned the cross-examination on Sierra. “Did you play any sports in high school?”
“Please, no. Team sports and I do not jive. Though you are looking at the president of the photography club. I guess I did individual outdoor sports like skiing, hiking, rock climbing, and mountain biking. Growing up west of Denver, it was sacrilegious not to do at least one of those activities. But no, I didn’t do an organized team.”
“Where did you ski? I’ve only been to Breckenridge a few times.”
“Mostly Winter Park or Vail. My parents had a home up in the mountains, and we went pretty much every weekend.”
“You guys ski, too?” Gavin turned toward me and Nick.
“Water ski, yeah. But not the snow. More than once, Sierra’s threatened to drag me out to Colorado and torture me,” Nick answered.
Gavin shifted his aim to me. “And you, Louie?”
“I skied a few times in Massachusetts and Vermont. But I’m nothing to write home about. I’d love to try Colorado sometime. Sierra keeps telling me how amazing the snow is out there.”
“It’s true, it’s amazing. Better than the crusty ice out east,” Sierra interjected. “And you know you can come visit me anytime. We can go over winter break.”
Sierra invited me back to Colorado every winter since we met as roomies our freshman year. Our first winter break, we ended up at my house, and our sophomore year we opted to stay at the rental house.
Maybe before I graduate I’d make it out there. Matt grew up skiing near Lake Placid, and it would be awesome if we all flew out and stayed at her parents’ place. But Matt worked all the time, and Nick dragged his heels on transferring his skills to snow.
“Hey, Gavin.” Here we go again. Sierra’s intro to yet another grilling. “Don’t take this the wrong way ‘cause I’m being totally un-PC here, but what are you?”
Gavin waited for more direction, but I understood what she asked. And truth be told, I wanted to know, too.
“For example, I’m plain boring Western European. Swiss, French, and some English. But I can’t figure out what you are, besides eye candy.” Sierra’s eyes ping ponged between me and Gavin. “Totally platonic, of course.”
Gavin put his fork down and rubbed his face once over and exhaled louder than normal. “Well, you have my parents to thank for my looks.”
He dipped his head once to the side. “My mom’s family came over from Korea to San Diego a year before she was born and my dad’s half-Brazilian and half-British but grew up in Spain. Long story how they met.”
Sierra whacked my arm with the back of her hand. “No kidding. Louie’s adopted from Korea. But we did her DNA and technically she’s only sixty percent Korean, with a bunch of other shit. Louie?”
“Some Chinese, Japanese, Native American, and Nepalese.” I literally jumped for joy when they came out with a ninety-nine-dollar saliva test. But a bit shocked to learn I wasn’t mostly Korean. Made me more curious about my biological family. Where did they come from? How long had they lived in Korea or were they passing through? Why was I given up? Because I wasn’t full Korean?
As a freshman,
I took an interest in my Asian roots, and pulled a few books from the library on Korean intercountry adoption. Apparently, the Koreans were adamant about having a “pure race” back in the day. Something about national pride in having one blood, one race. Being half Korean couldn’t have boded well in my favor. Or my mother’s, especially if she spawned me with an outsider.
Gavin stilled. “Explains some things. I was going to guess some Korean, but your mannerisms didn’t match my mom’s side of the family.”
I didn’t know if I should be offended or not. Yeah, I was American, I still identified as Korean, too. After all, Korea’s my place of birth. I folded my arms in defense.
“No hard feelings, Lou. There’s this air about the Korean women in my family. How they hold themselves, how they talk, assert their noses in everyone’s business. You’re much more reserved and timid. Not in a bad way. More like you’re taking in everything before you decide.
“My mom and halmoni, grandma in Korean, they are like ready, fire, aim.” I watched as his eyes crinkled at the sides and could tell he held them in high regard even with this mild censure. “My mom’s not as intense as halmoni, but I still wouldn’t cross either of them. They’re strong women.”
He cleared his throat, took another swig of beer. “I reckon you’ve got strength, too.” And I didn’t know how to respond, again. A common theme when Gavin addressed me.
“She might seem timid, but Louie’s tougher than nails.” Sierra seemed to be wholly unaffected by him.
“Thanks, Sierra.” I pointed my thumb to the side at her. “She’s my biggest cheerleader.”
Not wanting to be the center of attention, I released a slight sigh when Matt yelled from the front door. “You guys better have gotten me some Pad Kee Mao.”
We all turned to see Matt drop his backpack on the kitchen counter before he joined us at the table. And I could have kissed him, well, not tongue or anything, but a chaste peck on the cheek. Because all our attention directed at Matt and his Pad Kee Mao.
