by Lily Cahill
Her face scrunches up. “It’s hard to keep up a 4.0 when you bomb tests.”
My mouth drops. I knew this girl was smart, but damn, I don’t know anybody with that kind of GPA. “You’re a senior. What do you need a 4.0 for? Cs get degrees! I try to maintain a steady 2.5. Keeps me on the team, and anything more means I probably could have spent more time enjoying the last of my college years.”
“That’s great, Reg, but I’m not going to get into grad school next year if I keep failing tests.” Her backpack is on now, but she’s standing, still talking to me, even though she could just leave.
I want to keep her here as long as I can. I don’t want to be alone, that’s true. But if I have to choose anyone to spend time with in this moment, it would be her. She gets more interesting the more time I spend with her. Add thoughtful and crazy smart to the list with super hot, adventurous, and funny.
I nudge the soft curve of her side, and she squirms. She’s ticklish—good to know. “It was worth it though, right? Hanging out with me and … you know ….”
“I think that was a mistake.”
“Oh.” The wind goes out of me, but I keep up a smile, like it doesn’t affect me one way or the other.
She looks down at the floor, speaking to her shoes. “I’m your therapist and ….” She stammers, like she can’t think of another reason. “We shouldn’t have … you know,” she says, gesturing between us. “Kissed,” she says finally, like she has to force herself to use the word.
It’s such a lame excuse, I think she must be hiding the real reason from me. And then I remember. Well, I don’t exactly remember, but the party comes back to my mind. And I have to wonder if she doesn’t want to have anything to do with me because I flashed her. Like a complete asshole. After our conversation the other night, I feel worse than ever about doing that. I haven’t really been taking all this gender sensitivity training to heart, but Megan has opened my eyes. I wonder if I can charm my way out of being that guy.
“Okay,” I say, nodding. It’s an effort to be this light, but from the way Megan’s brow furrows in consternation I can tell I’m on the right track. “I can wait until you change your mind.”
“I’m not going to change my mind,” she says firmly. But she’s still here, still hasn’t walked away. That has to count for something, right? Her thumbs are hooked through the straps of her bag, yet she makes no move to leave.
“I can wait until you ask me politely if you can please kiss me.”
She breathes out a laugh that’s half huff, half giggle. “I think you might be waiting for a long time.”
“You’re worth waiting for,” I say in the same casual tone, but I can feel something crack open inside me. I’ve never waited for a girl to like me—never needed to. Most of the time, they’re throwing themselves at me before I even bother to learn their names. But the way I feel about Megan, it’s like all the other girls have receded.
She’s watching me suspiciously, and the way her brow furrows is so damn cute.
“Stay,” I say, casting about for an excuse. “I’ll help you study.”
“You?”
“Look, I know I’m not as smart as you are, but I actually can read, so I can at least quiz you from the textbook.”
Megan purses her lips. “I have a lot to get done.”
“Come on, I’m going stir-crazy,” I admit. “If I don’t have something to distract me, I might do something crazy. Like stand up and walk across the room.”
She cocks her head to the side. “Is this some ploy to get me to beg you to kiss me? Because it’s really not going to happen.”
“No, I’ll be a perfect gentleman. I promise.”
“You’re going to help me study?” She says it like she can’t believe the absurdity of the statement.
“Yeah, it’s the least I can do. I mean, you failed that test because of me. Let me help you earn an A. It’ll be a change of pace for me.” I reach out my hand for her bag. “Come on, give me your book, or those notecards I always see you flipping through. I know you have them.”
She rolls her eyes, but she slips off her bag. I scoot down the futon to make room and she sits down, so we’re side by side with our backs against the concrete wall. She’s an infuriating distance away. Just far enough that we aren’t touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat of her skin radiating next to me.
If I move just a little closer, we’d make contact. And contact could lead to kissing, and kissing could lead to me touching those breasts that I’m still seeing in my mind, even though she’s sitting up straight now, keeping her chest fully covered. But this isn’t about me and the half erection I’m trying to keep hidden. (And thank God I’m wearing gym shorts so she hasn’t seemed to notice.) This is about making up the grade I cost her.
I cough and discreetly adjust myself before taking the cards from her.
We’ve gone through all of the note cards, and she’s acing all the answers. I’m learning stuff too, slowing finding that I’m not having to flip the cards over to tell her if she’s right or wrong.
“I think you’re ready,” I say with a confident nod, handing the cards back over.
She taps the stack of cards against her knee and twists her lips to the side.
“What?”
“There’s a whole section of the book that’s going to be on the test that I didn’t have time to make notecards for.”
“Okay.” I reach out, waiting for her to hand over the book. She slides off the futon and bends to her backpack on the ground. Pulling out the book, she doesn’t hand it over right away.
“Are you sure?”
I lean over and snatch the book from her. After hours of sitting up with my back against the hard wall and looking at Megan sideways, I have to lay down and relieve my stiffened neck and back. I stretch out and shimmy to the back edge of the futon, laying on my side to make as much room for her as I can. My legs are taking up the space where she had been sitting before, and she hesitates.
I reach out for her hand and pull her to the futon. “There’s plenty of room.”
On her back, staring at my ceiling, our bodies aren’t quite touching. But I can still feel her there, so close, like little jolts of electricity jumping between us.
Her head tilts toward me, her long, silky hair bunching behind her head. She looks so beautiful laying there with her mass of auburn hair on my pillow, freckles sprinkled across her creamy skin. Her eyes are soft and sleepy with contentment, and I want to kiss her—eliminate the space I created between our bodies and just nuzzle my head into the warmth of her neck, letting her thick hair envelope me.
“It’s chapter nine,” she says, before I can move closer. That makes me pause and remember the textbook in my hands.
I flip to the page easily. It’s been dogeared, and the chapter is lit up periodically with vibrant yellow highlighter. I make questions out of the material, and it goes easily enough. Megan closes her eyes at one point, answering my prompts with lidded eyes until her voice starts to slur and she has to ask me to repeat questions. I lower my voice and read the section we’re on out loud. She twists on the futon, laying on her side and curling into me, the warmth of her body seeping into mine. I stop asking her questions and start to close the book, but she stops me.
“Keep going,” she murmurs.
With an even tone, I read to her, letting the knowledge sink into her subconscious until she’s fallen completely asleep. Gingerly, I set the book down and let my arm drape over her. She fits against me so perfectly—not too small that she gets lost—and I marvel at how well her body complements mine, molds to mine.
Before long, I drift off to a deep and satisfied sleep.
Chapter Eight
Megan
MY EYES FLUTTER OPEN, THE sunlight streaming through the windows gently prodding me awake. It’s one of those rare wake-ups when you feel completely rested, with a Zen sort of calm calling you toward the day. I stretch, wondering when the last time was that I felt this r
elaxed.
When I open my eyes more fully, I see a signed football on a shelf in the corner next to a tacked up picture of the MSU football team. Where the hell …? Oh, shit. Reggie’s room. I slept in Reggie’s room. My relaxation is washed away on a flood of anxiety.
Not only am I still in Reggie’s room, his arms are wrapped around me, and we’re snuggled together so tightly it’s a wonder I didn’t wake up feeling trapped. His strong forearm is held against me, but it feels more like a safety belt than a prison bar. Even though he’s relaxed, I can still see the veins running up his muscular arm. There aren’t any blankets on the futon, but the heat of his body flushes my cheeks anyway.
I squint at the light streaming in from his window and blink, trying to get my bearings. We must have fallen asleep while studying. It was an innocent mistake. Just like the kiss. Not even as bad as the kiss, since nothing happened. But two mistakes in just as many days isn’t like me.
It doesn’t meant anything. I promised myself that nothing else was going to happen with Reggie, and it hasn’t. Snuggling is nothing, especially if we didn’t even mean to.
Maybe if I could leave without him noticing, he won’t even know I spent the night. That would be best. No questions, no explaining, just a little mistake that would be corrected before anyone could know about it. Biting down on my lip, I slide away from Reggie, trying not to disturb him as I escape his embrace. I slip on my shoes and very quietly gather my backpack. I look around for my anatomy book and spot it trapped under the corner of Reggie’s pillow. I don’t want to risk it, so I leave it behind. I slip out the door and let it close as gently as I can behind me.
Once I’m in the fresh light of day, I finally let myself breathe again. I feel like all the students milling about the campus are staring at me. I start walking quickly away from the sports dorm. I spent the night there, and everyone knows it. Do they know I was in Reggie’s dorm? It’s a completely irrational thought, but my legs move faster underneath me. I’m practically jogging by the time I cross the street. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins and giving me an erratic energy. My feet stretch out under me, until I’m running all the way to class.
Out of breath, but five minutes early, I plop down next to Chloe. She’s saved my usual seat. Digging through my bag, I realize I don’t have any of my class materials. I wasn’t planning on coming to Psychology in Sport Injuries when I left my apartment yesterday, so all I have is my computer and my Anatomy notebook. I pop open my laptop and open a new document to take notes.
“You look like a mess.” Chloe says, eyeballing me. I almost blurt out that I slept at Reggie’s, but then I realize she’s not eying my crumpled clothes; she’s looking at my hair falling out of my pony tail, and I’m sure my cheeks are flushed.
“I ran here,” I say, wishing I was still running. I need to get out all of the buzzing energy that is flowing through me. My mind is all over the place. Sleeping at Reggie’s was a mistake. Such a small, stupid mistake. So why did it feel so good waking up there?
“Oh my God.” Chloe says each word purposefully. “Are those the clothes you were wearing yesterday?”
“Jeans and a shirt? Yeah, it’s what I wear every day.” I try to brush her off, but my T-shirt is wrinkled and my jeans are a vibrant blue. A color unmistakable from any other pair that I own.
“Yeah, but you were wearing that shirt and jeans yesterday. The cream top with the bright blue jeans. It’s a good look, but not good enough for you to wear two days in a row. Where have you been?” Her eyes squint at me mischievously. “I want details.”
“There are no details. I promise.” This, at least, is true. Nothing happened.
Chloe is not convinced. She narrows her eyes more.
“I accidentally fell asleep at Reggie’s dorm. We were studying.”
Her jaw drops. I don’t know if it’s from the idea of me falling asleep in a boy’s dorm room or the idea of Reggie studying. Chloe starts asking me a question at the same moment the professor starts talking, so I put my finger to my lips and shush her.
A few minutes into the lecture, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. My heart leaps in my chest and the buzz of adrenaline I’ve been feeling all morning surges inside me again. Is Reggie texting me wondering where I’ve gone? Does he know we’d accidentally fell asleep together and that I bailed on him this morning? Does he care? The suspense is killing me, so I pull the phone discreetly from my pocket. The vibration was just a new email.
From [email protected]
Subject: Checking In
How is Davis’ ankle sprain? I haven’t gotten a status report from you, even though daily reports are a requirement on all players with active injuries. I hope I don’t have to remind you that your independent study grade, as well as letters of recommendation, depend highly on your ability to efficiently rehabilitate players. Please submit an update by the end of the day. If I have to reassign the case, I will consider it a failed rehabilitation.
-G
The adrenaline shifts into a wave of nausea as I watch my future swirling down the drain. Independent Study is the most important grade on my transcript, and a recommendation from Garrett is what all the best schools will expect, especially MSU. They hired him, after all. Independent Study is the closest thing to being a physical therapist that I can do as an undergrad, and if I don’t do it well, why would any grad school take a chance on me?
My leg is bouncing under the desk, and Chloe gives me a sideways glance. I’m distracted and it’s distracting her.
Down at the lectern, the professor is droning through today’s lecture, but I just can’t take notes. I can barely comprehend what he’s saying. God, what is wrong with me? Mind wandering, I open a browser on my laptop and click to a sports equipment site favored by the coaching staff. Before I know it, I’m shopping for new cleats. New cleats for Reggie.
Buying gifts for my patient goes way beyond my duties, but I tell myself it’s necessary for his recovery. Even if I can somehow get Reggie well enough by the big game, there is no way he’s going to play in those death trap old cleats again. I scour the site looking for just the right ones. He’s not going to put any old shoes on his feet, not after four years of lucky cleats. Soon, I’ve got multiple shopping sites open searching for that one perfect pair, but none of them seem quite right. Not yet, anyway.
I gaze back up at the professor, though I’m not really listening. I have every intension of taking notes, but when I turn back to my computer, I don’t click back to my blank note document. Instead, I find myself googling “friends with benefits,” which leads me to a compatibility quiz. It has me answer questions about myself and Reggie and then click to find our compatibility score. I hit the button, and a throbbing heart comes on the screen while it calculates the results.
Chloe slams her book on the desk, tearing me away from my screen. Instinctively, I slam my computer shut, not wanting her to see that I was doing anything other than taking notes. I look up and realize the whole room is packing up to go.
“Read chapters six and seven for next week,” the professor booms over the shuffle.
I grab my laptop, knowing the document I’d opened is still completely void of notes, and stuff it back in the bag. Today is just not my day.
Chapter Nine
Reggie
MEGAN IS GONE BY THE time I get up. I check my cell phone, but she hasn’t texted. She’s probably in class.
I hop into my wheelchair and float myself up onto the big back wheels, rolling around the dorm room with a stupid grin on my face. Who knew that sleeping could feel so good?
I kick open the door to the shared kitchen with my good foot and wheel myself in. Ben’s bent over, with his head in the refrigerator. He spins around with a scowl on his face.
He’s holding the mostly empty containers from the food I borrowed. I’d left just enough to claim that I hadn’t finished it. I was hoping he would think he had eaten it, but from the look on his face, I’m guessing that plan failed.
“Fucking fuck, Reggie. Do you have any idea how expensive prosciutto is?”
“Pro-what-o?”
He’s holding up the container of ham with one thin slice left inside. My mouth waters remembering how salty and tender it was.
“All of this food is from off-campus. And where are the croissants?” He ducks back into the fridge, like he’s suddenly going to find them, even though we both know that’s not going to happen.
“Let’s go to the cafeteria, I’m starving.” Maybe a little misdirection will make him forget that I also ate half the cherries.
Ben stands up straight, holding the remains of the cherries and glaring at me with heavily-lidded eyes. “The cafeteria is not going to have twenty-dollar-a-pound prosciutto, you git, or fresh croissants. You are the most insufferable roommate. You have no respect.”
“Look, man, I’m sorry. I come from a big family and we all share.”
“Do you see this B on here? That’s B for Ben.” He says the words slowly like I won’t comprehend them otherwise. “When I write a B like this,” he says, his voice is dripping with condescension, “that means I don’t want to share, okay?”
I let him see me roll my eyes. “Lighten up. I’ll replace your precious ham.”
“That’s not the point.” His teeth are gritted.
“Look, I’m going to the good cafeteria, the one in Pegout Hall. Where they have the best food. All-you-can-eat cereal, pizza, and jello. If we hurry we might even make it in time for fresh-baked waffles. So if you’re hungry, you can stop crying like a baby, and we can go get breakfast.”
“Fine.” The word is barely audible through his gritted teeth.
Ben leans against the doorframe between our kitchen and my room. It’s like he doesn’t want to step inside my room and catch the uncleanliness or something. Maybe I should tidy a bit more. Mom would freak if she saw my pile of dirty laundry in the corner. Megan didn’t seem to mind though.
