“That’s mine. But I’m cool.”
“No, no. It’s okay. Seriously, I can just walk home. This isn’t safe. You should have a helmet.”
He rolled his eyes and huffed. “Girls don’t ride on my bike without a helmet. Besides, you should never worry about anyone but yourself. You’re covered, and I know what I’m doing. Now, come on.” Hawk blew on his fingers for a few seconds before pulling some leather gloves out of his pocket. As he pulled them on, I couldn’t help but notice his hands — they looked a little weathered, a little chapped, but strong. Rough in the way a guy’s hands should be. He straddled the bike, and my eyes darted to the way his jeans stretched against his thighs and the way his long, strong fingers wrapped around the handlebars.
“Well, come on. We’re not getting warmer out here.” He twisted the key in the ignition, then stared at the street and my jaw flexed.
“Am I just supposed to…get on?”
He raised his eyebrows and gave a short nod then looked forward again. I’d never once in my life considered riding on motorcycle or any gas-powered vehicle without walls. Not even a Jeep. And now I was just supposed jump on the back of a bike with this asshole?
Still, he was an asshole who cared whether I was hungry. Maybe that should count for something. I trudged over to the bike and took a deep breath.
I was so short that I could barely swing my leg over the bike on the first try. Hawk wasn’t a big guy, but there was barely any room on the seat so my crotch ended up pressed right against his butt. Through the thin cotton of my yoga pants, I felt every seam of his jeans on my inner thighs.
“Hold on,” he said with another small smile thrown over his shoulder.
“Uh….” I didn’t know what I was supposed to hang on to, considering he was just wearing a sweater and a t-shirt with jeans. My stomach flipped when I thought about looping my fingers into his belt loops or wrapping them around his waist. Definitely too intimate. So I just put my hands on his sides, hoping the need to “hold on” wasn’t as serious as he made it sound.
When the bike jerked forward, though, I knew it was. My fingers automatically curled into the rib-knit of his sweater and felt the hard muscle underneath.
Whoa.
My cheeks burned hot again as we cruised through the dark University City streets, the orange streetlights and neon bar signs flashing by us like freaky, overgrown fireflies. It was a Wednesday night, and we were in the Penn neighborhood now, so almost no one was out. It only took a few minutes to reach Sansom.
Hawk eased the bike, whose sound died down from “chainsaw” to “buzz saw” when it idled.
I cleared my throat. “Thanks, by the way.”
“Can’t prep for class when you’re starving.”
I would have shot him a smile, but I was too busy noticing what kind of a “little place” Hawk was talking about — one of those small corner bars with glass blocks instead of windows.
“This is the restaurant?” I tried to keep the dismay out of my voice.
“Well, it’s a bar,” he said, yanking the key out of the transmission and rubbing the back of his neck. “But there’s good food.”
I stared at him for a second.
“Look,” he said. “You’re hungry, right? We’re already here. I’m not sure why you think I’m a creep or a serial killer or whatever, but I swear to God, I’m not. Okay? And we have to talk about this project, so you might as well eat something.”
My heart sank into my stomach. Maybe this guy was rude, but he was apparently not a serial killer. Or a creep.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, wrapping my left hand around the strap of my backpack and pushing my way out the door with the other.
“Wait here,” Hawk said. “There’s a door on the side — I stash the bike in there.” A few seconds later he was back, motioning toward the bar’s door.
“After you,” he said in that gruff, dismissive tone.
Once I got inside, the smell of half-stale cigarette smoke consumed me. Some of the pieces of the Hawk-puzzle started to click together in my head. A late night working at the bar would have made his clothes smell gross and smoky for sure.
The low volume of a room full of guys talking over beers surrounded me. There were half a dozen sitting at the bar, and a few other tables of bro’s hanging out and playing pool. I was the only woman in here, but at least I wasn’t the only other person in here. Hawk took my jacket and his and hung them both on hooks next to the door. He cocked his head at a small table against the wall.
“I’ll clear this one up and order you the house specialty,” he said. I dropped my bag next to the wobbly wooden chair and watched those fascinating hands of his pick up a pile of used napkins, an empty fry basket, and a beer pitcher with only the dregs left.
“Hey, boy!” An older man — probably about fifty years old — pushed through the double doors near the back of the small, smoky space. “Well, hell,” he laughed, smiling at me and then glancing back at Hawk. “And you swore I’d never see you with another girl, let alone in here.”
I raised my eyebrow at Hawk, and he rolled his eyes, turning to me. “Don’t listen to him.”
The man clapped Hawk on the back with one hand and pulled out a white towel with the other. “I’ll wipe this down for you, Will. You take those back and get her order up. Sweetheart, you just have a seat. You want a beer? We don’t get too many ladies in here.” As he leaned over me to wipe down the table, the smell of beer on his breath overwhelmed me. Yeesh.
I forced a smile and cleared my throat. “No, thanks…uh… I’m fine.” I smiled at him again, and he seemed satisfied.
Three minutes later, Hawk was back with a pitcher — full of soda, not beer — and a basket lined with grease-catching paper. He settled himself across the table from me, glancing around at the bar’s occupants and pressing his mouth into a line.
“Best potato skins in the city,” he announced, turning his eyes on me.
“You’ll have to talk to Nate about that,” I said under my breath. I was sure Cat’s boyfriend, the foodie, had a recipe for these greasy pockets of awesomeness, but I doubted any of them would taste as good to me at this moment, especially given how hungry I was.
“Who?”
“No one,” I said. “My best friend’s boyfriend. Obsessive cook. Big buff guy. Practically melts into a puddle when he tastes his own cooking. It’s kind of hilarious. And kind of pathetic.”
It wasn’t exactly ideal conditions for snacking — in a smoky bar, sitting across from a totally hot guy — but I was starving. I reached for a potato skin and shoved it into my mouth.
Oh. My. God. My eyes rolled back in my head, and I was pretty sure I moaned.
For the first time ever, I heard Hawk laugh out loud. It was a deep, throaty, satisfied sound. It was actually pretty damn sexy. Which was the only thing that could sort of distract me from this frickin’ amazing potato-cheese-and-bacon explosion in my mouth.
Okay, maybe I was doing exactly the same thing I’d just made fun of Nate for.
“Good, right?” he said, training those stunning eyes on me.
“Amazing,” I mumbled through my chewing. Then I realized what I must have sounded like and pulled myself together. “So. Business class…” I started.
“Yeah,” he said. “No. Eat first, then Business class.”
I couldn’t help it. Something about being across the table from Hawk, with this food in front of me, made me feel so comfortable that I kept eating and relaxed even further against the back of my chair.
“Did you make these?” I asked.
He nodded. “It’s no big deal, but yeah, I’m a pretty decent cook. One of the few things I’m good at.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down.
“Okay, first of all, I’d say ‘chef.’ Second, that can’t be true — that that’s the only thing you’re good at,” I said through another mouthful.
“I didn’t say the only thing,” he said, fiddling with the corner of a paper napkin.
“Oh. Um. Right. No. Of course not.” What was it with me and speaking in short, fumbling sentences with this guy? Whenever I was around him, I felt like the rules of the universe had somehow shifted, and I no longer knew how to behave like a normal person.
An uncomfortable silence passed between us, something I couldn’t stand. I’d grown up learning that not keeping up a conversation was rude.
“So you work here? Every night?”
“Yeah, I… Yeah. It was supposed to be part-time here, full-time at school, but it’s kind of switched to full-time here and part-time at school… In fact, this semester is just the business class for me.”
“Oh.” I chewed and swallowed and let more silence stretch between us. I’d never thought about kids who had to bust their asses at a part-time job. Dad’s trust fund didn’t make it possible to live in the lap of luxury or anything — I remembered how upset I’d been when I realized I couldn’t afford to study abroad — but it did cover all my housing and food needs, along with tuition. He’d done that on purpose, he’d said, so that I could afford to do internships, just like the one I was doing now.
The one I totally hated.
And once again, thinking about the career I supposedly so desperately wanted made me feel like shit. Without realizing it, I’d demolished another potato skin. My stomach had stopped growling, but they were so frickin’ delicious that I reached for another one after that.
Hawk just watched me, his eyes flicking from my hands to my mouth. When they stayed on my lips for one, then two seconds, I fidgeted involuntarily.
“So, you drive a motorbike.” Keeping this conversation going was like pulling teeth.
He flicked his eyebrows up and nodded slowly. “Did you like the ride?”
I shrugged. “It’s the first time I’ve ever been on one. I mean…most people our age just have cars.”
“I know I should have gotten a car, but…when I first saw her, I felt good about it. I just knew she’d always run well and never fail me.” His eyes moved to mine, and I swore their ice blue color could have frozen that moment forever. “Sometimes you just have to do what feels right, no matter what anyone else says. You know?”
Plates crashed in the back, and a couple of men started shouting. Hawk’s eyes went wide and wild, and I was suddenly jerked out of my relaxed mood and sat bolt upright.
Hawk jumped out of his chair and muttered back at me, “Don’t move.”
He dashed back to the kitchen, bursting through the doors and yelling over the fight. A couple more dishes crashed, and then the whole place went silent.
A few seconds later, the talking picked back up, and Hawk marched toward our table.
“Let’s get you out of here. I’m so sorry. Sometimes he gets…out of control.”
“Yeah,” I said under my breath, getting my jacket on as quickly as possible. I lifted my bag over my shoulder before Hawk could say another word, and within half a minute, we were outside. The contrast between warm and cold air shocked me back awake, so much so that I barely even noticed that I hadn’t put my gloves on until Hawk had already started the bike and, once again, I straddled it.
“Where do you live?” His voice, so much tenser than it had been when we were sitting in the bar, broke the silence. I gave him directions to the house, and we rode in silence. I saw the same signs on the way back as I had on the way out to the bar, but now, everything felt different, like I’d taken a deep breath by riding through town and eating dinner with Hawk and I was waiting to find a good time to exhale.
But I kind of didn’t want to.
When he pulled up to the Kappa Delta house, I said quietly, “Thanks. Uh…the project. What should we…”
Hawk ran his hand back through his hair and sighed heavily. “Shit. Fuckin’ Gary.” He pounded the handlebars with both hands, and my eyes flew open wide.
When he saw my expression, he said, “Sorry. I’m sorry. Can we meet before class?”
“Before eight thirty?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” he said, in that same throaty voice. “I just… Dammit.”
“Yeah,” I said, yawning. “Yeah. That’s fine.” I wasn’t sure exactly what made me want to make accommodations for this guy whose situation I couldn’t quite figure out and whose mood seemed to turn on a dime, but I did. Even though he smelled like cigarette smoke again.
“Thank you.” He stared down at his fists, now wrapped so tightly around the handlebars his knuckles were white.
“No problem,” I said as I managed to get myself off the bike, then walked up the stone steps to our sorority house, more confused about Hawk than ever.
I dug in the fridge for some snacks — as awesome as they were, potato skins were not going to cut it for dinner — and plopped myself on the couch between a couple of my sorority sisters, who were camped out there half-watching trashy reality TV and half-doing their homework. Even though the room was filled with people, a strange lonely feeling settled over me. One of Cat’s guilty pleasures was reality TV, and if she had been there, she would have chattered through the whole thing, getting me to laugh despite my mysteriously down mood. I loved my Kappa Delta sisters, but the things they were talking about — sorority parties, what haircut they wanted to get, whether our early-semester philanthropy project should be a bake sale or a pizza night, and how bitchy it was to not go to Ruby’s play tomorrow night — just didn’t interest me. At all. Any time anyone tried talking to me, it took enormous focus just to respond half-appropriately.
When the show ended, I said my token goodnights to the girls and wandered upstairs. Cat was around a lot in the mornings and sometimes during the day, but she spent most of her nights with Nate now. In fact, the vast majority of girls in my pledge class — and in the house in general — had serious boyfriends. They had joked so many times that my boyfriend was my bio major.
I’d laughed every single time. Most of the time, I even thought it was funny or had at least worn it as a badge of honor. I was serious about my studies, focused on my goals. On my Dad’s goals for me, at least. Goals that would save peoples’ lives. What could be more important than that?
But, I realized as I trudged to my room and wiggled under my covers, you couldn’t cuddle with an Organic Chemistry textbook. And you definitely couldn’t do….other things either.
The second I started thinking about ‘“other things,”‘ the image of Hawk’s lips filled my mind, along with just one word: delicious.
Holy shit. Did I have a crush on the loser guy who couldn’t get his shit together to be anywhere on time? Who worked in a gross smoky hole-in-the-wall bar and who was only slightly less than rude to me every time I saw him?
Who lugged pans full of food to the Rowland House and made me potato skins when I was starving?
A smile spread across my lips unbidden, and I buried my face in my pillow to squash it. It didn’t work.
Maybe meeting early before class wouldn’t be so tough after all.
Chapter 6
The alarm screamed in my ears at seven. I groaned and rolled over in the warm spot I’d made in my covers, even though the rest of this damn house was freezing. When I turned my head into my shoulder, the scent of something different overwhelmed me. It was the smell of musk and incense and a little cedar — cologne. Boy cologne. Hawk cologne. Probably from when I’d been crushed up against him, cruising through the University City streets. Hawk, who I apparently had a frickin’ crush on, despite the way he fell asleep in class and the weird bar and the tattoos on his back.
I didn’t date guys who did any of those things, let alone all of them.
Thinking about those tattoos just got me thinking about how I wish I could see all of them, which just got me thinking about Hawk shirtless. Between running face-on into him and holding on to his sides on that bike, I knew that, even though the boy was thin, he was solid muscle.
Six feet of solid muscle that I’d be seeing in an hour.
Shit. What was I going to wear?
> I had three types of clothing in my possession: sweats, clothes for going out, and a few outfits’ worth of “Josephine” clothes — the skinny jeans, flats, and cardigans perfect for going to a book club or country club lunch, but not at all interesting or fun or passionate.
None of these clothes looked at all like me. They looked like a pre-med student or a sorority girl or Doctor Daly’s daughter — but none of them said, “Joey.” I’d been so wrapped up in throwing myself into my major that I hadn’t used college for what normal people did: figuring out who they are and how they wanted to present themselves.
Pulling on some dark skinny jeans — should go with most stuff, I reasoned — I stumbled one doorway down the hall to Cat’s room. I didn’t know why I even bothered to knock — I would have bet next semester’s tuition that she had stayed at Nate’s. Even though she was eight inches taller and at least two bra sizes bigger than me, I prayed under my breath I’d be able to find an appropriate top.
What were the chances of finding something in Cat’s closet that screamed “Joey?”
Well, we were best friends. It was as good a shot as any.
I ran my hands over the fabrics. Cat was always on top of the latest fashions, adding her own hand-sewn designs to her closet to top it off. I knew that she shoved the least fashionable stuff into the back as new stuff moved in. I moved each hanger to the side more and more furiously as nothing managed to catch my eye.
Finally, I found a soft, ivory tank made up of layers of fabric hanging down in points. It was some weird mix of haphazard and polished that felt a lot like me. I threw it on over my cami and dark jeans; topped it with a khaki, collar-strap jacket I already owned; looked in the mirror, and realized — I looked good. Not just good but beautiful. I didn’t know if it was the clothes themselves, the pride I’d felt in assembling them, or something else, but my face looked happy, open. Glowy even.
I grabbed my wool button-down coat instead of my puffy zippered one even though it was still frickin’ freezing outside. Warm or not, I realized that I always felt like a little kid with that puffy, gigantic-hooded monstrosity on.
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