Probably because I’d worn a jacket like that since I actually was a little kid.
Pulling the door of the house shut tight behind me, I felt different. Like, maybe for the first time, I was starting to really grow up.
I honestly couldn’t believe that I hadn’t gotten any more of an exact time from Hawk than “before class.” My mom often teased me because I basically carried a day planner in my brain, but for all the times I’d basically kept our family in order — especially in the months after Dad died — she really couldn’t complain too much. Sports stuff for my sister and brothers, financial planning meetings, our participation in the family reunion nine months later that mom couldn’t bring herself to help plan…I did it all. Mainly because I knew Dad would have been proud that someone had had the chops to keep the family together.
But something about Hawk made me completely forget myself. I shook my head. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t anything about Hawk himself; it was his crazy behavior and the crazy situations he dragged me into — cruising through University City on a motorbike, dragging me into a tiny, smoky bar in an area I didn’t know populated by a manager with anger issues.
Of course we hadn’t decided on an exact time. I was too busy trying to get away from him.
Except I hadn’t really wanted to stop looking at him at all.
I rolled my eyes at myself as I finally entered the classroom, plopping down in a seat and checking the time. Seven forty-five. Forty-five minutes till the start of class wasn’t a ton of time, but it should be enough to at least get our topic and a basic plan squared away.
My feet did a little fidgety dance under the desk, and my fingers tapped on the screen of my phone. The cold, dry air had been making my hands coarse and dry lately, so I reached for some lotion in my bag and smoothed it on. I checked my phone again.
7:48.
Maybe he’d been thinking eight o’clock. Eight should be fine.
I scrolled through some news stories on my phone. A school shooting, a car accident, a new drug developed for cancer treatment testing. News reports about medical innovations always made me a little excited. Not in a morbid way — when lives were lost, it tore me up. But this was the entire reason I’d wanted to be a doctor — to help others.
I checked my phone again. Eight o’clock. It was officially “before class.” Where the hell was he?
I stretched my legs out of my seat and walked over to the door to check the hallway. The whole building was dead silent.
“Come on, Hawk,” I murmured. The panic started to rise. We really needed to present our idea to Professor Simon today, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that with at least an outline of what the entire project would look like. What was the guy thinking? Clearly, he wasn’t.
I started to scribble some possible ideas in my notebook. Cupcake bakery? I stuck my tongue out. Clichéd and lame. Trendy literary magazine? No one would buy it if it was paper probably. Dog walking business? It seemed workable, but I liked cats better than dogs and I didn’t even want to think about cleaning up dog crap in the harsh Philly winters.
Even though my lack of coffee was probably partly to blame for my total failure at this, I still scolded myself. Normally, I was faster at figuring stuff out, laying the groundwork for plans, setting goals I could follow through on. And I couldn’t even think of a stupid pretend business to present a freaking twenty-minute project on.
I clicked on my phone again: eight fifteen. Where the hell was he?
Well, if he wasn’t going to show up, then I didn’t give a shit. We’d just do the project on my future oncology practice. My pen flew across one page of my notebook, sketching exam rooms; warm, inviting physician’s’ offices; and a huge waiting room with different areas for different ages. There was a parent station as well, and it would be staffed with any professional they might need to get through a child’s ordeal with cancer. My heart pinged when I thought of how depressing but, at the same time, how rewarding it would be to help families through that.
I’d never seen a practice office like the one in my head. And as the clock swept past 8:25, I couldn’t put my pen down — ideas poured out.
For the first time since I’d started at Temple, I was excited about classwork. For a business class. So weird.
I was so deep in thought that I barely noticed all the students that trickled into the room until they had filled up the row behind me. And then Professor Simon walked in.
Still no Hawk.
What the hell? Anger bubbled up from my stomach, making me wish I could storm out of the building, find him wherever he was in Philly, and strangle him for ditching. Then I’d probably knee him in the balls for making me get to class early to boot. This was the second time he hadn’t kept his promise to meet me for this project. There were only thirteen weeks left in the semester, and if this project was ruined and I failed the class because he insisted on being a slacker, I would totally lose my shit.
Something whirred to a stop in my brain. Was I losing my shit? Like, right now? Was freaking out like this about a stupid gen ed group project crazy?
No. No. This was totally reasonable. Just because my randomly-chosen loser-of-a-partner didn’t give a shit about anything didn’t mean I shouldn’t.
Professor Simon did a quick attendance, and I bristled again when he called out “Hawkins, William,” and there was nothing but silence in response. He lectured on the first few chapters of the textbook we’d been assigned, and I tried to concentrate on the vocabulary terms, but all I could think about was my original idea, making lists for family services, activities for siblings of sick kids, and resources that should be available to them. Twenty minutes later, staring down at my scribbling, I realized the majority of it was notes for the project and not notes from class. Dammit.
While Professor Simon walked back to his desk at the front and started gathering some papers, I turned and scanned the room for the best person to beg notes from. I looked for that cute sweatpants guy first, but he was basically dozing. Most of my classmates were tapping cell phones or staring out the window. I sighed. Looked like I really did have to do everything myself.
Just then, the door flew open. I saw the boots first — you couldn’t help but notice them, with the clomping sound they made against the hard floor in the high-ceilinged room. He made his way to the front of the class in wide strides, taking the same seat he had the first day, right next to me. And the whole time, those ice blue eyes never left mine. Something was different about them, though. His eyebrows furrowed together in an expression that was half-worry, half-apology.
The professor kept talking as if he hadn’t seen Hawk. “Today is the day you get to tell me the ideas you and your partner came up with. I don’t need a full outline or a dissertation today — just the idea and that introduction we talked about. Here’s where I get to have a little fun. After you tell me your topic, you can’t change it. Part of building a business is sticking with your investment and seeing it through.”
Even though I already had the idea, I tried to pack as much rage as possible into my glare, but it wasn’t really possible without words or growling. Or tears. I didn’t give a shit if Hawk looked worried. I was worried, too — about my grades, also known as the basic reason we came to class in the first place. Who did this guy think he was to fuck over my grade because he couldn’t get his shit together? What if I hadn’t been so on top of things? Our project would have been dead in the water.
Professor Simon had already started to run through the pairs of students, calling their names and jotting down their project ideas.
Hawk looked at me and leaned in, opening his mouth and whispering, “I…”
“Shut up,” I hissed.
“Hawkins and Daly?” Professor Simon called.
Hawk touched my arm and a thrill ran through me, so strong that it stopped my breath. “I got this,” he whispered. Before I could stop him, he called out, “Joey and Hawk’s Restaurant and Bar.”
What?
Professor Simon nodded with a look of appreciation. “Bold choice, you two. Simple in theory, but notoriously difficult to get a restaurant off the ground, especially in a town like this. I’ll be interested to see what you do with it. Do you have anything else for me, uh…Hawk?”
Hawk reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a sheet of lined notebook paper, its edge still ragged from where it was torn from the spiral. “I wrote this up. Hope it’s okay.”
Professor Simon grabbed it with his fingertips. “I’m used to getting typed work, but…yes. Yes, this should be fine,” he said, unfolding it.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Hawk had just committed us to a project about which I knew nothing and gave not a single shit. And he apparently didn’t care about actually showing up to work on the project, which he’d displayed twice now.
Fury bled up through my veins until my whole face burned and my hair felt like it would burst into flames. Thank God there was only ten minutes left in class. When it was over, Hawk turned to me, looked into my eyes again, jerked up his chin in a short nod, and said, “See ya.” Then he stood up and was out the door.
“Hey!” I said, shoving my laptop in my bag way too roughly and throwing it over my shoulder. He was at least six inches taller than me, and his wide gait carried him so quickly that I had to dash to catch up with him.
There was a warmer, humid feel to the atmosphere today, so even though my breath still made clouds in the air, stepping outside didn’t stop me in my tracks. I spotted him making his way to that stupid motorbike, which was chained to a tree a few dozen yards away.
Finally, my voice came to me. “Hawk!” I called.
He didn’t turn around.
I planted my feet beneath me and yelled, “William Hawkins!”
He turned and walked slowly back to me, rolling his eyes. He didn’t even try to hide it.
When he finally reached me, he sighed and cut me off before I could speak. Again.
“Look, I’m sorry I was late, okay? But since I’m a grown-up, sometimes I have grown-up things to deal with, and I’m late to class. Nothing I could do.” His tone had a condescending edge that made me feel like I was a little kid and he was my preschool teacher, which only multiplied my rage. “But you should be happy. I gave him the idea, and it’ll be fine.” He turned to go again.
“What exactly will be fine about this, Hawk? You can’t just half-ass your way through life. That divey bar is never gonna make any money, and even if it could, being a stupid cook there isn’t going to give you enough business sense to make it happen.” I had no idea where the words were even coming from, hadn’t ever consciously thought those things before, but now, they spilled out. “Besides, nothing gives you the right to fuck over my grade in a class I actually care about.”
“You? Care about this class? You told me you were only taking it to fill a GEC. I’m the one who actually works. At a business.”
My words ripped out in a scream. “Could you pay attention for one frickin’ second? I care about all my grades. I have to. Med school?” I pointed to myself, only realizing after I did it what a douche I must have looked like. Even though at this point I really didn’t give a shit. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean? I work, too, Hawk.”
He snorted. “Okay, sure. But I actually do care about this class. The whole thing — not just the grade. You’re lucky I even put your name on the project since — ”
“Could have fooled me,” I snarled back. “Maybe if you showed up on time for once I’d believe you.”
Hawk’s face fell, and his eyes grew dark. “Seriously? Some of us have to worry about shit other than classes. Don’t be such a princess.”
“Don’t you start with me. You were the one who signed up for a class this early. Set your damn alarm and come in on time.”
His gaze became hard again. “I was late. Big deal. It wasn’t my fault. Not this time anyway.”
I stared at him, waiting for him to say something more. There was no way I was accepting “it’s not my fault” as an excuse.
His stare was colder than the air eddying around is. “It’s none of your business, but it was family shit, okay? I’ll make sure nothing else disturbs your precious project that you don’t give a shit about except sort of do.” He walked over to his bike and swung one leg over.
“Our project! And your idea! You’d better damn well be planning to be awesome.”
“Please,” he said. “I may be running late, but I’m always awesome.”
I rolled my eyes, and he just stood there, smirking. I pulled out my phone and flicked my gaze to him. “Give me your phone number so this doesn’t happen again.”
He hesitated for a second and then motioned for my phone. After a few taps, he handed it back to me.
Even the way he gave me his phone number was assholish.
“God, I just…whatever. Fine.” I mumbled, taking it from him as I avoided his eyes by shoving it back in my bag. “Since I don’t know what your problem actually is and it’s none of my business, please try getting your shit together just a few minutes before the next time we decide to meet.” I spun on my heel and made it five steps before a huge, freezing raindrop splashed on my head, followed in the next two seconds by a dozen more. And then, before my brain could even process it, nearly-frozen rain was slicing through the air. My thin sweater would be soaked through in barely a minute.
And I didn’t even have an umbrella. Of course this day would get worse. Of course.
“Shit!” I dug in my bag for some paper to shield my head, even though I knew it would be useless.
Hawk revved the bike. “Get on!” he called, his voice breaking up through the noise of rain slamming the ground.
“No, I’m fine!” I shouted, waving him off. Shit. I was already soaked, and I had to be at the hospital to shadow Doctor O’Donnell in forty-five minutes. I’d have to get all the way home to change and take care of my dripping hair and melting makeup first.
In a split second, the bike had rolled up on the sidewalk beside me.
“You can’t just drive on the sidewalk, Hawk!”
“Who’s gonna stop me?”
I just stared, swiping at the rain that was covering my face, numbing it from making any expression.
“Obviously, you need to go home and change before you do anything else,” he continued. “Let me take you.”
He unstrapped the helmet from his head and put it on mine. Rain streaked down over the clear plastic face plate in wildly divergent rivulets. “Come on. You don’t want to be a late loser like me.” He rolled his eyes again. It was like blank-faced and eye-rolling were the only two expressions this guy had.
But he had a point. There was no way I could be late to Doctor O’Donnell’s office. Not after last time. I looked down at my shoes, which were well-soaked by now, and nodded. His white t-shirt was drenched with rain, too, and when he leaned forward to grasp the handlebars, I saw at least six distinct muscles in his back flexing and stretching.
Holy. Shit.
More heat crept into my cheeks, and I focused on steadying my breathing.
“Come on,” he motioned, reaching back and catching my hand. At the moment his warm skin touched mine, I was mesmerized. He had to have been some kind of a magician because I swore that, as hard as I hated this guy, in that moment, I would have agreed to stay on that bike with him for the whole afternoon — our warm bodies touching and being drenched in freezing rain — without a second thought. When he gave my arm a tug — not hard, but gentle, patient — I snapped out of it. I swung one leg over the bike almost automatically. The same thrill of my front pressing up against his back rushed through me, except intensified by the rain, by the urgency, by the anger-fueled words we’d just hurled at each other. I was intensely aware of my crotch pressed against his butt, my breasts smooshed up against his muscled back.
I had to snap out of it or lust for this guy whose head I wanted to tear off would make me fall off the bike.
He flipped up the visor of his helmet and half-turned his head toward me. “Scoot forward.”
When he spoke, shivers rattled through my spine. Probably because it was cold. The rain was freezing, so I shivered. Totally normal.
Then, after one second of me not obeying, he grabbed my arm and pulled me forward, then placed my hand on his stomach.
“Hold on tight,” he said against my ear again. More shivers.
Holy. Hell.
He pulled out onto North Broad Street, and as we cruised through University City, my fingers dug into his abs. I didn’t move them and tried not to feel up what was underneath the thin, short-sleeved shirt he wore, but dear Lord in heaven, it was impossible. My unintentional first-sight suspicions about Hawk were right. Not only was he solid muscle, but those muscles were so clearly defined I probably could have drawn them by touch.
The thoughts hit me before I could stop them — how badly I wanted to scoot the shirt up and run my hands over the ridges of abs just underneath. And when I thought that, pictured his face in my head and where his hands would be traveling on me at the same time, I heated up so much that the cold rain didn’t affect me a single bit.
We couldn’t have been on that bike for more than eight minutes, but it was the hottest eight minutes I’d had in years.
Yeah, that was really sad.
When he pulled up in front of the house and the bike stopped vibrating, I tried to move my legs — and couldn’t. They were too shaky for me to even comprehend stepping down and swinging the opposite leg over. Was it the anger or the rain, the fear I’d be late or simply the closeness to Hawk?
What was this guy doing to me? Clearly, I hated him and wanted to jump him at the same time. Which totally made sense.
Even though I didn’t want my hands to leave Hawk’s stomach, I also didn’t want to add any more complexity to this thing than there already was. So I sat up straight, slowly pulling my hands back. I steadied myself with one hand on the seat behind me and hooked the fingers of the other inside the bottom of the helmet, desperate to have something non-weird to do with them.
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