by Shelia Grace
But that wasn’t what I wanted.
Now that I had committed myself to plunging headlong into the dark side, I wanted everything. The thought of a quick fuck—on the couch, in the hallway, on the kitchen counter, in the bedroom—didn’t appeal to me now. I wanted her to surrender, one small step at a time. I leaned forward, brushing her ear with my lips.
“I can be a very patient teacher.”
I lifted her off my lap and steadied her when she wobbled. Grabbing her jacket, I helped her put it on and slipped her phone in the pocket before zipping it. Then I took her hand and led her out of the house to the car, where I had already stashed the dress and shoes after Gretchen’s little meltdown, knowing there had been a good chance she would have taken a pair of scissors to them.
Alex looked from the bike to the car but didn’t say anything as I opened the door for her. Neither one of us spoke on the drive back to her dorm, but in my peripheral vision, I saw her glance over at me a handful of times. I parked and opened her door before going back for the garment bag and shoebox.
“What are those?”
“I told you I had something to give you.”
She nodded but didn’t say anything as we walked toward Mercer. Watching as she slid her card in the reader, I held open the door for her and then followed her up the stairs to the third floor landing. When she opened the door and turned on the light, I saw a Pringles container on the floor, the remnants of chips scattered across the room.
“Your roommate is a fucking slob,” I said, stating the obvious.
“Oh, so you noticed?” Alex laughed.
I took out my phone.
“Give me your number.”
She rattled off a number with an L.A. area code.
“I’ll see you Tuesday,” I said quietly.
I wanted to bring her back to the house. I wanted to hear her cry out my name as I watched her come. Which is why I turned and left without touching her. I needed her to have the weekend to think about my question, and if she ran away again, then I’d know.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
Chapter 11
Alex
I stared at the dress lying on the bed. It was short, black, and backless. In senior year of high school, I had gone to prom with Rachel and a couple of other girls, but my dress hadn’t looked like this. This dress looked like it was straight out of a fashion magazine, not that I spent a lot of time looking at many. I figured spending a lot of time reading magazines might actually lower my IQ, which was something I couldn’t afford while I was trying to pass Calculus.
I checked the tag. Becca Gray. I had never heard of the brand, but even I could tell the dress was expensive. With shaking hands, I stripped out of my clothes and slipped it over my head, tying it loosely at the neck. Then I opened up the shoebox and stared down at the spiky black heels. Holding the side of the bed, I slipped one heel on and then the other. I walked over to the mirror, feeling like a colt trying to stand up for the first time. As soon as I saw my reflection, I laughed.
“Holy shit.”
The lace at the bottom of the dress barely covered my mid-thigh, and the dress was low-cut in the front and the back. I jumped when someone pounded on the door and then hobbled over to look through the peephole. Relaxing when I saw Julie, I opened the door and cringed when she shrieked.
“Fuck! Look at you, you badass ho!”
“Shh!”
I pressed my finger to my lips and grabbed her hand, dragging her into the room.
“Hot! Are you wearing a bra?” Julie asked as soon as I shut the door.
I looked down and smirked. The silicone adhesive bra that I had worn with my prom dress was the one luxury item I had slipped past my mom, who remained steadfastly convinced that college kids wore nothing but jeans.
“Yeah, it’s one of those sticky ones.”
“And? Where’d you get the fucking dress?
“He … gave it to me.”
“He? He? You mean the twenty-eight-year-old TA who wants to fuck my friend? That he?”
I rolled my eyes at her.
“Yes, Julie. That he.”
“And he just gave you a nine-hundred-fucking-dollar dress?”
I stared at her with my mouth gaping open.
“What do you mean nine hundred dollars?”
“Did you think that dress came from fucking Ross? That shop is super-fucking expensive.”
“You know it?”
“Yeah, it’s out in wine country about an hour from my parents’. My mom got a dress from there last year. She nearly breathed fire when I asked if I could borrow it.”
“Fucking fantastic. I had no idea. He just dropped me off with it like he had picked it up at Target. Shit. I have to give it back.”
“Like fuck you do! This guy clearly wants you as bad as you want him to de-virginize you.”
“Julie!”
“Look at you turning into a total priss now that some hot guy wants to bang you!”
She was right. Normally I’d be cracking up and totally out-crassing Julie. Not tonight, though. Not when I couldn’t even think straight.
“Can you help me?”
She came over and together we carefully pulled the dress over my head like we were disarming a nuclear device. I hung it up in the very back of the closet and hoped that Brit would stay out of my shit for once. Then I put my jeans and sweater back on and climbed onto the bed next to Julie, who was eyeballing me.
“So? What’s the dress for?” she asked suspiciously.
“He asked me to go to some event with him. Weird, huh?”
“No, not weird. He clearly wants to get it on. Does he know you’ve never actually—”
I nodded, and part of me wanted to tell her what he had said earlier—what he had asked me. But I couldn’t do it. Just thinking about it made my entire body go weak.
I want you to tell me if you’re ready.
The memory of his voice made me shiver as I put the shoes back in the box. Julie hopped down from the bed and sat at my desk where she opened my laptop.
“What’s Professor Hot’s name?”
I bit my lip.
“Why?” I asked nervously.
“Because I’m looking him up on the math department’s page.”
“Ryan Ben—I mean, Ryan Matthews.”
She clicked on the page with pictures of the math department’s faculty and staff.
“Oh, Alex. You are so out of your league,” she mumbled without a trace of humor.
Looking over her shoulder at Ryan’s headshot, I felt my stomach tighten. Goddamn he was hot.
“Yeah, I know.”
“So?” Julie said. “Fuck it. I say go for it. Does he seem like he’d be good in bed?”
“How would I know?” I laughed.
My cheeks were burning, partly out of embarrassment, but also because I had just lied to my friend. I was absolutely positive that Ryan Bennett was good in bed, which only reminded me that I knew nothing about sex.
I can be a very patient teacher.
I swallowed and poked Julie in the side.
“Was Chris at the frat party?”
“For like two seconds,” she moaned.
“And did you tell him you wanted to fuck him?” I laughed, enjoying the chance to get back at her.
“Well, unfortunately he’s not trying to hump my leg, unlike like your TA, who apparently has a hard-on the size of California for you …”
She got up, leaving the staff page for the mathematics department open on my computer. I couldn’t help staring at Ryan’s picture. I hadn’t even thought to look online for it. Less than an hour ago, I had been sitting in his lap wishing he wouldn’t stop touching me. I shook my head and turned back to Julie.
“You think your roommate would mind if we moved Brit’s stuff into your room tonight, and you came to live with me?”
“I actually kind of asked her about it already.”
“You did? Then how come you’re not fucking li
ving here already?”
Julie raised an eyebrow.
“Get this. I don’t think Miranda likes Brit so much.”
“What? Aren’t they, like, sorority sisters forever?”
Julie made a gagging noise, and I sighed.
“I guess I’m stuck then.”
“Or you could call Teacher Man back over here and have him carry you back to his castle on a white horse.”
I smiled and shook my head.
“Black Audi, actually.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“And a motorcycle.”
“And you’re sure he’s a TA and not James Bond?”
I shrugged, not wanting to expose his double identity as the heir to some wine fortune.
“Well, personally I think you should have spent the night at his place instead of coming back here,” Julie added.
“No way. Tonight I’m putting a sock on the door and locking Brit out. Maybe she’ll think twice about keeping some asshole in here all night next time.”
Julie got off the bed, and I followed her to the door.
“What do you have going on tomorrow?” I asked.
She frowned.
“Work. And what—or whom—are you doing tomorrow?” she asked suggestively.
“I’m going to go back over to the paper to see if I can get another assignment.”
“You got the job?”
“Yeah. I don’t think they were being too picky.”
“That’s awesome!”
“Doesn’t pay as much as your job, but it might be good experience.”
Julie worked a couple of shifts a week at a bed and breakfast just off campus. A lot of parents stayed there when they visited, but so far mine hadn’t. Mom said she couldn’t afford to leave my little sister Stephie alone for a weekend—like Stephen wasn’t capable of shuttling Stephie over to friends’ houses for a couple of days with Mom gone. Stephie was like Mom—a social butterfly. She always had somewhere to be. I figured maybe I had gotten my father’s genes, including introversion and a penchant for drinking. I was hoping to skip the second part.
“Well, why do you need money when you could be a kept woman?” Julie asked opening the door.
“Don’t joke.”
She shrugged.
“Hey, don’t knock it ’til you try it.”
I rolled my eyes and closed the door after she walked out. Changing into a T-shirt and shorts, I went down the hall to brush my teeth, and when I got back to the room, I made sure the door was locked before climbing into bed. I closed my eyes, but sleep was impossible. Over and over, I kept replaying the time at Ryan’s house in my head—and not just the part where we were making out.
It was weird. I was insanely attracted to him, but he was also the first person—other than Julie—to ask anything about my life. He had listened to me, and I liked talking to him.
I can be a very patient teacher.
I shivered thinking of the way he had said it. There was just one problem: I didn’t know if I was ready.
In the morning, I got up and saw that Brit’s bed was still empty. Changing into workout pants and a long-sleeved shirt, I decided a run around the dorms might clear my head. Unfortunately, by the time I stepped outside into the cold rain and started jogging, I sort of wished that I had applied to colleges back home where there was, gasp, sunshine.
On the other hand, I had bigger, broader shouldered problems to worry about than Northern California’s weather. Sucking in a ragged breath, I tried to think things over rationally. I knew I should run like hell from Ryan Bennett, mostly because I was going to get hurt. Really there was no way around it. He was ten years older, and—like Julie had said—way, way out of my league. Eventually, he would get bored of me. Or finish his graduate program and move to who-knows-where. Or get together with someone like the blonde-highlights chick I saw at his house. Or … the list just went on and on. Still, knowing this in advance didn’t make the reality of it hurt any less.
I really liked him. And I knew I shouldn’t.
I finished my run and stretched out in the room before collecting my stuff to shower. Then I went down the hall—in my flip-flops—and prayed fervently that the bathroom would be halfway decent, unlike the time a few weeks ago when some asshole from the second floor had gone into the girls’ bathroom and taken a shit in one of the shower stalls and then bragged about it in the DC. Of course, no one had reported him. I felt a sudden longing for Ryan’s shower … and Ryan. I had dreamed about him all night long, which was kind of embarrassing, even if I was the only one who knew about it.
After getting dressed, I walked across campus to the paper, but the only article my editor had was one that nobody else wanted. Something about the POS system in the Student Union. I took it anyway and spent the rest of the weekend doing homework and looking up stuff on the Internet about point of sale systems, which was enough to put me in a coma.
Monday was Creative Writing—still no stalker—and French. It also was my unofficial day to call home. Fall quarter I had called Mom every day. Then, after a while, it had gotten kind of depressing to see how easily I had been sectioned out of my family’s life. Mom mostly talked about Stephie’s latest achievements, and then Stephen would ask a few questions before passing the phone back to Mom, who would end the conversation by asking how I was doing “on the road to becoming Dr. Reed.” I had already decided that I would have that conversation with Mom when I officially flunked Calculus.
Scrolling to Mom’s number, I got her voicemail. I left a short, cheerful message that said I was studying hard. I didn’t mentioned getting stalked or being carried out of frat parties by hot TAs.
By Tuesday afternoon, the only thing keeping me awake in Chemistry was the fact that in a few short hours I would be sitting in Calculus trying to work up the nerve to tell Ryan Bennett that I couldn’t see him anymore. The only thing complicating my plan was that I couldn’t figure out how to return the dress and shoes without it turning into an epic fucking disaster.
My plan for the moment was to just come right out and say it after class: I can’t do this. Then, for the rest of the quarter, I would walk back to the dorm with Tony. Yeah, it had been a little awkward walking with Tony after class last time. Tony was one of those people who acted friendly, but then there was this weird undercurrent of desperation anytime he would put his head on my shoulder. The good thing was that he did this to all the girls in the dorm who would let him, so I wasn’t worried about it. It was just … awkward.
Tonight, though, I would just pretend I had an escort back to Mercer. Besides, what was Ryan going to do, anyway? Follow me? Just to be on the safe side, though, I got to class at the last possible second and slid into the seat that Tony had saved for me. Part of me felt a little bad, but it wasn’t like I was leading Tony on. Please. I had watched him mentally strip-searching the entire female half of our floor, and I could say confidently that I barely registered on his radar. Because apparently the only male radars I did register on were those of sociopaths and hot, way age-inappropriate TAs.
Halfway through lecture, I was aching, my entire body tense from actively avoiding looking at Ryan. Despite watching Professor Robertson like my life depended on it, all of my attention was focused on Ryan—and not looking at him. As the seconds ticked by, I could feel his eyes burning into me, and I knew if I looked at him, I would lose my nerve.
Stop fucking staring at me! I thought desperately.
I told myself over and over that I was preventing a disaster by avoiding him, but by the time Professor Robertson finished pontificating, it took all my willpower not to hand my homework assignment over to Tony so that I could run for the back exit. I didn’t, though. I told Tony I was going to the library, and then got in line to turn in my homework and tell Ryan that I wasn’t ready … for anything.
Slowly, painfully, I approached the spot where he was standing. I wanted to make some sort of joke about all the problems on my homework being wrong, but when I fi
nally reached him, I was catatonic. I could barely even get my fingers to work. The last time I could remember being so speechless was in fifth grade when Mom forced me to audition for the school play—when I had just stood there, staring stupidly, before running off stage.
His eyes cut through me, like he could hear exactly what I was thinking. I handed him the paper and then walked straight out the door, trying not to cry like an idiot as I walked. I wasn’t even sure if I was headed in the right direction. A few minutes later, when I heard footsteps behind me, I stopped, but I didn’t turn around.
Ryan walked around and stopped in front of me. It took a few seconds, but I finally worked up the nerve to look up at him. Then I regretted it. His features were deadly serious, and I realized that I already missed the way his mouth would curl up in a half smile anytime I said something snarky. I bit my lip, knowing that if I bit it any harder, I would taste blood. Feeling like I was being strangled, I opened my mouth and forced the words out.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“Why?” he asked in a tone as serious as the look on his face.
“Because.”
I felt a tear leak from the corner of my eye and swiped at it.
“Not good enough.”
I was suddenly enraged, which gave me energy.
“What do you mean not good enough?” I snapped. “Fuck you. I’ll decide whatever I want.”
“Alex, just tell me why, and I’ll walk away.”
I shook my head and looked down, afraid to say anything else. I had a million fucking reasons, but the only one I could think of right now was the worst.
“Because I think I’m falling in love with you,” I blurted.
I recognized the absolute ridiculousness of this statement. I barely fucking knew Ryan Bennett. But the way I figured it, if I was about to burn the whole thing down, then I might as well go out in a blaze of glory—and his silence told me everything I needed to know.
It was better to hurt now, I told myself. Because if I had hidden my feelings and waited a day, a week, a month, then it would have been a million times worse. I turned and started walking, stunned by how empty my chest felt. When a pair of hands clamped down on my shoulders, I wanted to break free and run.
