Dearest Clementine

by Lex Martin

  “I can take her home,” a familiar male voice says.

  “Really?” It’s quiet except for the ringing in my ears from the club. I’m jostled again, and then I hear the jingle of keys. “I’m trusting you not to violate my best friend or run off with her. She’d better not show up on a damn milk carton.”

  “Don’t worry. Drunk girls aren’t my thing.”

  The world shifts as my arm is lifted off one person’s shoulders. Then I’m in the air.

  “You’re pretty light. Hold on, darlin’.”

  * * *

  He smells so good. My nose is up against his neck, which is warm and smooth, and I want to snuggle.

  “I never drink,” I murmur against his skin. When I open my eyes, I realize we’re in my living room, and I’m in Gavin’s arms.

  “Yeah, I can tell. Clementine, which room is yours?”

  I point in what I hope is the right direction. A door opens, and then he’s setting me down on the bed, and my arms are empty. The room tilts, and through my alcohol-induced fog, I realize I liked being held by him.

  “Don’t go. I’m cold. You’re warm, and you smell good.”

  He chuckles as his eyes pass over me. “You sure you want me here? You gave me a serious fuck-off vibe tonight.”

  “I just do that. I’m broken.” I fall back into my bed. He reaches over and pulls off my shoes, and I curl up as he drapes a blanket over me. The room starts to spin.

  “Why do you think you’re broken?”

  I like his voice. It’s so, so sexy.

  “Because I have pieces missing.”

  “Where’d they go?”

  That’s easy. “To BC.”

  He laughs again and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “They ate all the candy off your necklace,” he says softly.

  “That was gross. One guy licked me. Asshole.”

  He’s quiet, and then I hear him groan. “Clem, don’t tell me about guys licking your neck.” It’s funny that he would care. I just met him.

  “You didn’t have any candy.”

  “I wanted some.”

  “Really?” I’m so tired, I can’t help but yawn.

  “Yeah.”

  After a few heartbeats, I realize what I want to tell him. “You know, they weren’t for me.” He’s quiet. He probably hasn’t a clue what I’m talking about. “The condoms were for the fishbowl.”

  “The fishbowl?”

  I want to explain how we have a communal fishbowl of condoms, and Jenna was having a penis emergency, but the words don’t come. All I can do is shiver.

  “I’m cold and the spinning won’t stop,” I say. There’s silence again, and I wonder if he’s left, this beautiful man whom I watched all night, pretending to ignore. But the mattress sinks as he scoots into my narrow bed behind me, pressing his muscular body against my back. He reaches around my waist, and I relax into his warmth and close my eyes.

  “I’m sorry I was an ass earlier,” he whispers into my ear.

  “What do you mean?” He’s right here, but it’s like we’re talking in a dream. Maybe I’m asleep, and I’m dreaming, and for once in my life I can say what I feel.

  “The condoms. I knew they weren’t for you. Every guy on campus knows you don’t date. I was, uh, trying to be funny. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  I don’t know why, but I giggle. “No, I have one gear. It’s bitch mode.”

  “I’ve never heard that before.”

  “That I’m a bitch?”

  “No, your giggle. I like it.”

  The spinning starts to subside. In the darkness, Gavin’s deep breaths are hypnotizing, and the rhythm steadies me.

  “I remember you too.” His mouth is still against my ear, and the heat from his breath makes me shiver again.

  “From Warren Towers?”

  “No.” He fits against me, his broad shoulders pressed against my back and his arms wrapped around mine. This is nice. “Proseminar in Literature, freshman year.”

  I’m still really buzzed, so it takes a while to jog my memory. “That was a long time ago and that class was huge. How do you remember me?”

  He laughs, and his body moves against me. “You probably don’t realize this, but you’re hard to forget.”

  My heart flutters and my breathing hitches, and I hope he doesn’t notice, but based on his small laugh, I’m guessing he does.

  “Clem, don’t worry. You had a lot to drink tonight. You probably won’t remember this conversation tomorrow.”

  I somehow doubt that. But the spinning starts again.

  “Gavin?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If I do, if I do forget, will you remind me?”

  The only answer I get is his arm pulling me closer to him.

  * * *

  When I wake up, my bed is empty, and a pang of disappointment hits me before a wave of nausea. I scramble out to the bathroom, ducking my head into the bowl just in time.

  My head is pounding, and I want to crawl back into bed, but the thought of that disgusting guy at the club licking my neck last night makes me want to bathe with Lysol. I opt instead to take a shower, but I can’t find shit in my room because half of my stuff is still in boxes, so I end up with a towel and a black pair of boy shorts, which will have to do until my hangover subsides long enough to sift through my things.

  The shower is painful. Although it feels good to get clean, I think I might hurl again. I lean against the shower wall, shaking and weak, and let the hot water pelt me until the nausea subsides.

  Did I imagine Gavin staying with me last night?

  Fighting the urge to freak out, I take deep breaths. All the details I know about Gavin tumble around in my head. He’s a great musician and an RA. He helps all those clueless freshmen through their first year in college. He spoons. He smells fucking amazing.

  I roll my eyes at myself.

  I shouldn’t let myself think about him. I can’t get shattered like that again.

  Stepping out of the shower, I pull on my undies and dry my long hair before I wrap the towel around my chest. I wipe off the condensation and stare at my reflection. I look like shit. My eyes are bloodshot, and my skin looks sallow. I take a minute to remove the makeup that’s turned me into a raccoon before I open the door to go back to my room.

  Suddenly, I’m tripping over something hard. I wince at the sharp pain in my foot. That’s when I look up to see three guys sitting on the couch, staring at me, in time for my towel to fall. But I’m frozen, my heart pounding in my chest as my head acknowledges that I’m okay. Just half naked.

  I growl. “Who the hell put a fucking skateboard in front of a door? Are you trying to kill someone?” They’re still staring at me as I grab my towel and throw it over my shoulder. Storming off back to my room, I yell, “What? It’s not like you’ve never seen boobs before. Get over it.”

  I slam my door, escalating the pounding in my head.

  It’s almost noon. Good God, I can’t believe I have to go to work today. What was I thinking? Shuffling boxes around my small room, I finally find some clothes, so I grab jeans and a t-shirt.

  I hear Ryan through the walls. “Baby, don’t get mad, but we saw Clem naked.”

  “She wasn’t naked,” another voice says. “Well, not entirely.”

  Who was out there? Ryan, Kade, and… Gavin. Fuck.

  A few minutes later, someone taps on my bedroom door.

  “Clem, honey, it’s me. Can I come in?” Jenna asks, her Southern drawl lengthening around the vowels. The door creeks open, and she pokes her head in. I’m half dressed as she surveys the mess of boxes and steps closer. “Are you okay?”

  I press my palm to my forehead. “Sorry I flashed your boyfriend.”

  She laughs softly, shutting the door behind her. “That’s okay. I’m sure you fulfilled one of his fantasies just now.” Jenna is so used to the groupies at his shows, nothing fazes her anymore. The only thing she cares about is that he goes home with her. “Can I get you some Adv
il or something?”

  I nod, choking on what I want to say.

  “Did, uh, did Gavin stay here last night?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

  “Yeah, honey. But he swears he was a gentleman. I think he saw more when you walked out of the bathroom a minute ago than he did all night.” She’s laughing, and my head pounds harder, which I’m guessing is because I’m blushing a deep shade of red. “He’s been really sweet. He carried you two blocks last night and tucked you in bed, and this morning he brought you some breakfast.”

  My heart constricts. She must see the look on my face.

  “Hey,” she says, reaching over and hugging me, “don’t make this something it isn’t. He’s a great guy, and he must like you, but I don’t think he’s going to stalk you or anything crazy.”

  “That’s not it.” The sound of blood beats wildly in my ears.

  “Can I give you some advice?” Her face is full of concern. “Don’t blow him off. I know you’re afraid to get close to anyone, but I think he’s a catch, and good golly, he’s pretty. He couldn’t take his eyes off you all evening even though you were giving him your famous cold shoulder.”

  I press my face into my hand. “I was such a bitch to him last night. Why he’d want to have anything to do with me is—”

  “How can you say that? You’re a gorgeous woman and a brilliant writer. Don’t be so down on yourself. Look, get dressed, and come out and have breakfast with us. I swear the guys won’t give you shit about seeing you naked.”

  Jenna looks like she’s ready to go out there and threaten their lives if they turn her into a liar. I crack a smile.

  “Hey, I’ve been meaning to thank you for the party. You outdid yourself. Did Jax get home okay?”

  She smirks. “Yeah, some model in a cherry-red Mustang picked him up from the club. I think a photo of it got posted on a gossip website.”

  I roll my eyes. “Sounds like my brother.”

  Ten minutes later, when I walk into the living room, everyone stops talking. I planned to be social and eat with my friends, but I can’t. My heart is pounding, and I’m breaking out into a cold sweat. My hands tremble at my side, from the alcohol or nerves, I’m not sure which.

  “I have to go to work,” is all I can muster before Ryan jumps off the couch and grabs me in a giant bear hug.

  “Sorry my stuff tripped you, and you flashed us your goodies, but damn, girl, you’re hot. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  I lean back and look him in the eye. “Are you always such a pig?”

  “Why, yes, yes, I am.” He grins, placing a small peck on my cheek. “And why the fuck am I just now learning that you sing? Jesus Christ, you have some pipes.”

  “Thanks. That’s nice of you to say. And thank you for the party. I had a really good time.”

  “Watching those guys fall over themselves to eat food off your body was more than worth it. How many asked you out?”

  I shrug. Who counts that kind of shit?

  “Please tell me you have at least a dozen dates now.” He grabs my shoulders and starts to shake me, which makes me groan. Does he have any idea what he’s doing to my hangover?

  “C’mon, Ryan, you know me better than that.” I glance over at Gavin.

  “You didn’t give out your number?” Ryan asks incredulously. I shake my head. “To anyone?”

  “Why would I do a thing like that?” I say, grabbing my jacket. My heart is pounding. I need to get out of here. Now.

  As I reach the door, I hear footsteps behind me.

  “Wait up, Clem,” Gavin says. “I’ll walk you out.”

  * * *

  Each step I take reflects the throbbing in my temple.

  “Here, drink this,” Gavin says as he catches up to me in the stairwell. He hands me a green beverage.

  I eye it skeptically. “I’m pretty sure I threw this up about an hour ago.”

  He laughs, unleashing one of those megawatt smiles, and it ripples through me like a tidal wave. “Trust me, it’ll help the nausea.” God, he has beautiful eyes. They’re green, the color of a dark forest, and rimmed with thick lashes.

  Snap out of it, Clem.

  “Trust you, huh?” I nibble on my lip before I lean in and sniff. It smells fruity, so I take a small sip, and it tastes like apples with the slightest hint of ginger.

  “Okay, this isn’t bad.”

  Gavin’s lips tug up further.

  His hair is still damp from a shower, and he smells like soap. The morning stubble on his face gives his boyish smile an edge. I find myself thinking about rubbing that face against me to feel that roughness against my skin.

  Oh, fuck, I need to get away from him.

  I turn and start down the stairs again, and I hear his steps behind me.

  Did he go home, shower and come back? I know he only lives a block away at the dorms, but still. He went through too much trouble.

  “Did, uh, did you really carry me home from the club?” I ask, pausing to see his response.

  He looks away a second before he shrugs. “Maybe.”

  Shit. I don’t know what to do with him. He’s all kinds of sexy and sweet, and I desperately want to pull away and hide before we can ever get close. He didn’t even try to grope me last night, I think, and I was barely wearing anything in Jenna’s sluttacular dress.

  I start to turn, and he touches my arm to stop me.

  “I have a proposal, Clem.” He sounds all businesslike, which makes me wonder what his major is. I really don’t know that much about him except that he carries dumb drunk girls home and doesn’t have roaming hands.

  I tilt my head, curious about this proposal.

  Gavin tucks his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie. “How about we go climbing on Friday at the gym and maybe grab a bite after? But just as friends because I know you don’t date.”

  I almost laugh at the tone of his voice. He might be saying just friends, but that’s not how he’s looking at me right now.

  “How do you know I climb?” BU has one of the best fitness facilities in the country, complete with one badass climbing wall that I do a couple of times a week.

  He smiles again as his eyes pass over my body, sending another shiver down my back.

  “You’re in amazing shape, and I’d venture to say that’s where you got those killer abs.”

  My face flushes at the memory of exactly how he saw my abs this morning, and my defenses flare up.

  This is too much. He’s too much. I’m going to get hurt.

  But I don’t want to be rude. I know I’m not myself when I’m thinking about letting a guy down easily.

  “Can I think about it?”

  He seems unfazed and nods.

  “Sure, call me when you decide,” he says as he starts walking back up to my apartment.

  “I don’t have your number,” I blurt out.

  Wait. Why would I point that out?

  “Yeah, you do. Check your phone,” he says with a grin as he disappears up the stairs.

  * * *

  Gavin Murphy programmed his number into my phone. I’m sitting at work, wondering if I should be totally flattered or freaked.

  I reach for my cell and text him before I take a second to consider whether I should be communicating with him at all.

  Me: How did you know that I’d want your number? A little presumptuous, no?

  He texts me back a minute later: How could you not? I’m a great snuggler, remember? And I didn’t grope you in bed even though I really wanted to.

  Me: Doesn’t mean you’re not a perv.

  Gavin: I’m most definitely a perv, baby.

  I laugh, shaking my head as the evening crew walks in. One of the guys says, “Hey, Clem, that’s quite a smile. Someone is in a good mood today.”

  I shake off my stupid grin and stare down the little sophomore, whose face falls.

  “You’re late.”

  -

  5 -

  When my professor talks about sex, she sou
nds like she’s purring, but since she’s French, I attribute her quasi-animalistic tones to her European roots.

  “You must dig deep,” Professor Marceaux says as she paces the front of the classroom. “You must get to the core of what makes relationships bloom, what makes them falter, what destroys them.”

  Cheating. Cheating destroys relationships. Blow jobs from other girls also fall under this category. I blink, and I see an image of Daren, the one that’s haunted me for years, where his face is contorted in a mixture of pleasure and pain from whatever Veronica is doing to him.

  Marceaux taps the podium.

  “First loves are at the core of many romance novels, so you can use your experiences, however wondrous and exciting and painful, as fodder for your manuscripts. The reader should experience the blooming of this relationship with all of its awkwardness and lust and possibly shame. You Americans seem determined to feel guilty about having sex, so explore this aspect if it’s been a part of your experience. I want this to be authentic, and as this is a senior writing course, I’m sure you all have adequate personal examples from which to draw.”

  My experience? Oh, fuck me now.

  Jenna nudges me and smiles.

  “It’ll be okay,” she whispers.

  Marceaux pauses when she reaches the end of the room and stares out the window. “Your semester-long assignment is to write a thirty-thousand-word novella. I want to see a fifteen-page scene by next week, starting with the first time your lovers meet. Show me their attraction, why they can’t stay away from one another, and what is keeping them apart.” She adjusts her glasses before she turns back to the class. “We’ll separate into writing groups to critique. By the way, I can smell bullshit, so don’t attempt to pawn off some dime-store romance on me. I want authentic relationships, ladies and gentlemen!”

  * * *

  When Harper joins me for lunch in the student union, her brows quirk up and crinkle as her watchful eyes appraise me.

  “You look upset.” She takes a bite of her sandwich and lets the silence settle.

  We’ve always met here. I’d be having panic attacks over how I was going to pay for school or the fact that I thought my professor was a creeper, and Harper and I would curl up here, hidden behind the decorative planter box, and she’d talk me off the ledge. Thank God she’s a psych major.