This year, though, since I had my own private room within the suite, I might have a little more flexibility. However, the thought of bringing men here—it made me feel slightly nauseated. I wasn’t going to do it. I’d stick to my routine—fuck away from home.
I knew tonight would be the perfect time to jump back onto the horse, so to speak. I should go find a guy and let him help me forget whatever it was I feeling about Eli Tucker. It would mean nothing, but then, it never did.
For some reason, I didn’t move. I stood at the window, staring through the glass, until twilight turned to darkness, hiding the outside world from my eyes.
And then I went to bed, alone.
One of the best parts of having completed my associates’ degree before high school graduation was that almost all of my classes at Birch were upper level courses, with juniors and seniors. After this year, I’d be in some graduate level classes, too. The work was hard and demanding, but it was a hell of a lot better than dealing with huge classrooms filled with clueless eighteen- and nineteen-year olds. I appreciated the level of our discussions and how seriously my fellow students took the coursework.
I stuck mostly to courses within my major, which meant that the majority were agriculture, science and business. But every now and then, I had space and time for something a little more fun, something that let me fulfill the elective requirement without bogging myself down with busy work. This semester, I was taking an upper-level English course on Shakespeare, and I was honestly more excited about it than I’d expected.
Some of that excitement morphed to shock when I walked into the classroom on the first day and spied a wheelchair in the first row. I didn’t need to see his face to recognize that Eli Tucker was occupying the chair.
For a moment, I vacillated, seriously considering whether I should just drop the course now. The idea of seeing Eli on a regular basis made me unreasonably nervous, and since I hated any feeling of being out of control, I was also annoyed with myself for letting him get to me.
That was the deciding factor in the end. I’d let Eli Tucker affect too much of my life already, and damned if I was going to allow him to ruin this class for me. I’d sit on the other side of the room and pretend he didn’t exist. God knew I’d gotten good at that. If I didn’t meet his eyes and if I simply ignored him, I could get through this. And then after a while, it wouldn’t even bother me that he was in the room. He’d be part of the setting, like a chair or a table.
But before I could put this plan into action, Eli turned his head, as if he’d felt the weight of my eyes on his back. His expression brightened, and he smiled, almost as though he was glad to see me.
“Zelda.” His deep voice reverberated within me, and to my irritation, I felt my knees go a bit weak. Damn him. He wasn’t supposed to make me feel this way. I needed to get the hell over this. Over him.
“Hey.” I forced my feet to move forward. My lips curved into what I hoped was a decent approximation of a cool smile, making me seem remote and uninterested.
Apparently, I failed, or Eli was just not picking up on my leave-me-be vibes, because he pointed to the empty seat next to his desk.
“Want to join me? Or are you not a first-row kind of student?” One of his eyebrows cocked upwards. “I never used to be, until the choice was taken away from me.” He patted the arm of his wheelchair. “All the accessible desks are in the front. I guess they must stereotype people in wheelchairs and assume we’re not interested in sitting in the back, where we could get into trouble.” He winked at me.
I hesitated. If I refused to sit next to Eli, it would not only make me look petty and churlish, it might seem as though I was afraid—either of him or how he made me feel. It wasn’t like there was anyone else I knew in the room. I couldn’t beg off in favor of sitting with a friend.
I remembered, too, what Eli had told me last spring—how girls seemed to shy away from him now that he was . . . what was the politically correct word? Disabled? Handicapped? Wheelchair bound? Whatever it might be, despite our history, I couldn’t bear the idea of him sitting up here alone.
With a small sigh, I looped the strap of my purse over the back of the chair next to him and skirted the front of the desk to sit down.
“I have no issues with sitting in the front row.” I answered his question finally, stretching my legs out under the desk. “In some of the bigger classes, I actually prefer it. Fewer distractions and more attention from the professor. But in one this size . . .” I shifted and glanced around the room. There were probably ten or twelve other students in here. “That shouldn’t be much of a problem.”
His eyes twinkled at me, and I realized with a start that there was something different about him. The tightness of his jaw had given way to a more relaxed expression, and the lines around his eyes had vanished. The air of stay the hell away seemed to have disappeared, too. I wondered what had changed. Had he met someone? Was he dating a girl? Quinn and Gia hadn’t mentioned anything this morning when they told me about their visit with the boys, as they referred to Nate and Eli, but then again, I hadn’t asked, either.
“You’re an enigma, Zelda Porter.” He regarded me steadily, curiosity evident. “You come across like a girl who’s always down for a good time, a party girl, but Quinn says you’re a genius. And what you just said sounded like someone who takes her classes very seriously.”
“Of course, I do,” I returned swiftly. “Only an idiot would treat college like a party. I’m here to learn. To get my degree and graduate with honors so I can have my pick of jobs afterward. Otherwise, what’s the point?” I lifted one shoulder. “The fact that I don’t blow off classes doesn’t mean that I can’t have a good time once my work’s done. What they say about all work and no play is true, you know. I just happen to be really good at finding . . .” I paused. “Balance. I know when to say enough with the fun, and I know when I’m burying myself in work. I try never to let one become more than the other.”
Eli studied my face. “Like I said, you’re an enigma. Or you’re just very good at hiding who you really are.”
I felt a faint blush crawl up my neck. “I just told you, I’m smart about how I do things. That doesn’t make me a mystery.”
“But it’s more than that.” He tapped one finger. “You want people to think you’re a wild child, but even from the little bit I know about you, I can tell that control is important. That whole idea of balance is more about controlling the ratio of fun with hard work. You like setting boundaries.”
For a moment, I was silent, taken aback by how eerily well this dude read me. He saw things that no one else had noticed, and it was more than a little unnerving. He wasn’t wrong that I liked control—and part of that was managing how people viewed me. I didn’t mind that most of the world saw me as a slut, if that was what they chose to call me. It didn’t bother me that girls as a group hated me for how I looked and for my willingness to have strings-free sex. I had intentionally contrived that image, that persona, and very few people were allowed to see something more.
Eli Tucker was not on the short list of those I wanted to see the real Zelda. Once upon a time, I’d let him in, and he’d proven to be untrustworthy. I didn’t plan to make that mistake again.
“You don’t know as much as you think you do,” I blurted out. “You see pieces and believe you see the whole.” Lowering my voice and leaning toward him, I added, “Just because I sucked your cock and gave you an incredible orgasm doesn’t give you the right to the secrets of my soul, Eli. You’ll never earn that.”
He jerked back, probably a little surprised by the vehemence of my words. But before he could formulate a response, the professor came in and class began.
I sat with my hands clenched in my lap and my gaze straight ahead, but I was acutely aware of Eli next to me. I felt every time he shifted in his chair, every breath he took and every movement of his pencil against the notebook. My skin was hot, prickling as though he was actually touching me.
Paying
attention to the teacher took more concentration than I had. I took notes on autopilot, grateful that most of what she seemed to be covering was review or classroom procedure and that she’d already emailed us the syllabus. I could figure everything out after I was safely back in my room.
As the minutes ticked by, I watched the clock, ready to bolt the minute class ended. I wanted to get as far away from Eli as I could, as fast as I could.
“All right, I think that’s all I have for you today.” The professor beamed at us. “I’m looking forward to this semester. I hope you are, too. See you next time.” She nodded and turned away from us, flipping through pages on the podium.
I twisted to reach for my handbag, but before I could stand up, I felt Eli’s hand on my arm.
“Zelda, I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere and a little . . . worried? I wasn’t sure. “I don’t know exactly what I said or did, but I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t.” Lying came easily this time. “How could you? We’ve already established that you don’t know me, so anything you say means nothing.”
“I thought maybe we’d gotten to know each other a little better last May.” His fingers curled on my arm, almost gripping me but not quite. It was more of a caress, and I hated my traitorous body for liking the feel of his touch. “And when I say that, I’m not talking about the blow job. I meant when we were talking. Watching St. Elsewhere.”
“It was one evening together. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that me being friendly changes things between us.”
Eli’s eyes narrowed. “Between us? What is there between us to change? Other than the fact that you clearly still don’t like me. I don’t understand it, Zelda.”
“There’s nothing to understand.” With great effort, I shook off his hand and stood up.
“Listen.” He unlocked his chair and maneuvered around the desk, blocking my path to the door. “You have every right to take a dislike to me, if that’s just what it is. But I did hear what you said that night. I spent a lot of time this summer thinking about it, if you want the truth. Thinking about it and about you.”
I hated that what he’d just said sent a gush of warmth through me. “That was wasted time. I’m not worth your thoughts. And whatever it was I said . . .” I waved one hand. “It was probably just to get out of the room after I blew you. Don’t make it a bigger deal than it was, Eli. That was one night—and one blow job. I’ve done quite a few since then.”
I hadn’t, actually. The sad truth was that despite the multiple partners I’d had while home in Pennsylvania, my sex life over the summer had been relatively tame compared with what it used to be. I’d chalked that up to wanting to spend time with my family, but deep down, I knew it was more than that. Sex had begun to feel boring. It was becoming rote and routine.
Not that I was planning to share that little tidbit with Eli Tucker.
If I’d expected him to be repulsed by my claims of promiscuity, I’d have been disappointed. He only grinned. “Good for you. I’d love to say that I’ve gotten quite a few since then, but I’d be lying. What you did for me remains the highlight of my post-accident sex life.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s just sad, Eli. Now that you’ve taken my pep talk to heart and dropped the snarly persona, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of women dying to help you out with that this year.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But remember what I told you about being an asshole before? One thing I decided this summer was that I want to find out if I can be a decent guy all around. I want to see if I can actually stop being—what did you say? Snarly? If I can stop being snarly and still avoid being a dick. I don’t want to bag girls anymore. If I have sex, I want it to mean something.” He lifted his gaze to me, his eyes drilling way too deep for my comfort.
“That’s . . .” I began, my voice wavering. “That’s a lovely sentiment. Good luck.” I made to go around him. “I need to go now.”
“Wait a sec.” He beat me to the door with ease. “Are you going to another class?”
I wished I could say yes, but lying wasn’t going to help me. “No. I’m heading to lunch.”
“Cool. Me, too.” He glanced up at me. “Think we could possibly share a table without coming to blows?”
“I’m sure we could, but what’s the point, Eli?” I stepped onto the brick pathway that led to the student life center. “Are you looking for a new bestie? ‘Cause it isn’t going to be me. Sorry. I’m not looking for a new friend.”
“Ouch.” He didn’t sound so much hurt as amused. “The point would be that I’d be out in the world and I wouldn’t have to eat alone. And neither would you. You can ignore me the whole time if it makes you feel any better.”
I heaved a long breath. “Fine. But only if you understand this is a one-shot deal. Just because we have a class together doesn’t mean I’m making it a habit to eat with you every day. Got it?”
There was more than a little humor in his voice as he sketched a cross over his heart. “Promise. I have zero expectations, Zelda. Just today.”
The café was crowded as it usually was around this time of day, but I was impressed with how deftly Eli managed to get around, never running into anyone or dropping his tray of food. He actually nabbed us a table before I even finished paying for my meal.
“How did you get here so fast?” I slid my tray onto the table and dragged out a chair. “This place is a madhouse. I nearly took out two people just trying to get to the cooler for my water bottle.”
Eli chuckled. “One of the few upsides of my chair. People tend to make way for me. Either that, or it’s my natural charm exuding all over the place.”
I snorted. “I’d stick with the wheelchair reason if I were you. It’s important to see the truth.”
“Exactly.” He lifted his burger and took a healthy bite, chewing and swallowing before he spoke again. “I was disappointed that you didn’t come down last night with Quinn and Gia. I thought you might.”
“Did you?” I chugged my water. “Sorry. I was . . . busy.”
“You went out?” He kept his voice carefully even. I guessed he didn’t want to sound judgmental about my choices.
“No,” I admitted, not knowing why I hadn’t lied and invented a hook-up. “I was glad to have some time alone in the suite to get stuff done.” I flashed him a phony smile. “Even slutty nymphos need some downtime now and again.”
“Don’t.” Eli sounded suddenly fierce. “Don’t do that.”
I frowned. “What?”
“Don’t call yourself that. Don’t put yourself down. You make it sound like you’re making fun of yourself, but you’re not. It’s not funny.”
I picked up my fork and twirled a lo mein noodle around it. “It’s not putting myself down. It’s stating the truth.”
“No,” he argued. “It’s not. The choices you make are just that—they’re yours. When you call yourself names, you’re taking away from who you are. You’re playing into what you think people are saying about you. You’re not a slut.”
“I think there are a good many people who’d disagree.” I sucked the noodle into my mouth. “And if I’m okay with it, why should it bother you?”
“Because I don’t think you’re okay with it. I think you call yourself a slut or a nympho so you can do it before someone else does.” He tossed down the last bit of his hamburger. “It’s a defense mechanism.”
“Ooooh, look who’s going all psych 101 on me.” I shook my head. “Eli, it’s not about defense. It’s about power. If I say it first, I take away the power of those words. And by the way—that’s all they are to me. Words. They don’t define who I am.”
He nodded slowly. “I get that. But it still bothers me.”
When I tilted my head, my eyes questioning, he elaborated. “It bothers me to hear you say something that denigrates who you are. I mean, what would you think if I went around calling myself a cripple? Wouldn’t it make you uncomfortable?”
I finished chewing and
broke off a piece of fried wonton. “Those are two different things. What happened to you wasn’t a choice. What I do is.” I tossed the bite of wonton into my mouth. “Besides, as I pointed out, I’m not here to be your friend. What you choose to say about yourself is your business, and what I call myself is mine. I don’t need a defender. Trust me, I’m more than capable of taking care of me.”
“Okay.” He picked up a French fry and dragged it through ketchup, dropping it into his mouth.
“Okay?” My forehead wrinkled. I expected him to keep arguing with me.
“Yup. Okay. You can take care of you. And we’re not friends. What did you think about the Shakespeare class?”
“Um.” I tapped my foot beneath the table. Eli Tucker—or this new form of him, anyway—had a disconcerting way of knocking me off-balance. “Uh, I thought it seems like a good class.” That was lame; the truth was that I hadn’t paid enough attention to say for sure. “I like the professor.”
“Yeah, she’s good. I had her for intro to British lit last semester.” He balled up his napkin.
“I was kind of surprised to see you in there.” I cracked open the rest of the wonton and broke it in half to eat it. “It’s an upper-level course. What’s your major?”
“English—specifically, literature. And I’m planning to add education to that this year. I figure being a teacher might be a good fit for me. I can take upper-levels because I did some online courses during the year before I came to Birch. I needed something to occupy my mind while I was putting my body through torture in PT.”
“Oh.” Neither of us spoke as I crunched on the wonton.
“Aren’t you a science major?” Eli leaned back, watching me. “I wouldn’t think Shakespeare would be something you’d have to take.”
“It isn’t. It’s an elective, and I’m taking it because I happen to love the plays and wanted to go a little deeper into them.” I wiped my mouth and pushed away the tray.
Next Man Up (Making the Score Football Romance Book 2) Page 11
