by Jeanne Allen
Professor Evans gives me a tight nod in return before practically sprinting out the back door he came in from.
Heavy with more questions than answers, I head toward my dorm room.
As a general rule, I love questions. Figuring out people and cultures is what I love to do, from a distance, but not from the comfort of my own body? No thank you.
I would much rather be a spider on the wall, thank you very much.
Luckily, with no nosy roommates to rehash the Professor Hottie debacle with, I don’t even have to leave my dorm room until the next morning.
After my usual two hours of sleep, I wake up still curious about what happened but with no plan of action for how to find answers. I put it out of my mind and pull my hair up into a rough topknot before heading out.
I trudge along the skyway, intent on ignoring my fellow Homo sapiens until my coffee kicks in, and maybe not even then.
When I arrive at the cafeteria, I immediately regret leaving my dorm. Students crowd the room, buzzed from the first week at school and more energetic than I can handle right now.
With a sigh, I head in the direction of the alcove that houses the cafeteria’s café and order my coffee. One of the best parts of transferring to Woodrow is the food service. The school’s tuition may be high-class, but so is their espresso machine, complete with bored looking work-study students to operate it.
As I wait in line for my order to be ready, someone taps on my shoulder. I turn around to meet the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Melted chocolate, warm and soft, rimmed with long, elegant midnight-black lashes. If their owner were female, I’d assume those lashes were fake.
But the body and face connected to these pretty eyes is all male, tall, with long limbs and lean muscles. Even without the soccer jersey he wears, I would have guessed he played on one of the few sports teams Woodrow offered.
“Uh, hey?” I ask. I mentally pat myself on the back for not stuttering or squeaking.
“You’re one of the transfer juniors, right?” The crispness of his voice belies a soft accent that I instantly recognize.
I stare at him in surprise. Woodrow is a small university but not that small.
He laughs. “Sorry, not to sound creepy or anything. We’re in the same department, and I saw you at orientation. I was helping with registration.”
“Ah.” I nod like I get it even though I totally don’t.
“So, anyway, would you like to sit with me and my friends? It’s not like it’s high school, but transferring still sucks even in Uni.”
I pick up on the hint. “You transferred too?”
“Yeah, my brother and I transferred here two years ago.”
“From?” I forget my usual shyness at the possibility of satisfying my curiosity.
“University of Toronto.” He grins at my puzzled expression. After a moment, he relents. “But before that, we were in London, born and bred.”
My mouth pulls at the corners and I let out a chuckle at his cheeky smile. He knew I recognized the accent.
“I knew you were British,” I say triumphantly.
His grin softens, and he gestures for me to continue, so I explain. “I knew someone who had an accent like yours; she was from London as well.”
My smile widens at the memory of Mary, one of my favorite foster parents. I lived at her house all four years of high school. Before Mary, I never stayed at a home longer than a year. She was the closest thing I had to a mom.
The sound of someone calling my name breaks me out of my memories.
Shaking my head, I glance up to find the barista impatiently holding out my latte. I shuffle over to grab it and place it on my tray, turning around to find Chocolate Eyes waiting, his eyebrow quirked.
Right, he wants me to sit with him. My own eyebrows threaten to rise at the realization I didn’t reject his offer outright. I try to avoid large groups of people and most social situations. Chocolate Eyes somehow beguiled me into a comfortable conversation, and it would be rude to say no. Gathering my usual abundance of social grace, I grunt my assent and motion for him to lead the way.
“I’m Lucas, by the way,” he offers as we head toward his friends.
“Rose,” I respond.
He winks. “I know.”
I look at him but then realize it’s written in bold Sharpie on my cup, not to mention the work-study student yelled it before giving me my latte.
“Right,” I mumble.
I say nothing more, and neither does he as he purposefully picks his way to a table in the back of the room. It’s a large table full of boisterous co-eds, precisely the type of people I tend to avoid. The temptation to run accompanies my trembling hands, but when I take a step back, they all stop talking to eye me.
“Hey guys, this is Rose. She just transferred in as a junior.” Lucas motions to the seat next to the one he plops his tray in front of.
The guy who sits on the other side of the chair pulls it out for me, offering what I think is a charming smile, but it’s hard to tell with panic clouding my senses.
“H-hey.” I give an awkward head nod to the group.
The girl in front of me smiles as I settle my tray. “Welcome to Woodrow, Rose,” she says, pushing a strand of dark-brown hair behind her ear.
With another small nod from me, my eyes drift from hers to the way her hand reaches out toward mine, hesitating until I mumble a soft thanks in response.
“I’m Daisy,” she says.
I glance up to find her eyebrows raised. Her hand makes it to mine, and she squeezes it with a comfortable familiarity. It takes a moment for me to get the joke. A chuckle escapes before I can stifle it. She smiles brightly.
“Daisy and Rose. We have to be friends. It’s destiny!” She proclaims gaily, releasing my hand and holding up hers for a high five.
Giddiness makes its way through me at her declaration. The number of people who would claim to be my friend fit on one hand. Influenced by her wide grin and bubbly laugh, I high five Daisy.
She then points around the table and introduces the rest of Lucas’s friends, who thankfully already returned to their conversations and food before I even sat down. Most of the table is filled with guys from the school’s soccer team like Lucas, including his brother. When Daisy points to him, I look up into familiar chocolate-brown eyes, the same thick lashes fluttering at me as he gives me a subdued smile and nod.
Did Lucas change his seat? No. When I glance to my right, I’m met with the same pretty eyes and cheeky grin as before. My eyebrows reach into my hairline, causing Lucas, his brother, and Daisy to all laugh.
“Lyle and Lucas are identical twins,” Daisy explains.
When they stop laughing, Lyle offers me a fist bump from his seat on the other side of Daisy. My pale-as-moonlight skin contrasts starkly with his ebony tone as our knuckles meet. The girls at the table are mostly girlfriends of the team. Daisy dates the team captain.
Why did Lucas offer for me to sit with him? It doesn’t look like they extended the privilege to many other girls. If the giggling table of women behind Daisy is any clue, there are plenty who would like an invitation.
It can’t be because I’m a transfer junior. There are about a hundred of us this semester. I glance over at Lucas for some answers, but he winks at me and nods his head at my untouched plate of pancakes.
Too hungry to care anymore, I attack my breakfast and let the conversations of the table flow around me. The blueberry pancakes are so good I almost forget I’m surrounded by the shiny and attractive people at my new school.
The moment I shovel in the last bite though, Lyle decides to speak up. “So, Rose, how do you like your classes at Woodrow so far?”
I swallow slowly, buying time to consider how to respond. “I’ve only had one so far and it was… alright.”
“Just alright?” he teases
“Um, yeah, it was that genetics course with Dr. Evans, and he was a little strange.” The students on our end of the table stop talk
ing to stare at me, wide-eyed.
“Strange? That’s odd. Everyone I know who’s taken his class loves him.” Lyle seems genuinely perplexed at my impression.
I sigh, realizing too late I probably insulted everyone’s favorite professor. What happened yesterday still knocks around in the back of my head. Despite my conclusion that the pinprick sensation was a figment of my own imagination, the professor’s weird reaction and insistence that I not pull my hand away still remain hard to explain away.
But students at this table might know something about Dr. Evans. Am I the only one to find him strange?
Apparently, but I plow on anyway. “Yeah, like, does he have something against touching students?” Realizing how bad my question sounds as soon as I say it, I hurry to explain.
“Yesterday I had to stay late so he could apologize for something he said to me in class. Anyway, at the end of our meeting, we shook hands and he totally freaked out.”
I try to gauge Lyle’s reaction, mentally kicking myself for going Psycho New Girl on the first group of friends I met at Woodrow no matter how desperate I am for answers.
Lucas, not Lyle, speaks up. His voice holds a bit of urgency, and when I turn to him, his eyes practically bug out of his head, making them even larger. “Freaked out how? What happened? Did you feel something when—”
“Lucas,” Lyle cuts him off, though he looks as spazzed as his twin.
The rest of the table watches us like some kind of bad soap opera. It makes me reluctant and unsure of how to respond to Lucas’s questions, though he visibly calms after a few breaths.
“Sorry, Rose, I, uh, haven’t heard anything about Professor Evans having a phobia of shaking hands. Maybe you’re too pretty and he didn’t want to lose his job.” He grins and winks.
Unable to think of anything to add, I nod and smile back. There’s no way that’s the reason Lyle and his twin freaked out. Even I recognize that kind of social cue, but I let it go. The need to shutdown and get out of this conversation pushes at me like a war drum, warning of dangerous situations ahead. Heeding my instincts, I don’t mention my issues with the professor again.
Since I already finished my pancakes, I see no reason to stick around to add more fuel to the fire I started. Disappointed I already messed up any potential friendship I might have had with her, I offer Daisy a quick smile and stand to leave.
“Thanks for inviting me to sit with you guys,” I tell Lucas as I reach for my tray.
Regardless of whether or not I’ll be invited back, he was kind to introduce me to his friends. Before I can make my hasty retreat, Lucas stands with me, tray in hand. “Come on, I’ll show you where the dish drop-off is.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay. I can find it,” I protest.
But Lyle already left his seat and comes to stand next to me, his arm brushing against my shoulder.
“It’s cool, we’ll show you the way. We have a thing to go to anyway.” He glances at his brother, who moves closer to me, boxing me in some sort of hunky twin sandwich.
“Yep! Let’s go, Sweet Pea. There are some bitter work-study seniors dying to get their hands on these dishes,” Lucas says brightly.
I sigh and trot after them, their long legs making it difficult to keep up.
A little out of breath, but trying not to show it, I catch up when we reach the conveyor belt for the dirty dishes. Thanks to Lucas and Lyle nearly jogging through the busy cafeteria, I lack the stamina to protest when Lucas grabs my tray and throws it on with his and Lyle’s.
Standing so close to the brothers, I don’t know how I can tell them apart. They’re identical in every way, even down to their matching shoes. But for some reason, I know Lucas grabbed my tray while Lyle stands off to the side, looking anxious.
With the trays on their way to wherever the bitter seniors wait, Lucas takes my elbow and drags me over to a small hallway where the belt disappears into the wall. Except for a door at the end marked Kitchen Staff Only, the hallway is empty.
“Wha—” Before I say anything, Lucas puts his hand over my mouth.
Lyle comes up on my other side, his shoulder resting against mine. Turning my head to him, I barely get a glimpse of his profile before Lucas tugs my head back over. In the back of my mind, I know I should feel something more than curiosity at my current situation, yet all that comes is a thick fog of calm, blanketing every other emotion that tries to break free.
Everything is going to be alright, my inner-voice purrs at me. I trust Lucas and Lyle. They would never steer me wrong. A desire to do whatever they ask worms through the fog in my head, wrapping around my senses until I’m as compliant as a rag doll.
The back of my mind rages against something, but I don’t know what. Ignoring it, I relax and slump against the wall behind me. I giggle at the sensation of my back hitting smooth concrete. Tears form in my eyes, but I don’t move to brush them away.
“Too. Much,” Lyle grinds out next to me
Strain fills his voice, and I giggle again. Why is Lyle so angry? Everything is going to be alright. We have to trust Lucas.
“Sorry, I can’t control it around her. She must be ours, Lyle.”
Curious, I gaze at Lucas. Why is he apologizing?
I let the thought go as I surrender once more to the blissful feelings wrapped around me. My eyes rove listlessly over Lucas as he reaches out for my left hand while Lyle steps forward and reaches out for my right.
“Well, let’s find out.” Lyle’s words drift down to me.
Lucas’s trembling hand turns my palm face up and aligns his own above it, facing down. Lyle arranges my other hand the same way. I snort at their strange behavior but leave my hands where they are. I trust them so completely. As soon as Lyle is in position, they grab my hands, palm-to-palm.
Intense pain breaks me out of whatever cloud of calmness I had been under. I don’t have time to process the forceful change in emotion before the pinpricks come.
Like with Dr. Evans, there is a burning sensation followed by sharp pinpricks increasing in intensity. But unlike with the professor, the sensation is in both of my hands, causing double the pain.
Tears stream down my cheeks, but for some reason, I don’t cry out like I did yesterday morning. Neither do Lyle or Lucas. All three of us bear the pain for a moment, and then it vanishes as abruptly as the last time.
Instead of getting weird or running away, Lyle moves to wrap his arms around my back. My hands throb, but I barely register it as Lyle nuzzles my neck. I purr in response; his touch is like Professor Evans’ yesterday, pleasant.
I lift my eyes to the warm chocolate irises in front of me. Lucas radiates such intense joy, and for a second, I can’t move or look away. And then he does something I have allowed no man to do in my twenty years of life.
He kisses me.
Chapter 2
I’m falling off a cliff, my heart pounding sporadically as I revel in the feel of Lucas’s soft lips on mine. I lean into him, my body warming as I reach up to run my fingers over his short black curls.
As I open my lips to let his tongue push inside, Lyle reaches around me to trail his fingers over my arms. His hand moves down to my waist, where my shirt rides up to expose an oversensitive strip of skin. I shiver when the roughness of his palm touches me. The sensation of both the kiss and Lyle’s touch is too much. I’m delirious with pleasure.
Heat pools in my core surprising me enough to pull away from both boys.
Did I just get turned on by a kiss? My inexperience with men leaves me with no idea if this is normal or not. A small part of me knows it’s not. Nobody feels like this the first time they meet someone, and yet a strong connection links me to the twins, and I don’t care how weird it is.
Lucas stares at me soundlessly, his eyes glazed over and his face blank, seeming dazed. The same sensation hits me as well, and I can barely stand. I lean back against Lyle for support.
Lyle’s arms tighten around me, causing me to smile with a sense of safety and security, which
is odd, because I’m with two strange men in an abandoned hallway. But yet again, heart wins over head, and I choose to let go and see where these feelings take me.
Lucas snaps out of his reverie, smiling back at me. When Lyle clears his throat, he turns serious. “Right. We have a lot of things to explain.”
“That’s what Professor Evans said yesterday. Then he said he was too overwhelmed and ran away. You won’t run away, will you?” I’m startled at how much the idea bothers me.
Being separated from the twins hurts more than not getting answers at this point. Would I have felt this way around Dr. Evans if he had kissed me? Shaking my head, I bury that thought. Ridiculous. Not to mention totally against school policy.
Lucas’s wry laughter brings me out of my head. “Yeah, I’m overwhelmed like the professor, but I would never just leave you like this. He shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”
I blink at Lucas in surprise. Why is he apologizing for Professor Evans? I begin to suspect they know more about him and what happened yesterday than they let on.
I push my musings away when Lyle says from behind me, “We should take her to the house.”
His chest rumbles as he speaks, and I involuntarily snuggle into it. Lyle’s body goes rigid against my back. He must have a weird expression on his face because Lucas guffaws.
“C’mon, Sweet Pea. We’ll explain everything at the house. Stop torturing Lyle.” He reaches out for my hand.
I hesitate but take it despite all the logic in my brain screaming that following two guys to their house is like the plot of every horror movie ever. I don’t know why I am following these men so easily when I barely trust myself most days. In a weird way, despite the logic and red flags my brain drums in the background, I have a sense that the brothers would rather chop off their own arm than harm me in any way.
