Maybe this is what I get for spending an entire year avoiding any and all guys. Now my suppressed hormones are raging to the surface with a blistering vengeance.
Hmmmm. Cole.
It’s definitely those eyes. Sure, the rest of him is gorgeous, but I’ve never seen eyes like that—green and gold all at once. They blink from his face like two star-bright forest moons. And I remember that his nose has a very slight bump in it that somehow makes his face even better… more interesting.
Sensing movement, my lashes flutter open and I see a figure, backlit and looming above me. Drenched in equal parts light and shadow, it takes a few seconds for the lines of his body to solidify and for the angles of his face to come into focus. When they do, my heart lurches with a wild dizziness, and my body locks up.
It’s like the universe is playing a joke on me. I’m a mess of frozen joints and wide eyes—every single atom of my being seems to be caught in place. After ten beats too long, I manage to reboot myself by sucking in a breath of air and plucking the earbuds out of my ears.
“Hi,” he says.
I know that I’m staring like a fool, but I can’t help it, can I? Like I conjured him out of thin air, Cole Everly is smirking down at me.
“Is this okay?” He sits down on the ground next to me, folding his long legs into his body and draping his arms over his kneecaps with an easy confidence.
Completely disoriented, I let my eyes roam from the sun-tipped hair sticking out in every direction all the way down to the worn brown leather flip-flops that encase his long narrow toes.
I push myself up on my elbows, feeling the weight of my hair as it falls against my shoulders. “Your third toe is longer than your second toe.”
He laughs and the sound of it rumbles through my body and decides to stay awhile. “Of all the things I thought you’d say, pointing out my strange toes never crossed my mind.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I reply, glancing down to where my fingernails are gripping the dirt.
“It’s not that.” Cole closes his eyes like he’s searching inside himself for something. “It’s just that I wanted to…” He shoves his fingers back through his hair and exhales audibly. “Fuck. I was worried about you the other day and so was Noelle. You freaked out on us and I didn’t know what was wrong.” He smiles sheepishly. “I was on my way to class from morning practice and I saw you over here and I guess that I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
My heart seizes. Great. He thinks I’m half off my rocker and has taken pity on me—the broken girl who obviously can’t keep her shit together. I feel pulled out and raw under the intensity of his gaze. I fidget with the hair band wrapped around my wrist. “Your concern is appreciated, but why would you be worried about me? You don’t know me. You don’t even know my whole name.”
His laugh is quick and boyish. “Yeah I do. Aimee Spencer.”
This flusters me and Cole can tell. His smile gets wider and the dimples make an appearance. Great. There just had to be dimples, didn’t there?
“Give me a little credit,” he says, lifting his eyebrows. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t do my research?”
I push the earbuds that have been hanging from my shoulder into my lap. “I have no idea why you would bother, but if you did your research and are actually Daniel Kearns’ roommate, then I’m sure that you already know why I ran away the other day. Daniel and I—” I stop myself and look down briefly. “We don’t speak.”
Cole’s smile falters, but he still pushes forward. “Luckily I’m not Daniel.” He kicks back, mirroring my position so that he’s settled on his elbows. “So, tell me about yourself, Aimee Spencer.”
I shake my head blandly. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Closing his eyes, he angles his head so that his face is turned up to the sun. “Now that I don’t believe for a second. How about your family? Start with the easy stuff and we’ll work our way up to religion, politics and what type of birth control you’re on.”
I open my mouth, but there are no words—just thoughts dangling from my tongue. I’m not sure whether I should laugh or kick him where it hurts.
Cole squints over at me. “Waiting over here.”
I blow out a shaky breath. “My family is just my older sister and my parents. My dad manages investments and my mom plays bridge on Tuesdays, goes to her book club meeting on Thursdays, and worries about me during all of the in-between times.”
His eyes are closed but he nods like he’s been listening to me. I wait for him to say something, but after an extended silence that has my brain doing erratic twirls, I break down and ask, “So, ummm… what about your family?”
“I’ve got a thirteen-year-old sister back home,” he says, keeping his face tipped to the sun. “My dad’s a lousy attorney in the middle of nowhere-ville, Nebraska, and my mom is out of the picture. She emptied the bank account and ran off with another guy around three years ago.”
His tone is so casual that it’s obvious that he’s joking. I play along. “Oh, like she snuck off in the middle of the night with her tennis pro?”
Cole turns his head and looks at me with serious green eyes. “No, she didn’t want to become a cliché so she left on a Sunday afternoon with the her golf instructor. She lives somewhere up north and she calls occasionally, but I haven’t spoken to her since she left.”
Holy hell. Am I the biggest bitch in the history of the universe? Without thinking, I reach out and brush Cole’s hand. Instantly, his fingers curl over mine—capturing me, pinning me in place and sending a hum of electricity up my arm. My eyes snap to his and the world sways beneath us. I notice the hard movement of his throat as he swallows and a strand of hair falling into his eyes. His mouth parts like he has something to say. I shift my body infinitesimally closer and—
“Hey Cole!”
We look up in unison. A leggy girl with light brown hair and pink stained lips is waving at us from the sidewalk. The too-eager look on her face is like a poison spreading through my gut. I snatch my hand back and tuck it underneath my body.
Cole takes a tight breath and nods his head once to the girl before looking back at me with a level gaze. “So, Aimee, there’s this thing happening tonight.”
I hesitate. “What kind of thing?”
Chewing the inside of his cheek, Cole says, “A party kind of thing. The track team does it every year at the start of school as a sort of way to let loose before practices pick up and we get too busy.”
There’s no way that I’m going to a party hosted by a bunch of asshole jocks, but I ask anyway: “And where is this party?”
“At a place called Dirty Ernie’s.”
“Dirty Ernie’s? That sounds… um, interesting.”
I watch Cole’s mouth soften and everything inside of me rolls over. He pushes himself to his feet so that I have to arc my neck and look a long way up. “Will you come? I know for a fact that Daniel won’t be there so you don’t have that as an excuse.”
I surprise myself with my boldness. “And what if I have plans?”
Cole’s nostrils flare slightly. “Do you have plans tonight, Aimee?”
“No, but…”
He quirks one side of his mouth and laughs. “Good. Because I’m going to tell you a little secret but I’d like you to keep it between us.”
“What’s that?”
Cole stuffs his hands in his pockets and works his jaw like he’s thinking over each word before he says it. “It would have bothered me more than it should have if you’d said that you had plans.”
My thoughts are moving so fast that I can hardly follow them. Does he mean what I think he means?
“The party starts at nine, Aimee Spencer.” Then he’s gone—jogging after that girl—and I’m left staring after him trying not to notice how nice and round his butt is.
***
While I wait for my next class to start, I get lost in my head. Considering that the closest I got to attending a party last year in Portland was stumbli
ng into the middle of a flash mob on the corner of Fourth and Madison, I don’t think I’m ready for the party scene. After so many months of keeping myself drawn into a tight ball, I’m realizing that it’s harder to make myself unspool than I thought it would be.
A fresh start.
The goal of coming back to Florida was to start living again and I know that if I’m being honest with myself, I’m only partway there. My classes are going well, but other than Mara and a few professors and now Cole, I’ve barely talked to anyone since I’ve gotten here.
A noise startles me from my thoughts. In the seat next to me, a girl is staring.
“Hi,” she says cheerily.
“Hi?”
I realize that I know her. It’s the blue-haired girl from Mara’s sorority.
“We didn’t meet properly last time. I’m Jodi,” she tells me, kicking her head to the side.
“Aimee,” I say and take the small, pale hand she holds out to me. She has an awfully strong grip for someone so tiny.
Jodi grins—it stretches across her face like water over dried up sand and exposes a small gap between her two front teeth. “I know your name. Not only are you Mara’s little sister, but we have two classes together.”
“We do?”
Jodi laughs—it’s light and airy and reminds me of another girl’s laugh. “Yeah. Are you a Library Sciences major? Because you sure don’t look like one.”
I glance down at my khaki colored shorts and plain white tank top. If I don’t look like librarian material, then Jodi certainly doesn’t. With that nose stud and the mesh top and loose linen skirt she’s got on today, I think she’d look more at home in front of a pottery wheel than sitting next to me waiting for a lecture on archival access to start.
“Um, I don’t know yet. Technically I’m undecided but it’s a definite possibility. Or maybe English.” I give myself a little shake. “I’m a bibliophile.”
“Ditto.” Jodi lowers her pointy chin to her chest. “Look,” she says firmly, “I have a bit of what you might call ‘the sight,’ and it’s been pretty clear to me since the recruitment fair that you and I are going to wind up as friends so I think that we should both just go with it.”
The sight? I’m not really sure what to say to that. I can’t tell if this girl is crazy, or on something, or being serious. Whichever way, I’m intrigued. I place my elbow on the armrest of my chair and lean back. “Okaaay…”
That’s all the encouragement that Jodi needs to be off. She tells me about her loser ex-boyfriend that showed up at her apartment last night and professed his undying love for her, and her straight-laced mother, who Jodi calls confounding, and the yeast infection that she had over the summer, and her thoughts on whether or not cats should be declawed.
Jodi is a sophomore. She’s also a Sagittarius who likes reptiles and thinks that Facebook is a tool of social destruction devised by Satan. She tells me that she’s only a member of Mara’s sorority because she’s a legacy and her mom made it clear that it was either join up or face the wrath of a thousand angry gods.
“They keep me around because of the legacy thing, but I don’t participate unless I’m forced. I only went to the fair last week to freak the rest of the girls out.” She laughs. “You should have seen the horrified looks that they gave my clothes when I showed up at their precious glitter table. Priceless.”
By the time the class is over, my head is spinning and I feel slightly out of breath. Jodi is bobbing two steps behind me in the hall—still talking and seemingly unaware just how out of practice I am at this whole “friendship” thing.
“Okay, I added myself to your contacts so you’ve got my number now.” She hands me back my phone. “I’ll look into the tickets for that concert on Saturday and I’ll let you know. Do you want to get food first?”
I don’t even remember agreeing to go to a concert with her, but my coherent brain function is almost zilch at this point so I just nod my head.
“Great. Chinese isn’t really my favorite but there is a place nearby. This one time I ate like eight egg rolls in one sitting and got so sick. Ugh. You don’t want the details. Just imagine Hiroshima contained in this stomach.” She waves her hand dramatically over her midsection. “Anyway, last weekend I discovered this amaaahzing little Indian place off of Connell Street if you’re up for it. They have a vegetable pakora that is like—no joke—to die for.”
“Um. That sounds great.” The truth is that I have no idea what pakora is.
“My next class is this way,” Jodi says, gesturing over her shoulder and taking a step in the opposite direction. “Just remember to text me when you get to the bar tonight.”
I frown and call after her. “Wait! What’s tonight?”
Jodi stops and turns back to me. “Remember that party I told you about?” She blinks and waves her hands dismissively. “I know, I know! It sounds like it’s going to be some horrible thing with a bunch of jerk-off athletes, but I went last year and I swear that it was a ton of fun. You’ll like it. We’ll dance!”
“Sorry,” I mumble, trying to mentally backtrack through our conversation. Dance? “I missed that earlier. Where is this party?”
“It’s at a little place called Dirty Ernie’s. Just look up the address and meet me there around ten.” She rocks back on her heels and spins away, calling back in a sing-songy voice, “And text me!”
***
I’m not going. Not a chance.
The only thing I have in mind for tonight is changing into a stretchy pair of yoga pants, eating a bag of microwave popcorn for dinner, and spending at least four solid hours vegged out on the couch watching bad reality TV. I figure that I’ll text Jodi in a little while and explain that something came up. Since she has the sight, she probably already knows that I’m going to back out.
When I walk in the townhouse, Mara is on the phone. The guilty shadows under her brow and the way she jumps when I close the front door give her away immediately.
I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at her. This is our sister-speak for: I know that you’re talking about me.
“Mom,” she mouths as she hands over her cell phone.
To prepare myself, I close my eyes and breathe in and out through my nose three times. It’s a technique my therapist suggested utilizing in stressful situations.
Feeling slightly calmed, I bring the phone to my ear and clear my throat. Before I’ve even managed to get out a greeting, my mother is already launching into her standard I’m worried about you spiel. This is what she’s like. I swear that every time we talk, my hackles go up and I start pacing and gnawing on my bottom lip.
“No, that’s not true,” I say, thrusting my hand in my hair and shooting Mara an I’m-going-to-kill-you look. At least she has the decency to stare at the floor in shame because it’s clear that she’s been reporting every single detail of my unsociable activity to our mother. “I’m doing fine and no I don’t need you to make an appointment for me.” I pluck at the bottom of my tank top and take a deep breath. “I’m actually going out with a friend tonight. Believe it or not, she’s one of Mara’s sorority sisters…”
That’s how I wind up sitting in the passenger seat of Mara’s car in a pair of tight jeans and more make-up than I’ve worn in over a year.
“You sure you’re going to be okay by yourself until Jodi gets here?” Mara asks as she pulls the car into a small gravel lot at nine thirty. She’s dropping me off on her way to meet up with her sorority sisters. “You can always come out with me instead.”
My stomach feels knotty, but I take a deep breath and open the door. “No, I’m good.”
“Wait. You have some frizzies.” Mara reaches over and runs her fingers over the hair that I’ve braided and draped over my shoulder. “And would you remind Jodi that if she misses more than three chapter meetings she’s going to have a fine? She’s not off to a great start.”
“Will do.” I flash my sister a wobbly smile and step out of the car into the balmy, humid night. Th
e heavy Florida air clings to my skin like a slick layer of lotion that never seems to dry.
Dirty Ernie’s is a small brick-faced building stuck between a hipster record store and an artsy coffee shop that I vow to check out later. I slip the strap of my purse over my head so that it crosses my chest and I sidle my way through a few clusters of people standing out on the sidewalk smoking. A big, brawny bouncer checks my ID at the door and encircles my wrist with a neon green wristband that lets everyone know I’m a lame underclassman.
Inside, the bar is pretty much the way that I feared it would be—crowded and loud. I’m standing on my tiptoes searching the sea of heads for one with blue streaks when I’m jostled from behind.
“Oh shit!” Some guy turns his upper body to face me. He pulls his dark eyebrows together and grabs at my bare arm with rough, calloused fingers. “I didn’t see you standing there. Sorry.”
I shirk from his touch and move away, weaving in and out of bodies in search of Jodi. I pass through a set of glass doors that lead to an open-air back porch. It’s hot and sticky but there are wide-bladed fans positioned on tall posts bordering the space and the music and crowd are less intense so at least I can breathe properly. I send Jodi a quick text, find an empty seat near the end of the bar, and ask the bartender for a soda and an order of fries from the kitchen.
Pulling my wallet out of the zippered pocket of the purse draped across my chest, I sort through my cards until I find what I’m looking for. I’m just about to hand over my debit card when an unfamiliar hand reaches over my shoulder and pushes money across the smooth surface of the bar. “Put that away. It’s on me.”
I twist on the barstool and look up and into a set of almond-shaped dark brown eyes. It takes a startled moment to process that this is the guy that bumped into me over by the front door. He’s leaning into my space, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.