Without responding, I started moving along with him, my body language telling him everything my mouth wasn’t. He held the door open for me and I walked through, thankful that the sun was hidden behind tree branches. I didn’t want to put my sunglasses on when Nick wasn’t wearing any. Call it another quirk of mine, but I always considered it rude to wear sunglasses during a conversation if the other person wasn’t. There was something intimate about eye contact.
“So you were at the party last Friday. And I was too busy making out with Monika to notice.”
“Oh, so you do remember her name,” I teased, and he stopped walking to laugh a little, which caused me to stop as well. Whatever his body did, mine seemed to mimic.
He leaned in close, his mouth mere inches from mine. “I’m not a total scumbag, Jess. I do remember the names of the girls I kiss.”
“How nice for them,” I said with a little more snark than I’d intended, feeling absolutely bipolar with my emotions. One second I was wanting to throw myself at this guy, and the next I was a snide brat basically calling him a pig.
Pick a side. I mentally chastised myself, wondering if I even could. Nick seemed to bring out warring emotions in me, even if the side that wanted to jump into his lap was definitely favored.
“So mouthy,” he said, staring at my lips.
Pretending not to notice the chills his attention sent through my body, I blurted, “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Wait . . . why the hell was I apologizing?
“Don’t apologize. I like it.” He started moving, and again, my body automatically followed. “So, Jess, tell me about yourself.”
I swallowed hard and hoped he didn’t notice. How on earth was I supposed to even answer that question?
“What do you want to know?” I cast a glance in his direction, taking in the way he moved with an air of confidence most guys only pretended to have.
A few choruses of Hi, Nick broke through our otherwise private conversation. He cast smiles at the girls and bumped knuckles with a few guys, but never stopped walking or focusing his attention on me.
“What year are you,” he asked, “and why have I never seen you before?”
“I’m a sophomore, and I don’t know.”
“Did you live in the dorms as a freshman?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, there’s one reason. I don’t hang out at the dorms. Did you go to any of my parties last year?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I considered telling him a lie to sound cool, but opted for the truth instead.
“I was so terrified that I was going to fail out of school, that I didn’t really have any fun at all last year.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Which part?”
“All of it. You don’t strike me as the type of person to fail or not have any fun.”
His gaze raked the length of my body, making me feel very underdressed in my crop top and shorts. It was the first time since we started talking or flirting or whatever it was we were doing that he made me feel like a potential notch in his bedpost with just a glance.
“You don’t even know anything about me,” I shot back, my defenses coming up.
“That’s all going to change, Jess Michaelson. I’m going to get to know you. Very well.”
“I told you I’m seeing someone,” I reminded him.
“For now,” he said, his confidence oozing out of him as easily as breathing. “I’ve gotta go. See you in class.”
With those words ringing in my head, he took off toward the small group of guys clustered in front of the student store.
That was hands down the single most confusing, exciting, and weird conversation I’d ever had. And I loved almost everything about it.
“Rachel, are you home?” I shouted as I walked through our apartment door, hoping to hear her Latina accent fill my ears. Silence greeted me instead and I groaned, dying to share today’s happenings with her.
I had ninety minutes between classes and instead of hanging around school, I decided to come home, grab something quick to eat, and hopefully talk my roommate’s ear off. I was too excited to stay on campus with no one to talk to.
Scanning the fridge for something to eat, I fired off a text to Rachel, asking when she’d be home. She responded immediately that she was on her way.
I made a grilled-cheese sandwich for each of us while I waited. Right as I stuffed a gooey cheese-filled bite into my mouth, she burst through the door, a smile on her pretty face as her long dark ponytail swung back and forth.
Rachel was a little thing, only five foot two, but filled with more piss and vinegar than should legally be allowed to fit into one person’s body. She always claimed it was her mother who made her so feisty, so she couldn’t be held responsible. All I knew was that I loved her for whatever it was that made her a force to be reckoned with.
“What’s up? Get lost yet?” she asked before tossing her bag onto the couch.
“No, smartass, but you’ll never guess who was in my first class.”
She pursed her lips, glancing up toward the ceiling as she pretended to think. “Hmm, Julio Cavanaugh? Jacob Styler? David Wescott?”
“No, no, and no,” I said before taking another bite of my sandwich. I pushed the other sandwich across the counter toward her as she made her way into the kitchen.
“Ay, dios mio!” She groaned, already sounding exasperated with me. “I could go down the entire list of GIMS by class, but it will save time if you just tell me. Thanks for the sandwich, by the way,” she said as she refilled her water bottle, then took a big swig.