Page 50 of I Want to Know What Love Is

This reaction as he comes through my door after a brief tap, should scare the shit out of me, but the fear has trouble fighting through the visceral response of my body and the instant cloud of euphoria slowing my brainwaves down like a car trying to get somewhere on a foggy night.

“Glad to see you got that shit off your face. I was worried it would stick like cement.” His grin is infectious, but I catch myself, clear my throat and tamp down on my reaction.

“Never mind my face cream. Did you nail the Finance quiz or were you too busy partying to prepare?”

“I aced it.” He takes a seat in front of me, his eyes attached to mine like there’s an invisible wire preventing him from looking away. I blink to break the connection, but he’s still there.

“Glad to see our time’s not a total waste.”

“That could never be. Not even if I flunked Finance—which I won’t.” I clear my throat again and then I take a stack of worksheets from my drawer and slap them down in front of him.

“Let’s get on with our business.” He eyes me and then the worksheets and his grin broadens as if I’ve slapped his face in a challenge. Of course I have. Seems discouraging him is impossible. Not that he’s done anything to discourage me either. But even with the attraction meter hovering in the red zone, we manage to get through an hour of finance work problems with surprising focus. I’m glad I still have it—my ability to focus. Of course he has it. In spades, especially every Saturday at the games.

A loud buzzer goes off and I sit back.

“You timing us?” he says. I nod.

“Time’s up. You can go now.” My smile might be undermining my message because he makes no move. He sits back in his chair, his eyes on me again like I’m the only person in the universe.

“Was your date with Coach Ryan really that bad?” I know the answer he’s looking for, but I need to give him the truth.

“No. We have a lot in common. It was short, but decent.” His expression doesn’t change, so I add. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not…” He shrugs.

“I hear Homecoming is next week. There’s a Ball. You going?”

“Command performance,” he says as if he’d rather stay home. I scoff.

“Who are you kidding? You’ll enjoy the hell out of it. Homecoming is part of the college experience you’ll treasure forever.” Now I sound like his maiden aunt, but I may as well be. He may as well be enclosed in an impenetrable glass case he’s so untouchable to me. “Who are you taking?” Not that I want to know or would know who the lucky girl is, but I need to re-enforce the gulf between us, the idea that he has a campus full of coeds at his feet—or more likely lined up on their knees ready to suck his dick. Stop it.

“A young girl named Heather.” Ouch. Young? Is he thinking I’m old? “It should be fun.”

“Glad you found someone.” I paste on a fake smile and force with all my might to make it real enough to fool him. He snorts, then his eyes go tender. He knows the truth, that I’m not pleased about him finding someone.

“Don’t worry, sha. She’s not… it’s not like that. There’s nothing but friendship between us.”

“That’s really too bad. Must be hard on your dick.” Shit, I’ve said too much. But I need to know if he’s …

He laughs and says, “You noticed? And thank you for your caring concern for my dick. My dick happens to appreciate you… your concern very much.”

“I bet. Tell your dick to settle down.” My warning is far from the usually stern command, undermined by the breathiness of my voice.

“The coaches are expected to make an appearance, so I’ll be there,” I say.

“The football coaches are supposed to be there, not the—”

“I know. I’ll be going with Coach Ryan.” I watch him take the hit, his face pale, muscles slack for a fraction of a beat before he gathers himself, returns to his stand-by smirk.

“Stick a knife in me and twist it, why don’t you?” He maintains his ironic smirk, but his breathing is shallow and I hesitate, but only for a beat because this is life and death for my career.

“You’ll get over it Jonesy.” My smile doesn’t make it past one corner of my mouth, never hitting my eyes let alone my heart. This is a definite case of it hurting me more than him because I feel the sting. Deeply. We’re both trying hard to get back to the banter, but we get a stiffer, less amusing version of that lighthearted thing we had going. He nods.

I say, “You’re taking Heather, right? You’ll have a ball.” Fuck. I need to change the subject because I don’t really want to talk about this because in spite of my recent behavior with Dylan, I’m not a glutton for punishment. Tell Gary that.

“I told you we’re just friends,” he says. I laugh, a real genuine, if ironic laugh.

“That’s rich. You know there’s no such thing as just friends between men and women, right? At least one of you is counting on more than just friends, if not both of you.”