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It feels so good. The emotional side lines right up with the overwhelming sensations of the physical side. I wouldn’t mind living right here in this moment forever.
But someone whistles at us and Brent pulls away.
“Want me to walk you to the door?” he asks, surprising me by asking in the first place.
“No, that’s okay.” My answer seems to give him some relief. Maybe he’s worried one of Kayla’s friends will see him and report back to her? He probably shouldn’t have gotten out of the truck if that’s the case.
“Talk to you soon then.”
I will my legs to walk away from him and back to the pits of hell. I can’t even go into my dorm room when I get there because there’s a pink hair tie on the door knob, which is my roommate’s signal that she has company and isn’t to be disturbed. I return outside to my car and with a quick look around, change into the spare running clothes and shoes I try to keep in my car. Might as well run off the pent-up energy until it’s safe to return to my dorm.
My first call of the morning isn’t a good one. It’s my mother. I send the call to voicemail and change my settings from vibrate to silent. The moment I set the phone on the table, she’s calling again. But I also get a text from Brent, asking if I want to go running. My legs feel sore from all the running I did last night, but I text back that I’ll be there soon. If Mother is going to call all day, a run will help clear my mind first thing to help deal with ignoring her.
It doesn’t take long to change and drive over to Brent’s house. He walks outside just as I pull up and he frowns when I get out of the car.
“You do not look as happy as you did when I left you last night,” he comments.
“My morning started with my mother blowing up my phone,” I admit as we jog to the sidewalk.
“What does she want?” he asks curiously.
My instinct is to refuse to answer. He’s asking me to talk, but since I mentioned it in the first place, I might as well tell him. With a sigh, I say, “She’s calling to find out if I’m coming home today for my sister’s birthday party because I’ve yet to answer her.” I run a little faster. “Apparently, it’s crucial that I’m there for yet another of her stupid birthday parties. I will not be attending because I’m not driving two hours one way for her party, so it’s better that I don’t answer.”
For a few pleasant seconds, the only sound is the steady rhythm of our footsteps. Part of me wants to rush back to his house and my car to drive back to campus. I’m not a talker. Not even to Erin. Sure, I talk about boys and school, but the important things? The things that really bother me? I keep those to myself. My family talks too much, says hurtful things, and gets carried away. I don’t want that to be me. What I just said to Brent may not seem like much, but it’s more than I’ve spilled to anyone in a long, long time. It worries me a bit.
“How old is your sister?” Brent asks.
“Twenty-eight today.”
“You don’t get along with your family, do you?” There’s a touch of sadness in his voice that causes me to glance over at him. He looks as if he feels bad for me.
“Don’t look at me like that, Brent. We all don’t get along with somebody.”
r /> “But family,” he sighs. “You should be able to turn to them, and I’m getting the feeling you can’t.”
“If you keep talking about this, I’ll need to run faster.” I’m already eager to run off this anxiousness that has filtered into my system and Brent’s pace isn’t cutting it.
He frowns. “Running is healthy, but talking is healthier.” I open my mouth to object, but he adds, “Just know that whenever you’re comfortable enough to talk to me, I’m a good listener.”
His words buzz around in my mind long after our run and after I return to campus for a shower and while I leave to meet up with Erin. It seems too soon to think about actually opening up to someone. The thought makes me laugh to myself. Too soon to talk to Brent, but not too soon to want to have sex with him. I’m officially a mess.
“Give me all the details,” Erin says as she sits down at the table with her coffee.
“I don’t know if I want to.” I don’t know if Erin knows Kayla, which means I have to be skimpy on some details anyway.
“What? Why? Is he freaky in some way?”
“No! He’s just older. Way older. Eighteen years older.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you seeing a professor? Who?”
“No, it’s no one from campus. He has two kids, not that much younger than me, and divorced from his wife over a year ago.”
“Wow.” She eyes me as she takes a sip of her coffee and I gulp down some of my own drink. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting into? Dating a man that old, especially one with kids around your age? What if he has some sort of weird complex?” She shudders like I’m dating some dirty old fart with white hair and a walker.
I frown. “He’s thirty-nine, not seventy. He doesn’t have a weird complex either. I hit on him first. He seems really great so far. What about you? Anyone new?” I ask, wanting to get the conversation away from Brent.
“Not lately. I’m swamped with schoolwork. Two of my professors had to go and assign projects. Projects! What happened to good old-fashioned papers that were ten pages long?”
