Since he’d stormed off, I’d remained in the booth . . . I’d hid in the booth. With his confounding presence removed, I finally had a chance to think clearly and knew I’d behaved like a crazy person. Although I’d called him the twelve-year-old, my own behavior was more in accordance with pre-pubescence. He hadn’t said one thing insulting or humiliating—perhaps frustratingly evasive—but it had been my interpretation of what his words meant that had put me in defense mode.
I wouldn’t necessarily consider myself confidence bankrupt, but somewhere in between being terrorized by the pretty girls and ignored by the beautiful boys, I’d steeled myself against any future attacks. I was an impenetrable fortress, but it came at a high cost. Lack of meaningful friendships and dates on the weekend to name a few.
I wanted to retreat to the confines of my dorm, at least the coward in me did, but this other part of me—the dominant one I wasn’t familiar with—told me I had to go to him and apologize. It was telling me with such persuasion, I doubted it would have allowed me to take a step in the opposite direction.
I closed the ticket window, trying not to rehearse my apology. From experience, I knew my rehearsed speeches sounded like I was reading from a teleprompter moving at a snail’s pace.
I yanked out my ponytail holder and picked through my hair with my fingers, attempting to inject some volume into hair that was, by definition, flat. A smear of chapstick and a pinching of the cheeks completed my ad-hoc beautification.
Too bad I’d picked my favorite tee that probably should have been tossed in the rag bucket several washes ago, instead of the new tunic that played up the blue in my more-gray-than-blue eyes.
I shook my head, putting a kibosh on that train of thought. I wasn’t looking for his approval or acceptance or admiration.
Again, my best intentions at convincing myself were futile.
Despite Miss Ribbons and her pom-pom brigade’s present ra-ra-ra number, it couldn’t compete with the dark-haired man sitting quietly in the front row for my attention. I wasn’t the only one who felt the same way, either. There were five sets of eyes ogling him, and that was just within the ten foot radius around him I scanned.
The auditorium was erupting with noise, but I could still hear the squeak my sneakers made as I headed towards him. He didn’t notice me at first. He looked deep in thought, like the most practiced Buddhist in meditation.
I stopped a few feet off to the side of him, waiting for him to acknowledge me so I wouldn’t be forced to break the ice—knowing me, I’d go crashing right through and drown.
Still the thoughtful expression, as if he was lifetimes away from the cornucopia of noise.
“Hey,” I said unsurely, biting my lip.
His lids fell, revealing eyes that were back in the present time when they reopened. He sat up straighter, first looking surprised, before his smile turned into one I was getting quite familiar with—two parts smug to one part mischief. It was enraging and enthralling.
“Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
Despite being desperate to apologize for my childish behavior, I was ready to turn around and leave if this was the way things were going to be. Dominant side be darned.
He raised his eyebrows, waiting.
“I can go if you like,” I said in my don’t-push-me voice, twisting my head over my shoulder to eye the exit.
“No,” he rose to a stand, reaching for my forearm.
His fingers circled it, and whether he realized it—I’m sure he didn’t—this was the first time he’d touched me, the first time our skin had connected, and it was just that, a connection. From each ring of the five fingers wreathed around my arm, an energy that was as electric as it was intimate, streamed into me.
That connection opened a portal, one that was difficult, if not impossible, to explain, but I could almost feel our fates lacing around one another, cinching together so tight you could no longer tell which one was mine and which one was his. I could feel his emotions—peaceful, excited, warm—and I wondered if he could feel mine.
That terrified me, because before this touch, I could keep him at bay, not allowing him into the triumphs and tragedies that made me who I was, but if something inside me was unveiling to him as his was to me, I could no longer keep my secrets hidden.
My arm snapped away, and the energy zapping through every fiber of me died.
This time when he smiled, it looked right, genuine. It curled up the corners of his eyes and created a flat plane over his forehead.
“Please don’t go,” he said, motioning to a section of bench that would have barely fit a toddler. “Stay,” he added, when I didn’t respond right away.
I was still trying to figure out what the heck was happening. A few seconds had passed, and by all appearance’s sake, nothing had changed between us, but everything felt different . . . was different.
I took a seat, squeezing tight into the guy beside me, doing my best to make space for William.
“Tight quarters,” I said, clearing my throat as he slid next to me. More energy sparking like a fallen power line between us.
His thigh pressed against me pushed at mine gently. “I don’t mind if you don’t.” His tone was different now too, no hint of swagger left. It was soft and sweet, only further confirming he’d felt something earlier, but what, and how much, I didn’t know.
The referee spilling out of his uniform in front of us blew his whistle like he was announcing the second coming, shifting my attention to the game. OSU had possession and three minutes to make the comeback of a lifetime. My math oriented mind estimated they’d have to make a three pointer every ten seconds to tie it up, so they were as likely to win this game as I was to win the man watching me from the corners of his eyes to my right.
I’d stalled for long enough, and he was waiting, somehow knowing why I’d come looking for him. “I’m sorry for the way I acted back there,” I began, the words coming easier than I’d anticipated. “You didn’t deserve it, and I don’t know you well enough to be making those kind of judgments.”
He waved his hand as if he was dismissing it all away. “Forget about it. I did deserve it, but there’s one thing I have to know.”
Feeling generous, I asked, “What’s that?”
“Do you want to know me better?” I could hear the grin in his voice, and before I could roll my eyes, he elbowed me.
I crossed my arms, but there was no seriousness in it.
“Sorry,” he said, leaning into me. “I promise. No more teasing for tonight.”
That was unlikely. “We’ll see,” I said, turning my attention back to the game—for nothing more than a distraction—in time to see someone sink a shot several feet behind the three-point line.
The crowd exploded, hollering and stomping the metal bleachers. I didn’t recognize the hero of the moment until he spun around and loped down the court. Paul looked right at me, as if he knew exactly where I was, and pointed his index finger in my direction. His winked before turning his attention back to the player he was guarding on the opposing team.
I didn’t have time to explain this odd demonstration away before William spoke up, “You’re one to accuse me for playing with people’s hearts.”
I looked over at him, waiting for a clarification.
“He likes you,” he said, repeating my words.
I nearly choked. “Right,” I said, dragging the word out. “He was pointing at the girl in front of me.”
William looked pointedly in front of us. “In case you didn’t notice. There’s no one in front of us,” he finished, sweeping his eyes up and down the court in a dramatic way.
I followed his loaded gaze, no one in front of me, not even a cheerleader to explain away Paul’s grandiose gesture. So there was some other conclusion, but certainly not the one William had leapt to.
“Whatever,” I said, wincing at my cliché choice of responses. “Guys like him don’t like girls like me.”
The other team sunk two f
ree throws before he responded, “What do you mean?”
“You know,” I said, irritated he was playing ignorant so I’d have to explain the obvious.
“I don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Would you go out with him if he asked you?”
“He wouldn’t,” I answered immediately.
“If he did,” he replied, with an edge that was both hard and delicate. “Would you want to?”
I counted to ten silently, to make it seem I was considering my response, despite having an instant answer for him. It was unsettling knowing he was the reason for the immediate certainty.
Stronger girls hadn’t come back from these kinds of heartbreaks—I knew I needed to be careful. “I don’t think so,” I said slowly, as if my answer was unsure—open to change.
“Don’t think so,” he repeated, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“I won’t,” he said, and for whatever reason, I believed him.
I forced my mouth to form the words, although it felt as unnatural as breathing under water. “I believe there’s got to be a spark, something big that happens when you meet the one you’re suppose to be with so there’s no way you can question it,” I was whispering, barely loud enough for my own ears to register, but from the tilt of his brow, I knew he was hearing every word the silly little girl inside of me was spilling out. “That didn’t happen with him. Why should I waste my time if he’s not the one?”
A part of me wanted to cringe, for admitting this to him, but another part wanted to jump up and run laps around the auditorium from the freedom of bearing myself to someone. Feeling naked in the most intimate way.
William didn’t have an immediate answer for me, as he had on just about every occasion. Paul made a smooth lay-in, closing the point gap—but it was only going to cut down on the embarrassment at this point. There was no coming back from this.
“Perhaps because he’s popular, handsome, a catch in the world of woman.”
His popularity was evident from the chortling fans behind us. Handsome? I suppose in the conventional, obvious way. A catch? I could see how he would be for some—for most—but something I was trying to suffocate within, bubbled to the surface, and I knew that he and every other man from this day on would be second rate thanks to the one sitting next to me who put a whole new spin on first rate.
“I don’t work that way,” I understated. “I want to be with one person forever. I don’t want to date my way through guys until I’ve forgotten just what I was looking for in the first place and end up settling for the next one that comes along.”
I knew how ridiculous I sounded, as if I had the beauty, wealth and status of a Hollywood starlet, and the options of men to go with it. I knew I was nothing more than Bryn, ordinary at best, odd at worst, but I was through silencing my inner voice. I’d done it long enough.
“What did you feel when you saw me?” he asked, drawing out each syllable as if waiting for the call from the executioner.
I glued my lips together so the answer on the tip of my tongue wouldn’t slip out.
A slow smile formed when I waited too long to answer.
“Not that,” I said, knowing I’d said it too fast for him to take it at face value. “Besides,” I added. “You were too busy making me angry.”
“Sparks come from anger—some of the strongest,” he said, sounding like he thought himself an expert on the matter. “Besides, anger is often mistaken for passion. Especially when someone is trying to hide their true feelings for someone.” He wasn’t kind enough to keep the accusation in his voice light.
“There. Weren’t. Sparks.” I hoped I didn’t sound as unconvincing to him as I sounded to myself. “Besides, we have nothing in common.”
“That’s not true,” he said, right before the buzzer went off, announcing the end of the game where OSU had gained enough ground back they could walk off the court with their heads only partially hung. “We both go to OSU, drive old cars, like basketball,” he listed off, as if he was trying to convince himself of our likeness. “And we both only want to be with one person,” he paused, his Adam’s apple dropping before continuing, “and sparks. We both believe in good old-fashioned sparks.”
His words expressed vulnerability, but it was his expression that screamed it, as if the mask he wore when I first met him, was just that, and the man he truly was was sitting next to me. There was something desperate about it, and incredibly appealing. As if he needed to be any more appealing.
I needed to get out of here and put some distance between us, fearing my sarcasm and self-deprecation were running out. “It’s my bedtime.” I rose to a stand, immediately missing the weight of his body pressed up to mine. “It was nice chatting with you without any explosions.”
“Explosions, sparks,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Same difference.”
He looked over me, in a way that was part possessive, part longing, and I waited for the internal dialogue to follow. The voice that would scream at me for misinterpreting the look on his face, the one that reminded me I wasn’t worth anyone’s troubles, not with what I’d done.
But before I could be astounded that no internal critic was sounding off, a girl—that had a similar body to Miss Ribbons, but was more edge than innocent—weaved up to William and slipped her hips into the seat I’d just left. So there’d been not one, not two, but three starry-eyed girls he’d had lined up for the evening’s agenda . . . and it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet.
I made sure I let him see the look in my eyes before marching away from him, hoping the distance would erase my feelings for him, but knowing it wouldn’t.
I barraged through a sea of black and orange, so consumed by my thoughts I charged into someone. Someone so large and hard my impact didn’t sway him, and someone so damp with sweat I knew the first thing I’d do is take a shower when I got back to my dorm. “Sorry,” I said, hurrying past.
“So that’s all I get? A sorry?” I had to turn around to put the face with the voice. “After dedicating five hard-earned points to you?”
I really didn’t need this new male development to sort through right now. I was living my own personal twilight zone with the male attention I’d drawn the past week.
“Hey, Paul. Good game,” I said formally, trying not to make my backing away from him insulting. I needed fresh air, a good night’s sleep, and possibly a lobotomy to sort through why two men worthy of every poem, song and praise ever conjured up for the male species had taken an interest in me.
Just as I was about to spin around, I caught a glimpse of William and his newest seat-mate. He was watching me, brows furrowed and lips tight, so I changed my plan. Time for a little payback.
Love was a battlefield . . . or so I’d heard.
I painted my lips into a smile, hoping it was that precise mixture of tease and allure that guys seemed to go crazy for.
“You were really amazing out there,” I praised, feeling vile for stooping to this new low to get back at the man who was driving me mad. I closed the distance between Paul and me and hung my hand on the side of his arm, hoping I’d feel something so I could write off what I’d felt when I’d touched William.
There was nothing . . .nothing but hot, sticky skin. William’s eyes narrowed, so I left my hand where it was, despite every instinct to swipe it away and wipe it off against my jeans.
Taking my hand on him as a hall pass to put his on me, he rested his hand above my hip. “You got plans for tonight?”
“No.” I shifted to the side, hoping his hand would fall off. No luck.
“Really?” he asked, sounding surprised. “There’s this party off campus I’m supposed to go to, but I don’t really feel like it and maybe if I had an excuse . . .” he took another step towards me, so literally every ounce of personal space was gone. “Like I had a date or something, I’d be let off the hook.”
Was he asking me out? I wasn’t sure if he was, or if he was just hinti
ng to see if I had some hot, single girlfriend I’d refer him to. He’d have to be more direct if he wanted an answer, I’d never been adept at reading between the lines. Either way, it was a no.
However, as I was about to ask Paul for further clarification, William stood up and made no qualms about heading straight for us.
“What have you got in mind?” I asked Paul, letting him drop his mouth to my ear.
“Well I was thinking—”
William pried me from Paul, mid-sentence.
He face looked more upset than angry. “Just so you know,” he said through closed teeth. “Fancy fireworks ignited for the sole purpose of making someone jealous don’t count as sparks.”
I sucked in a breath, feeling like I was caught-up in a black-and-white movie where the leading lady is being pursued by two handsome, roguish-types. However, in my movie, I wouldn’t have the man the leading lady wanted striding away from her like mine was now.
Paul came up behind me. “Who’s that guy?”
“Just ignore him,” I said, not able to turn my eyes away from his retreating figure.
A good twenty paces away, he spun around. “You wish you could,” he shouted over the hullabaloo of the crowd, his arms shrugging as if saying, you had your chance, see ya.
He melted into the mass of bodies leaving the auditorium, but I kept my eyes on the exact spot I’d lost sight of him, wishing I could make him reappear so I could rewind to the exact moment I left his side on the bench.
“What a chump. Just forget about him,” Paul said, squeezing my shoulder muscles. “I’m going to go get showered up.” He headed for the men’s locker room, smiling back at me. “Will you wait for me?”
I barely managed a nod.