“Here you go,” I say, handing her the coffee and croissant.
“Oh, thanks.” She sets them both down and stares into the depths of the latte.
“You okay?” I ask as I sip my black coffee.
“Yup,” she says, finally picking up her latte and taking a sip. She gets whipped cream on the tip of her nose, and I can’t resist reaching out and wiping it off with my finger. She jerks and then watches as I slip my finger into my mouth.
“You had a little something on your nose,” I say and prepare for the latte to get thrown in my face, but it doesn’t happen.
“You’re . . .” she starts to say, but doesn’t finish.
“I’m . . . what?”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing here with you.” I don’t either. It’s not just that she’s smart and beautiful and sassy. I just . . . I really like being around her.
I don’t answer her, and we eat and drink in silence for a few minutes.
“Why did you pick developmental psychology?” Very smooth. Taking the spotlight from her and throwing it on me. Okay, I can play that game.
“I love kids and I want to help them. So many kids don’t have a voice, and I don’t think that’s right.” There’s a lot more to it, but that’s all she’s getting right now.
“Huh,” she says.
“Yeah, it doesn’t really jive with the tattoos and everything, does it?” I’m no stranger to people being surprised by me.
“Not really, but that’s okay.” I hope it’s okay with her. Usually I don’t give a shit if anyone approves of me or not, but I want Freya to.
“I transferred here because I wanted to,” she blurts out as she finishes her latte. Her tone is defensive, as if she’s trying to throw off an attack.
“Okay, that’s cool,” I say, not sure how to respond.
“It was my choice,” she says. She opens her mouth to say something else and then looks down at her phone and then up at me.
“I need to go. Um, thank you for the coffee,” she says and then she’s gone, and I’m left still puzzling over the girl with the beautiful name.
5
Freya
That absolute bastard. He almost got me to talk about things I don’t want to talk about, and all he had to do was smile and stare at me with those eyes. I’m more upset with myself for letting it happen. I’m usually much better at protecting myself. Must be the beard. Or the tattoos. Or the way he moves. Or any number of a bazillion things about him that made me feel gross fluttery things in my stomach.
I’m normally better at keeping my shit together, but something about Rhett just makes me . . . vulnerable. As if he can see through me. See through the sass and the snark into the deep and soft parts of me that I cover for everyone else.
I don’t like it. At all.
I rush back to my apartment from the library, half wondering if he’ll follow me, like in a movie. It’ll start raining and then he’ll grab my arm and we’ll yell at each other and then kiss or something.
Of course, my life isn’t a movie and none of that happens. Even if I wanted it to happen. I don’t want to kiss his stupid face. I also don’t want him to do anything else with his face.
I groan aloud to myself as I unlock my door and walk into my apartment, dropping my bag. I still have work to do, but it’s not getting done tonight. That’s for damn sure.
Tonight is a night for no pants and an entire container of Phish Food and Parks and Rec reruns. I’m calling it. The first thing I did was yank off my jeans and throw them in the hamper before digging in the back of the freezer for my emergency ice cream stash. In general, I try to eat as healthy as I can for cheer, but Cheat Day should be my middle name.
I consider calling or texting Mia, but that’ll just make me sadder. I really need to call her parents and give them an update. I’m struck with the sudden urge to talk to someone older and wiser than me.
Melissa picks up on the second ring.
“It’s our Maine girl,” she says, and instantly the sound of her voice makes me feel less like shit.
“Technically I left my heart in Texas,” I say and she laughs. One of the things I love most about her is that she always finds the silver lining in any situation. Always. She’s sweetness and light, and I am damn lucky that I became best friends with her daughter.
“Aw, we miss you. How is school going?” I gloss over a lot of the bad stuff, but of course, she calls me on it.
“I support you no matter what, sweetheart, but you sound so unhappy. I just don’t understand why you felt compelled to go.” I bite my lip and try to think of a better excuse than I’ve already given her. If I’d told her that my parents had cut me off to try and get me to quit cheer, she would have begged, borrowed, or stolen to get me the money to stay in school. I couldn’t make her do that after all that she’s already done. I’m up to my ears in student loans, and I just happened to get a decent scholarship to come here, so it is what it is. I’m making ends meet. My way.
“It was just something I had to do,” I say, and my heart cracks a little more that I can’t tell her the real reason. I’ve tried, but the words wouldn’t come out.
“Well, if you change your mind, you know you can always come home. You’re not a failure, no matter what. And we love you. No matter what.” Hit me right in the feels, Melissa. Jesus. I take a few breaths and force myself not to break down crying and tell her that I’m renting a U-Haul and heading back to Texas.
Then I remember why I came here and the questions I need answers for. If I go back, I’ll never know. I’ll never know where I really came from.
So I chat with Melissa about my classes and cheer and of course the conversation rolls around to Rhett. Somehow. He always seems to pop up.
“Give me details. I want to know everything,” Melissa says and I can’t help but laugh. A lot of the time she’s like a teenager herself, and her enthusiasm is contagious.
“It’s not like that, I promise. He’s just tall and annoying. That’s it.” She makes a sound of disbelief.
“Tall and handsome, I’m guessing? And annoying because you like him?”
“No,” I say, but I’m not convincing anyone. She laughs.
“Oh, sweetheart, just be careful. But not so careful that you’re scared to let someone else in. You’ve had a rough time of it, and I just don’t want you to cut yourself off from something that could be great. Be it this guy, or someone else.” As always, sage advice that I should definitely take, but will probably just tell myself I’m going to take and then do the opposite. I’m a rebel like that.
Sensing I need a topic change, she mentions some silly local gossip, and we talk until my ice-cream container’s empty and I am regretting all of my life decisions up until this point.
“Listen, you call me more often, okay? Anytime you want or need.” I tell her I will, and she says that she’ll have another letter in the mail for me tomorrow. We exchange “I love you’s” and hang up. I roll off the couch and throw away the empty ice-cream container and put the spoon in the dishwasher.
I haven’t talked to my own parents for a while. There’s no need. We don’t have anything to talk about. We never have.
Sighing, I shuffle my way back to the couch and lie down, pulling a blanket over me from the back of the couch. Might as well sleep out here.
I miss my Mia. I miss Melissa and Neil. I miss my old apartment and my old squad and my old everything.
But what’s done is done and I’m here. And I’m staying. At least until I get what I need.
* * *
The next morning at conditioning, instead of running with the head of the pack like he always does, Rhett hangs back and falls in next to me.
For someone who just woke up, he’s bright eyed and bushy bearded and has a cheerful smile spread on his face. Infuriating. I don’t need to look in a mirror to know that my eyes are puffy and probably a little red and I feel like absolute shit. Rhett looks like he just came from a spa or a cologne commer
cial.
“Hey,” he says as we jog together. I definitely don’t go all out during these workouts. Cheer is one thing and running is a whole other kind of special torture. If I could get away with doing cheer without having to run, I would. But until that day happens, I suffer through. It would be a lot easier if Rhett wasn’t here bugging the crap out of me, though.
“Hey,” I say, trying to get my breathing regulated. It’s always a struggle to get into the right groove this early. I still have the taste of toothpaste on my tongue, and the sun is just starting to come up. The only upside to this madness is that I get to go back to my apartment and sleep for a few hours before class. I made sure that none of my classes are super early. Otherwise, I’d be sleeping through a lot of them. Cheer is where my heart is, but I won’t let it take over everything.
“You okay?” he asks, not even panting that hard. I’m huffing and puffing as I try to get my body used to the fact that it’s early and we’re moving.
“Yeah,” I say, and not just because it’s hard to talk while I’m running. I don’t want to be having this conversation with him. Especially not right now. Why would Rhett choose to accost me now? Seriously.
“You didn’t seem fine yesterday,” he says, and I have to stop being distracted by the sight of his arms pumping as he runs. He has impeccable form. Of course. I’m lumbering along next to him, and I’m sure we make a hilarious pair. Everyone else is in their zone, either with earbuds in, or having conversations in clumps. The two of us are near the back of the pack. I don’t care about coming in first, and often I’m the last one to finish.
“You know nothing about me, Rhett Miller,” I say, my voice gasping a little bit. I should just stop talking to him. There is no way for this conversation to end well.
“I don’t know a whole lot about you, Freya Carmichael, but I’d like to. If you’d let me.” If I’d let him. I don’t want Rhett to get to know me. I don’t want to get to know him. I don’t want any of this. I just want everyone to leave me alone. Just let me go to school, let me cheer, and leave me alone.
“Okay, fine. That’s fine. I’ll just shut up.” I risk a glance at him, and he gives me a grin that’s so boyish and sweet that I nearly go flying and end up just stumbling a little. In true fashion, Rhett catches my arm and helps me stay upright. I mumble a thank you and he nods.
We continue running together, and he keeps pace with me, even up the killer hill at the very end that makes me want to lie down and die every time I run it. He doesn’t say anything else, just sort of lumbers along beside me, a large and annoying presence. When we finally get back to the field house, I lean over, my hands on my knees to calm my heart rate.
“Here,” a deep voice says and a bottle of water appears in front of me. I look over and glare.
“Where did you get that?” He just continues to hold the bottle out to me. The sun is almost completely up, and the light is really doing him a lot of favors. The slight sheen of sweat on his forehead glows, and his hair is all tossed around from the run. His eyes are bright, and I’m trying to not think about any of it.
I take the bottle from him. It’s cold, and I realize he must have gotten it from the machine just inside the door of the field house while I was dying from the run.
“Thanks,” I say, and unscrew the cap. I almost consider pouring the water over my head, but I resist. Good thing Rhett has already seen me at my sweatiest. Not that I care if he sees me when I’m not looking my best, of course.
I drain half the bottle as he watches.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
He just smirks and shakes his head.
“You are so irritating,” I say, turning my back on him and guzzling down the rest of the water. I really need a shower and a nap right now.
“I’m hungry. You wanna go get some pancakes?” I swivel back around slowly.
“Huh?”
“Do you wanna go get some pancakes? Or French toast? Or eggs Benedict?” He wipes some sweat off his forehead with his shirt and I try (and fail) not to look at the little slice of abs that he reveals when he lifts his shirt. I should be used to seeing him without a shirt by now. He takes it off all the time during practice. Sometimes, I think, just to torture me. I mean, if his bod wasn’t enough, those damn tattoos.
I’ve gotten a good look at them by now and figured out they’re all nature related. Clouds and oceans and trees. His body is like a giant tribute to Ansel Adams or something. I wonder if any of it has some personal significance. They must, right? Most people don’t permanently ink their body with pictures that aren’t significant. But I’d rather eat my cheer shoes after a three-hour practice than ask him.
“Pancakes?” I say as if I’ve never heard the word before.
“Yeah, pancakes. Don’t you crave carbs after a run?” Well, yeah, I do, but I’d rather enjoy them in the privacy of my own home, at my own table with my own syrup. The real stuff. Not that watered-down crap they serve. Even when I’d been living in Texas, I’d always had to get authentic maple syrup. Now that I’m in Maine, it’s a lot easier, which is one of the only itty-bitty perks of living here. I haven’t been through the winter yet, so I’ll probably take that back in the middle of January.
I narrow my eyes at him and am about to say no when my traitorous stomach growls. He laughs, a deep, rich sound that makes tingles break out in my body.
“I’ll take that as a yes?” he says, walking backward to the parking lot, tilting his head to the side. I’m about to tell him that I’m not going to eat with him when another word comes out of my mouth.
“Fine.”
Wait, what? That’s the opposite of what I meant to say. Literally. But then my feet are carrying me toward him, and the next thing I know I’m sitting in Rhett Miller’s truck and he’s humming along with the radio as we head toward a diner just off campus.
I’d figured he would drive a truck, as a lot of guys in Maine have a tendency to do, but I didn’t expect it to be so clean and smell fresh. Like pine instead of stale cigarettes and old fast-food grease. I keep expecting to find something about Rhett that totally turns me off, but it hasn’t happened yet and that’s really pissing me off. I just end up cataloging his many attractive qualities and wanting to punch myself in the brain.
The diner is only a few minutes outside of campus and the kind of hole-in-the-wall place that caters to locals and hungover college students. We’re neither, so Rhett and I are a little out of place with the local fellows having their morning coffee and bitching about the weather, the commuters in a hurry and being picky about the exact right amount of cream in their coffee, and the people who look like they’re still in the throes of sleep.
A perky waitress leads us to a leather booth in the back, and the seats make that awful fart-like noise when Rhett and I sit down. I try not to blush and fail. He just chuckles and hands me a giant menu that’s sticky and smells like maple syrup. The fake stuff.
The waitress comes back and Rhett and I both order coffee. His black, mine with enough cream and sugar to render it unrecognizable. I expect him to say something about it, but he doesn’t.
Silence descends on us as we peruse the menus. I don’t want to get anything that he suggested, but the caramel French toast is really calling to me. Along with hash browns and bacon. Honestly, I am hungry enough to eat this damn menu if someone doesn’t put something edible in front of me in the next few minutes.
Fortunately, the waitress is prompt, and Rhett lets me order first. I get extra bacon because I can’t help it. I don’t even worry about what Rhett might think of me consuming all this food. And then HE orders and my eyes pop.
Pancakes and a western omelet and hash browns and bacon and sausage and a biscuit. Oh, and gravy on the biscuit.
I nearly choke on air as the waitress takes our menus back and rushes off to the kitchen to put in our order. I hope they have enough food back there.
“What can I say, I like breakfast.” Rhett says, shrugging. “I eat the most in the
morning and then not as much later. It works for me.” He cracks some of his knuckles, and I want to tell him that it’s definitely working for him because whatever he’s done to build that bod is excellent.
He sips his coffee and doesn’t seem inclined to make any kind of conversation, which is odd. I don’t just want to sit here with this hulking guy and not talk.
“So. How are you liking the cheer life?” I cringe at the sound of my voice, but it’s better than nothing.
“What’s not to like? Bust my ass and get to harass you every day.” I roll my eyes and he chuckles. Where the hell is our food? It needs to be here like ten minutes ago.
“In all seriousness, I really do like it. I wouldn’t be hauling myself out of bed at five for something I didn’t enjoy.” Interesting.
“So you’re not getting shit from anyone for being a male cheerleader?” He shrugs one shoulder.
“Even if I did, I wouldn’t care. The opinions of people who put others down for doing something they love aren’t opinions I give a shit about.” Oh, well. I like that.
“That’s probably wise,” I say, looking into my empty coffee cup. If I have more, I’m going to be a jittery mess for a while, but I need something to do other than stare at Rhett. When I look at him, I keep listing all the things about his face that I like and realizing that it’s the kind of face that I would like on my face. Or on other parts of my body. I can feel my face getting red, and fortunately, our food arrives and distracts both of us.
“Are you seriously going to finish all that?” I ask as the waitress sets out enough food for a family of seven in front of Rhett.
He grabs the ketchup and squirts it all over his hash browns.
“Yup.”
* * *
Less than an hour later, Rhett is leaning back in the booth and looking quite pleased with himself.
“We should have made a bet, but I was too hungry to think of it.” He sighs and I sip my water. I finished my plates too, but still. I have never seen anyone other than a body builder or someone training for a competitive eating competition put that much away at one time. His bill is going to be huge. We didn’t talk about how we were going to pay, and I’m a little curious to see if he’s going to pay for both of us. I almost don’t want him to because then this would feel more like some sort of weird breakfast date and not just two people eating food at the same place at the same time with nothing between them. Not that there is anything between me and Rhett. Besides him teasing me and my annoyance.