Subject to Change (4 page)

“Good, right?” he said, training those stunning eyes on me.

“Amazing,” I mumbled through my chewing. Then I realized what I must have sounded like and pulled myself together. “So. Business class…” I started.

“Yeah,” he said. “No. Eat first, then Business class.”

I couldn’t help it. Something about being across the table from Hawk, with this food in front of me, made me feel so comfortable that I kept eating and relaxed even further against the back of my chair.

“Did you make these?” I asked.

He nodded. “It’s no big deal, but yeah, I’m a pretty decent cook. One of the few things I’m good at.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down.

“Okay, first of all, I’d say ‘chef.’ Second, that can’t be true — that that’s the only thing you’re good at,” I said through another mouthful.

“I didn’t say the only thing,” he said, fiddling with the corner of a paper napkin.

“Oh. Um. Right. No. Of course not.” What was it with me and speaking in short, fumbling sentences with this guy? Whenever I was around him, I felt like the rules of the universe had somehow shifted, and I no longer knew how to behave like a normal person.

An uncomfortable silence passed between us, something I couldn’t stand. I’d grown up learning that not keeping up a conversation was rude.

“So you work here? Every night?”

“Yeah, I… Yeah. It was supposed to be part-time here, full-time at school, but it’s kind of switched to full-time here and part-time at school… In fact, this semester is just the business class for me.”

“Oh.” I chewed and swallowed and let more silence stretch between us. I’d never thought about kids who had to bust their asses at a part-time job. Dad’s trust fund didn’t make it possible to live in the lap of luxury or anything — I remembered how upset I’d been when I realized I couldn’t afford to study abroad — but it did cover all my housing and food needs, along with tuition. He’d done that on purpose, he’d said, so that I could afford to do internships, just like the one I was doing now.

The one I totally hated.

And once again, thinking about the career I supposedly so desperately wanted made me feel like shit. Without realizing it, I’d demolished another potato skin. My stomach had stopped growling, but they were so frickin’ delicious that I reached for another one after that.

Hawk just watched me, his eyes flicking from my hands to my mouth. When they stayed on my lips for one, then two seconds, I fidgeted involuntarily.

“So, you drive a motorbike.” Keeping this conversation going was like pulling teeth.

He flicked his eyebrows up and nodded slowly. “Did you like the ride?”

I shrugged. “It’s the first time I’ve ever been on one. I mean…most people our age just have cars.”

“I know I should have gotten a car, but…when I first saw her, I felt good about it. I just knew she’d always run well and never fail me.” His eyes moved to mine, and I swore their ice blue color could have frozen that moment forever. “Sometimes you just have to do what feels right, no matter what anyone else says. You know?”

Plates crashed in the back, and a couple of men started shouting. Hawk’s eyes went wide and wild, and I was suddenly jerked out of my relaxed mood and sat bolt upright.

Hawk jumped out of his chair and muttered back at me, “Don’t move.”

He dashed back to the kitchen, bursting through the doors and yelling over the fight. A couple more dishes crashed, and then the whole place went silent.

A few seconds later, the talking picked back up, and Hawk marched toward our table.

“Let’s get you out of here. I’m so sorry. Sometimes he gets…out of control.”

“Yeah,” I said under my breath, getting my jacket on as quickly as possible. I lifted my bag over my shoulder before Hawk could say another word, and within half a minute, we were outside. The contrast between warm and cold air shocked me back awake, so much so that I barely even noticed that I hadn’t put my gloves on until Hawk had already started the bike and, once again, I straddled it.

“Where do you live?” His voice, so much tenser than it had been when we were sitting in the bar, broke the silence. I gave him directions to the house, and we rode in silence. I saw the same signs on the way back as I had on the way out to the bar, but now, everything felt different, like I’d taken a deep breath by riding through town and eating dinner with Hawk and I was waiting to find a good time to exhale.

But I kind of didn’t want to.

When he pulled up to the Kappa Delta house, I said quietly, “Thanks. Uh…the project. What should we…”

Hawk ran his hand back through his hair and sighed heavily. “Shit. Fuckin’ Gary.” He pounded the handlebars with both hands, and my eyes flew open wide.

When he saw my expression, he said, “Sorry. I’m sorry. Can we meet before class?”

“Before eight thirty?” I asked.

“I’m sorry,” he said, in that same throaty voice. “I just… Dammit.”

“Yeah,” I said, yawning. “Yeah. That’s fine.” I wasn’t sure exactly what made me want to make accommodations for this guy whose situation I couldn’t quite figure out and whose mood seemed to turn on a dime, but I did. Even though he smelled like cigarette smoke again.

“Thank you.” He stared down at his fists, now wrapped so tightly around the handlebars his knuckles were white.

“No problem,” I said as I managed to get myself off the bike, then walked up the stone steps to our sorority house, more confused about Hawk than ever.

I dug in the fridge for some snacks — as awesome as they were, potato skins were not going to cut it for dinner — and plopped myself on the couch between a couple of my sorority sisters, who were camped out there half-watching trashy reality TV and half-doing their homework. Even though the room was filled with people, a strange lonely feeling settled over me. One of Cat’s guilty pleasures was reality TV, and if she had been there, she would have chattered through the whole thing, getting me to laugh despite my mysteriously down mood. I loved my Kappa Delta sisters, but the things they were talking about — sorority parties, what haircut they wanted to get, whether our early-semester philanthropy project should be a bake sale or a pizza night, and how bitchy it was to not go to Ruby’s play tomorrow night — just didn’t interest me. At all. Any time anyone tried talking to me, it took enormous focus just to respond half-appropriately.

When the show ended, I said my token goodnights to the girls and wandered upstairs. Cat was around a lot in the mornings and sometimes during the day, but she spent most of her nights with Nate now. In fact, the vast majority of girls in my pledge class — and in the house in general — had serious boyfriends. They had joked so many times that my boyfriend was my bio major.

I’d laughed every single time. Most of the time, I even thought it was funny or had at least worn it as a badge of honor. I was serious about my studies, focused on my goals. On my Dad’s goals for me, at least. Goals that would save peoples’ lives. What could be more important than that?

But, I realized as I trudged to my room and wiggled under my covers, you couldn’t cuddle with an Organic Chemistry textbook. And you definitely couldn’t do….other things either.

The second I started thinking about ‘“other things,”‘ the image of Hawk’s lips filled my mind, along with just one word: delicious.

Holy shit. Did I have a crush on the loser guy who couldn’t get his shit together to be anywhere on time? Who worked in a gross smoky hole-in-the-wall bar and who was only slightly less than rude to me every time I saw him?

Who lugged pans full of food to the Rowland House and made me potato skins when I was starving?

A smile spread across my lips unbidden, and I buried my face in my pillow to squash it. It didn’t work.

Maybe meeting early before class wouldn’t be so tough after all.

Chapter 6

The alarm
screamed in my ears at seven. I groaned and rolled over in the warm spot I’d made in my covers, even though the rest of this damn house was freezing. When I turned my head into my shoulder, the scent of something different overwhelmed me. It was the smell of musk and incense and a little cedar — cologne. Boy cologne. Hawk cologne. Probably from when I’d been crushed up against him, cruising through the University City streets. Hawk, who I apparently had a frickin’ crush on, despite the way he fell asleep in class and the weird bar and the tattoos on his back.

I didn’t date guys who did any of those things, let alone all of them.

Thinking about those tattoos just got me thinking about how I wish I could see all of them, which just got me thinking about Hawk shirtless. Between running face-on into him and holding on to his sides on that bike, I knew that, even though the boy was thin, he was solid muscle.

Six feet of solid muscle that I’d be seeing in an hour.

Shit. What was I going to wear?

I had three types of clothing in my possession: sweats, clothes for going out, and a few outfits’ worth of “Josephine” clothes — the skinny jeans, flats, and cardigans perfect for going to a book club or country club lunch, but not at all interesting or fun or passionate.

None of these clothes looked at all like me. They looked like a pre-med student or a sorority girl or Doctor Daly’s daughter — but none of them said, “Joey.” I’d been so wrapped up in throwing myself into my major that I hadn’t used college for what normal people did: figuring out who they are and how they wanted to present themselves.

Pulling on some dark skinny jeans — should go with most stuff, I reasoned — I stumbled one doorway down the hall to Cat’s room. I didn’t know why I even bothered to knock — I would have bet next semester’s tuition that she had stayed at Nate’s. Even though she was eight inches taller and at least two bra sizes bigger than me, I prayed under my breath I’d be able to find an appropriate top.

What were the chances of finding something in Cat’s closet that screamed “Joey?”

Well, we were best friends. It was as good a shot as any.

I ran my hands over the fabrics. Cat was always on top of the latest fashions, adding her own hand-sewn designs to her closet to top it off. I knew that she shoved the least fashionable stuff into the back as new stuff moved in. I moved each hanger to the side more and more furiously as nothing managed to catch my eye.

Finally, I found a soft, ivory tank made up of layers of fabric hanging down in points. It was some weird mix of haphazard and polished that felt a lot like me. I threw it on over my cami and dark jeans; topped it with a khaki, collar-strap jacket I already owned; looked in the mirror, and realized — I looked good. Not just good but beautiful. I didn’t know if it was the clothes themselves, the pride I’d felt in assembling them, or something else, but my face looked happy, open. Glowy even.

I grabbed my wool button-down coat instead of my puffy zippered one even though it was still frickin’ freezing outside. Warm or not, I realized that I always felt like a little kid with that puffy, gigantic-hooded monstrosity on.

Probably because I’d worn a jacket like that since I actually was a little kid.

Pulling the door of the house shut tight behind me, I felt different. Like, maybe for the first time, I was starting to really grow up.

I honestly couldn’t believe that I hadn’t gotten any more of an exact time from Hawk than “before class.” My mom often teased me because I basically carried a day planner in my brain, but for all the times I’d basically kept our family in order — especially in the months after Dad died — she really couldn’t complain too much. Sports stuff for my sister and brothers, financial planning meetings, our participation in the family reunion nine months later that mom couldn’t bring herself to help plan…I did it all. Mainly because I knew Dad would have been proud that someone had had the chops to keep the family together.

But something about Hawk made me completely forget myself. I shook my head. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t anything about Hawk himself; it was his crazy behavior and the crazy situations he dragged me into — cruising through University City on a motorbike, dragging me into a tiny, smoky bar in an area I didn’t know populated by a manager with anger issues.

Of course we hadn’t decided on an exact time. I was too busy trying to get away from him.

Except I hadn’t really wanted to stop looking at him at all.

I rolled my eyes at myself as I finally entered the classroom, plopping down in a seat and checking the time. Seven forty-five. Forty-five minutes till the start of class wasn’t a ton of time, but it should be enough to at least get our topic and a basic plan squared away.

My feet did a little fidgety dance under the desk, and my fingers tapped on the screen of my phone. The cold, dry air had been making my hands coarse and dry lately, so I reached for some lotion in my bag and smoothed it on. I checked my phone again.

7:48.

Maybe he’d been thinking eight o’clock. Eight should be fine.

I scrolled through some news stories on my phone. A school shooting, a car accident, a new drug developed for cancer treatment testing. News reports about medical innovations always made me a little excited. Not in a morbid way — when lives were lost, it tore me up. But this was the entire reason I’d wanted to be a doctor — to help others.

I checked my phone again. Eight o’clock. It was officially “before class.” Where the hell was he?

I stretched my legs out of my seat and walked over to the door to check the hallway. The whole building was dead silent.

“Come on, Hawk,” I murmured. The panic started to rise. We really needed to present our idea to Professor Simon today, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that with at least an outline of what the entire project would look like. What was the guy thinking? Clearly, he wasn’t.

I started to scribble some possible ideas in my notebook. Cupcake bakery? I stuck my tongue out. Clichéd and lame. Trendy literary magazine? No one would buy it if it was paper probably. Dog walking business? It seemed workable, but I liked cats better than dogs and I didn’t even want to think about cleaning up dog crap in the harsh Philly winters.

Even though my lack of coffee was probably partly to blame for my total failure at this, I still scolded myself. Normally, I was faster at figuring stuff out, laying the groundwork for plans, setting goals I could follow through on. And I couldn’t even think of a stupid pretend business to present a freaking twenty-minute project on.

I clicked on my phone again: eight fifteen. Where the hell was he?

Well, if he wasn’t going to show up, then I didn’t give a shit. We’d just do the project on my future oncology practice. My pen flew across one page of my notebook, sketching exam rooms; warm, inviting physician’s’ offices; and a huge waiting room with different areas for different ages. There was a parent station as well, and it would be staffed with any professional they might need to get through a child’s ordeal with cancer. My heart pinged when I thought of how depressing but, at the same time, how rewarding it would be to help families through that.

I’d never seen a practice office like the one in my head. And as the clock swept past 8:25, I couldn’t put my pen down — ideas poured out.

For the first time since I’d started at Temple, I was excited about classwork. For a business class. So weird.

I was so deep in thought that I barely noticed all the students that trickled into the room until they had filled up the row behind me. And then Professor Simon walked in.

Still no Hawk.

What the hell? Anger bubbled up from my stomach, making me wish I could storm out of the building, find him wherever he was in Philly, and strangle him for ditching. Then I’d probably knee him in the balls for making me get to class early to boot. This was the second time he hadn’t kept his promise to meet me for this project. There were only thirteen weeks left in the semester, and if this project was ruined and I failed the class because he insisted on being a slacker, I would totally lose my shit.

Something whirred to a stop in my brain. Was I losing my shit? Like, right now? Was freaking out like this about a stupid gen ed group project crazy?

No. No. This was totally reasonable. Just because my randomly-chosen loser-of-a-partner didn’t give a shit about anything didn’t mean I shouldn’t.

Professor Simon did a quick attendance, and I bristled again when he called out “Hawkins, William,” and there was nothing but silence in response. He lectured on the first few chapters of the textbook we’d been assigned, and I tried to concentrate on the vocabulary terms, but all I could think about was my original idea, making lists for family services, activities for siblings of sick kids, and resources that should be available to them. Twenty minutes later, staring down at my scribbling, I realized the majority of it was notes for the project and not notes from class. Dammit.

While Professor Simon walked back to his desk at the front and started gathering some papers, I turned and scanned the room for the best person to beg notes from. I looked for that cute sweatpants guy first, but he was basically dozing. Most of my classmates were tapping cell phones or staring out the window. I sighed. Looked like I really did have to do everything myself.

Just then, the door flew open. I saw the boots first — you couldn’t help but notice them, with the clomping sound they made against the hard floor in the high-ceilinged room. He made his way to the front of the class in wide strides, taking the same seat he had the first day, right next to me. And the whole time, those ice blue eyes never left mine. Something was different about them, though. His eyebrows furrowed together in an expression that was half-worry, half-apology.

The professor kept talking as if he hadn’t seen Hawk. “Today is the day you get to tell me the ideas you and your partner came up with. I don’t need a full outline or a dissertation today — just the idea and that introduction we talked about. Here’s where I get to have a little fun. After you tell me your topic, you can’t change it. Part of building a business is sticking with your investment and seeing it through.”

Even though I already had the idea, I tried to pack as much rage as possible into my glare, but it wasn’t really possible without words or growling. Or tears. I didn’t give a shit if Hawk looked worried. I was worried, too — about my grades, also known as the basic reason we came to class in the first place. Who did this guy think he was to fuck over my grade because he couldn’t get his shit together? What if I hadn’t been so on top of things? Our project would have been dead in the water.

Professor Simon had already started to run through the pairs of students, calling their names and jotting down their project ideas.

Hawk looked at me and leaned in, opening his mouth and whispering, “I…”

“Shut up,” I hissed.

“Hawkins and Daly?” Professor Simon called.

Hawk touched my arm and a thrill ran through me, so strong that it stopped my breath. “I got this,” he whispered. Before I could stop him, he called out, “Joey and Hawk’s Restaurant and Bar.”

What?

Professor Simon nodded with a look of appreciation. “Bold choice, you two. Simple in theory, but notoriously difficult to get a restaurant off the ground, especially in a town like this. I’ll be interested to see what you do with it. Do you have anything else for me, uh…Hawk?”

Hawk reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a sheet of lined notebook paper, its edge still ragged from where it was torn from the spiral. “I wrote this up. Hope it’s okay.”

Professor Simon grabbed it with his fingertips. “I’m used to getting typed work, but…yes. Yes, this should be fine,” he said, unfolding it.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Hawk had just committed us to a project about which I knew nothing and gave not a single shit. And he apparently didn’t care about actually showing up to work on the project, which he’d displayed twice now.

Fury bled up through my veins until my whole face burned and my hair felt like it would burst into flames. Thank God there was only ten minutes left in class. When it was over, Hawk turned to me, looked into my eyes again, jerked up his chin in a short nod, and said, “See ya.” Then he stood up and was out the door.

“Hey!” I said, shoving my laptop in my bag way too roughly and throwing it over my shoulder. He was at least six inches taller than me, and his wide gait carried him so quickly that I had to dash to catch up with him.

There was a warmer, humid feel to the atmosphere today, so even though my breath still made clouds in the air, stepping outside didn’t stop me in my tracks. I spotted him making his way to that stupid motorbike, which was chained to a tree a few dozen yards away.

Finally, my voice came to me. “Hawk!” I called.

He didn’t turn around.

I planted my feet beneath me and yelled, “William Hawkins!”

He turned and walked slowly back to me, rolling his eyes. He didn’t even try to hide it.

When he finally reached me, he sighed and cut me off before I could speak. Again.

“Look, I’m sorry I was late, okay? But since I’m a grown-up, sometimes I have grown-up things to deal with, and I’m late to class. Nothing I could do.” His tone had a condescending edge that made me feel like I was a little kid and he was my preschool teacher, which only multiplied my rage. “But you should be happy. I gave him the idea, and it’ll be fine.” He turned to go again.

“What exactly will be fine about this, Hawk? You can’t just half-ass your way through life. That divey bar is never gonna make any money, and even if it could, being a stupid cook there isn’t going to give you enough business sense to make it happen.” I had no idea where the words were even coming from, hadn’t ever consciously thought those things before, but now, they spilled out. “Besides, nothing gives you the right to fuck over my grade in a class I actually care about.”

“You? Care about this class? You told me you were only taking it to fill a GEC. I’m the one who actually works. At a business.”