Tales of the Otherworld (18 page)

His lips twitched. “And exactly how many times have you taken public transit since you’ve been there?”

“Once or twice, but that’s not the point. I need my freedom. My own transportation. I could afford a motorcycle. Buy it there, ride it until I’m done, then bring it home. Jeremy said no cars, but he never said no bikes.”

The smile broke through. “If you think that’s really what he meant, then why not just tell him—”

“Too complicated. Point is, a motorcycle would be perfect. Nick and I rode dirt bikes in Arizona last summer. Easy enough.”

“You need a license and—”

I waved him off. “If I get pulled over, I’ll play ignorant foreigner. But I’d need some help picking the right size bike, the right type, and all that. If I decide that’s what I want to do, can I call you?”

He nodded. “A motorcycle might be just what you need. A car, well—” He looked over at me. “It’s not as if you need room for more than one, right?”

I shrugged. “I can always buy an extra helmet, just in case, but—”

Nick barreled through the doorway. “You still down here?” He looked at his father. “Giving Clay workout tips? Hey, Logan! Come quick. Clay’s getting told how to lift weights.”

“Yeah, but is he listening?” Logan said as he walked in. He paused and looked from me to Antonio. “I think we’re interrupting something, Nick. How about we—”

“We’re not interrupting,” Nick said, dropping down beside me. “We’re rescuing. Time to get Clay out of here before my father tells him all the things he’s been doing wrong and shatters his delusions of perfection.”

I snapped the towel at him and got to my feet. “We’re done. So what’s up? You guys ready for more?”

Nick snorted. “Not more of this. We have”—he made a show of checking his watch—“exactly six hours before we need to drive Logan to the airport. The question is, how to make the most of those hours. I say—”

“I say we let Clay pick something,” Logan said.

“Like he’s not going to do that anyway,” Nick said.

“Yes, but letting him pick, and letting him bully us into letting him pick, are two different things.” Logan looked at me. “We were thinking of heading into Syracuse. What’ll it be? Dinner? A movie?”

“Dinner and a movie. Then dinner again.”

Logan laughed. “Sure, why not? My last chance to pig out before school. Nick? Pick a movie.”

“Are we actually going to see what I choose?” Nick said. “Or just pretend to consider it?”

“You pick the movie,” I said. “I’ll pick the first restaurant. Logan can pick the later one.”

“Whoa,” Logan said. “That sounds almost democratic. I’m switching my theory to alien possession. This has gone too far for spiked drinks.”

I tried to smack him, but he dodged past me and we raced up the steps, leaving Antonio in the exercise room.

A
S I WALKED THROUGH THE DOORS OF SIDNEY
Smith Hall, I quickened my pace and surveyed the rapidly filling corridor. The chances of running into Clayton out here were next to nil, but I looked anyway. More significantly, I let myself look.

Part of me still rebelled, urged my legs to slow down, not to get to class early. But I wasn’t giving in to that. Not today.

I spent too much of my life worrying about how things look, how they might be interpreted, never wanting to seem too enthusiastic, to let anyone know I gave a damn. It was hard work maintaining those defenses, and some days I wanted to tear them down, act as I pleased, and not care what anyone thought.

I’d begun to feel that maybe, with Clayton, I could. When it came to acting strangely, I was pretty sure I couldn’t outdo him. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him, so he wasn’t likely to judge me. And, even if he did, he was leaving in another month or so, and I’d probably never see him again.

Was it only another month? Alarm raced through me, but I chased it back. I had other things to worry about.

At least the weekend was over. Any holiday that revolved around family saw me sitting in my dorm room alone, keenly aware of the empty halls, afraid to even turn on the television, knowing I’d be confronted with images of the holiday, even the commercials leaping out to remind me that normal people were home with their families.

I hated dwelling on this, but never seemed to be able to get past it.
My one bit of “family” contact that weekend had been a former foster mother phoning, not to invite me to Thanksgiving dinner but to accuse me, yet again, of ruining her son’s life. As if it was my fault—

“Elena!”

A dark-haired young woman pushed past a group loitering outside an open classroom door.

“Hey, Jody,” I said, stopping.

“Hey, yourself. You didn’t call when you got in last night. I was hoping we could grab coffee. So how was your weekend?”

“Good. And yours?”

“I survived.” She stepped closer, moving out of the lane of foot traffic. “So, what’d you do? Visit lots of relatives? Eat lots of turkey? Pray you don’t have to see either again until Christmas?”

I forced a smile. “Something like that. You joining us for dinner?”

“Of course. Share some holiday war stories before my night class. Get your best one ready, ’cause I think I’ve got everyone beat this time.”

We chatted for another couple of minutes. I hated lying to my friends, but the alternative was worse. Admit you have no place to go for the holiday, and they’ll do what any good friend would do—invite you to share their family celebrations. While I appreciated the gesture, the only thing worse than sitting alone in my dorm was sitting with strangers who were all trying very hard to make me feel like family, and only reminding me all the more that I wasn’t.

After talking to Jody, I was no longer early for class. By the time I swung through the door, the room was nearly full. Clayton was at the front, sorting papers. I paused, expecting him to look up. He always did, with that weird sixth sense of his, seeming to know when someone was heading to the office even before I heard footsteps. He kept working, though. I swung past the desk. He lifted his head, but he didn’t meet my gaze, let alone sneak me a smile.

I climbed to my seat, disappointment mingling with reproach. So he didn’t notice me. Big deal. I was his TA. What did I expect? A hug?

As I took my seat, he began the lecture. He didn’t look my way, and I tried not to worry about that. Of course, I
did
worry. Had he talked to
someone at home who’d convinced him that a friendship with a female student wasn’t such a good idea? Or, worse, convinced him that I might interpret his interest as more than friendship?

He began passing out papers, handing them down the rows. He gave me one, then passed the rest to the person beside me, his gaze never dropping within a foot of my head. Okay, something
had
happened.

I took my sheet. Instructions for an assignment…with a handwritten line, dark against the faded copy.

I looked up just as he was heading back down the middle row. As he passed me, he glanced over, brows lifting. I grinned, and his smile broke through before he turned away.

A second page followed the first, this one a list of possible topics. Again, mine came with an extra note.

I laughed, startling my neighbor, then stuffed the pages into my binder. As Clayton stepped up to the lectern, his gaze shot my way, brows arched, expecting an answer. I bit back a smile and pretended not to notice…just as I pretended not to notice the glower that followed when he realized I wasn’t going to respond.

When class ended, I took a few minutes to tidy my notes, waiting for the room to empty. By now students rarely lingered to ask more than a quick question, having learned that anything else only earned them a scowl.

As the last students filed out, I slipped from my seat. Clayton had his back to me, gathering his papers from the table.

“So?” he said, without turning.

“Passing notes in class? Isn’t that a no-no?”

“Only for students.”

“Still, you’d better be careful. Hand that to the wrong person and you’ll get yourself in trouble.”

“Which is why I passed it directly to you.” He leaned against the lectern. “So? Can you run tonight?”

“Hmm, no. Sorry. But I could pencil you in for three weeks from Thursday.”

“Watch it or you’ll find yourself joining the ranks of the unemployed.”

“There are laws against that.”

“So?”

I swung my knapsack onto my shoulder. “Tonight is fine. I’m meeting friends for dinner, but I should be done by seven-thirty. How about I meet you in front of the ROM at eight?”

He agreed, and I left.

It was a cold night for October, single-digit temperatures with a wicked north wind blowing in, reminding the unwary that it wasn’t too soon for a blast of early snow. With daylight saving time over, the sun was long gone by eight, taking any hope of heat with it. When I arrived at the museum, I was ready to head back to my dorm and dig up my winter coat, but once we started the long walk, talking as we went, I forgot the cold.

“Change facilities are a problem,” I said as we entered the park. “The washrooms are locked, so I usually slip into the woods. Hardly decorous but—”

“Whatever works. I never see what the big deal is anyway. Someone sees a flash of bare skin, what are they going to do, run away screaming?”

I laughed. “I’d hope not. But if the flashing involves certain sections of skin, they’ll run screaming to the nearest cop. On a night like tonight, though, I’d be more worried about frostbite than unintentional flashing.”

“You want me to break into a bathroom for you?”

I glanced over, wondering whether he was joking, but pretty sure he wasn’t. When he just looked back at me expectantly, I shook my head.

“Thanks but no. I run year-round, so I’ve learned the art of speed-changing. If we head around that pavilion, we should be out of the wind.”

So we did, each finding a place in the woods to change into our running clothes. Had I been with anyone else, this is the point where I would have gotten nervous, undressing in the forest a few feet from a
near-stranger. But one advantage to being with a guy as good-looking as Clayton is that I was sure he didn’t need to lure girls into the forest to get them out of their clothes.

When I stepped out of the woods, he was already there, and I quickly realized one
disadvantage
to being with a guy as good-looking as Clayton. The gape factor. In the last few weeks, I’d become less aware of his looks. As Shaw said, “Beauty is all very well at first sight; but whoever looks at it when it has been in the house three days?”

So far I’d only seen him in his professorial clothes—usually a jersey or pullover and loose-fitting casual pants. As he stepped out in a tank top and shorts, I became keenly aware that, as nice as the picture had been with those baggy clothes, I’d been missing half of it. It was obvious Clayton wasn’t the kind of guy whose only exercise was the occasional jog around the block. I tried not to look. Failing that, I tried not to stare.

As much as I like the solitude of running alone, there’s something to be said for having company of the right sort. Preferably someone who can keep up a light chatter and keep up the pace. Clayton managed both easily, and we were back where we started before I knew it.

“—hadn’t seen it, so we ended up watching
Die Hard
again,” he said as we slowed to a walk.

“Is that the kind of movie you like?” I asked.

“Pretty much. Action and adventure flicks, mostly, though comedy’s fine, sometimes horror. A few months ago, we went to see the new
Crocodile Dundee
one, but it was sold out, so we saw…now what was it? Something about a baby.
We’re Having a Baby
, I think. Now, that
wasn’t
my kind of movie.”

“A chick flick.”

“Huh?”

“A film aimed at the female portion of the moviegoing public.”

“Oh.” He peered over at me. “You like those kind of movies?”

“No, I’m saying that’s who they’re
made
for. Not that every woman likes them, no more than every guy likes movies where stuff blows up.”

“What kind do you like?”

I grinned. “The ones where stuff blows up.”

“We should go to a movie, then.”

I glanced over at him, but already knew what I’d see. No hint that this was anything other than a friendly suggestion. Like the invitation to run together, he blurted out such things with a guileless innocence that couldn’t help but put me at ease.

“Sure,” I said. “We should do that someday.”

“How about Friday?”

I laughed. “I said
someday.
” A pause, then I glanced over at him. “Maybe Saturday.”

“Saturday, then. Any idea what’s play—”

He stopped. As I took another step, his fingertips brushed my arm, and I looked back to see him still standing there. He motioned for me to stop and scanned the grassy hill leading to the pavilion.

“Someone’s here,” he murmured.

“Oh?” I squinted into the darkness. “Where?”

“Over by the parking lot. You go get changed. I’ll wait.”

When I came out, he was standing by the pavilion, watching the distant parking lot.

“Still there?” I asked.

“There
again.
He left a couple times, but keeps coming back. Like he’s waiting for someone.”

“Probably is. Get dressed, then. I’ll stay here.”

After about a minute of squinting at the parking lot, I saw a figure. Male, it looked like. A cold night for a tryst, but I suppose that never stops anyone who’s determined enough. I ducked behind the pavilion wall. No need to advertise my presence.

A moment later, a man appeared, walking along the path beside the pavilion. He didn’t see me, and I only caught a glimpse of his back as he passed. Something in his stride made my heart jump into my throat, but I shook it off. Couldn’t be. Not out here.

He reached the end of the path, then headed back. As he turned, I stiffened. No one knew I was here…no one except my roommate. Damn it! I quickstepped back into the shadows, but not before he saw me.