In the Bad Boy's Bed (14 page)

So good.

He walked me to the elevator and pushed the button. As we rode to the fourth floor, I wondered whether he'd come in. Whether we'd make love.

We exited the elevator. "Which room's yours?" he asked.

"Four sixty nine."

He grinned at the number.

"Don't even say a word," I warned, my voice sleepy.

He shook his head and made the motion of zipping his smiling lips.

"How did I not know what a trouble maker you are?" I said with a laugh.

"You were blinded by my charm, good looks, and love making skills."

"If that's what you need to tell yourself, babe, it's OK with me."

We were at my room. The narrow hallway allowed us to stand with only a foot or so of space between us. The closeness, along with the poor lighting conditions, made for a perfect intimate moment. It would be easy to crawl back into our roles as lovers.

"I think I was the one blinded by you." His voice was no more than a whisper that I could feel against my lips.

I leaned back against the door. "What about me blinded you?"

"Everything."

I wanted to go into his arms, but I sensed that he was holding back. Had this heart-to-heart sharing changed something between us? Were we just naturally more cautious now because of what we'd both gone through what felt like a lifetime ago?

"Thanks for tonight," I said, breaking the fragile silence.

"My pleasure."

At the same moment we exclaimed: "Déjà vu!" and laughed.

"God, Angel. I'm so glad you're here. C'mere."

He slid his arms around my waist and gently pulled me to him. My arms went around his neck. I soaked up the heat and joy pouring out of his heart toward me. I felt his heart beating inside mine. It did feel like déjà vu. But it was real.

I breathed him in, filling my lungs full for the first time since the last time I'd loved him. I touched the edges of his dark, thick hair, and remembered when I'd had the freedom to grab hold of it during the many sublime moments he gave me.

Slowly he stepped back, dropped his arms to his sides, pulling himself out of me, again leaving me cold and empty.

"Good night."

"Good night."

I stayed at my door, watching him walk down the hall.

A few doors away, he stopped, turned back toward me. "Hey, you wanna have breakfast together later?"

"Sure."

"I'll come by around ten."

"Make it ten-thirty. I need my beauty sleep."

"Liar."

He walked a few more doors down. Stopped. Took out a key card, and opened the door. I could see the grin on his face all the way down the poorly lighted hall.

"Wait a minute . . . that's your room?" I asked.

"Yeah. Four-fifty-one. Good night neighbor. See you in a couple of hours."

My grin a mile wide on my face, I shook my head, went into my room, and shut the door.

Girl, you're in trouble
, I said to myself.

The best way to describe our breakfast the next morning was to call it the first day of the rest of our friendship. We walked to class together, we ate our meals together, we did our laundry together, we studied together, and we partied together. But always as friends. He was careful to keep things between us easy and very platonic. We held hands some, and hugged each other hello and goodbye, but there was no intimate touching, no kissing, and no sex.

It baffled me, considering how we had been in high school. Not that I wasn't comfortable in our current relationship, I just couldn't help thinking about the many hours of intimacy we had shared all those months ago and how easy it would be to start again here, where no one knew us and the roles that had defined us in our hometown didn't matter. But it was clear that if our relationship was to go to the next level, I'd be the one to kick it upstairs.

We were in the midst of grueling midterms. Nick and I were in the library studying for the trig test. We had the same class but at different times. It was going to be a tough test for me; math wasn't my best subject. Like many things in his life, Nick seemed to know what he was doing. He was in the middle of explaining a long and tedious and also quite boring problem to me for the second time when my mind chose to wonder down memory lane.

I stared at his head intently bent over the problem scratched out on the lined paper in front of us. He was carefully explaining each stage of the computation, but I didn't hear a single word he was saying.

I was noticing how the overhead light brought out the highlights in his hair, and remembering how it felt to run my fingers through it as I held his head closer to deepen a kiss on my lips or other places on my body.

I was watching his lips move, remembering how they felt pressed against my skin as he kissed me and loved me. I was in the middle of remembering how amazing it felt to have him make love to me when he looked at me, and our eyes locked.

"Angie, did you get that?"

It took me a minute to realize he had spoken to me.

"What?" I asked, feeling dazed.

"Did you get it?" he repeated slowly, amusement tingeing his voice. At my blank stare he added, "The math problem—did you understand the problem?"

I nodded my head. "Uh, yes, I . . . ." I laughed then shook my head. "Well, no. I zoned out right after step 2." My gaze fixed intently on his.

"Where are you tonight, Angie?" he asked softly, a twinkle in his eyes and in that crooked grin across his face.

In my tiredness, I guess I was feeling gutsy or stupid because I answered him truthfully. "Down at the river. On a steamy, late summer night. Wearing nothing but moonlight and you."

I heard my voice as through a haze, but I could tell that he had heard me clearly.

The look said it all—he was back at the river with me. His eyes opened wide for just a second, registering his surprise, then they closed to half lid. His lips parted and moved into a small smile. His gaze moved to my lips then back to my eyes. A spark passed between us, leaving goose bumps at attention all over my body.

"Angel." He whispered my name softly and his hand came up to gently touch my face.

Our eyes locked passionately, and that invisible force that was always present between us, pulling us together, grew stronger. His eyes dropped to my lips. His tongue slipped out to lick his lips.

My heart blossomed in my chest as he leaned toward me and kissed me softly, gently. It was the lightest of kisses, just a brushing of the lips, but it was enough to fan the flames licking at my soul. I moved in to deepen the kiss. At first he responded, showing me his passion was as strong as mine.

Then, to my surprise and disappointment, he pulled away. "Angie, no. We can't start this again."

"Sure we can. And maybe we can even get it right this time." I reached up to touch his hair.

"Angie." He caught my hand in his. "We need to keep our relationship purely platonic."

"Why?"

"Because I can't handle it any other way, that's why." His tone was stern and almost angry.

"What's there to handle?"

"Your hot and cold attitude toward me – I never know which I'm going to get and I don't have the time to figure it out."

"That's not fair. Maybe I was like that in high school, but I'm not like that now.

We've spent a lot of time together in the past few months. Have I been that way with you at all? I've done nothing but be honest with you, try to show you how I feel about you, show you what you mean to me, yet all you do is act like I'm your sister."

My voice must have gone up in volume a notch or two, because Nick glanced around to see if anyone had heard us. His next sentence was a real library voice. "This isn't the time or place to go into this."

"No, this is the perfect time to go into this. Tell my why you're acting like this. I thought you liked me."

"I do like you."

"Then why are you treating me like . . . like one of your soccer buddies instead of a woman you used to make love with."

"Okay, you wanna know, here it is. I don't want to be used again."

"Used?"

"Yes, used! In high school you carried on and on about how I wasn't good enough for you and how much you didn't want someone like me, but all I had to do was take you in my arms and kiss you, and you couldn't rip open the condom wrapper fast enough."

The comment flamed my face with embarrassment but I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing it bothered me. I lifted my chin a notch.

"I never heard you once complain about my desire for you."

"That's not the point."

"Oh, so there is a point to your rudeness?"

"The point is that you're now saying that being with me is what you want, but I know you; eventually you'd feel embarrassed about being with me, just like you were in high school. I can't handle trying to keep you happy and figured out while also keeping on track with my classes. You were right, you know. What you said in high school about a relationship taking more than sex. It takes full emotional commitment from both people to work. I don't have the time for that kind of commitment right now and you don't have it in you to commit yourself to me. I'm not even convinced that a relationship with me is really what you want."

"Well, then, let me be really clear. I do want a relationship with you – and not of the

'just friends' variety, or even a friends with benefits variety. So if you're giving me the brush off, don't try to pin it on something I did or didn't do in high school. If you don't want to be with me, just say so. Don't come up with some bullshit cop-out, like we need to concentrate on school. I'm a big girl, I can handle the truth."

"I told you the truth . . . I don't want to be used. The only reason you're after me now is because you're horny and I'm here. You know it and I know it . . . it's high school all over again."

"That's not true!"

"Oh, you're not horny?"

"Well, yes, I am, but that doesn't mean I'm using you. I've been thinking about us for a long time."

"How long? Since we've been in the library and you're bored with trig?"

"You know, I really thought you knew me better than that, but you don't . . . ."

"Oh, I remember this game. You say I don't know you, then I prove I do by telling you exactly where you like to be licked on you pu—"

Frustration sent my hand flying out to slap his face. He didn't move, but took the full force of my anger. My red handprint appeared on his cheek.

"Too bad you'll never know if it's still true." I spat out the words as I gathered up my books and shoved them into my backpack. I stormed away. He didn't call out to me or run after me like I'd hoped he would. Like he would have done in high school.

I went back to my dorm and cried, then tried to do some trig. But all I saw was Nick scribbling out the problem in his all-caps engineering writing. All I heard was his patient voice guiding me through each step. All I felt was his shoulder brushing against mine whenever he watched me do a problem.

I threw the book across the room.

As much as I hurt, I deserved his treatment of me for how I'd treated him in high school. I'd hurt him. And he'd hurt me.

"Payback's a bitch, Angela." My voice echoed off the off-gray walls of the hollow room I called home. I'd spent all my free time with Nick instead of fixing up my half of the room. My roommate spent most of her time with her boyfriend, making her half as desolate as mine. Sitting on my bed, alone, confused, and unable to focus enough on those trig problems long enough to pass the test, it hit me: I'd been a fool over Nick Donnelly again. I crawled under the covers and cried.

* * * * *

I saw him several days later as he walked to class.

"Nick, wait up," I called out, smiling and jogging to catch up with him.

He didn't stop, just turned his head slightly to see who had called, and kept walking, though a bit slower to allow me to catch up.

"Angie." His acknowledgment was cool and aloof, but at least he hadn't ignored me.

"I've decided to forgive your rudeness the other night. You hurt me and I hurt you, and now we're even. I've decided to give you another chance." I said only half-teasingly, still smiling up into his still stony face.

"Thanks. Now I can sleep at night," he drawled.

"I'll ignore the sarcasm and chalk it up to the fact that you're not a morning person.

How about a cup of coffee to improve your mood? I'll even buy."

"I've got a class in five minutes."

"Afterwards then. What class do you have now?

"Biology."

"Yuk, no wonder you're in a bad mood. If I had to start my day dissecting pickled--"

"Angela, look, I'm late, so…see you around."

Then without so much as a goodbye or a last look, he jogged away, leaving me standing alone and feeling foolish, gazing after him.

This wasn't going to be as easy as I'd first thought.

I went to the food court, ordered a latte, and sat at one of the tables to do some reading before my first class. I hadn't read more than one paragraph before I was interrupted.

"You look like you could use some company, Angie." It was Luke Walker. Nick had reluctantly introduced us at a party, then warned me afterward about his score-at-all-costs outlook on life. I found his antics and attempts at seduction more laughable than dangerous, though. And today his attention was a healing salve to my bruised ego and a great diversion to thinking about how Nick had dumped me.

"Company? Well, that depends on who you have in mind. Any ideas?" I teased.

"Oh hell, Angie baby, I've always got ideas." He plopped down into the chair next to me.

"Have a seat, Luke."

"Mind if I have two." He brought his size 12 foot up to rest on the edge of my chair between my knees and pointed his toe dangerously close to my crotch.

"This one's taken." I pushed his foot off.

He laughed and moved it to the other chair nearby, giving me a clear view of his crotch, which seemed to be tenting his gray sweats. I was not in the least turned on by his peacock display.

"Where I come from, friends share." The lascivious grin he sent me had me shaking my head with amusement as I countered.