Murmurs ripple through the class. My heart pounds so hard I feel the beat in the roof of my mouth. I look up, toward the doors at the back of the lecture hall.
Striding into the class, fifteen minutes late, is Sawyer. He wears his leather jacket, white T-shirt, faded and torn jeans. He doesn't glance at me, and my heart literally feels like a stake has gone through it. Or maybe he genuinely just doesn't see me.
On the other hand, he doesn't appear to be looking for me. He takes a seat in the same row as me, but separated from me by about eight seats. I assume he just grabbed the first seat he saw. Maybe he didn't want to stand there, conspicuously searching the room for me.
But before he sits, he gives a quick glance toward me. He knew I was there. He was avoiding me-
He turns enough for me to see his face. Oh God!
He has a black eye, his left cheekbone is covered in ugly green and purple bruises, and there are bandages stuck to his the left side of his jaw and his temple. His lips are swollen and puffy. He looks like he's been through hell.
He had an accident? Is that it? He had an accident on his bike like Jaxon, but his wasn't as bad and somehow he survived?
He looks away from me, toward the front of the room and the calculus prof.
My heart stutters.
In high school, I would have convinced myself not to go near him-to let him come to me. I would have been way too shy to make a move. To reach out to him.
I would have been too afraid of rejection.
But I'm in college now. I'm an adult, and an adult would find out what the hell is going on with a guy she cares about.
As we leave the class, I run after Sawyer. My notebook is blank-for an hour the prof talked about proofs for the integration of trigonometric equations, but I didn't take in a thing.
The math department is on the third floor of the campus's twenty-storey tower. People congregate around the elevators. The crowd forces Sawyer to slow down and I catch up to him. We've reached the fringe of students waiting for elevators.
My hand touches his sleeve. He comes to an abrupt stop. Raking his hand through his hair, Sawyer turns on me.
"Claire, you have to leave me alone," he begins. Then he grabs my arm and leads me away from the crowd to a spot we can be almost alone. People surge by us and no one pays attention. "I need you to stay away from me," he says in a low, harsh voice. "That's why I haven't returned your calls."
My heart spirals. For a moment, it's in freefall. Not. In. High. School. "Why?" I ask. "If it is because you're finished with me, fine. But I think I deserve honesty."
"Finished with you? Are you crazy? I thought we were just starting. But you have got to keep away from me. These guys … hell, they know about you. They know you're my girlfriend."
His girlfriend. I hadn't known that until now. The word makes my heart flutter and feel big and warm. I realize he said he thought our relationship was just starting.
"Okay, I still don't understand why I have to stay away from you." I reach out and touch his bruise. I keep my fingertips grazing over it with feather-light pressure. "Did you have an accident on your bike?" It could have been worse, much worse. But then I realize-it couldn't have been that. He wore a helmet with a visor. How could he have ended up with bruises on his face and a black eye?
"No, it wasn't a bike accident. Claire, you have to listen to me. I'm doing this for your protection."
Then my brain finally understands. "They did this to you? The guys that you race for, the ones who make money betting on you?"
"Yeah. There is a guy who represents my ‘sponsors'. Helman. He hired guys to beat me up. I refused to race anymore. This is what I got."
"Go to the police," I say.
"I can't do that. There are innocent people they could hurt in payback. My mother, for example. Or you."
"Me?" Suddenly I feel ice cold. My stomach drops to my toes. "They threatened to hurt your mother. And me."
"I'm sorry, Claire." Agony flashes across his face. "This is why I never get involved with anyone. Why I was famous for one night stands." He looks rueful. "But you need to dump me and stay away from me."
"How is that going to help? Even if we break up, they aren't going to believe you really don't care if I get hurt. They can still use me as leverage." Which means I'm in danger now. And forever.
"Nothing will ever happen to you. No one will hurt you. I promise I will never let them hurt you."
Grim determination is written in his striking violet eyes. I touch his forearm again. "How are you going to protect me? By continuing to race? This is extortion, Sawyer. It's illegal. If they were arrested, you would be free. You can't do this for the rest of your life. How will you ever get away?"
"Right now I just want to keep the people I care about safe."
"No, Sawyer." I gaze into his eyes, trying to make him see that what he's proposing is crazy. He has to escape these lunatics, not keep working for them. "You have to get out. Surely you can get protection for your mother. Surely the police would do that, in return for your evidence."
"These guys are sadistic bastards. They could threaten to hurt your family too, Claire. Your mother or brother. The cops would argue they don't have the resources to protect your family as well as mine, even if they were willing to watch over my mother."
"You can't be trapped racing for them forever." I realize we're discussing this in a crowded hallway. People are slowing down to listen in. I guess we look so upset people think we must be interesting. "Let's go somewhere that we can talk in private."
He hesitates.
"Sawyer, there's no point in sending me away when it isn't going to make any difference." I speak with determination. Then I remember the mocking Facebook posts, the whispers, the smirking and the laughter behind my back in high school. "Unless you just want me to go."
"I said that isn't what I want." He shoves his hair back again. "All right. Let's go somewhere and get lunch."
We end up at a burger place off campus that specializes in extravagant burgers. There's one that has so many patties and condiments, it's almost a foot high. I have coffee and a simple burger. Our food sits untouched while Sawyer and I argue. I want him to go to the police. He refuses.
"They can use threats to force you to do anything. What if they want you to take bigger risks in a race? You need to get out of this." I think for a while. "What if you set them up?" I keep my voice really quiet. "What if you were to inform the cops where the next race will be? Then they would be arrested."
He shakes his head. "Helman is the only guy I've spoken to. He makes the bets and negotiates my deals with me but he never comes to the races himself. I know he's not the only guy in charge, but I've never met the others. They stay nameless, invisible. Even if Helman got arrested, and he rolled on these nameless men, an arrest for involvement in an illegal street race wouldn't keep them in jail."
"But maybe charges of extortion, assault, and murder would."
"Maybe. But I can't risk going to the cops."
"What if you start losing? Say you've lost your touch or something."
"With these guys, I don't think you get out alive. Even if you're worthless to them."
"You think they would kill you?"
He nods. "Basically I'm trapped.
I feel sick. I'm afraid I'm going to throw up-or pass out. I go to the women's washroom and run cold water on my wrists. When I come out of the washroom door, I'm standing in a corridor area behind the restaurant's dining room. Sawyer is waiting for me.
"I need you, Claire," he says. He cups my face and kisses me. Tenderly and the soft beauty of his kiss is breathtaking.
Then he slants his mouth, parts his lips, uses his tongue to play with my mine.
He presses me up against the wood paneled wall by the washroom door. His intense kisses are making me wet and lusty. His hand caresses my breast through my hoodie, setting me on fire.
There is no one in the women's washroom.
I pull him in there by his T-shirt, kissing him passionately. The door swings shut behind us.
Sawyer lifts me, depositing my bottom on the edge of the counter. He doesn't take his mouth away from mine even as he moves me. I know what he needs. He must be angry, frustrated, but also scared. He's using sex to blank out his brain. To give him a little relief.
Maybe that's not the right reason to make love, but I want to help him.
I put my hands on the waistband of his jeans, under his open leather jacket. Slowly, I undo the button and unzip his fly. His cock is rock hard, stretching the fabric of his briefs. It's hot to my touch, and I can feel the blood pulsing in it to make it swell.
I draw back from his kiss to say, "I have to get my pants down." I realize anyone could walk in on us. "We should go into a stall."
He grins. A wild, sexy smile. Quickly he gets my jeans and undies pushed down to my ankles. Then he gently parts my legs. He steps over my scrunched up pants. With amazing speed he takes a condom out of his wallet, which he stuffs in his back pocket-his pants are unzipped but are still sitting on his hips. He lifts me. This way my legs are wrapped around him. It's incredibly erotic, since my ankles are caught together by my clothes.