"You go to Hallervan?" he'd leaned down and asked, and, God, those eyes, that face … that body. My lord he was hot.
"Starting this semester," I answered still trying to pull my door closed.
"Maybe you'll get lucky and see me." He winked then walked away.
"One can only hope," I'd mumbled, rolling my eyes again, before closing my door and driving away.
It was then I looked down and saw my ruined outfit and sandals only then remembering I had an old pair of Keds and a raincoat under the passenger seat. Great.
First Semester: First Week
I was excited for school, ready to pursue my dream of becoming a journalist. I'd played a year of basketball at Southwest Idaho University, but I'd won a coveted scholarship that would pay for a huge hunk of the cost to attend Hallervan (which had a better journalism department) the next three years, so Dad couldn't complain too much about my wanting to go here. He'd been proud of me but had also been worried because Seattle was a good twelve and a half hours away from the small town of Stone Springs, Idaho, where I'd grown up. But one of my brothers had helped with that since he was attending law school in Moscow, Idaho, which was clear across the state from our hometown, and he'd told Dad that he'd only be five hours from me and that had finalized it. Kind of. Dad had still made me promise to check in with him on a regular basis. I'd agreed because I loved my dad and also because my family was close and I couldn't imagine not talking to any of them at least every few weeks.
My brothers were four and seven years older than I was, which made me the baby, hence Dad's reluctance to let me go. Heath was the oldest, (his full name was actually Heathcliff) my other brother was Holden and I was Scout. As you probably gathered, our mother had been an avid reader and named us after her favorite literary characters. I'd never known her because she'd died when I was three but I'd always felt her absence in our lives due to all the pictures of her in our house and especially when Dad or one of my brothers brought her up, sharing stories of times I'd never known or didn't remember. When I was seven, I'd asked my dad why he'd never remarried. He'd gotten a faraway look in his eyes and told me that once you found your reason to breathe, no one else could "pass muster." I hadn't understood at the time, but it sounded romantic, so I'd let it go.
So, back to our names. Although I thought they were cool, Heath despised his, even though his broody spells said the name fit him perfectly. But he'd taken a lot of crap from the other kids for it when he was little, so when I was old enough to know what it meant, I told him his name sounded prestigious and it would look great on business cards someday. He'd laughed at that saying he hoped that all the hell he'd gotten for it would eventually pay off. He was now a software developer in Boise, a job for which he was getting paid bank, so I'd say he'd more than vindicated himself for being picked on. Matter of fact, he was making so much money, he even co-signed for a loan with Dad for our farm. Dad, of course, had balked, but Heath had insisted, telling Dad the money would likely just go to more beer, so Dad had half-jokingly given in for the sake of Heath's sobriety. My other brother Holden, who lived up to his namesake in the fact that he was a deep thinker (and also quite the party boy), was twenty-four, a huge ladies man and was the one in law school who'd convinced Dad to let me come to Seattle. And I'm Scout. I think I've done a decent job living up to my name because I've always been a tomboy and Dad says I've also always been fairly precocious.
So there I sat in psychology class on the first day, when to my utter shock (and annoyance), Tire Change Dude walked in. And, damn it, he was even better looking out of the rain.
He had on a gray short-sleeved Godsmack t-shirt over a long-sleeved black tee, hiding the full sleeves of tattoos that I knew he had, but I could still see part of a tattoo peeking out at the left side of his neck. I saw that his hair was actually a dark caramel-color, not quite as dark as the rain had made it appear, and he wore it in a fade cut with long bangs spiked up in the front. His faded jeans sat low on his hips and he wore brown, lace-up boots. He also had on black reading glasses, and jumping Jesus on a pogo stick, he looked good.
I immediately turned my head away, scratching myself on the neck nonchalantly, hoping he wouldn't recognize me. I then heard a guy several rows behind and a few seats to the left of me holler "Yo!" and I turned slightly to see Tattoo Dude raise his head in a nod at him then he came up the stairs and passed right by me and, damn it, I couldn't not look. His eyes caught mine but they looked right through me, no recognition in them at all, which I oddly found was kind of disappointing.
As I sat waiting for class to begin, I listened to the two guys talking and, boy, did I learn a lot. First of all, tire dude's name was Gable. I hadn't remembered what his girlfriend had called him that day in the rain, but now it clicked. Secondly, I found out they'd had a party the weekend before and Gable had gotten so wasted that he'd woken up in bed with three girls, so I guessed the classy babe with him when I had a flat wasn't his girlfriend after all. Thirdly, I now knew he was thinking of getting another tattoo, probably "Luctor et emergo" on his right pec, which I knew was Latin but had no clue what it meant. The guy with him was just as clueless, asking about it, but Gable had remained close-mouthed. Fourthly, their poker game had been changed from Wednesday night to Thursday. And fifthly, who the fuck was the hot blonde piece of tail sitting in front of him with legs that went on for miles that he wouldn't mind having wrapped around his head?
He had to be kidding. Who said stuff like that in public? And did he really think that'd land him a girl? Wow. I inspected the classroom for the poor blond girl he was talking so rudely about, but most of the girls I saw had dark hair. Then I felt something hit the side of my head, and frowning, turned to see him and his friend ogling me as the wadded paper one of them had thrown landed in my lap.
The friend jerked his chin up at me. "What's up? Hey, did you fall from the sky because let's have sex."
I stared at him for a moment before scrunching up my face and saying, "Seriously?" Really, who talked that way?
Gable's eyes narrowed then. "I know you." I squinted my eyes right back at him then he snapped his fingers and pointed at me. "Tire girl. Miss Priss." And he gave me that lopsided grin.
I rolled my eyes and turned away because I was embarrassed by the whole encounter. I was also flustered at the fact that my heart was beating ninety-to-nothing and my nipples had gotten hard at just seeing him grin at me. God.
The professor had now come in and started taking roll, so I kept my attention on her, ignoring the fact that I could feel Gable's eyes burning a hole into the side of my head. I wanted to turn to him and frown, maybe even give him the finger, but I knew that'd just get me another nipple-hardening grin so I stayed facing forward. But as I sat there, using every ounce of restraint I could to keep from looking at him, I realized I was actually flattered by what he'd said about me, and it horrified me that I'd feel that way about being objectified and I wanted to smack myself in the head as I tried figuring out where my self-respect had gone.
During roll call, I learned that his last name was Powers. Oh, boy, he was one of them. The them I'd been hearing about since stepping onto campus. And he was flirting with me. Well, wasn't I the lucky one. Unable to help being curious about this latest bit of info and wanting to know if he really was as good looking as everyone had been saying (I mean, I'd seen him but hadn't known who he was so I hadn't really seen him seen him), I risked a glance over my left shoulder at him only to find him gazing right back at me with a lazy grin. Holy crap! I turned around quickly and promptly swallowed my gum on the breath I'd sucked in at getting caught. As I choked out a cough, I decided he was as hot as everyone had been saying, and I also decided I was an idiot to mess with him. Although very handsome, he was uncouth, rude and too wild for the likes of me and I needed to stay far, far away from him, which I told myself I'd do.
So why the hell did that make him even more intriguing?
The Harder I Fall
Copyright © 2014 by Jessica Gibson
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review
Cover designed by Lacey Weatherford
Edits done by Sarah Daltry
Formatting by Inkstain Interior Book Designing
ISBN-13: 978-1496018335