Ruthless In A Suit(36)
Which is all beside the point. The point is, I wish Jackson Croft would exit my brain immediately and never come back. Eviction notice posted.
Finally it’s the weekend and I’m in my studio apartment working on the paper for Professor Stanwick. Trying to work. It’s due on Monday and I have a good ways to go. I’ll be here all weekend working—not that I have other plans to worry about.
My parents have a standing Sunday brunch invitation for me, Sabrina, and our brother Dax but I won’t make it out to Lexington this weekend. Must stay chained to desk.
As I shuffle through my notes on my desk, a scrap of paper flutters to the floor. I pick it up and see that it’s Brent’s cell number. Next to his name, which is written in airy cursive, is a little smiley face. I can’t imagine a moment in which Jackson Croft would ever draw a smiley face, for any reason at all. He’d rather be—
I stop myself. Stop thinking about Jackson, I command myself. There is no more Jackson. There never was a Jackson. He was just a figment of my imagination—an amazing, gorgeous and mysterious figment that evaporated once night became day.
Brent is definitely more my speed. I can totally picture him at Sunday brunch with my family, fitting right in with Mom and Dad.
Sabrina might make fun of his tucked-in T-shirts, but she’d also give him props for his quick intelligence and Mom and Dad would love him for his vast knowledge of the workings of non-profits.
He’s cute, in an every-man kind of way. He’s the kind of guy who sunburns easily and has never played a contact sport in his life—not that those are bad things. Brent’s goal in life is to make positive change to the world, not line the pockets of investors or build yet another luxury fill-in-the-blank for the superrich like someone I know. Brent is what most people, including my dad, would call a good guy.
And what’s wrong with being a good guy?
As I look at his cell phone number, I think about calling him. Should I invite him out for a drink? Or maybe something low pressure, like a coffee? As I’m considering what I should do—if anything—my phone rings.
For the briefest of a millisecond, I think it might be Jackson and the feeling of my heartbeat speeding up and the butterflies in my stomach, hurts. Especially when I see that of course it’s not him. Will never be him.
“Hi Ems,” Natalie from my School Law class says. “What are you up to?”
“Working on a paper,” I say. I push Brent’s phone number across my desk.
“On a Saturday night? Wow, you’re really living it up.”
“Try not to be jealous,” I say. “What’s up?”
“If you’re too busy working, I understand,” Natalie says. “But I’m headed to a party in Cambridge and my roommate just bailed on me. I wouldn’t mind going alone but I don’t know anyone and this guy I really like is going to be there so…”
“So I’m your second choice?” I tease her. Natalie and I are more like campus friends. We’ve only hung out a couple of times outside of school, and even that has revolved around studying or school issues. But I like her. She doesn’t take things too seriously.
“You’re my first choice wingman. What do you say? Can you break away for a couple of hours?”
I look back to Brent’s phone number. It’s not Brent I want or need, just someone. I need a full body and mind rinse from you-know-who. So I agree to go. Because I’m due for a little breakaway.
The party is fine. It’s a graduate party, so there’s more wine than beer, more political talk than Hollywood gossip. The food is better too. And there’s a guy. His name is Nick or Mick, I’m not sure.
He tells me the party was a bore until I showed up and that I’m the prettiest one there.
I feel nothing as he compliments me. He asks me to put my number in his phone, and I do…although I may have accidentally-on-purpose typed in the number wrong. Maybe that was mean but he’s so eager—maybe it’s that eagerness that turns me off. It smells of desperation. Jackson would never do that.
He slips into my mind that quickly, without warning, and without any control. I tell Natalie I want to get another hour of work done tonight, and the disappointed look she gives me fills me with guilt.
By Monday, I’m determined to truly make a change. Be bolder in my social life.
Brent calls me to stay after class later that week.
“Hey,” I say at the front of the class. “What’s up? You got my paper, right?”
“Yeah, I got it,” he says. He runs his palms down the front of his jeans like he’s drying them off. Wait, is he sweating? Does he have sweaty palms? He watches nervously as the students leave the room, waiting until the last one has gone.