Tempting(11)

“You were practically eating his face.” Leo pulled a textbook from his bag and dropped it on the table. My pen rolled off the table and Leo bent down to get it. “Are you going to the party this weekend?” he asked flopping the pen on my notebook, splattering ink everywhere.

“Damn it, Leo. Can you do anything gently?” I looked at my ink splattered paper, noting with swift disappointment the droplet that had smeared across my sketch. “What party?” I asked with little interest. I thought of my father’s birthday and felt like celebrating at a party, even when he wasn’t in attendance, was decidedly something I did not want to do.

“Delta Whatever-Their-Name-Is. The place where you puked in the refrigerator.”

“Ah,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure they’re eager for me to be in attendance.” I turned back to the ink-splattered page in front of me and frowned. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Come on, Add. Let’s go out. We haven’t gone out in forever.”

Roughly, I flipped to a clean page in my notebook. “Forever as in six days ago?”

Leo placed a large, tanned hand on my own, halting me from further movement. “That doesn’t count; we danced with other people and only saw each other for five minutes.”

“I’ll think about it,” I conceded, shaking his hand off of mine. “But if—and I mean if—I go, you’re not letting me do Jell-O shots again.”

“Come on, babe. You’re a wild animal; ain’t no taming you when your heart is set on something.”

Why did that thought make me think of Nathan? Certainly, I couldn’t deny my thoughts for him weren’t primal in a way that was alarming. I didn’t jump from man to man, I left them when I was done with them, when they were worn out and still wanting. That was what women wanted, right? To leave a man wanting more?

So why hadn’t Nathan wanted more?





Chapter Seven





The next day, Friday, I took careful consideration regarding how I dressed. And as I took in my reflection, I felt sure that I’d capture Nathan’s attention once again.

I wore my long blonde hair over my left shoulder, with a tight French braid on the right side, just enough to keep the hair from covering my face on that side. Paired with my black eyeliner and red lips, I felt edgy, as if my look was transforming my attitude too.

I wore the tight pants from the Friday before, the ones with little zips from the back of my heels up to my calves. The tank top was new, purchased thanks to Wednesday night’s tips at the cafe, a little black fishnet number. I wore it over a red cami and shrugged on my leather jacket right before I climbed into the red heels that I’d worn on Monday.

As I adjusted the lapels of the jacket, I wished it was real leather. I thought of Nathan’s eyeglasses, the ones that cost several month’s rent. And for a brief moment, I doubted myself. Did Nathan see our little interlude as slumming it? With my fake blonde hair, fake leather, and heavy eye makeup, did he see me as someone only as deep as their top layer of skin?

I shrugged aside the unwelcome thoughts as I grabbed my messenger bag and took the steps from my fourth floor walk-up to the street.

The apartment would be a royal pain in the ass in the winter, when the steps were covered in ice and the railing too frozen to hold comfortably. But it was mine: all mine. No annoying roommates to accuse of stealing my clothes or to argue with over groceries. Sure, I was broke most of the time and my fridge was so empty that nothing ever had the opportunity to go moldy. These were the things people took for granted: that they had so much food that some of it grew mold from being uneaten.

With the change I’d scrounged up in my couch cushions, I splurged on a coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts on my way to the T, relishing in its commercialism and honesty, something that the college cafe snubbed its nose at. They could keep their French Vanilla and Pumpkin Spice fraps with extra pumps of garbage and a swirled mess of heart attack whipped cream; give me a black coffee with a hint of burnt beans and I was happy.

When I arrived on campus, I was ten minutes early for class. It was kind of my thing, being early. Early for class, for interviews, for meetings. Years of having a father who was late for everything important, or worse—absent, had conditioned me to prove myself accountable.

I slid into the seat I’d occupied on Monday, placing my books and pen just so, as the classroom started filling up. The guy who’d sat next to me Monday resumed his place beside me and I leaned my body away just enough to make it clear that I was in no way interested in engaging in conversation.

When the door opened and Nathan walked in, it was as if my body responded to static electricity, all the hair standing up on end.