So pathetic.
“My calculator’s messed up,” I say as he approaches my desk.
“Let me take a look at it.”
I hand it to him with swift obedience. “I swear I entered everything correctly.”
“I can figure it out,” he says. “I can work these things forward and backward.”
My stomach swirls as he squats down next to me, pressing a combination of buttons and pulling up screens I’ve never seen before. I peer over his shoulder in amazement. This man can work a TI-84 graphing calculator like nobody’s business. Am I seriously finding this sexy? I’ve just reached a new low.
“Okay, your settings were off, but I also think you entered a number in wrong somewhere.”
“I checked three times,” I say, annoyed.
He smirks. “It’s a machine; it can’t make a mistake. It can only do what you tell it to.” He places it in front of me and stands. “Is it updated?” he asks, picking it up again. I have no idea what he means, and I think he can tell with the way he smiles at me. “I’ll check it for you.”
He walks over to his desk and plugs it into his computer. I didn’t even know you could do that. I observe him as another student comes up to his desk and asks a question. His self-assurance is so alluring. High school boys seem to overcompensate for their lack of confidence, coming off as arrogant. But Mr. Slate is older, more mature. He never crosses the fine line that divides confidence and arrogance. And even though I try to fight it, I’m finding myself drawn to him like a hummingbird thirsty for nectar. He makes me want to be more mature, sexy, and assertive.
He makes me want to be a woman.
“Here you go, Kaley,” he says, dissolving my thoughts. He sets my calculator on my desk, his chestnut eyes gleaming into mine. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Oh, help me.
“DID YOU SEE Slate’s girlfriend last night? Holy shit, dude,” exclaims Jeff.
“I’d let her play with my bat anytime,” says Donovan with a devilish grin. All the guys at the table take turns exchanging crude sexual innuendoes about The Blonde, each of them eager to weigh in on every detail of her “precious assets.” My disgust gives way to the prickly vine of jealousy that grows larger with each mention of her.
“You can’t go,” says Emily, pulling me back to our conversation. She snatches one of my fries.
“Why?”
“Because we have plans for dinner and a movie, remember? You can’t waste a game-free Friday night on a study session, Kay.”
“You’re being so unreasonable,” I whine.
Tommy faces me. “Why are we having this conversation again?”
“Because I feel like I should be able to go to a study session if I want. We hang out all the time. It’s like one hour, one Friday night.”
“Do what you want, Kaley,” he mutters.
“Fine, I won’t go,” I say.
Tommy scoffs, turning his body toward the guys.
Emily leans across the table. “What’s going on with you? Is everything okay between you guys?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“Then why don’t you want to hang out? You can’t really be that stressed about your grade.”
I struggle to keep eye contact as she attempts to read my face. “My grade is slipping; I need some help. Why is that so weird?”
“It’s not, but we’re almost out of here. You’re not failing the class, Kay. Come on, you love game-free Friday’s!”
I nod my head and muster a small smile, appeasing her, as heaviness tugs at my chest.
DEREK DRIVES US to Velocity, his brother’s sports bar and grill. It’s walking distance from ASU on a street lined with bars, restaurants, and little shops that college kids flock to. My favorite part about this place is that it isn’t just sports—it has an artsy side, too. I wouldn’t think those two things could go together, but somehow it works. Every Thursday, they hold an open mic night for musicians, singers, and even poets. I still haven’t gone to one because Derek’s brother always teases Emily and me that if we come, we’ll have to perform something. I can never tell if he’s serious or not, and I’m too scared to find out. But I’ve always enjoyed hanging out here. With Derek being the owner’s brother, we get first class treatment: free food and drinks, and every server treats us with a respect that’s hard to come by as teenagers.
But tonight, I’m just not feeling it.
Tommy’s heavy arm is draped around my shoulders as we sit across from Emily and Derek in a dimly lit booth, waiting for our food. There’s no space between my body and his, and I struggle for air. As much as I try to enjoy the evening with my friends, I just can’t seem to fake it tonight.
I am screaming inside.
A pair of soft-green eyes meet mine as Derek’s brother strolls up to our booth. “Sup, guys.”
“Hey, Jace,” says Emily.
Jace is five years older than me, and I don’t see him much outside of his restaurant, but I’ve known him just as long as I’ve known Derek, and he’s always been nice to me. Although he was out of high school before I even started, everyone in town knows he was quite the football star in his day. He even turned down a football scholarship to Stanford—much to his father’s disappointment—and decided to attend culinary school instead. Most people thought he was crazy at the time. Nonetheless, his parents supported his dream by giving him the money to open up his own place. Jace is far from a spoiled brat, though. He takes his responsibilities seriously, and it’s evident through the success of his bustling restaurant. And now his parents couldn’t be more proud. Although, I’m pretty sure the fact that they have another golden boy in the wings has helped soften the blow.
Jace elbows me. “Hey, Kennedy. What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“What’d you do to her, Bradford?”
Tommy squeezes me. “Nothing, dude!”
“Fix her a drink,” teases Emily.
Everyone laughs, and I grit my teeth. “I’m fine, just tired.” Jace cocks his head to the side, and I shrug out of Tommy’s hold and slide off the booth. “I need to use the restroom.”
Jace takes my seat as I rush to the ladies room. It’s crowded when I enter, so I go back out and lean against the wall in the shadowy hallway. I’m being so ridiculous. Am I so stubborn that I can’t just go with the flow? I’m usually the queen of going with the flow. I always go wherever they want to go and do whatever they want to do. I’m the designated driver. The responsible one. The reliable one. The one everyone can count on. But suddenly, I don’t feel like any of those things—I feel like I’m their puppet. I’m everyone’s damn puppet. Something inside of me has snapped, and I’m desperate to cut the strings. But I know it isn’t just my redundant social schedule that’s bothering me . . .
It’s him.
And that’s even more ridiculous.
BY THE TIME we take our seats in the movie theater, the mood of our group has changed. The tension has spread like cancer, and I sink into my seat, praying for the two hours to speed by. Tommy reaches for me midway through the film, and I let him hold my listless hand. His grip is clammy. He inches closer to me throughout the night, but I just stare through the screen. Not even a shirtless Ryan Gosling can perk me up. If I don’t shake out of this soon, I’ll have to do something about it—but I have no idea what that something is.
TOMMY’S MOUTH IS on mine in the darkened den in the Larson house. He tastes like alcohol. Emily is with Derek in his bedroom, and my life feels like it’s stuck on repeat. How was this ever fun for me before? It’s the same routine every damn weekend. An endless carousel of drunken weekends and meaningless conversation. Tommy slips his hand up my shirt, and I try to relax. I let out a few light sighs, but that’s the best performance I can give.
Every girl in school would smack me across the head if she knew I didn’t have fire in my belly for Tommy. And why don’t I? I thought by now I’d want to take it further. I swear there’s something wrong with me. My body doesn’t seem to work right—I’m definitely attracted to him, but I never desire to take it to the next level. Every girl I know would jump at the chance to take him from me. Maybe in some twisted way, I like that. He could have slept with the whole school by now, but he hasn’t. He only wants me.
He pops open my jeans, distracting me from my thoughts.
“Whoa,” I say, sliding back on the couch.
Without hesitation, his lips are on mine again, and I push him away. “Hey!”
He pauses. “What?”
“You know what.”
“Kaley,” he groans. “Babe, I love you. We’ve been together forever.” His lips rush over mine as he pulls down my zipper.
I struggle to push him off me. “Seven months is hardly forever,” I say, hopping off the couch. “Take me home.” I pull on my shoes and secure my jeans—yet another action stuck on repeat.
He’s quiet for a few moments, then says, “Just take my truck. Leave the keys on top of the tire.”
“Are you serious?”
He gives a slight nod, barely acknowledging my presence.