The Studying Hours(31)

That delightful way she ignores me when she’s trying to study.

The cute way she piles all her crap in my chair so I can’t sit in it without a hassle.

God she’s adorable.

Oz.

Oz?

“Are you listening to me? Hey. Oz, are you listening? Oz. Is everything okay?”

I glance up and realize she’s staring at me expectantly, has been asking questions and probably expecting a coherent response.

Say something, jackass.

“Everything is fine.”

But it’s not fine. Not any more. Not even close.

She knows enough not to push, and for once, because I have no idea how to handle these feelings brewing inside me, I ignore her.





Jameson





Oz is acting strange.

Again.

Just because my head is bent and I’m seemingly concentrating on my studying doesn’t mean I don’t notice him watching me, doesn’t mean I don’t notice his labored breaths, his restless ticks, and the fact that he’s analyzing me so closely it turns my cheeks a hot, blushing pink.

I ignore the heat, desperately fighting the temptation to press my hands to my face. I keep my nose to the grind, feigning interest in my textbook.

I’ve read the same sentence six times.

Seven.

Eight.

And counting.

He’s been like this for the past two days, sitting with me to study but avoiding anything resembling an actual conversation. Giving me one-word answers. Watching me under that baseball cap with dark, broody eyes. Hasn’t made a single attempt to sleep with me, flirt, or move us to a private study room.

Like I said: strange.

Across the table, I let him look his fill an entire ten minutes before I can’t take it any more. I raise my head slowly. Meet his intense gaze. Push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, perch them atop my head.

Set my highlighter down and cross my hands primly in front of me on the table.

“What.” No beating around the bush for this girl.

“What?” he parrots, playing dumb.

“I know you have something to say. So say it.”

He gives his head a stubborn shake, lips pursed. “Nope. We’re good, Jimbo.”

Liar.

But if that’s how he wants to play it… “Fine. Never mind then.”

He frowns, lines etched across his angry, handsome face when I unfold my hands, grab my highlighter, and resume reading.

Pretend to anyway.

Oz continues to gape, silently taking inventory of my movements. Sullen eyes trail the long strokes of fresh pink marker ink across my paper. Follow my hand when I slip the glasses back down onto my face. Skim over my shoulders when I brush away a strand of hair.

He’s done this all before, gawked at me—many times in fact—but somehow this is different. His gaze is more thoughtful. More penetrating. More engrossed.

I’m not sure why, and I’m not sure when, but something has changed. The air between us has shifted. It’s thick. Heated.

Serious.

I try again, eyes still locked on my textbook. “What. Out with it.”

I don’t mean to sound so annoyed, but this odd silent treatment coupled with those dark eyes boring into me is making me mental.

“Would you please say something?” Once again, I set down my highlighter. “I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but I’m over here not getting anything done. You and your heavy breathing are weirding me out and driving me loco.”

He tears his gaze away and looks to the opposite side of the room before responding.

“Nothing is going on.” He removes his hat to run the tips of his fingers through his glorious hair. It sticks up on end, disheveled. “It’s just been a rough few nights, that’s all.”

Ahhh, a rough few nights; that information I can work with.

“How so?”

“I…haven’t been sleeping the greatest.” He sounds reluctant to admit it, but I press on.

“Why?”

Oz shifts uncomfortably. “Just some fucked up dreams. No big deal, but it’s the same one every night.”

I pause. “What are the dreams about?”

Oz shifts again. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” I ask skeptically. “Dreams about nothing don’t keep you awake every night, Sebastian.”

“These dreams about nothing do.” He winces.

“So they’re not about nothing—they’re about something.”

His nose scrunches up. “Are you purposely trying to confuse me?”

“Is it working?”

“Yes.”

“So you’ll tell me what they’re about?”

“Sure, why the hell not.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” I put my hand up. “Stop! Before you blurt it out, let me guess; are they about the zombie apocalypse coming to melt your face off and you can’t escape no matter how fast you run?”

His mouth tics. “Nope.”

“Does this have anything to do with your parents or your sister?”

“Nope.”

Tapping my chin with my highlighter, I pretend to think long and hard. “You’re falling into a dark hole, a place with no Netflix and chill, no wrestling, and you can’t get a single girl to shag you.”

“You’re a smartass, do you know that?”

“I’m right though, aren’t I? This somehow involves sex.”

His heavy brow lifts a tad. “You’re getting warmer. Yup. I’d say you were warm.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course it involves sex. How predictable of you.” A sigh escapes my lips. “Did someone use too much teeth giving you a blowjob?” I ponder before instantaneously slapping a hand over my mouth. “Oh my god, did I just say that out loud?”

He’s turning me into a pervert.

“You sure did, but no worries; no blowjobs were harmed in the making of my dream.”

“So it wasn’t a nightmare?”

“Oh no, it was—it definitely was.”

“I wasn’t in it, was I?” I joke. “Star of the show, that’s me! Ha ha.”

He doesn’t reply. Just sits there, and…

“Oz.” My eyes close momentarily and I speak slowly. “Please tell me I’m not in your pervy sex dream.”

“Tsk, tsk—I just said it was a nightmare,” he clarifies. “Not a dream.”

“Semantics.” I wave him off. “Please tell me I wasn’t the star your perverted sex nightmare.”

“Fine. I won’t tell you.” Oz rolls his eyes skyward really dramatically; it’s overdone because that sorry bastard is lying and we both know it.

I clear my throat. “This wasn’t a…um…fantasy, was it?” I struggle to get the words out, cheeks flaming.

“Hell no. It was definitely a nightmare. How many times do I have to say it?” He downs some of his water bottle and I watch the thick column of his neck raptly when he tips his head back to swallow.

“But,” Oz begins, sagging his shoulders and casually studying his fingernails. “Would it be so bad if it was?”

Would it be so bad if I was his fantasy? No, it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be bad at all.

In fact, I bet it would be stupid good.

And that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? The goodness. Earth-shattering, life-altering sex with Sebastian would be good. Great. Phenomenal. Those pecs, those hips, those thighs. That incredible dick he has snugly tucked into his jeans.

But at what cost? Am I willing to give up a small chunk of my heart that I may never get back? I’m not a commitment-phobe by any means; I’ve never had my heart broken. I’ve never been cheated on. I’ve never been in love.

So what is my damn problem?

Fear of the unknown. The intensity I feel when I’m with him. The uncertainty of what he feels for me besides physical attraction. Falling in love with him. Him not falling in love with me. Unrequited love. Infidelity.

Embarking on something he may start but never want to finish.

I’ve never wanted to pursue more of something before.

And now maybe I do.

See there?

I just figured out my own problem.

Now what?





Jameson





Oz: On the bus to Ohio.

Jameson: Really? I didn’t realize you had games—I mean, matches—in the middle of the school week.

Oz: Yeah. Midweek, weekend. This match is against Ohio State. I can get you a printed schedule if you want one?



I stare at the phone, not sure how to respond. He’ll get me a schedule? For what? Doe he seriously want me keeping tabs on him? For me to know where he is?

Kind of like a girlfriend, and we both know he doesn’t want one of those.



Jameson: Um, okay. Sure. A schedule would be cool. For my fridge? LOL

Oz: Yeah, for your fridge. Or desk. We have a match at home next week against Indiana. You could come if you wanted. The action is slightly better than a single light bulb in the middle of a gym floor.

Jameson: That one light dangling above the mats was super creepy. It had a decidedly rapey vibe.

Oz: That wasn’t a RAPEY VIBE—that was mood lighting; I was trying to be romantic.

Jameson: YOU WERE NOT. STOP IT

Oz: Lol. So you’re saying the romance was a fail?

Jameson: I doubt that’s what you were doing, but in any case, it was a fail. LOL

Jameson: I mean, you had me by the crotch and flipped on my back onto a dirty, plastic mat.

Oz: I’ll have you know, those mats are brand new and get wiped down daily…

Jameson: *throws hands in air* I stand corrected



The phone sits silent for a few moments before it pings with a new notification. My heart races uncontrollably as I sit on the edge of my bed to open the new message.