Unspoken(49)

“It was an accident. I keep telling people that, but no one believes it.”

I must have had a horrified expression on my face because Bo hurried to add, “I’m joking. I know that there’re any number of rumors out there, so I make a few up, just to see how far they spread and how many people believe in them.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“I’m disappointed. I thought this story would include alcohol, maybe a broken beer bottle or a tequila body shot gone wrong.”

“Sounds like you could make up a story that’s better than any real event that could have occurred.”

“I disagree. When there’s accidental blood-drinking involved, surely the potential for hijinks is enormous.”

“Sometimes rumors start from the most mundane events and what was actually drinking a Bloody Mary the morning after homecoming becomes drinking blood from a co-ed at midnight during a fraternity orgy.”

Yup, the germ of a rumor was like the magic beans in the Jack and the Beanstalk story. Planted at night and by morning, the stalks of the plant reached the heavens.

“Still disappointed.”

Bo laughed and threw his arms wide. “You make up whatever story pleases you. Spread it around.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Resentment was starting to overtake the want. It was so unfair that Bo could be so casual about his reputation, because no matter what the rumor was—whether it had to do with how many women he’d slept with or that he sucked blood from some chick’s neck—he was always, always the hero. I knew it was wrong of me to be angry at Bo, but he made a big and convenient target.

“Oh no, I can’t promise that. Tempting you is becoming a new interest of mine.” Bo didn’t even look at me when lobbing that grenade. His delivery was perfect. Throw out an incendiary statement and act perfectly nonchalant. I adopted his mien and pretended that he hadn’t meant anything by it.

“Be prepared for disappointment when your temptations go unnoticed,” I replied.

“Ah, a challenge. I like it.”

“I think at this point I could act the clingy, needy woman, and you’d still give me the same response,” I sniped.

“Probably.” He appeared unruffled by my tone and my rejections.

“I’m not a challenge, Bo. I’m just your lab partner and your classmate. Nothing more.”

He simply shrugged again, as if my protestations were meaningless. They probably were. After all, we had slept together. That seemed to have created some sort of intimacy even if it hadn’t been repeated.

“Besides,” I said, “I’ve heard you’ll nail anything that moves.”

A flash of something flickered across his face, an expression that on anyone else I might have interpreted as hurt. But this was Bo. Rumors about him only made him more appealing.

“While my reputation as a good-time guy isn’t all wrong,” Bo replied slowly, “I’m surprised that you would buy into it so readily when the rumors about you have been so inaccurate.”

Shame flooded me. God, I had been doing what I hated most about my classmates, imputing characteristics and behaviors based on things I’ve heard.

“AM, ask me anything,” Bo invited again.

“Do you nail everything that moves?” I said quietly, still not looking at him, still upset at myself but wanting desperately to know what his intentions were toward me.

“I’m not going to lie to you, AM, so yeah, I’ve had my share of hookups. All the girls I’ve been with have wanted the same thing that I was looking for—a temporary hit off the endorphin bong. I’m pretty sure that’s not going to be enough for me anymore. Not since I’ve met you.”

I did finally look up at him, and he stared back steadily, not hiding from me, willing to expose himself, or at least part of himself.

“Rumors are the very devil, aren’t they?” I said, avoiding his opening. Bo looked disappointed, and this time I read the emotion on his face correctly. It was hurt. I’d patted myself on the back for being so strong that I could withstand the rumors at school but I wasn’t, not really. I was soft and weak inside. I was too scared to take a chance with Bo even though he was opening himself up. I wanted to take up his offer. I wanted to so badly, but I couldn’t. Not right then. Maybe not ever.

“Tell me this. Is Clay Howard the Third the only laxer who spread the rumor?” Bo asked.

“What does it matter?” I wanted to leave. I had ruined the evening, and if Bo even talked to me after this, I’d be lucky.

“It doesn’t, really, I guess.” He polished off his first bowl of chili. He leaned toward me. “I just want to make sure that when I make it so the guy has to eat through a straw for the next two weeks that I’ve got the right person.”