Authors: Nicole Williams
Another clearing of his throat, and not in the I-need-a-lozenge-kind-of-way. “The student’s family made a considerable donation to the school”—nothing like the all-powerful buck to bend people over backwards—“and I already told him we’d have no problem getting a tour arranged for tonight.”
A him—perfect. Just what the world needed; another entitled, rich, man-boy skating through life on his daddy’s designer coat-tails.
“Of course if you’re not available tonight I can do some checking to see if someone else is available,” he said, as a gesture. We both knew there was no one but me on the committee—at the whole university—who would be free on a Friday night.
“I’ll do it,” I sighed under my breath. “No problem.”
His shoulder’s fell. “Great, thanks Bryn.” He stepped aside and let me pass by. “He said he’d be at the MU commons at seven tonight.”
Mr. Money-Bags had already set a time and location before anyone had agreed to it. How typical. He was feeding into every stereotype of a rich boy I had.
“Name?” I called out over my shoulder, shoving the auditorium door open.
“William,” he hollered, the name rolling down the aisle and blowing over me. I got a sudden chill. “William Winters.”
“How am I supposed to find him in the MU?” The building was huge and packed to overflowing with bodies around the clock.
“If it’s anything like when I met him for breakfast this morning in the cafeteria”—he scratched his head, chuckling—“he’ll be surrounded by a throng of women.”
Super—a rich, entitled, womanizer. My favorite kind of human beings to be around.
I sent another pinecone sailing into the slithering fog, contemplating turning around and changing into a mismatched pair of baggy sweats and throwing my freshly straightened hair under a baseball cap. I didn’t need—or want—the approval of the new guy. As a matter of fact, I hoped he didn’t approve of me at all.
The fog gave way to the hazy shape of the MU building, its windows glowing like a beacon light. Eager to be rid of the winter chill still hanging in the damp Oregon air, and wishing even more I had a sweatshirt to cover the thin sweater, I jogged the remaining distance and heaved the glass entry door open. I crossed my arms, rubbing them together to create some heat, as I scanned the room.
It took me two blinks to find him—although I couldn’t exactly
see
him. Professor Robert’s had underestimated when he’d said a throng of women. I’d call it more of a gaggle; a strutting, eyelid-fluttering, glossy gaggle of female co-eds about five deep.
Now I was even angrier with myself for caring so much about what I looked like tonight because I’d come down to their level. That level being where one’s worth came from whatever a man thought of them, and pathetically, my best attempts didn’t even register with the sparkling, twirling gaggle of spinners before me.
I turned to leave, knowing I’d owe Professor Roberts a huge apology on Monday, when a voice cut through all the commotion. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone here, but she’s already ten minutes late.”
I spun on my heels, that quick-trigger Irish anger rising up. Here I was, taking time out of my life—on a Friday night, no less—to roll out the welcome carpet for him and he had the audacity to announce to his fan club that I was running late. So maybe I wasn’t going to write him off until I gave him a piece of my mind.
I felt my eyes narrowing as I took a step forward like a charging bull, when the sea of girls parted, and there he was. His eyes found me without searching the room, as if he knew exactly who I was and where I’d be.
I shivered—no doubt because I was still chilled—and tried to turn my eyes away. They wouldn’t be deterred, something was overriding my system and keeping them grounded on him. A smile that was slow and smooth—too smooth—crept over his face, and with each millimeter it inched up, my heart jacked up exponentially.
Great, now not only was I trying to dress the part, I was acting the part of the bewitched women surrounding him.
He waved his hand, and began weaving through the sardined bodies in my direction, while a tried again to look away. I couldn’t do it—and the most frustrating thing about it was that I didn’t have a clue why I was staring all moon-eyed at the new guy. I didn’t have a type, but I knew it wouldn’t have been him. Everything about him looked polished and finely tuned, in that I’m-so-out-of-your-league-we’re-not-even-playing-the-same-game way.
I took a step back, and then another, something inside knowing I should turn around, run in the opposite direction and forget I’d ever seen him. It was like fate was whispering it to me.
He waved at me again, gesturing for me to wait. I was drowning in indecision when he took his final step in front of me, escape no longer a possibility.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, taking a step closer. The most peculiar shade of pale blue eyes stared back at me—the color of arctic glaciers. It was out of place given his copper skin and hair that was a shade or two shy of black.
I glared as much as I could. “Just how long have you been waiting?”
He crossed his arms, looking as if my half-hearted glare amused him. “Too long,” he said with exaggeration. “I’ve been waiting for you far too long.” His voice was that deep, smooth tone that no matter what was said, it made everything seem like it was going to be alright.
“You looked like you were well attended to while you had to wait a whole ten minutes for me,” I said, eyeing the dozens of eyes glaring my direction.
“Yeah, but they’re not you,” he said. “My very own tour guide for the night, or for however long it takes.” He smiled again, sending me into a spiral of reactions that could have been bad lines plucked from a cheesy romance novel: everything blurred around him, my breath got caught in my throat, and I felt tingly all the way down to my toes.
I’d waited my whole life to react this way to someone, why—when the monumental moment finally arrived—did it have to be in response to a guy like him? A guy that would, on any other day had I not been the only one available to be at his beckon call, would pay more attention to the beige-colored walls behind me than a girl like me.
“I’m sure your fan club would have no problem giving you a tour of our illustrious campus,” I said dryly. “Perhaps even an in-depth study in the classroom anatomy is taught.”
He weaved his fingers through the long tufts hair, his face curving around an expression that screamed amusement. “You’re feistier than I thought you’d be.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I replied, trying to look everywhere but into his eyes.
“On the contrary. I’m pleased.”
My heart stopped and jumped started at the same time. I wanted to flog myself for reacting this way to him, and that’s what responded, “I can die knowing I fulfilled my calling in life,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’ve pleased a man, my life’s sole mission.” The words spilled out before I realized the double meaning. My blush was as instant as my embarrassment.
He didn’t miss it, either. “Pleased a man indeed,” he said, a glint in his eye, although his cheeks colored in a way that made me wonder if all his swagger was nothing but a show.
I rolled my eyes and looked away from him.
“Shall we?” he said, sweeping his hand towards the door I’d just come through.
“Why don’t we head to the cafeteria first so we can go over what classes you’re taking,” I said, trying to sound like I knew what I was doing. I’d lost my mind, quite literally. Had he asked me to show him to the gym or science lab, I couldn’t have, my mind was a complete blank. “We can do the tour after,” I said, hoping to buy some time to put the pieces of my mind back in place.
“You’re the expert. I’m just along for the ride.”
I turned and headed for the cafeteria, a chorus of sighs following us down the hall.
“It’s brutal to lift their hopes only to let them down,” I said when he shouldered up next to me, nodding back at his admirers who looked fanatical enough to sport t-shirts with his face on them.
He looked at me like he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.
“Surely you didn’t miss the effect you had on every one of those girls back there,” I said, no inflection of a question in my voice.
His eyebrows knitted tighter together, before a smile—that was all swagger—ironed them back to normal. “Did I have the same effect on you?”
I looked straight ahead as I answered, “It takes more than a smile and a schmooze to make my heart go pitter-patter.”
“That,” he said, all matter-of-fact, “I did expect.”
He’d apparently arrived with as many preconceptions of me as I had of him.
“You know,” I said, flipping my hair over shoulder. “This whole egomaniac thing you’re trying to sell doesn’t fool me.”
“
Ego-maniac?”
he repeated in a tone that suggested he’d never heard the phrase.
I’m so sure.
“E-G-O-maniac as in cocky, conceited, full of oneself, afraid to show the teensiest bit of vulnerability,” I said, flashing my hands in front of me, “so on and so forth.”
He exhaled. “Isn’t that what women want? It seems I’ve heard somewhere that nice guys finish last. Besides, you’re one to talk,” he said, his voice elevating. “With your quick witted answer to everything. You had a chip on your shoulder before you even met me from whatever preconceived ideas you had of me. So, who exactly do you want me to be?” He sounded serious—scary serious—but I knew he was likely trying to bait me. I wasn’t going to be hooked so easy.
“You could
never
be anything like what I want,” I lied, weaving through the bustling hall lined with students discussing their plans for the weekend.
A flicker of hurt registered in his eyes before it was gone, replaced by his signature swagger. “So you must be one of those people who believe in soul mates, love-at-first-sight, that whole bit, right?” He didn’t wait for me to reply. “That lovely rose-tinted glasses idea that there is only one person out there made just for you.” This time he paused and looked over at me, waiting for an answer. I pulled my lips into a tight line of resolve. “Stop me if I’ve got it wrong.”
I lowered my eyes, letting my silence answer.
Keeping stride with me, he tilted his head down until his gaze met mine. For the first time I saw an emotion in them that didn’t make me want to roll my eyes. “Lucky for us, I’m one of those people too.”
I roared to a stop, my mouth dropping ever so slightly against my best intentions. What was rich boy’s diagnosis . . . other than stupefying me?
He sauntered up to the end of the line of students waiting for food that was more nitrate than nutrition, watching me with unyielding eyes while I made my way up to him once I unfroze myself. I turned my attention away from him, too flustered to know what to say or do next.
I drilled holes into the student’s head in front of me, willing it to move so I could be done with this night, until I realized we were at a standstill. I peeked to the side, where I caught sight of the culprit for the hold-up.
A student with an overflowing backpack was flustered red, fumbling in his pockets. The others behind him were growing impatient, tapping fingers over crossed arms.
“I got it.” I pulled a bill from my backpack’s zipper pocket and rushed to the front of the line. I curled the money in the cashier’s hand without another word and ducked back to my place in line.
“Thanks,” the student called back to me, barely catching a textbook as it toppled from his bag. “Thanks a lot.”
“Don’t mention it,” I answered, trying to draw as little attention as possible.
William was reviewing me, waiting for me to say something. I didn’t have a clue what he was expecting.
“What?” I asked finally, peering at him from the side.
“Do you know him?”
“No.” I shrugged.
He paused. “Then why did you pay for him?”
“Wouldn’t you have?”
“You can’t answer a question with a question,” he said, as we took a few steps forward. Finally making progress.
“It was only a few bucks,” I said, retrieving another bill from my backpack.
“Exactly. Anyone of the dozen people in front of us could have done the same thing, but didn’t.” He cut in front of me and handed the cashier a crisp bill before I could pay. “Why did
you
?”
“Are you this persistent with everything?”
“Most things,” he said, a wide grin lighting up his face.
“More people should come to each other’s rescue,” I said looking away. “That’s it. Is that explanation enough for you?”
He looked at me again in that unapologetic, unheeding way, as if he didn’t care anything about holding up the line or what those people standing in line behind us would think of the way he was staring at me.