Most of the seats on the outer edges were taken, but I found one near the front that had a buffer. The desk next to me was broken, so I was pretty sure no one else was going to sit there. I pulled out my e-reader so I could finish the story that had made me late driving up yesterday. It was the latest in a paranormal series I'd gotten addicted to this summer. I was fully engrossed when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
“Is this seat taken?”
I had to blink a few times before my brain registered that Hunter was standing next to me and he was asking if he could sit next to me.
“What are you doing here?”
“Learning about human sexuality. Isn't that what you're here for?”
I glanced down and then back up at him. Maybe he was a mirage. He smirked, clearly delighted.
Nope.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Granted, I don't have much to learn, but I figured I could use my knowledge and get an easy A.” He slid by me and took the seat with the broken desk, setting his bag down by my feet.
“You are not in this class.”
“I am. You want to see my schedule? I'll prove it.”
“Whatever,” I said, going back to my book and turning so that my back was as much toward him as I could make it in the small space.
“You know, if you ever want to practice any of the techniques we're going to discuss, I'd be happy to be your study partner,” he said in a low voice. For some reason, his quiet voice made the proposition even more seductive. Not that I fell for it.
“Screw you,” I said before I realized I'd walked right into that one.
“I'd like to.”
“I thought you didn't screw people you like.” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He stretched his arms over his head, his shirt riding up and showing just the tiniest bit of lean stomach. I snapped my eyes away quickly. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen it the night before.
“For you, Missy, I'd make an exception.”
I glanced at my phone, but we still had at least fifteen more minutes until class started. The room was nearly full, and the chatter echoed in the acoustically tuned space.
“I was thinking about making dinner tonight. You in?”
What was wrong with him? Seriously, he had to be bipolar. Or he just really, really liked messing with me. Or maybe it was a little of both. I shouldn't respond.
“What are you making?”
“You tell me what you like and I'll make it.” His face was set in a smile, but it was different than his cocky smirk. This was more genuine. The smile you'd give a friend if you hadn't seen them in a while. Open, honest.
“You'd really make what I wanted?”
“Why not?”
There had to be a catch.
“You made me pay for a song, what do I have to do for dinner?”
“Sit next to me while we eat.”
“That's it?” That couldn't be it.
“That's it,” he said, opening his hands.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to root out the catch I knew was there. He just looked at me innocently, which made me want to laugh. I was interrupted by a teaching assistant shoving a stack of syllabi in my hands and telling me to pass them down. I took one and handed the stack to Hunter. Our hands brushed briefly, and I pulled away as fast as I could, grabbing my notebook and writing the date neatly in the corner.
Our teacher was a woman with gray hair, who wore a long purple, gauzy top and matching purple pants. She reminded me of someone who had been a hippie and had never really gotten over it. There were a lot of those at UMaine.
She called us to order as the TAs collected the last of the extra syllabi. There were four TAs for such a large class.
Marjorie, she introduced herself as, got her Powerpoint up and running, and took us through her extensive lesson plan, including her personal history and educational credentials, the papers she'd published and the degrees she held. For someone who looked airy fairy, she certainly had a lot of degrees and accolades. I'd heard nothing but amazing things from other people who had taken the class and I had to admit the subject matter interested me. How could it not? Sex was interesting.
“I'll bet you already cracked the textbook open and took copious notes.”
So sue me, I'd skimmed it before class. I was curious about how graphic the diagrams would be. Turned out pretty graphic.
“I'll bet you're going to rip the pages out and plaster them on the ceiling,” I whispered back as Marjorie walked back and forth, using one arm to gesture and the other to click through the Powerpoint slides.
“It's all up here,” he said, tapping his head.
I was facing forward, pretending to be engrossed in the slides. He grinned at me and pulled out a pen, tapping it on his knee one, two, three, four, five times before he paused and started again.
I stole the quickest of quick glances and noticed something else behind his left ear when he moved his head. Looked like another tattoo, but it was so small I couldn't tell what it was.
The girls behind me yapped the entire class, and I wanted to tell them to shut up, but didn't want to start anything. The room buzzed with the hum of chatter the entire hour and a half. Granted, it would have been impossible to keep that many college students quiet for that long.
Hunter was fidgety the entire class. Whether it was pen tapping or knee jiggling or stretching or twitching. He was like a five-year-old high on cotton candy. I hadn't noticed him twitching so much the day before, but maybe I just hadn't been paying attention. But I thought I would have seen him vibrating like he'd had twelve cups of coffee. It was very distracting.
“Are you on speed?” I whispered as Marjorie was going through the grading scale for our homework assignments.
“Huh?”
“Are you on speed? Your knee is going a mile a minute.”
“I'm fine,” he said, leaning over and putting his ankle on his jiggling knee.
He started pen tapping again, and I reached out so he'd stop. My hand connected with his. It was the first time I'd really touched him. My fingers closed over his fist and the tapping stopped. I removed my hand without looking at him.
“Thank you,” I said.
He didn't respond, but his hand stayed still the rest of the class. When it was time to leave, I was hoping he'd just get up and go, but that didn't happen, of course. He packed up his things slowly, as if he was waiting for me. I took my sweet time.
“Do you have another class, or is this it for you?”
“I'm done for the day,” I said, standing up.
He followed suit and walked behind me as we left the room. I hated the fact that he was behind me, because he had full view of my ass as I walked up the stairs. I half-expected him to grab it, but he didn't.
We walked side by side out into the bright sunshine. It was blinding after being in the dark lecture hall.
“Mind if I walk back with you? I don't have class again until four, so I figured I'd crash for a little while.”
“It's not like I can stop you. It's a free sidewalk,” I said, looking left and right before crossing the road. He walked beside me, shortening his stride so he could match my stubby legs.
“True, but if I ask it makes me seem like a nice person.”
“You're not a nice person,” I said.
He laughed. “You're right, I'm not.”
He shook his head as if it was the funniest thing ever. It wasn't, really. Most people wanted other people to like them so they tried and were overly nice. Hunter wasn't like that. He was what he was and didn't give a shit if people liked it or not. No matter how crazy he drove me, I had to admire that about him. Sometimes I cared too much what other people thought of me. It must have been freeing to go through life like that.
We didn't talk much as we walked. At first it was strange, but the more we walked, the easier it was. It was the longest I'd heard Hunter go without a sarcastic comment or sexual innuendo. It was kind of nice.
“So, about dinner,” he said when we walked into the apartment, “what do you want me to make?”
The room was quiet; the other girls must still have been at class.
“You're serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
I set my bag down and leaned on the counter. Okay, Hunter Zaccadelli, you could make me dinner.
“Stuffed French toast, sweet potato hash and strawberries and cream.”
“Breakfast for dinner? You rebel, you.”
I shrugged. “What can I say? I live on the edge. So, think you're up to the challenge, Z?” I said, using the ridiculous nickname the bouncer had used last night.
“Piece of cake. Or toast, in your case. I'll stuff your toast, baby.”
I rolled my eyes. Soon I would be desensitized to his comments, but I hadn't quite gotten there yet.
“Whatever. I'm going to take a shower. No, you can't come with me,” I said, cutting off whatever comment he was going to make.
“Anytime you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
Unfortunately, I did.
Six
“How the hell did you do that?” I said, looking at the dining room table. It was spread with mounds of my favorite French toast that was stuffed with oozing Nutella, sweet potato hash that he'd made exactly how I did, despite my vague and confusing-on-purpose instructions, and strawberries that he'd somehow cut and stuffed with the hand-whipped cream. He'd even found champagne and made mimosas.
“I'm a man of many talents. Some of them are hidden, some are not. Maybe sometime you'll let me show you some of the hidden ones.” I was too dazzled by the meal to make a snappy comment.
“Holy crap, dude. I didn't know you could cook,” Renee said, coming out of her room.
Darah had already picked up her job as a desk attendant at the Union and wouldn't be back until late.
“We should probably eat it before it gets cold. Dig in, ladies,” he said, handing me a plate. There was definitely enough food for about twelve people. “I hope you don't mind, but I invited Mase over. Dev and Sean might come, too.”
So that was why he made so much. I couldn't really stop him from having his friends over, but I didn't want our apartment turning into a frat house with beer cans everywhere and strange girls sneaking out in the morning from one-night-stands on our couch. Yuck and ew.
“Fine with me,” Renee said, piling her plate with strawberries and cream and only one piece of French toast.
What was it with girls being afraid to eat in front of guys? I'd never had that fear, so I loaded my plate up. Just as I was about to plunge my fork into the French toast and unleash the Nutella-y goodness, there was a knock at the door. I had to hand it to them, at least they hadn't just barged in.
Hunter opened the door, and Mase and Dev came in.
“What are you making? It smells fantastic,” Mase said, going right for the table full of food.
“I made this on Taylor's request. She doubted my cooking skills, so I had to show her what I've got.”
“You should never doubt Hunter when he brags about something. Most of the time if he's bad at something, he just won't talk about it. If he's bragging, it means he's telling the truth,” Mase said, grabbing a fork and shoveling French toast onto a napkin.
“Do you want a plate?” I said.
“Naw, I'm good like this. Then you don't have to wash an extra.”