A/N; Don't mind me, this is mostly drivel. 3500 words of it.
Sorry.
Chapter 4 - Tuesday & Tacos
She nearly literally ran into him in his hallway while on her way to see him. He almost knocked her over as he was rushing to get to her floor.
Great minds think alike.
She had brought breakfast, one bowl of cereal in each hand, the spoons balancing on the edge and destined to fall any second.
Why did she feel the need to feed him? Maybe because she had an inkling that he still hadn't gone to the grocery store.
It couldn't have anything to do with the by now well established fact that she had some odd fetish for watching him eat. It was really weird.
She was extremely ashamed yet simultaneously very aroused by it.
He was slightly ecstatic to see her. He had missed her.
She was slightly ecstatic to see him, but only allowed herself to think of it as happy. She had missed him.
He decided against letting her back into the scene of the crime. It had been pretty explicit and the aftermath was still vivid in his mind. He was currently serving a sentence of undisclosed time in his own personal prison of shame as punishment.
They ate in his lounge, for a change.
The couch there was, if possible, even more beat up.
"So any plans for the day?" She was trying to sound casual but was hoping that he didn't have any. She craved his company.
If he had had any plans, he could no longer remember, as the prospect of hanging out with her wiped out any prior engagements.
He shook his head as his mouth was still full of the chocolatey cereal.
"Good. Let's go grocery shopping." She sounded excited.
How did she know that he still hadn't gone there?
"No no no. It is Spring Break. Let's do something fun".
"That is fun."
"That's what you do for fun?"
"What? We need to eat".
He smiled at her use of plural form, yet felt bad. He needed to treat her back.
"Come on, it will be an adventure." He knew she was right, because pretty much anywhere would be an adventure with her. Maybe he should ask her to help him with his still overdue laundry. Then, there may be a chance that he would actually complete it. Unless he got distracted and decided to take her, hard, up against the dryer.
Ok, so he needed to keep her out of the laundry room.
But the grocery store. Blah. He could think of a thousands more exciting destination for said adventure.
She saw his unenthusiastic face.
"Why, what do you want to do?"
"Go to the beach". He sounded as if he had invented the cure for cancer.
"You have a strange definition of fun."
She didn't like the beach? What was wrong with her?
"Come on...me, you, some good lunch, the sun, the ocean...ok, go put on that skimpy bikini of yours."
"In your dreams."
She was not incorrect.
He pouted, giving her some type of puppy eyes that she didn't know she had had a weakness for. Damn it. He was adorable again.
"Fine. No bikini, though. I don't do bikinis."
Why was he not surprised by that?
"Ok. But at least bring some food."
"Aha...and what are you contributing?"
"Some sexy company with a side dish of charm."
"Yeah, clearly. Could you go grab a big bowl of modesty while you're at it? Sounds like you might be running short."
He laughed, the sound spreading like sparks from a bonfire into the too dusty air.
Note to herself; don't come back into the guys' lounge. Or, if she must, bring a duster.
They met up downstairs 20 minutes later, her skimpy bikini noticeably absent, her small tank top and short shorts very noticeably present.
He wasn't sure what was better. Or worse.
They walked at a slow pace, the sun burning as per usual but the heat offset slightly by the spring breeze.
He wanted to hold her hand, it was as if his skin was itching to touch her. But he knew he had no right to do so.
Friends didn't hold hands.
She sat down on some rocks adjacent to the ocean.
It was infinite blue, the sun light reflecting in the slow moving waves, the rays burning away her thoughts and replacing them with inspiration.
He was right. It wasn't so bad. Or maybe it was just the company.
He observed her from his side view, not sure whether she noticed as she was scribbling something in that beat up notebook. Today, her smile that he was usually only intermittently treated to, was not just making a guest appearance on her face, but playing the leading role. She looked carefree, light, as if all that emotional baggage that she seemed to unwillingly log around had finally been dropped off at its final destination. He knew better, though. The suitcases of sorrow weren't gone, just temporarily checked in at guest services.
He rose, walking along the close to empty beach, letting his feet meet the warm water, then settling down on the fine grained sand.
"Come over here". She shook her head.
"I don't like sand, it gets...everywhere, all over me."
He wanted to get everywhere, all over her, too.
"Sorry, I didn't know your nickname should have been Negative Nancy."
"Whatever, Chipper Charlie." He had never heard that one before. She didn't even look up from her book. Preoccupied.
He snuck back to her without her noticing.
"So what are you writing?" He was looking over her shoulder, trying to sneak a peek and she automatically snapped the book shut.
"Come on, let me see."
"You wish."
She was not incorrect.
"Why not?"
"Because it's a lot more difficult to get into my book than into my pants."
And as she said it, she realized it was true.
Nobody had read her book.
He laughed, in relief, because by her joking about it, he knew that they were undeniably back in a good place.
"At least tell me what you're writing."
"A song. Well, lyrics".
He was dumbfounded.
He had had no clue that she was into music. How would he? He didn't really know her.
"You could have told me yesterday, you know."
She nodded as if saying she knew she should have.
"So sing for me."
"Oh, I'm a writer, not a singer?"
"Fuck that, you are whatever you want to be. Now sing".
"I only sing in the shower".
Ahhhhhhhh. Her in the shower.
Abort mission. Abort mission.
To late.
His rocket was already ready for take-off by the mere though of it.
"At least tell me what it is about?"
"Life".
"Thank you, that was descriptive".
She laughed.
"Well, maybe you could write one for me." Writing wasn't his strength.
She nodded. Little did he know that she had already written several songs about him.
A few minutes later, a small family joined them on the now otherwise empty beach, settling down a few hundred feet away. The toddler boy was crying and he noticed that she winced, almost as if she was in pain. Odd. She didn't like children? He didn't get it.
But then he looked at her again, her beautiful brown eyes glued to the little boy, and he realized that he had misinterpreted her reaction.
It wasn't that she didn't like children.
It was that she really did.
The boy ran off towards the water, chased by his mother, and she returned to her notebook.
"I need some help with my back".
He was holding up a bottle of sun block.
What? It was true.
She complied, pretending to be reluctant but secretly pleased.
The touch of her hands on him were burning much hotter than the spring sun and he had to withhold a groan as her dainty fingers made circles on his back.
Help with sun block.
It was the oldest trick in the book.
But hey, it was a classic for a reason.
She finished and he wished he could ask her to rub him in other places. Damn it.
"Ok, I'll race you to the water".
"I don't do that. I don't go in the water".
He just shook his head in disbelief. "Your loss".
She observed him as he headed off towards the ocean, the wind playing in his hair, his step as carefree as the blazing sun, shirtless, of course, but for once it was the appropriate setting for it, and she knew that, despite the very bright sunny day, she was undeniably about to enter a very grey area.
...
As they were walking back towards the dorm, he realized he was starving, despite the amazing sandwiches she had made him for lunch.
"Let me take you out for dinner. It is Taco Tuesday, after all."
"Sure." She tried to not sound too excited. She wasn't sure she was completely successful."But just two friends eating together, right?"
"You got it. It's a non-date date."
"Ok."
"Perfect. You're driving."
...
She looked fucktastic. But then what else was new.
Fine, maybe she had dressed up a little.
He regretted his decision to make her drive almost immediately.
She drove like an old lady with thick glasses and a paralyzing fear of death.
"Would it kill you to pass 30?"
"Would it kill you to shut up? Damn Backseat driver."
He was in the front seat.
Her car was nice, not as messy as his but not as spotless as he had imagined.
"By the way, I got you something", her reaching towards the glove compartment and touching his leg in the process.
Yeah.
She handed him a rectangular object.
His very own notebook.
"To write down your songs".
"Thank you."
"That's what friends are for."
Right. Friends.
He had never loved a gift more.
...
The restaurant was busy, the noise of the various conversations mixed with semi-loud Mexican music. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the bright colors.
But she loved it.
They were seated at a small table in the middle of the large space, soon breaking out laughing when both of them, simultaneously and too loudly, declined the waiter's suggestion for Margaritas.
Sober was safe.
At least semi-so.
The food arrived and they dug in. Today, some off the animalistic sounds were coming from her.
They were half-through the tacos when he realized that he had been hanging out with her for days, and he had no idea what she studied.
"So, ehh...what's your major?". Slightly embarrassed. He should know that already.
She had to swallow her food before answering. "English. There is a very strong possibility that I love books more than people."
He wasn't surprised by that. At all.
"How about you?"
"I'm...undecided."
"Still?"
"Well, I mean, I have a major, Im just not sure if I want to stick with it."
"What is it?"
"I don't want to tell you."
"Stop being such a turd". She really needed to step up her insult game.
"You're going to laugh."
"Will not".
"Accounting".
She almost choked from laughing uncontrollably.
He tried to not look amused.
"Oh, you're not joking".
She may have misread him, on several occasions, even incorrectly stereotyping him, but even she, with her very limited knowledge of him, could tell that that wasn't for him.
"My dad wants me to come and work for him".
"But what do you want?"
Was it possible to major in Ally Dawson? Or maybe pickle science? That sounded like fun. There needed to be a limited admittance policy into the program, though.
Preferably only one accepted student.
"I don't know. I think music".
She nodded. That made much more sense. It was clear that he was talented and even clearer that he loved it.
"That's kind of what this week is about. Time to think. And perform. Figure out if that's really what I want to do with my life. I feel like I haven't had time to think for years."
"So that's why you decided to stay here for the break? To think?"
"Yeah. I mean, I was supposed to spend half the week at Spring training with the team and the second half of the week with my friends at the beach. My parents think that's what I'm doing. And my coach and friends think I went home for a family emergency."
"So I'm the only one who know where you are?" He nodded. He started to believe that she was the only one who knew who he was, as well.
"You and my sister. She's upstate, about to graduate. What about yours?" recalling that she had confirmed that she had a sister the other day.
"She's taking some time off right now."
She looked so incredibly sad. She must really miss her.
She changed the topic before he had time to reflect on it.
"So basketball...do you like it?"
"I love it. Just not as much as music. And I don't have time for both. I'm contemplating quitting the team. I'm not sure."
She quietly prayed that he would stick with it for at least one more game. For some unknown reason, she really wanted to see him play again. Sweat. Basketball jersey.
Damn fetishes.
It was quiet for a few minutes.
"So, we are friends, I passed Psychology 101 with a solid B and I have watched several episodes of Dr. Phil. Let's talk about it."
He had also taken Human Sexuality. A+. Maybe this wasn't the right time to bring that up.
"What?"
"The elephant in the room".
"Your complication?"
He laughed, knowing how pleased Cassidy would be with being compared to a large animal. Not at all.
"I was thinking of fuckface."
She looked at him in puzzled non-understanding.
"Heartbreaker?" And she understood.
"I don't really see the need to talk about it, people at my old school did enough of that." So that's why she had transferred.
He ignored her.
"So, fuckface..."
"Dallas. His name is Dallas". Not that he didn't deserve the vulgar nickname.
He had never been an advocate for violence, but for some odd reason he suddenly wanted to blow that damn city up.
He had been there once.
He wasn't a fan.
And what a stupid name. Who would name their kid after a city, anyways?
Wait.
"How long we're you with him?"
"Two years...but I don't really know how long he was faithful for."
"So, he...cheated on you?" She nodded.
He knew it wasn't the whole story, but he had gotten more out of her than he could have ever dreamed of and he wasn't going to push his luck.
She was relieved. Despite the limited information she had shared with him, it was still more than what she had shared with anyone else.
And she didn't cry. Didn't even feel like it.
"How about you and...how long have you known each other?"
Why couldn't she bring herself to say her name?
"Since freshman year. I mean, we kind of have the same friends. But we only started dating after this past summer break."
He tried to sound nonchalant, like he wasn't discussing his messy love life with the person he slept with last. He would be much more willing to discuss his love life if she was part of it.
But that's what friends did, though, right?
He continued. "The break was my idea. She doesn't get my need for...thinking, I guess. My friends don't, either. And my parents, they would never understand. I love my dad, but he doesn't get that I don't want to become him. That that's my biggest fear."
"What is?"
"That I turn out exactly the way everyone expects me to. Successful, bored, doing something that I don't love."
He looked at her and knew she understood.
She got it.
"Enough about me, what's your dream?"
"Pickle flavored ice-cream. The best of two worlds."
He shuddered.
"You're very strange."
"Yep."
...
They walked back to the car, slowly, as if to prolong the date, wait, non-date for as long as possible.
"Some flowers for your girlfriend?"
He shook his head at the flower man. "We're not together".
"Oh, I'm sorry, you look like a couple." And right on cue, they both blushed.
They climbed into her car, the sunny day long gone and replaced by peaceful nighttime, both of them in silent agreement.
That had been the best non-date ever.
Even better than any actual date dates.
...
They said goodbye in the lobby, her soon tripping on her own feet as she was approaching the stairway.
"Think you can make it all the way up without falling?" as he helped her up.
Her eyes drowned in his.
Oh, she was falling, alright.
"Let me walk you to your door."
She didn't protest.
They got there, and he leaned in, almost on impulse, not because he kissed girls goodnight at their doors very often but because he had restrained himself from kissing her all night.
And day.
And yesterday.
He stopped short just a few inches from her red lips, her blushed cheeks almost Christmas colored in the dim hallway light. She didn't flinch, which he interpreted as a good sign. Her eyes were big, scared but expectant. And he knew, just knew, that she wanted him to kiss her.
So he did.
Not.
Because he wasn't making the same mistake again.
If they were ever to kiss again, she would have to initiate it.
He was too scared.
He had too much to loose.
He had everything to loose.
She opened her door, and he had taken a few steps already when she called him.
"Austin... I mean Dimples..." Funny how his nickname hadn't quite stuck like hers.
"Yeah".
"Stay with me tonight".
What was that noise? Oh, never mind, just his heart.
Beating away like a drummer on ecstasy.
No biggie.
He thought about it.
He knew her offer meant sleeping only.
It would be hours of torture, her scent in his nose, her body heat shared with him, them breathing the same air, her devine body pressed up against his...
He was suddenly a half-recovering alcoholic, stuck in the door way of not just her room, but also of a large-sized liquor store, not sure if he would be strong enough to resist the temptations once inside.
And then he entered, knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep one single minute but wouldn't have it any other way.
He had always liked a challenge.
"Anything for you, Pickle".
Friends had sleepovers, right? She had had plenty of those when she was a kid.
Usually in separate beds, though.
Whatever.
She laid down, not bothering to change but kicking of her shoes.
He followed.
They were face to face, their bodies sideways and barely touching despite the narrowness of the twin bed, their mouths so close, that if he would stick out his tongue her would touch her lips.
She leaned in towards his ear, and he wasn't sure what he was hoping for or expecting, but he was definitely not expecting her to sing.
But that's exactly what she did.
The darkness provided her with the hiding cover she needed to try it out, her voice ringing in his ear during his very own, very private concert, their souls rather than their bodies intertwined in that moment, as he was blown away, both by the fact that she was willing to share something so personal with her and her talent.
Despite her own claim, she was a singer. And a talented one, at that.
The song was beautiful, the lyrics something about gravity and standing at the edge, he couldn't really focus on the words as her voice seduced him into forgetfulness, the notes making slow love to his ear drums in sweet movements.
She finished, her now quiet breath tantalizing his neck.
"That was as beautiful as I knew it would be."
The darkness prevented him from seeing her yet again blushing cheeks.
She turned around, allowing him to embrace her from behind.
"Night, Pickle", as he hugged her tight.
He was a good hugger.
A soft kiss at the back of her neck.
Funny how she had spent several nights alone in the dark, on an abandoned floor, and yet she had never been more scared than when she felt his arm around her, holding her close. In some sense, she was in more panic then when she had woken up in his bed the day prior.
Because, whether she believed in it or not, sex could, at least in theory, be emotionless.
But intimacy was never.