Breathless #2 (The Breathless Romance Series - Book #2) (2 page)

“She’s just a jealous bitch,” Georgia said, shrugging
it off. “And probably you’re hungry, which is why you’re taking it so hard.
Come on; let’s go to dinner.” I told her about texting Johnny and how he hadn’t
responded; Gigi laughed.

“I’m not losing my mind over him,” I protested. “I
just wish he’d find a moment to check his damn phone, so I can relax a little
bit.” Georgia shrugged again.

“I think you’ve got to give him the benefit of the
doubt,” she said, sitting back in the chair. “I mean, he’s a really nice guy.
He was even nice to me at that party and he didn’t have to me; I wouldn’t have
blamed him if he only paid attention to you all night. But he made sure I had a
drink, and he got me involved in the conversation. That’s not the kind of guy
who’s just being a player.” Georgia considered for a moment more.
“Besides—remember all those girls who were wrapped around him hanging on his
every word? As soon as he saw you he walked away from them. Obviously you mean
something to him—or he would have just come along whenever he felt like it.”

I had to admit that she was right. “Ugh,” I said,
shaking my head. “I do not want to be one of those stupid girls who gets her
head all twisted around by some guy just because he’s hot and nice…and an
incredibly good lay.” Georgia smirked.

“Granted, you had been deprived for what—a year? You
were hardly going in with realistic expectations. It would have been great even
if it was really mediocre.” I rolled my eyes.

“Trust me; I know the difference between good sex and
bad sex.”

“Yeah, but do you know the difference between good sex
and mediocre sex?” I couldn’t think of anything to say to that—it was such a
weird question that I just laughed. “I rest my case. Come on, Beck—let’s grab
some food and you can put Johnny Steel totally out of your mind for at least an
hour.” I considered it.

“Nah,” I said finally. “I’m going to stay here and
enjoy moping over the fact that the first guy I’ve had sex with in over a year
is too busy to check his phone and might have been involved in someone’s
suicide. You know, like the good English major I am.” Georgia laughed.

“Careful; I don’t think they refund your housing fee
if you pull a Sylvia Plath,” she said, standing up finally. “Besides, you’ve
got Greenpeace to look forward to. Don’t ruin that over a guy who’s probably
not even that bad.” She grabbed her purse and was out the door a few moments
later, calling out to someone down the hall to wait up.

For a while after Georgia left, I did indulge myself
in brooding over Johnny, covering all the ground I had the entire afternoon,
ever since the girl—I should probably find out her name—had told me about
Claire White. What the hell had Claire White’s suicide had to do with Johnny? I
went back and forth in my mind, wondering if I should just decide that the girl
was being the kind of snotty, jealous ass that would put doubt in someone’s
head just to see a potential relationship crash and burn, or whether she had
actually known Claire.

It just didn’t make any sense; if she had had any
concern at all about Claire White, why would she have been flirting with Johnny
before? I had mostly settled on the idea that she had just been trying to get
into my head and make me doubt Johnny, to remove what she saw as competition. But
then—she could have stuck with just calling Johnny a player. If he really was,
and if she had any proof of it, wouldn’t she have given me a list of names of
different girls he had slept with? I frowned in thought as I stared at the TV,
unable to work it out. If she was just trying to get some competition out of
the way, why would she pick on the story of a girl who committed suicide? Why
would she imply that I would follow in Claire White’s footsteps, just for
having dated Johnny? It didn’t make any sense at all. I wondered if Claire had
somehow had something to do with Johnny romantically. If she had killed herself
over the fact that he was cheating on her. That would make the story make the
most sense—though I thought to myself wryly that if Johnny ever cheated on me,
if we got to the point where we were that serious, I would kick him out of my
life, rather than take my own.

My fingers itched to pick up my phone, to text Johnny
again. But I told myself firmly that all that would accomplish would be to make
me look like a crazy, unhinged person who assumed she was in a serious
relationship with someone she’d slept with once.
And here I thought that relationships in college would be so much
simpler than high school.
It was only two weeks into my first semester in
college, and I was already having trouble focusing in class. I had spent the
first week of classes distracted by the possibility that Johnny was into me,
and now—unless I got some kind of control over myself—I was going to end up
spending the second week of classes just as distracted, but this time with
doubt instead of interest.

Just as I was reaching the point where I was getting
tired of my own stupid brain, my phone vibrated against my leg, my ringtone
cutting through the sound of the TV. I jumped, my hand fumbling for the phone,
and nearly dropped it onto the floor trying to turn it over to look at the
screen. I half-expected a call from my mom, or from one of my friends—and I
irritably thought that maybe Georgia had told someone about my moping and this
would be a concern-call from one of my dorm-mates. Instead, I saw Johnny’s name
and number flashing, and I immediately tapped “accept.”

“Hey babe!” I said right away, trying to keep my
relief out of my voice. Over the phone I could hear the sound of dozens of
guys—shouting, laughing, and joking— even if I couldn’t make out any specifics
of what they were saying. If they were anything like most guys, I thought, I
probably wouldn’t want to know what they were talking and joking about.

“Becky! I’m so glad I got you—I thought you might be
at dinner.” I could barely hear Johnny’s voice over the yelling and laughing
going on around him and I wondered where he was specifically; was he in a
locker room somewhere, or on the bus? I shrugged it off. I couldn’t bring
myself to mention the rude upperclassman girl or even what she had told me; it
was still too raw, and I knew better than to try and touch on a serious topic
like that when he was clearly among his friends and teammates.

“Nah, I’m vegging out in the dorm,” I said, smiling to
myself. I wished that he was talking to me in person; I wished I knew where he
was, what he was doing, whether he had actually gotten my text or if he was
just calling me because he wanted to call me.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Johnny said—I
caught his words only barely. “I was hoping that if I got your voice mail, you
didn’t have the stupid automatic version, and I could hear your voice.” I
laughed in spite of myself.

“You’re crazy—I wouldn’t miss a call from you for the
world,” I told him.

“I wish I could hear you better—these guys are a hot
mess, you know?” I nodded, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “I can’t wait
to see you again, Becky.” Someone on the other end of the line—not Johnny—made
some kind of joke about him being whipped and I rolled my eyes. I heard the
meaty sound of someone being smacked; not in any way that would really hurt
them, but enough to make them stop while still being playful. “As soon as I get
back I’m going to find you right away. I’m not cut out for not seeing a
beautiful woman for so long.” I felt myself smiling and remembered—suddenly—the
question that had weighed on me earlier in the day.

“Hey, speaking of that—when are you going to be back?”
the sound of boys shouting and joking was getting louder.

“Sorry, Becky; I’ve got to go. I couldn’t go another
moment without hearing your voice, but we’re heading out somewhere now and I
can’t be on my phone.” I sighed. He hadn’t been able to hear me over the noise
on his end, that much was certain. I managed to get him to hear my goodbye, and
then the call ended, the
boop-boop-boop
tone leaving
me disappointed.

Earlier in the day, I had thought that if I could just
hear Johnny’s voice, or even get a text from him, some kind of contact, I would
feel better. Of course, like with so many things, I had discovered that what I
wanted wasn’t enough once I had it. I wished that he could have stayed on the
phone with me a little longer. I wished that Johnny could have given me
something more to cling to so I could be more confident that I had any idea at
all about what there was between us. I wished that he’d called me while he was
alone, so he wouldn’t have been distracted by his teammates.

I decided that I needed to get some food in me. I
still didn’t feel hungry, and the prospect of walking all the way to the dining
hall and maybe running into the girl once more was more than enough to keep me
in the room. I rummaged through the junk food scattered around the room and
mined what I wanted: snack crackers, a packet of ramen, a few squares of
chocolate for dessert. It wasn’t exactly a great or even nutritionally-sound
dinner, but it filled my stomach and gave me something to think about for a few
moments other than Johnny. I wished that I had been able to just enjoy the call
Johnny had made and rejoice in the fact that he had been thinking of me enough
to want to call me, in spite of hanging out with his teammates. It should have
been a relief, but I couldn’t make myself relax, in spite of the call.

Chapter
Three

The next morning, even though I barely slept the night
before, I forced myself to get out of bed and to make my way to class. As I got
up, got dressed, and made myself pack my books into my bag, I tried to think of
something that I could hold onto to be grateful for. The fact that Johnny had
called me at all, I decided to summon up at least a bit of happiness for. The
fact that my class—while early—wasn’t painfully early, I could be relieved to
know. I hadn’t had to wake up at 6am, the way I had done for high school. 7:30
in the morning was still early, but I knew there were classes that were already
in progress as I was dragging myself around my dorm room, rubbing at my face
and wishing that it wasn’t so gray and gloomy outside.

I stopped at the dining hall on my way towards the
class buildings and swiped my card; the menu board proclaimed that the special
attraction for the morning was a “smoothie bar,” which manifested itself as a
table with about a dozen blenders, a few extra carafes, and piles and piles of
various fruit, juices, and mix-ins like protein powder and
spirulina
.
I wondered to myself how much of my own personal food dollars had gone into the
scheme. But it was as good an idea as any, considering that I had to get to
class and didn’t have time for anything more substantial. I loaded up a carafe
with broken up pieces of banana, a handful of strawberries, some blueberries, a
scoop of whey protein, some peaches, a dollop of yogurt, coconut shreds, and
apple juice and let it blitz while I snagged another cup for some coffee.

When I sampled my finished smoothie, I decided that it
tasted a little weird, but not bad; certainly I’d probably made worse ones in
my life. Some of the other students were loading their carafes with greens,
which gave me a shudder, or with weird fruits just to see what odd combinations
they could come up with—papaya-pineapple-strawberry-grape, or cherry-blueberry
with chocolate protein powder. I left them to their concoctions and gathered up
my liquid breakfast, heading for the door.

I was halfway across the campus, starting to finally
feel good about being awake, when something—someone—grabbed me from behind. I
gasped, nearly spilling both of my drinks all over the place and immediately
squirming to break free of whoever had had the brilliant idea of grabbing a
girl who was just trying to get to class. “Hey, Becky—don’t spill!” I heard
Johnny’s voice in my ear and I very nearly ended up spilling my drinks a second
time, startled at the sound of him. His grip on my waist loosened just slightly
and I turned to face him, feeling a mixture of shock,
startlement
,
and relieved delight. If someone was going to come up and grab me from behind,
at least it could be someone I was into.

“Oh my god, you’re back!” I was grinning like an idiot
and I knew it; but I couldn’t care what I looked like as I carefully threw my
arms around Johnny, trying not to dump my breakfast all over him. Johnny hugged
me tightly, and I felt my body heating up in spite of the early hour and in
spite of how horribly I had slept the night before. I buried my face against
Johnny’s neck and breathed in the smell of his cologne, beyond happy to see
him.

Johnny disentangled my arms from around him and looked
around quickly. I started to say that I had to get to class—that I wasn’t in
the DH because I couldn’t spend the time to actually eat breakfast there. But
before I could protest or even tell him the issue, he led me off of the walkway
and towards one of the smaller classroom buildings, pulling me around the corner
away from the sight of anyone trying to get to class, away from all of the
windows. He pressed me against the brick wall, his hands snagging
my
to go cups away, setting them aside somewhere I couldn’t
see. I kissed him back, for a moment forgetting completely about everything
that I was thinking about—about class, about how little I liked waking up so
early, about how hopeless it was to even go to class when I knew I wouldn’t
take in more than half of what the professor was saying. I kissed him back, my
heart pounding in my chest, my body warming up more and more.