Can't Always Get What You Want (11 page)

“Okay, enough about me. I want to know about you,” he says, and angles his body toward me.

At that moment, the LRT stops and a ton of people file in. The cabin is nearly full. A tiny, wrinkled lady with white hair stands in the aisle, grabbing onto poles and seats as we’re jostled toward the next stop.

Aaron stands, and gently taps her shoulder. She turns around and eyes him up appreciati
vely. I laugh to myself. Just because you’re old doesn’t mean your libido is dead.

“Thank you, young man,” she trills, and flashes a relieved smile. “You have a lovely boyfriend, my dear. Such a gentleman. And so handsome!”

I feel my face flush. “Oh no, he’s not…”

“…not troubled at all,” he interjects. “I’m happy to give up my seat, especially for a beautiful lady like you.”

She turns toward me and giggles, as if we’re the best of friends obsessing over a boy. Perhaps we never really grow out of those feelings; only movies and society make us think that growing old somehow strips us of who we are.

Hmm. Maybe I can touch on that subject in my next essay.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

I meet Aaron’s amused gaze.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just thinking about school. I have an essay coming up, and I’m trying to decide on a subject.”

“Which class?”

“Sociology.”

“I took a couple sociology courses back home. If you have any trouble, let me know. I’d be happy to help.”

“Any other hidden talents in your repertoire? I should have a thorough list, just in case.”

“I have various talents…” He trails off.

“Care to indulge me?”

“Oh, I’d like to indulge in a few things with you…”

The lady with white hair starts fanning herself.

“A list of things you could do to help me with school would be more helpful,” I counter.

He laughs at us. “Okay. I’m no expert by any means, but I’ve taken courses in computer science, physics, history, art, music, biology, chemistry, philosophy, you name it.”

“How did you manage to have time for all of that, and a BA?” I ask.

“I started off like you in general studies, not really knowing where my life was headed. I sat in on a few linguistics courses in my third year, and everything just clicked.”

I mentally list off the different courses he’s mentioned. It just doesn’t fit with his dark, tall, and tattooed look.

Can nerds be sexy?

“Underneath all that muscled handsomeness, you’re just a big nerd, aren’t you?”

“I prefer ‘geek,’ ” he says. “So. You think I’m handsome?”

Oops. That kind of slipped out. Time to change the subject.

“So why did you transfer out here? Ontario must have linguistics programs.”

His features darken fractionally, and he looks away.

“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s okay,” he says. “I just needed to get away. My parents weren’t exactly happy with my schooling choice.”

“They have something against a bachelor of arts? Or language studies?”

“Something like that.”

I quirk up an eyebrow. His confident, upbeat demeanor has slipped away, revealing someone who looks very tired.

“They don’t think it’s practical, that there won’t be many job opportunities for me. They’re really conservative, and protective. They’d rather I became something more ‘
useful,
’ ” he says, bending his fingers in quotation gestures. “Like a doctor, lawyer, or something.” He waves his hand dismissively through the air, and looks away.

“I don’t know much about language studies,” I say. “What can you do with a linguistics degree?”

Annoyance flashes over his face. I get the feeling he’s had to defend himself a few too many times, and it’s a sore subject.

“Lots of things, actually,” he replies. “I could go into computer science, cognitive science, speech-language pathology, be a translator. Although the area I’m most interested in is linguistic anthropology.”

“And that entails?”

“Are you sure? This can get a bit boring…”

“No, I don’t mind.”

You could never, ever be boring to me.

“Well, linguistic anthropology studies how language affects social life, how language use and structure influences culture over time. Although there is a growing focus on languages that are dying out.”

He looks up to see if I’m still listening.

“Go on.” I smile encouragingly.

The next twenty minutes, he prattles on, peppering his speech with words like “semantics,” “morphology,” and “syntax.” He is so smart.

Note to self: what is a “syntax” anyway? Sounds like some horrid thing invented by accountants.

The LRT grinds to a halt, and I notice familiar surroundings.

“This is my stop,” I say.

“Oh…” Aaron says, looking around. “I’m sorry, I’ve been talking about myself the whole time. I really want to get to know you better, Sophie.”

He curls my name around his tongue. I’ve never heard a more seductive sound.

“You’ll get your chance,” I say flirtatiously, and his wicked grin is back in place.

I gather my grocery bags and head toward the exit.

“When can I see you again?” he asks.

“Like I said, let’s leave this up to fate. If we’re meant to find each other, then we will.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll find you.”

A thrill runs through me. I get the feeling that he enjoys a challenge. And rightly so. I imagine women throw themselves at him all the time.

“See you tomorrow, Aaron Page,” I carelessly call over my shoulder.

Good acting, Sophie. I feel anything but careless and nonchalant.

“See you tomorrow, Sophie. Hey, Sophie what?”

“Richards.”

Muffled steps echo behind me. I turn around, and he’s standing a few inches away from me.

He takes the plastic bags from my hands and sets them on the ground. Grasping my right hand, he raises it to his lips and plants a soft kiss.

“It was lovely meeting you, Sophie Richards. See you tomorrow.”

I would say goodbye, but my tongue is tied into fine knots again. He takes a few steps backward into the LRT. He waves, and I wave back. Weakly.

Did that really just happen?

Clouds seem to cushion my feet. I feel weightless, and my feet don’t touch the ground all the way home.

Chapter 9

No Expectations

September 26, 2008

I haven’t seen Aaron at all today. Where is he?

Why did I let him go before exchanging numbers? My nonchalant “
Oh, let’s let fate decide
” routine was a bunch of bull crap, and now I may have lost my chance forever. I’ve been scanning the crowds, searching my classes, but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere.

Did I just imagine him?

Nope, not possible. Even my imagination couldn’t have come up with him. And I’ve read a ton of books. My imagination muscles are in fine working condition.

Maybe this is his thing. Hitting on a new girl every day, making her feel special, and then BOOM, dropping her like yesterday’s garbage.

I bet it is. Women, even older women, notice him. I was just the flavor of the week.

How could I have been so stupid?

I’m rushing through a hallway, not really paying attention to where I’m going. The halls are surprisingly packed, but I manage to get through without trouble. Well, almost manage…

“Hey! You idiot, you knocked my books over!” yells a heavily accented voice. She looks furious, her dark brown eyes shooting daggers into my dark green ones.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “Here, let me help you.”

How many books exactly was she carrying? At a glance, I think there are ten. And some of them are very heavy. Doesn’t she have a backpack?

Low, aggressive sounds of someone cursing at me in a foreign tongue draw my attention.

“Look, I said I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into you,” I say.

This only incites her further. I’m bent over, picking up the remaining books, when I hear a familiar, deep voice quietly talking above me.

It’s Aaron.

And he’s speaking another language.

The young woman’s eyes widen, and she takes a sharp breath. In a moment, she turns on her heel and stomps away, a teetering pile of books threatening to fall down again.

“It’s you,” I say, smiling.

He shoots a megawatt smile back. “It’s me.”

Aaron offers his hand, and helps me to my feet.

“What did you say to her anyway?”

“Nothing worth repeating.”

“I hope you didn’t say anything too bad,” I reply.

He laughs my comment off. “I wasn’t mean to her, just direct. So, fate must want us together. Quite badly, in fact. It’s the third time we’ve met.”

“Yeah, yeah, a real-life case of star-crossed lovers.”

He smiles, and walks silently beside me.

“Do you live on the south side too?’ I ask.

“No. Why?”

“Because you rode the LRT to the south end yesterday.”

He lets out a small embarrassed chuckle. “I rent a house with some buddies downtown. It took me six stops to get back home.”

“Wow, you must have it bad,” I tease.

“You have no idea.”

My heart beats a bit faster, and I force myself to look away.

“What language were you speaking anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

“Turkish.”

“Turkish?”

“Yes. I speak five languages fluently. I’m learning my sixth, but it’s a work in progress. Mandarin is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

My puny French vocabulary from eighth grade seems really insignificant now.

“And besides English and Turkish, you can speak…”

“French, Italian, and Spanish. Once you learn one of the Romance languages, it’s easier to pick up the others.”

He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal.

“How did you learn so many?”

“My dad is from Quebec and my mom is from Martinique, so I spoke French and English growing up. Then, Italian and Spanish in high school. I want to work in Turkey after university, so I figured, what the hell.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop right there. How am I ever going to impress this guy? Not only is he gorgeous, but he’s smart! He’ll never be interested in me.

“So…I was wondering,” he begins.

“Yes?”

“Do you have any plans tonight?”

Groups of young women have gathered around us, traveling in flocks to get a better look at Aaron. They remind me of seagulls, screeching, pecking around.

“No other girls to see tonight?” I gesture toward our new friends.

“No. I want to see you.”

Oh boy…did someone turn the heat up in here? And why can’t I think straight?

“What did you have in mind?”

He grins seductively, wolfish teeth on full display.

“Trust me.”

—

“A football game!?” I laugh.

He grins back at me. “You said you’d never been to one.”

I close the passenger door of Aaron’s car, and briskly run my hands over my bare arms. It’s a chilly September evening.

“I wish you would have told me we’d be outside. I didn’t bring a jacket with me.”

He reaches into the backseat, grabs two lumps of fabric, and comes round to my side.

“Ah, ye of little faith. I’ve thought of everything.”

He offers me one of the lumps. It’s an enormous hoodie, with our university’s logo on the front.

“Are these both yours?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice muffled as he shoves the sweater over his head.

I do the same.

“It looks like I stole this!” I laugh, while flapping my arms. The sleeves are about six inches too long for me, and the bottom hem nearly touches my knees.

“I like it,” he says. “We’ll call it hobo chic.”

I roll up my sleeves as best I can, and follow him toward the field.

It’s a crisp, cool evening, with a hint of fading summer. A biting breeze flips my hair up, and I pull the sweater in tighter around my face. It smells like Aaron’s cologne.

I take a deep breath.

“Enjoying yourself?”

I look up at Aaron. He’s smirking at me, with an eyebrow raised. Damn it. I’m helplessly attracted to him. And he knows it.

I decide to ignore him. “I don’t know a thing about football. You’re going to have to coach me all the way through.”

“You’ve never watched a game? Not even on TV?”

“Of course I have. But I paid more attention to cute bums in tights than the actual game.”

Aaron playfully nudges me with his shoulder.

“Come on, you horn dog. Let’s find a good seat.”

—

The game is way more fun than I thought it would be. Despite the cold, a lot of people are here. The happy atmosphere is contagious, and I find myself cheering along with the rest of them.

Aaron is leaning back in the seat beside me, his legs extended as much as they can be, given that these bleachers are cramped.

At one point, I catch him staring at me.

“What?” I say.

“Nothing. Just looking at you.”

I smile. “Like what you see?”

He smirks. “Mmm. I’ve liked you from the first time I saw you.”

“Ah yes, the dreaded nursing lab,” I say.

“No, that wasn’t—”

We’re interrupted by a vendor selling nachos drowned in cheese.