Dearest Clementine (7 page)

“Does your professor know who you are?” Harper asks, jarring me from my pensive thoughts.

“No. And I’m keeping it that way. In case I forgot to say it, you were a genius for suggesting I use a pen name. Plus, I was late for that first class, so I missed the whole ‘who’s been published?’ conversation.”

“Would it be so bad if she knew?”

My blood pressure rises thinking about that possibility.

“One, I don’t want brownie points for shit I wrote three years ago. Two, you know I can’t handle people reading
Say It Isn’t So
and suspecting that all that crap really happened to me. Besides, the fewer people who know I wrote it, the better. If this ends up in the tabloids, I’d die.” I shred the napkin in front of me. “And three, it’s liberating to be able to write without the scrutiny of people knowing who you are.” Or at least it’s supposed to be.

Her eyes are understanding. “Tell me what’s been so difficult about this class.”

With the move and my birthday and classes starting up, we haven’t had much time to talk lately, so I unload it all. That I don’t know what to write as a follow-up to my first book
.
That I’d better figure it out soon if I plan to pay my spring tuition. That even if I could use my romance-writing assignment for my new book, it still has to be good. Never mind that I have no fucking idea how to write an honest-to-goodness romance. One-night stands I can do because the emotions don’t run deep. But love? Trust? Vulnerability? I’m not so sure I can pull that off.

“Your professor said that? You have to write about sex?” Harper asks, her eyes wide.

“No, but given the examples she’s read us in class, I know that’s what she’s expecting. She wants
intimacy
.” My heart sinks as I flick a piece of wilted lettuce from my salad. “Come on, Harper, I know shit about relationships and even less about sex.”

Just talking about intimacy has me practically hyperventilating. I take a sip of water and start counting backward from a hundred like my shrink taught me.

Harper puts down her sandwich and grabs my arm, pausing me mid-gulp.

“Relax. I will cut that bitch up if she fails you.”

She says it straight-faced, and I start laughing so hard that water comes shooting out my nose. My little prim and proper best friend going hood has me in hysterics, and I stop counting.

* * *

On Thursday night, I get his text:
So. How about it? Meet me at the gym at 4:30 tomorrow?

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking about going climbing with Gavin.
Just as friends
… His words make me smile.

I’m so tired of being in hibernation mode. My friends assume I’ve been denying myself all this time, like I’m into some kind of asceticism, but the truth is I’ve been numb—numb from my parents not giving a shit about me, numb from breaking up with Daren, numb from my asshole professor attacking me. I just haven’t felt anything, and when I have, it’s been rage, and the only face I could put on all of this was Clem, the bitch. I can’t count the number of people who have gotten in my path and felt my wrath. I’m the youngest assistant manager at my job, not just because I run the campus bookstore like a damn naval operation, but also because the kids who work for me don’t want to piss me off.

When I look in the mirror, I don’t like who I’ve become. I mean, at first this was about survival—getting to my next class, making it to work on time, living with strangers—but now that I have the basics figured out, I’m still walking around in my protective shell while life goes on around me. And while the idea of getting close to Gavin scares the living shit out of me, being near him reminds me of a time when I used to take chances and be carefree and be the girl everyone wanted to be around.

Fuck it.
I go climbing on Friday mornings anyway. I’ll do it in the afternoon instead.

I text him back before I have a chance to chicken out.

* * *

Usually, the smell of the locker room is strangely soothing, but right now it’s making me nauseous. Turning back to my gym bag, I pull out a hot pink tank top and black spandex shorts.

Really?

I pack my clothes ahead of time, so I don’t have to think about it when I’m rushing around in the morning, but now that I’m meeting Gavin in five minutes, I wish I’d given my outfit a little more thought. This is tight. And revealing.

I start to laugh.
He’s already seen me half naked.
Girls scamper around here in sports bras all the time, so I guess this isn’t a big deal. Besides, it’s hard to climb in baggy clothes.

When I walk out, Gavin is leaning against a pillar, talking on the phone. He sees me and smiles, motioning that he’ll join me in a minute. I point toward the climbing wall, and he nods.

As I strap myself into the gear, he walks up, unnerving me with one of those killer grins.
Oh, my God. Is that a chin dimple?

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound collected. “Do you want to spot me or should I ask a staff member?” My hands linger on a carabiner. I get the sense I should hug him, but that’s weird. I hardly know him. Except for the spooning.

Ugh. I wish I hadn’t thought about that.

Gavin raises his eyebrows and reaches over to grab my rope. He smells like citrus and sunshine, and it makes my mouth water.

“Must you ask, Clementine?”

I’ve never been turned on by how a guy says my name, but damn, I love how it sounds coming from him. I fight the embarrassed smile that’s threatening to spread on my face and duck my head to check my gear.

He nudges me with his elbow, and I look up at him.  

“It’s nice to see you.” His voice is scratchy and deep, and it makes me wonder what he sounds like first thing in the morning.

I swallow. “It’s good to see you too.”

And, oh my, it is. He’s wearing thin black sweats that hang low on his hips and a dark fitted t-shirt that makes me wonder what he looks like underneath. My stomach does a few backflips when his eyes pass over me.
Clothes. I should be wearing more clothes.

I finally break the silence because not talking is making me more nervous. “Okay, so don’t drop me.”

He laughs and runs his hands through his dark hair. “I carried you home, remember? I’m not going to let anything happen to you, darlin’.”

If I hadn’t been anxious before, I definitely am now. Being near him has my insides twisting around like I’m electrically charged.

Forty-five minutes later, I’m drenched in sweat as I rappel down the wall for the third time. I’ve had to battle to concentrate on what I’m doing instead of thinking that he’s below me, possibly checking out my ass.

“You’re a beast,” Gavin says as he eyes his watch. “This last time up was your fastest. How’s that possible?” He looks genuinely impressed.

“I run a lot, so this isn’t a big deal. Thanks for spotting me this long. Let’s swap.”

When he steps into his gear, he puts his hand on my shoulder to steady himself even though there’s a giant three-story structure in front of him. I stiffen at his touch, but when he finally looks up and smiles, I almost forget I’m uncomfortable. Almost.

As he ascends the wall, I must be boring holes into his back with the way I’m staring at Gavin’s body. Every time he reaches over to grab another hold, the muscles in his arms and back bulge against his clothes. His shirt rides up, and when he turns sidewise, I can see his taut stomach descending into his sweats.
Holy delicious six-pack.

I finally break my eyes away, embarrassed, and try to think about something constructive. Like math. I suck at math. I definitely should be more worried about math.

After I spot him for two more sprints runs up the wall, we go our separate ways toward the locker rooms and meet up after quick showers.

“You hungry?” He elbows me gently as we walk out onto the street.

“Starving.”

“You want to hang out with me while I babysit the toddlers at Warren, and we’ll order some pizza?”

It’s Friday night, so Warren Towers will be a zoo with freshmen bouncing off the walls like spider monkeys.

“I have to work on a paper, a manuscript for my creative writing class, and I should really get started on it. I’ve been struggling to come up with an idea, so I don’t know that I’d be good company.”

He takes my gym bag out of my hands, combining the handles with his before tossing both of them over his shoulder.

“That’s perfect because I have to write an article for the
Freep
that’s due tomorrow, so we’ll work together.”

The
Freep
is the
Daily Free Press
, BU’s student newspaper, which makes me realize I have no idea what he’s studying. My skin prickles as I think about the tabloids that have printed articles about my brother in the past.

“Are you a communications major?” I ask as we start our trek back toward central campus.

He nods. “Double major in journalism and English. You?”

A knot forms in my stomach as I think about the irony of spending time with a reporter. Before I get a chance to list all the reasons spending time with him is a stupid idea, I remind myself that he’s friends with Ryan and Jenna, and they’d never encourage me to spend time with a creep or someone they felt would jeopardize my privacy. Warm fuzzies spread in me as I think about how protective my friends are. I may give Ryan shit, but I know he’d knock out Gavin or die trying if Gavin ever hurt me.

Remembering Gavin asked me a question, I say, “English and creative writing, which must be how we had Prosem together freshman year.”

He smiles, and something in those sultry green eyes makes me want to ignore my urge to run and hide. “Creative writing? Is that why you were looking for inspiration?”

I tilt my head, confused.

“At Warren on moving day, when you were all curled up in the common room trying your hardest to ignore me.”

I laugh. “Jeez, yeah, I’m sorry. I was trying to get in the zone.”

“The zone, huh?” He pauses to let me walk ahead of him when we reach a narrow walkway. “Ryan tells me you’re a great writer, that you’ve written a book and you’re working on another one.”

I stop mid-step as all the positive feelings I had for Ryan a minute ago take a nose dive. Ryan and his big mouth!

Letting out a humorless laugh, I shake my head. “
He’s never read my work
, so I’m not entirely sure how he can say that.”

I reluctantly tell him how I plan to turn whatever I write for Marceaux’s class into something longer, hopefully my second book. I just leave out the part about how I need to do it to pay my bills.

“So you’re actually published?” he asks as we start walking again.

I’m encouraged by the admiration in his eyes and nod slowly.

“That’s really impressive, Clem.”

I can’t help the embarrassed grin on my face. “Thanks, but I’m kind of blocked right now. I have until Monday to figure it out because my fifteen-page draft is due on Tuesday.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but I start talking before he can ask any more questions, like the name of my book or what it’s about. Thank baby Jesus for pen names.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Gavin…” I trail off, and he raises his eyebrows. “At Warren that day, why didn’t you just tell me you knew me from class?”

He looks down at his feet and shrugs. “I wanted to see if you’d tell me your name.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Did you remember it?”

“Of course.”

“But you asked anyway?”

“Yup.”

I wait for a better response and finally nudge him. He turns toward me and grins. “I guess I wanted the challenge. Would Clementine Avery tell me her name?”

“That’s stupid.” I laugh, covering my mouth.

“Yeah, but you did. Now what does that say?” Gavin says as he stares at me, humor flitting behind his eyes.

I fold my arms over my chest. “That you pestered me until I gave in.”

He barks out a laugh. “Damn. I thought you were going to say I was so charming you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Well, there’s that.” I smirk, and he gently elbows me back.

When we get to his dorm, freshmen are stumbling in and out through the double doors.

“C’mon,” he says, like he’s not giving me a choice. “Let’s go find you some inspiration, and maybe you can peer-pressure me into doing my article.”

“Did you just use peer pressure as a verb?”

“God, you make me hot when you talk grammar.”

I laugh because he’s being so stupid and adorable. He smiles, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me toward the dorm.

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