Fading Out (11 page)

T
he town car
—which is my parents’ modest term for limousine—pulls to a stop at the front of my dorm. I requested that my father drop me off a few blocks back, but as always, he insisted. Worried about me walking a whole parking lot’s length in the dark.

Which could be looked at as simply a father’s concern—if I didn’t know better. He wants me
seen
. Wants the other students to know I’m not like them; I’m
above
them.

“If it bothers you so badly, then you shouldn’t have sent me to this school,” I say, searching through my clutch, avoiding his stare. I dig out my room key and grip it tightly before reaching for the handle.

“Markus will get the door, Arian.” He snaps his fingers and our driver hustles out. Then my father is looking at me. I can feel his glare raking over me like ice cubes tumbling down a ladder. “We’ve already discussed
why here
,” he adds. “But I expect while you are in attendance, you do not find yourself in another less than desirable position.” He sighs, as if it’s all too challenging to deal with me.

I almost laugh. Me, the defiant daughter. “Understood,” I say simply, and turn to accept Markus’s hand after he opens the door.

“Wait.” This from Becca.

My eyes close. I stand still, my back to her, as I wait to hear her take.

“Ari, please. You know how much your father and I adore you,” she says. An ache hitches in my throat.
Adore
, not love. Noted. “We so want you to make friends. And that plump girl you room with is so nice. We’re not trying to isolate you, we just want you to be conscious of your acquaintances.” She pauses for a purposeful beat before clarifying her point. “This is the time of your life in which the company you keep is of utmost importance.”

In other words, my mingling with the town’s football god/playboy is unacceptable. Again, duly noted. I’d love to turn around right now and tell them I had no intention of seeing Ryder seriously, but their forbiddance is making it all the more appealing. Only I know how childish that would come off, and it’s not at all true.

I want to be with Ryder all because of his own doing.

Ugh, but I just wish to God they’d stop critiquing my every move, word,
acquaintance
. With a sigh of resignation, I say, “Thanks, Becca. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before the door shuts, my father speaks up. “I’ve been given word that we’re to attend the Reilly’s dinner party next month. Please coordinate your schedule with Becca’s so that you’ll have a proper dress by then. Lucas has been asking about seeing you. You should make this happen even before the dinner.”

I swallow past the aching lump threatening to choke me. “You said…” I stutter out. Try again. “You said after graduation. You’ve already given him your consent, haven’t you?”

My father’s thick brows pull together, a haggard expression crossing his face. “Ari, listen. I’m very concerned, love. These guys you become involved with—”

“One guy,” I clarify.

“Yes, well it’s worrisome. I think it’d be best for you if you were settled with the right man sooner rather than later.” His eyes touch mine, finality in their depths. “For the sake of your health and wellbeing, it’s time to accept an offer and move forward with your life. And Lucas is a prime choice, sweetheart.”

My heart drops. Free fall.

I wrap an arm around my waist, as if I can’t stop the stirring nausea, and thank my father for tonight. What’s expected. Then I hurry into the building and practically run toward my room. A few lingering stares at the girl racing through hallways like Cinderella trying to beat the clock follow after me, but I’m not concerned with them.

I just want to get out of this ill-fitting dress and into my pajamas before I scream. Chocolate is in dire need, too.

O
ne thing is good
: I don’t feel anxious today as I leave the lecture hall and head toward my lunch hour. I don’t worry whether Ryder will look my way, smile, come over and talk to me. For the past two days, he hasn’t so much as proven his neck can swivel, never mind acknowledge me.

Since the charity banquet, since my father so meticulously pointed out that I’m off-limits, it’s as if Ryder doesn’t even know I exist. Which is probably the way it should’ve been from the start. But I can’t pretend his sudden avoidance doesn’t sting. Rejection—even when it’s for the best—is still rejection.

For the most part, I’ve stopped obsessing over him. The more hours that go by, the more I find something else to fixate on that’s not Ryder related. Like fitting into a size two, which will stop the endless, concerned calls from Becca, and like Vee’s mission: her new raffle idea.

“You should just call it the Get Into Gavin’s Jockstrap Project and be done with it already,” Haley says to Vee from across the small table. We’ve decided to eat lunch off campus today, at a local coffee shop a few blocks away. Which is—okay, I admit—mostly why I’m not angsting over seeing Ryder. And I’m not entirely sure they didn’t suggest eating here for that exact purpose.

Right, so I’m still obsessing. But after what my father said…and the way I reacted toward Ryder after…how can I not? I feel bad, worried that Ryder took my father’s insulting probing to heart. Or, that he thinks I’m anything like him. It’s all so dumb. Me agonizing over a guy who probably hasn’t had one singular thought of me since then. A guy that I can’t have, regardless.

“A, would you please tell this girl I’m not doing the boosters for Gavin.”

I hear Vee’s voice, understand her statement, but my brain is having a difficult time processing the meaning. I push back against the cool metal chair and look between them. “She is,” I say to Haley. “But anyway, she’s already been in his jockstrap.”

Vee groans and Haley laughs. “So just suck it up and make your move, Vee,” Haley says, swirling a wooden coffee stirrer around in her cup. “You’ve built this up to epic proportions. It’s pretty simple, really. He’s a guy. Guys like sex. Offer him sex.”

On that note, I scoot my chair back and stand, reaching for my jacket. “I forgot Professor Hayden asked me to drop off my first pages before class. I slacked off yesterday.”

Vee nods, as if she remembers this fact. “Okay. You want us to head back with?”

I shake my head. “You haven’t even eaten yet, but thanks. I’ve got a fruit cup.” I pat my side tote.

They don’t know what happened at the event, but Vee’s pretty observant. She’s just giving me time to tell her on my own terms. I’m still not sure what
it
even is, or if it’s a real thing to be discussed…but it’s enough to keep my stomach in knots.

Especially since something as petty as the bonfire incident was enough to turn a whole college football team against me, it seems plausible that Ryder—whose mood can shift from cool to hot in a flash—was more than offended. What he said about filling out my dance card…ugh. That stung. But he seems kind of sensitive that way. His friends wouldn’t take up his defense so easily, otherwise. Or maybe that’s just team mentality.

Oh God, but I’m obsessing again. Maybe I should get that damn aftercare treatment. Or anxiety meds, something. This is getting stupid.

I force my feet to move, needing to get away from Vee and Haley before they figure out how unhinged I really am. Pushing open the coffee shop door, I head out into the chilly fall air, eager to get back on campus and gain some equilibrium.

I’m rounding the sidewalk corner, my hands tucked under my arms for warmth, when I spot Ryder sitting on a bench. Crap. My head lowers, and I brush my hair forward to hide my face.

There’re five benches from here to the West Hall, and of course he’s sitting on the one closest to the sidewalk. My feet start moving me across the grass, cutting a straight path toward the building, when I hear, “Hey, carrot cake.”

The debate whether or not to ignore him lasts a bit too long; the wind creaking the tree branches causes enough noise to feign ignorance. But that name just frays my nerve endings, and my spine locks taut. I pivot around to face him. “I thought we were past that.”

A smile crawls across his face, and his blue eyes squint in that adorable way. It’s like the past couple of days never happened, or maybe even the past few weeks. Like he’s attempting another do-over.

I suddenly feel exhausted. There’s no such thing as a do-over, and Ryder and I just don’t mix. We’re worse than oil and water. We’re Pop Rocks and soda.

But that doesn’t stop him from hopping off the bench and walking in my direction, shoulders forward, on a mission. “I don’t give nicknames to just anybody.”

“Again, I should feel flattered?”

This time around, he nods with certainty. “Absolutely.” With one wink, I’m all dumb girl and goo. It’s ridiculous. And not at all safe.

“Why are you out here…in the cold?” I change the subject.

He notices, clearing his throat before he says, “I needed to concentrate before my next class. The lunchroom doesn’t give me time to myself.” He zips up his leather jacket, shutting out the wind.

“What class?” I really need to leave, to just end this now. I wasn’t fabricating a complete lie when I told Vee and Haley I had to hand in pages to my professor; I do—not today, but I was planning to get a jump on it. Distract my brain.

Ryder slips his hands into his jeans’ pockets, shrugging. “Writing. Well, one of my creative writing classes. It’s an important one, anyway.”

I feel my face scrunch up at his vagueness. Then I remember how revealing his major to my father seemed to embarrass him. Ryder doesn’t come across as the type to be embarrassed by anything. So this must be a delicate subject for him.

After how we parted last time, I tread lightly. I know there can’t be anything serious between us, but I can’t help feeling there’s more to this guy than just sports. Like if I peeled back the layers one at a time, slowly, this whole genuine, thought-provoking person would unfold.

I want to know him.

Just…objectively. From a safe, shielded distance.

“Was writing your first choice in major?” I ask, and stuff my now-numb hands into my jacket pockets. “I mean, I’m not trying to sound insensitive, but that’s a strange major for a guy planning to go pro after college.”

He nods once, as if he’s thinking it through, then jerks his head sideways. I follow him to the huge elm in the middle of the courtyard. “I know it’s strange. Believe me, it wasn’t easy to convince my coach in my second year that I wanted to switch majors.” He leans against the bark of the tree, then grasps my jacket and tugs me closer.

My stomach flutters where his hand lightly brushes, then just as quickly, I’m shielded from the wind. By him and the tree. “You look cold,” he says, the wind pushing his dark hair into his eyes. “Anyway, yeah. Always loved to read, always enjoyed writing, when I had time. So I thought…I don’t know. Why not?”

I squint up at him. “Nope. Not buying it.” And I’m not. The way he hesitated before when revealing his major to me and my family makes me think there’s more to it. “But, keep your secret for now. We all have them.”

His eyes widen. “For now?”

Burying my hands deeper into my pockets, I lift my shoulders, trying to block the wind from my neck. “Don’t read so much into what I say, Ryder. I’m not that deep.”

“Well, I know that’s bullshit,” he says, and reaches behind my head and pulls out the hairband. My curls tumble free. With delicate movements, he brushes my hair over my shoulders, his fingers skimming my neck.

A shiver wracks my body. But it’s not at all from the cold.

“You might ask a girl first before just rearranging her hairstyle,” I say. But the warmth from my hair feels good on my neck. “Now the wind is going to batter my hair against my face.”

He shrugs boyishly. “I can remedy that, too,” he says with a mischievous glint in his clear blues.

Oh, holy hell. But he’s a smooth one. My dumb stomach flutters to life, my chest aches in that way that’s painful and tight, and feels too good all at the same time.

“So,” he says, breaking the intensity of the moment. “I was thinking. You have a way with words…”

A laugh escapes my mouth. “Says who?”

“Says the gift note you wrote me…by the way, I never thanked you. So thanks for the panties.” His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. “And the ridiculously long text messages. Not to mention the metaphorical insults, like the one at the bonfire. Very impressive. I mean, who texts and talks like that?”

“People who know proper grammar?” I snark.

“Exactly.” He tugs on a hank of my hair, pulling the curl straight. “And because I’ve gone against everyone’s suggestion and majored in more than one writing class this semester, I could use some help.”

I feel my eyebrows draw together. “Are you serious? You’re really asking me to tutor you?” This guy cannot really think I’m falling for this old cliché. I swear, but he’s full of them. Only, I’m totally falling. He could ask me to cheer on the sidelines like some lovesick schoolgirl, and I probably would. I’m having a difficult enough time just standing here, not touching him. Every fiber of by being is reaching out to him, dying to make a connection.

Damn, but I’m helpless. A few weeks ago, I was ready to drop kick him. Now, after one intimate dance and a few intense moments, I’m ready to pounce him. I wonder how much of it is Ryder, and how much is the fear of my looming engagement.

“I’m dead serious,” he says, pulling me out of my dark thoughts. “After the other night, I understand, Ari. I get it.” His eyes widen with concern, as if he’s looking right into me. My breath stills. “You have a lot on your plate. Expectations, obligations….” He trails off. “I don’t want to be a complication for you. But I can’t
not
be around you. I like you.”

Like. Okay, not what I expected to hear. It’s dry, bland, formal. But also safe. No passion stirring with “like.” No crazy, frenzied emotions taking over my head, debating with my heart. I can do like.

“Are you with me?” he says, lowering his head into my line of sight. I’m pulled out of my obscure musings.

“Sure.” I nod. My father has affectively scared off the school playboy from trying to get into my pants. “Against my better judgment, I like you, too, Ryder. We can be study buddies.”