Love Show (7 page)

I exhaled heavily and didn’t say
anything.

“Do you want me to stop?” he
repeated, more seriously.

I shook my head slightly, wild-eyed
and unsure of everything except for a single fact: I liked being kissed by him.
Even when I was sober. Even when I knew he was in a fraternity with a bunch of
idiots. Even when I knew how much most relationships messed up your life, I
wanted him to kiss me.

He pressed his lips to mine and
undid my seatbelt.

“C’mere,” he whispered, pulling my
wrist. He coaxed me over to his side of the car, so that I was straddling him.
He kissed my neck, and I could feel my pulse racing underneath his lips. He
leaned back and stared at me. He slid one hand under my loose, flannel shirt
and up my ribs. His other hand rubbed along the side of my leg, through my
jeans. The friction was gentle, but it ran up and down my leg.

I pressed my hips more closely to
his.

He unhooked my bra strap and kissed
me again.

I shivered as he slipped the straps
down my arms. He nipped at my lip and at my neck while he unbuttoned my shirt.

“This okay?” he whispered.

I nodded once.

He gently slipped the shirt down my
arms.

My bra fell with it and I looked
down at him, the light catching in his eyes. He ran both of his hands up my
ribs, and cupped one breast gently. His thumb ghosted across my nipple and I
bit my lip, and his lips kissed their way from my mouth to my neck. He
continued rubbing his thumb softly across my breast. Every brief movement
travelled like an electrical current up and down my spine.

I exhaled a shaky breath, pulsating
with the electricity of his touch everywhere.

“Christ, Jack…” I whispered. I
closed my eyes and dropped my head to his shoulder. He kissed my neck,
bitingly.

I hid my face in his neck, and
laughed lightly, as his hand stroked my shivering stomach. He kissed me again,
softly and then firmly, and then he broke the kiss and smiled.

“You’re something, you know that?”

“You said that,” I said, remembering
tailgate.

“It’s true.” He dropped his hot,
damp mouth to one breast and I arched my back, pressing myself forward. I could
feel his arousal through his jeans as he gently manipulated my breast with his
tongue.

I grabbed fistfuls of his hair,
arching my back.

“Wait,” I whispered.

He stopped, lifting his head, his
hair sticking up where I’d grasped it in my hands.

“Wait?” he repeated.

“This is…we’re on the side of a
road. And it’s fast. This is fast.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

I suddenly felt embarrassed,
sitting back and looking away and holding my shirt in front of my breasts.

He put a hand to my chest, in
between my breasts, very close to my heart. 

“What?”                                        

“I like you,” he said. He smiled,
his eyes twinkling. “You’re the best person I’ve met all year.”

I met his eyes. “I bet you say that
to all the girls.”

He chuckled. He handed me my bra.

My hands shook as I tried to clasp it
with one hand. I managed it on my second try, and pulled on my shirt. He
groaned as I lifted myself off his lap and scooted back into the passenger’s
seat.

We were both quiet. He cleared his
throat. “You were saying something about not wanting to kiss me, I think.”

“Actually, I was saying something
about you being a serial killer.”

He laughed. “And how you only
kissed me because you were drunk.”

“I could be a drunk right now. I
could be an alcoholic for all you know.”         

He smirked. “Right.”

“Don’t gloat,” I said. “It’s
unattractive.”

He pulled the car back onto the
road, towards ice cream. While we drove, I went from breathless and turned-on
to flat-out annoyed that I let a practical stranger feel me up on the side of
the road. “What was that?” I demanded when we reached Ben & Jerry’s.

“What was what?”

“You pulling over like that.”

“I wanted to make sure I was
right,” he said.

“About what?”

“About the fact that I really like
kissing you. And unless I’m very, very mistaken, you like it, too,” he said. He
had caught my gaze and I let myself stare for a second. Then, I looked away.

“That’s not the point.”

“Look, you don’t want to date
anyone. That’s fine. But that doesn’t mean we can’t hang out,” he said.

“And do what? Make out?” I
demanded.

“There are other things we could
do,” he said, with a smile. “Look, I want to buy you dinner. I want to take you
on a date.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But—”

“But you’ve got a hang-up. I hear
you.”  He nodded. “So, why don’t we not date?”

“And do what?”

“Hang out. Get ice cream. I don’t
know.” He smiled. “We can have fun without getting engaged, you know? We can
have fun without even dating. We can be friends.”

“With benefits?”                                             

He laughed at the suggestion. “I
mean, sure. We could be friends, too. Without benefits. Although we do have
good chemistry.”

“Chemistry?”

“Sexual chemistry.”

“We haven’t had sex.”            

“I know, but if we did…” he
shrugged. “It would probably be mind-blowing. Because the way we kiss is
insane
.
Don’t you think?”

 “I haven’t kissed enough people to
know.”

“Well, I have. And it is,” Jack
said matter-of-factly.

I believed him. Not just that we
could have mind-blowing sex, but that we could be friends. That maybe I could
have a no-commitment fling with a handsome guy who I actually really, really
liked.

“Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Let’s be friends with benefits.”            

He laughed. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. Wait, were you joking?"

“No. Not at all. Are you?"                       

We looked at each other. "I
asked you first," I said.

"No, I wasn't joking."

"Fine," I said. "We
should probably have some rules.”

“Like what?”

“No presents. Definitely no
flowers. I’m not doing your laundry, making you cookies, or coming to your
formal. Don’t ask me to,” I said. I cocked my head. “No dates. No romantic
comedies. No sleepovers. No saying I love you. No buying me drinks. No Valentine’s
Day, nicknames, baby talk, chocolate, or Taylor Swift concerts.”

He looked at me closely. “You’re
serious?”

“Yes,” I said. “Why?"

“This feels like a trap.”

“Why?”                                   

“Because you just made it against
the rules to do any of the things that every guy doesn’t want to do with his
girlfriend.”

“It’s not a trap. And either party
can terminate benefits without any drama. There will be no drama.”

“This is definitely a trap.”

“Do you have anything to add?” I
asked.                                  

“Yeah. Don’t call me babe.”

“I won’t call you babe."

We walked into Ben & Jerry’s
and I ordered a vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. We sat in his car
with the heat turned on high while we ate.

He started laughing to himself when
he’d finished his.

“What?” I asked.                                              

“Nothing,” he smiled. “You are just
way more interesting than I could’ve ever predicted.”

“You can say crazy,” I said.

He nodded. "Yeah, I know. But
I wouldn't mean it. Interesting."

David was quiet the first week of classes. And I was sending
a boy flirtatious texts.

Neither of these things had
happened before, so I probably would’ve been worried about a coming apocalypse
if I hadn’t been so fixated on how to survive Robert Riley’s graduate-level
combat and conflict journalism class.

I was thrilled about getting into
the class. Riley was a legend.  He had won two Pulitzer Prizes when he covered
the conflict in Bosnia during the '90s.

But I was also afraid I wouldn’t
meet his notoriously high expectations. Gruff and tough, he was rumored to fail
students with a single grammatical error in their final assignments. And the
class was mostly composed of graduate students. Andrew and I were the only two
undergraduates who had been given permission to take it this year.

I slept fitfully the night before Riley’s
class—although that was partly due to the eight cappuccinos I’d had while
excising stylistic errors from the newspaper before it went to press.

Still, I arrived early, like
everyone else, and I sat with Andrew while we waited for Riley to walk in.

He appeared in a half-zip sweater,
with a limp from the shrapnel that had been embedded in his leg when he was
caught in a roadside bombing early in his career.

He tossed a folded copy of the
New
York Times
onto his desk. “First of all, welcome. Second of all, you should
know that I don’t tolerate lateness or unexcused absences. You don’t show up,
you better have a doctor’s note, because you’re lucky to have a seat in my
class. You’re lucky to be studying journalism at all. And as soon as you forget
that reporting is a privilege that should be afforded only to the most
committed and well-disciplined individuals, you are going to fuck up. And if
you fuck up in journalism, people get hurt. When you print lies in a newspaper,
you make them true. And if you get lazy, you will end up printing lies, whether
or not you’re aware of it. That is why, in this class, I won’t stand for anyone
cutting corners, no matter how insignificant they may seem.”

I exchanged glances with Andrew. Riley
was hardcore.

The door swung open and everyone
turned to look at the pour soul foolish enough to show up five minutes late to
Riley’s class. And then my heart jumped into my throat, because it was none
other than Jack Diamond, lanky, lean, and impossibly handsome, with a slow
Cheshire cat’s smile that seemed to be just for me.

Professor Riley cleared his throat.
“Jack! What a nice surprise.”

I closed my dropped jaw and stared
at him.

Jack nodded. “What’s up?” He waved
at me—he
waved—
and then he looked back at Riley.

“So, did you decide to audit?”
Riley asked him.

Jack shrugged and flashed him a
smile. “Still on the fence about that one, Bobby.”

Bobby?
Bobby. Did he just
say that?

I waited for Robert Riley—Pulitzer
laureate, famous journalist, extraordinarily grumpy professor—to vault over the
dais and claw Jack Diamond’s eyes out. But that didn’t happen.

“You’re welcome anytime, Jack,”
Riley said paternally.

Jack climbed to the very back row,
where nobody else was seated. It took me a moment to tear my eyes away from him
and look instead at Riley.

“Some of the most crucial moments
in history are recorded by combat journalists,” Riley was saying. “And it takes
more than damned good writing for those moments to be recorded accurately. It
takes
discipline
and patience and extraordinarily difficult and
dangerous work…”

I tried to focus on Professor Robert
Riley. I let his voice drown out the questions I wanted to ask Jack, until I’d
almost forgotten they had ever been there.

I didn’t notice when Jack slipped
out of the class, but he was gone when Riley dismissed us.

As Jack had promised, Xander emailed Justin to apologize on
behalf of the fraternity.

Justin found me after our staff
meeting to express his gratitude. “It means a lot,” he said sheepishly. “I
mean, just thank you.”

“Hey,” I said readily. “That’s my
job. No need to thank me.”

We left the office together after
the meeting, and I turned the issue over to Andrew for the night so I could have
my phone interview with
USA Today
.

“How are things otherwise?” I
asked.

“Okay,” he said. He rubbed the back
of his head. “I mean, Organic Chemistry is killing me slowly, but other than
that, I’m good.”

I laughed. “Already?”

“It’s a monster,” he said. “My
brain does not understand.”

“You’ll get it.”

“Yeah. I might have to slow down on
the paper, though. Sorry. Next year should be easier. I know I haven’t written
that much.”

“I totally understand. Not a
problem,” I said.

“Thanks, Hadley.”

We’d reached the end of the path
where I turned left towards the parking lot and he turned right towards his
dorm.

“Have a good night, Jus. I’ll see
you around.”

“Hey, um…” he shrugged. “You said
David cooked every Friday?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Oh, right. You
should totally come over this week!”

“Yeah?” he nodded. “Cool. I’d like
that.”

“Awesome. David will be happy.”

“Yeah?” Justin asked hopefully.

“Definitely.” I thought the
flirtation with Ben would end soon. David had been moody and quiet. He’d been
avoiding his other friends when he left the apartment, and impatiently waiting
to hear from Ben most other nights. I couldn’t imagine him putting up with it
for much longer. “It’ll be fun. I’m glad you’re coming. Have a good night.”

“Thanks. Good luck with the
interview,” he shouted after me.

The interview was okay—a lot of informational questions.
Nothing that threw me off my game, but nothing I could hit out of the park
either. They told me they’d be in touch to set up an in-person interview, which
felt like a victory.

After I hung up the phone, David
came in.                        

I walked out of my room to see him.
“Justin’s coming over for dinner tomorrow. I think he likes you.”

“Who?”                                                    

I raised my eyebrows. “Justin
Shelter?”

“Oh,” he said. “Right.”

He looked thinner and tired. That
couldn’t be right. He couldn’t have lost weight in a week.

It was his clothing, I realized. He
was drowning in a baggy polo shirt and khakis. I had no idea where he’d even
gotten them, but it was so not his style.

“Are you okay?”      

He shook his head, as if he were
snapping out of a trance. “Sorry.” He smiled more genuinely. “I’m good. Tired.
I spent the night at Ben’s.” He looked at me dreamily. “He’s really great.”

“Yeah? When can I meet him?” I
ventured cautiously.

“I told you. You can’t. Not until
he’s ready and that’s not going to be for a really long time because of
football.”

I nodded my head once. “Well, is he
your boyfriend?”

“No. No. Definitely not,” he
shrugged. “He’s not ready for that. Which is fine. I can totally wait.”

I didn’t buy it. He sounded pretty
sad.

“Well, do you have plans Friday?
After dinner?”

“No, probably not. Ben has plans
with his teammates.”

And David wasn’t invited.

“Maybe we could go out after dinner,”
I said. “You, me and Justin.”

He smiled. “You want to go out?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I told Jack I’d
think about it. And I think you should introduce Justin to some people.”

“To people?”

“In the gay community,” I said.
“He’s a freshman, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” David said
noncommittally, “Look, Ben asked me to sort of tone it down.”

“Tone what down?”

“You know, the whole thing,” he
said very softly.

“
What
whole thing?”

“Just the off-the-walls gay thing.”

“I’m sorry. What?” I said
incredulously. “Tell me that’s a joke.”

“Hadley,” he said. “I know you
don’t understand, but I really like him. And he’s been really good to me,”
David said, almost pleadingly.

“By asking you to tone down your
personality?”

“Not my personality,” he said. “I
don’t have to be so out there, you know?”

I looked at him, in utter shock.
“Yeah, he sounds really wonderful. I’d like to meet this kid.”

“Hadley.”

“No, I really do. I want to see
who's put the crazy idea in your head that your personality is something to be
ashamed of.”

My phone rang on the counter. David
looked at me. “Are you going to get that?”

“This is more important right now.”

David got to his feet and shrugged.
“I don’t see why you’re making me feel bad about a relationship I’m excited
about.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel
bad about your relationship.”

“That’s what you’re doing, though,”
David responded coldly. “I’m going to bed.”

“David,” I called after him.

He closed the door softly. I
knocked on it.

“Hadley, I want you to leave me
alone,” he said. I sighed deeply.

“David, come on. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he called
back. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”

David made himself scarce Friday morning. I heard him grab a
cup of coffee and leave the apartment around 7. And he didn’t respond to my
text when I asked if we needed anything for dinner while I was on my way home
that evening. I really hoped he’d be there to let in Justin. I was starting to
worry he was so angry with me that he wouldn’t show up.

I reached the apartment, praying
David would be home. And he was. He was making fajitas, and he and Justin were
already drinking.

“Gorgeous, you’re here,” David
said, slurring his words. “Justin’s culinary skills have improved tremendously.
He did an amazing job with the margarita mix.”

He sounded like his usual self and
he was dressed that way, too. He wore tight jeans on his pin-thin legs, a
bright pink shirt, and a fedora while he poured me a margarita. He handed it to
me with a broad, frankly frightening grin.

“Are you wearing a shirt with those
stockings?” I asked with an arched eyebrow as Justin gave me a warm hug and
laughed.

I changed into tighter jeans and
cuter boots, and a black tank top David recommended.

Jack wanted to meet up tonight, and
for the first time that I could remember, I was excited to go out.

I sipped the lethally strong
margarita that Justin had thrust into my hand. I even did my makeup, tossing my
head to the music. It was fun. I was having fun, and that wasn’t a bad thing.
I’d survived not getting the
New York Times
job. I had a friend with
benefits. And the sky had not fallen. It was mostly okay.

 “You are definitely not washed-up
yet,” David said when I reentered the room. “Right, Justin?”

Justin nodded his assent and smiled
at David.

“Who said I was washed-up?”

David raised his hand. “Me. Like
all first semester.”

“Thanks a lot, pal.”

“I mean, you never looked
that
washed-up. You just sort of
dressed
that way.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said. I ran my
hand through my hair. “Jack will be there.”

“Fabulous,” David said. He looked
at Justin. “Hadley is a committed spinster but she has a friend with benefits,
courtesy of me.”

I rolled my eyes.           

David got up from his seat and
caught his reflection in the mirror. “Does this outfit look okay?”

I finished my margarita. “Of
course.”

David fussed in front of the
mirror. “I feel like Ben wouldn’t like this.”

“Who’s Ben?” Justin asked.

David opened his mouth and then
closed it. “Ben Cho, the fashion designer, my icon.”

I raised my eyebrows. “What?”

“Hold on. I’m changing.”                        

He came out of his room half an
hour later wearing something decidedly un-David. Khakis and a blue polo shirt.
He ran a hand through his hair and turned to me.

“How do I look?”                                    

“Like you’re from Nowhere, Nebraska?”

David flinched slightly and Justin
gave me a dirty look. “I like it,” Justin said softly.

“Sorry. You look nice. Just—not
very
you
.”

“I don’t want him to…I don’t want
to scare him off.”

“By being yourself?” I asked.

David looked at Justin and then at
me. “Let’s not talk about this right now.”

I met his eyes and inhaled deeply.
“Alright. Whatever you say.”

I stole a glance at David nervously
pushing his hair off his forehead and studying his reflection.

“You look good. You always look
good,” I said, seeing the apprehension on his face and hating that someone had
made him feel so uncomfortable in his own skin.

“Oh my god, everything just got so
serious,” David said. He laughed. “I swear we’re not usually this emotional,
Justin.” He turned up the music. “Who wants another margarita?”

Justin and I both accepted another drink.
Pretty soon we’d forgotten the weird moment and lost ourselves in the musical
genius that was Ke$ha.

David started bouncing on his toes
and twisting his hips and knees. I joined him. My heart pounded loudly in my
ears with the music, and my legs shook from jumping. I collapsed on the floor,
hair over my face. “David, I cannot go anywhere. I need to stay here with the margaritas.”

“Oh my god. Time to go to the bar,”
he said. “Hadley, get up. You do not get to pass out.”

“I’m not passed out. I’m just out
of shape.” I sat up and shook out my hair. “Let’s go.”

We walked to the bar.

When I thought about seeing Jack
there, my stomach twisted slightly. In a good way. In the best way.

The Pub was the kind of bar that
every college town has. Sticky floors, stumbling freshmen, rocking, loud pop
music, condescending bartenders who really didn’t like any of their customers,
and pretty much everyone you knew from campus.

The first person I saw was Andrew
Brenner.

“Hey,” Andrew said, putting a hand
on my back. “Good to finally see you out.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” I smiled. “You
know, I
do
go out.”            

 “I know. I know. That’s not what I
meant.” He chuckled. “Can you believe the wind chill? The humidity is out of
control.” 

I nodded. “Crazy stuff.”

Justin raised his eyebrows and bit
back a laugh.

“You know each other right?” I
said.

“Of course. Loved the article,”
Andrew said, shaking his hand. “Where’s your roommate?”

I looked around, but David had
vanished into the crowd. I saw Nigel in a corner and waved. He might know.

“I have no idea,” I told Andrew.
“We should find him. We’ll be right back.”

David and I walked over to Nigel.

“Hads,” he said. He gave me a warm
hug. “Justin. Awesome to see you out. How’s it going?”

“Good.”

Nigel nodded at Trevor. “Justin,
this is my friend Trevor. Trev, Justin. Justin’s a freshman in GSA.”

“Awesome.”

“You guys seen David?”                         

Trevor made a fluttering gesture with
one hand. “Prince David is giving us the silent treatment. After all, we aren’t
on the football team.”

“And wearing something awful,”
Nigel said. He looked at me. “What’s with him?”

I shook my head. “Long story.”

“He’s over there,” Nigel said. He
pointed him out to him. “Pretending not to see us.” 

He was standing alone, looking sort
of sad and uncomfortable, holding a beer near a pack of rowdy football players.
I saw Ben Mitchell, too, pointedly ignoring him.

Bullshit.                                                             

This was stupid. And it made me furious.

“You want a drink?” Trevor asked
me. “We’re drinking and dancing.”

I shook my head, watching David,
wishing I could shake his shoulder and make him snap out of it. But I knew it
wouldn’t work.

“What about you, Justin? Drink?”
Trevor asked.

“Yeah. Definitely! Hadley, do you
mind?”

“No, no, go ahead,” I motioned at
them.

“Meet us at the bar if you change
your mind,” Nigel called.

The three of them disappeared. I
kept my eye on David, glancing at my phone occasionally, wondering if he would
mind being seen with me, or if it was just his gay friends that Ben had told
him to avoid.

Ben was still ignoring him. I decided
to go get him. At least, he didn’t need to be alone while he was being ignored.

I turned and I bumped directly into
Jack at full speed.

He was holding two beers and
stepped back, only barely sloshing them.

“Heyo,” Jack said. He smiled. “I
was trying to get your attention.”

He handed one of them to me and I
looked at it, wondering if I should point out that he wasn’t supposed to buy me
drinks.

“I feel like you’re accident
prone,” he said. He was wearing plaid. Navy with red. It looked good on him. He
looked like Jake Gyllenhaal. Too good for a college bar. Too good for a college
girl who hadn’t slept with anyone since junior year…of
high school
.

“Sorry, what?” I said, pulling my
eyes away from his body, feeling like an idiot frat boy, caught objectifying a
hot girl in a Halloween costume.

“I said I feel like you might be
accident prone. That’s how we met. You falling?” he gave me a grin.

“You were in my way.”

He laughed. “I guess. My bad.” He
smiled. “You like beer? I got one for you, because I’m the kind of person who
makes assumptions.”