Mad Valentine: A Bad Boy Romance (Mad Valentine Trilogy Book 1) (3 page)

VII. Coffee

The weekend was busy and fun—we raked in eighty bucks on a bowling bet with some sophomores we met at the bowling alley, and I saw Warren at the house party. We stumbled back to my apartment after the party and he gave me a proper workout in my bed that reminded me why I had wanted a fuck buddy in the first place. By my creative writing class on Tuesday, I was feeling pretty good, and the strange, yearning feelings Victor’s song had evoked in me during the last class seemed like a distant memory. On the way to class, I recalled Maggie’s story about Victor, but now, in the clean morning sunshine, it seemed like baseless, malicious rumors. It was probably all a misunderstanding. And who was I to judge, anyhow? We all have our issues. I shook my head as I sat at my desk waiting for class to begin. The next moment, guess who sat next to me.

I felt my heart palpitate—out of excitement or fear?—but I just played it cool.

“I guess you must be starting to like me or something,” I said, smiling up at Victor as he took off his jacket. He was wearing a black T-shirt today, the thin cloth stretching over his muscular chest and arms.

“I am,” he said with his crooked grin, his dark eyes gazing down at me. His eyes followed the line of my body, lingering on my bare legs that were crossed under my desk. It was one of the last days of a late summer, and I was wearing a light, sleeveless summer dress that showed off my tan and more skin than usual. My pulse quickened, and I felt a twinge of that yearning feeling again. I didn’t quite know what to say, so I just smiled back at him.

He sat and took a moment to rustle around, getting his things together and giving me a chance to collect my thoughts and quell the fluttering in my chest.

“Ellen,” he said suddenly, “do you like coffee?”

“If by ‘like’ you mean ‘addicted to,’ yes,” I said, testing an old pen on a sheet of paper.

“Are you free after class?” He caught me off guard and I stopped doodling. I wasn’t expecting that.

“Uh, well, yeah. I have about an hour to kill.” My body went rigid with anticipation.

“I want to buy you some,” he said, smiling. It was a warm smile, a genuine one, and I almost melted in its rays. I wanted to lean in, look into those dark, syrupy eyes, and gently kiss his smiling lips. But instead, I just stuttered.

“Uh, c-coffee?”

Victor scrunched his eyebrows at me for a moment like he didn’t understand the confusion. Then his face broke into an amused smile. There was that dimple again.
Swoon.

“Yes, Ellen. Coffee,” he said, enunciating every word.

“Sure, that sounds great.” I tried to sound nonchalant.

I have no idea what happened in class that day. I was thinking about coffee the entire time.

What if I choke on my coffee? What if I spill it down the front of my white dress? What if I accidentally sneeze into his coffee? Oh, please, god, pleeeease don’t let me sneeze into his coffee!

I don’t think I have ever thought about a beverage so much.

When the professor dismissed class, my mind was going a mile a minute with nervous anticipation. It wasn’t like it was a real date or anything, it was just a cup of coffee between classes, but I was inexplicably excited. I busied myself putting my things away, trying to look as preoccupied as possible.

“Is it all right if we walk to the north side?” Victor’s voice came floating down to me. He half-sat, half-leaned against his desk, his long legs stretched in front of him, watching me. “There’s a place there I like.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, rising. He stood too. Then we both stood there, looking at each other. Victor, never taking his eyes off mine, extended his arm. “Ladies first,” he said, his eyes twinkling. There was a naughtiness there that didn’t escape me.

Oh, my goodness! You dirty devil!

“Of course. You’re such a gentleman,” I replied.

I turned and walked toward the door. I was tingling with pleasure and I grinned secretly to myself, because I knew what was happening. My dress was short, Victor had registered that when he first saw me this morning, and he let me go first so he could check me out from behind. It had been there, written in his eyes, and I had caught him red-handed. But then again, he didn’t try to hide it. I suddenly felt as if I had some power over this big, intimidating man. It made me feel abuzz with electricity. As I walked out the door, I put a tiny extra bit of sway into my hips, for the benefit of the gentleman.

As we walked across campus, we made small talk.

“So, does anybody ever call you Vic?” I asked at one point.

Victor didn’t answer immediately. “Yeah, my old man does,” he said finally. He ran his hand through his thick hair. “He and I aren’t great friends.”

I sensed that I had landed on a touchy subject, so I quickly moved on.

“Okay,” I said. “You know, Victor, I don’t think I know your full name.”

At this Victor smiled. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

“What does that mean? What’s your name?”

“Valentine,” he said, peering at me. I stared in disbelief.

“Are you serious?” I almost squeaked. “Victor Valentine?”

“Yeah. Pretty alliterative, huh?” He flashed his dangerously sexy grin at me, then looked ahead. “Here. This is it.” We had arrived at a leafy lane north of campus, and he led the way to a small coffee shop with big, dark wooden benches inside. It was old, and smelled like roasting beans, and was wonderful. Victor opened the door for me. A bell over the door chimed.

At the counter I ordered a black Americano, and Victor looked at me with mild surprise.

“Huh,” he said. “That’s what I usually get.” I shrugged, rather pleased that we had found something in common, however trivial.

“Oh, here, let me pay,” I said, digging out my wallet. Victor waved me off.

“No, I said I wanted to buy you a coffee, so I’m buying you a coffee.”

“C’mon, don’t be silly,” I started to argue, but Victor turned his dark brown eyes on me, which for some reason silenced me.

“Go sit down,” he said softly. He reached out and touched my arm, gently pushing me away from the counter. It was the first time he had ever touched me and my body thrilled to the sensation of his skin on my skin. I could almost feel each of my individual pores where he touched me yearning for more, but I quietly walked to a table and sat down.

What the fuck? This guy is getting to me—he just looks into my eyes, hypnotizes me, and I do whatever he says. What is he, some kind of sexy wizard? I better watch it if I don’t want to make a fool of myself…Or if I want to keep my promise to Maggie…

Victor joined me at the table with our coffees.

“Two Americanos for two Americans,” he quipped, sitting down. I almost guffawed at his lame dad joke.
Okay, seriously, who
is
this guy? Would an angry, violent person really make a joke like that?

“I think this place has the best coffee so close to campus.”

“This place is incredible,” I replied, looking at the moldering brick walls and the wooden benches. “I can’t believe I didn’t know about it. I usually go to the greasy spoon on campus between classes. Their coffee is always a little burnt, but that’s how it should be at a greasy spoon.”

Victor agreed, and we fell into easy conversation. He was right—the coffee was delicious. We both drank it steaming hot and black as night.

As we talked, my eyes grazed over the lines and curves of his intricate tattoos. The mosaic of images seemed to tell a story, but I felt a shiver run up my spine when I realized the images alternated from beautiful to downright disturbing. A beautiful swallow in flight gave way to a section inside his forearm that depicted flayed skin, revealing the system of muscle and tendons underneath. Further up, my eyes fell on an image of a scorpion stinging Victor’s own flesh. And then just barely visible under the sleeve of his T-shirt was script that read “Eye for an eye.” My body thrilled with a vague sense of fear—exactly what had Victor been through to make him tell a visual story like this?

“So, Ellen, there’s something I wanted to ask you,” Victor said, snapping me out of my enthralled reverie. He looked up from his coffee and peered into my eyes.

“Yeah? Shoot.”

“I really liked that librarian piece you wrote,” he said. “Ida. She seems like an amazing lady.”

“I know, she’s incredible. I hope I’ll be like her when I’m eighty-two.”

“I’m sure you will,” he said, grinning. “Anyway, I wondered if you’d want to write another profile on somebody. He’s, uh, well he’s an interesting guy, and he’s part of the campus community.”

“Oh?” I said, my ears perking up. I loved getting leads for stories. “Who is he?”

“He’s the metal works instructor here. He’s been the only one on campus since they cut back on vocational courses a decade ago. But he’s incredible. He made that metal statue outside the anthropology building.”

“Oh, yeah! I know it. It’s kooky and weird, but kinda great.”

“Yeah. His name is Stu Givens, and he’s been a bit of a…well, a mentor to me. He taught me how to weld and was a good friend when I needed one.” He went quiet briefly, looking into his coffee cup. “It would mean a lot to him—and to me—if you wrote about him.”

“Oh, I see…” I said, suddenly seeing Victor in a new light. This tattooed, scarred, leader-of-the-pack-looking guy had a soft spot for an old man who had taught him how to weld. This was so interesting. Victor was no sexy wizard with super powers, and he wasn’t some dark sociopath who enjoyed beating people up. He was just human, like me. And my heart went out to him. With his mother passing away when he was just a kid, his father and he not getting along, his taking a year off from school, and his needing an older, wiser friend during his college years, it was clear Victor had had some rough patches in life.

“Okay, sure,” I said, giving him an encouraging smile. “I’d love to meet him and learn more. I’ll do some research first, then maybe go for a chat with him? I’m free this week—could you arrange a time for me?”

“Definitely,” said Victor. He was smiling openly now. I could see he was really pleased. “That’s great, Ellen. Or El? Does anybody call you that?”

“Yeah, a lot of my friends do.”

“Thanks, El.” He gave me that irresistible crooked grin with the dimple and reached out, gently grazing his fingertips over my knuckles. It sent shockwaves up my arm and into my chest.

“You’re welcome,” I breathed, lost in his dark eyes.

Nope. Not human. Definitely a sexy wizard.

VIII. Stu

Victor arranged for me to meet Stu Givens that Thursday after creative writing. Victor sat next to me in class, as usual, and as soon as class was over, his tattooed arm reached over and knocked twice on my desk. I looked up at him to see him grinning.

“Ready to go earn your Pulitzer?” he asked.

“Lead the way.”

Victor walked me to the metal shop on campus, which was hidden past a loading dock behind the cafeteria.

“This is where he works every day? Scuttled behind some warehousing unit?” I said, feeling some slight trepidation. I felt like I was passing into the shadowy underside of Merritt University that nobody ever saw.

“Yup. Hell of a way to treat senior faculty,” Victor grumbled. “Stu used to be in the fine arts department—he was a metal sculptor. But when he started offering vocational and applied theory courses in the community extension program, they stuck him down here.”

I had to walk quickly to keep up with Victor’s long strides. Soon, we were entering what looked like an art studio crossed with a mechanic’s garage. There were strange noises and smells. A man at one end of the room was hunched over something with his back to us.

“Stu!” Victor called out.

The man turned in surprise. He was wearing massive goggles and a leather apron, and he had a blowtorch in his hand.

“Hey, Victor,” he said, smiling. “Must be time for our appointment already.” Stu put down his torch and an unidentifiable, gnarly piece of metal he was working on, and wiped his hands on a dirty rag. “You must be Ellen,” he said, nodding at me as we approached.

“I am. It’s very nice to meet you, Professor Givens,” I said with a smile. We shook hands, and peeking out from his loosely rolled sleeves, I noticed that Stu also had a tattoo: an anchor with a snake coiled around it.

“Oh, forget that,” said Stu, brushing off the formality. “You can call me Stu like everyone else. Have a seat, have a seat.” He bustled around, pulling a dilapidated chair to a dingy sofa that sat nearby.

“Thank you,” I said as I approached the chair, but Stu stopped me.

“You’re my guest. Have a seat on the sofa. Victor, you too,” he commanded, pointing.

I smiled. I liked this quirky old man. I took in Stu’s silver hair, the deep creases in his face, the smudge of something black on his left cheek, and his strong, capable hands. I could see why Victor would want a guy like him as a mentor.

I thanked Stu and sat on the sofa. As I took my notebook and recorder out of my bag, Victor sat next to me and our knees collided, sending a jolt of electricity up my leg. I glanced at Victor and saw that he was watching me. But rather than moving, he left his knee there and stretched his arm behind me on the sofa, his eyes on mine. Our bodies had never been so close before, and I could smell Victor—a clean, woodsy, masculine scent that made me dizzy with desire. My heart raced as I fumbled with my pen.

Oh my god, it’s like I’ve never sat next to a man before! Stop being stupid and just do your job, Ellen.

With a smile that was slightly strained, I started chatting with Stu, warming him up, asking him easy questions to get him used to the audio recorder. It was how I always started my interviews, and I was good at it. Soon, I hit my stride and I was almost able to forget about Victor’s scent—about his body so close to mine, with his leg against my leg.

Stu had led an interesting life, and I loved his stories. He had been a metal worker in the Navy (that explained the tattoo), and he’d seen and been to so many different places. I was shocked and scandalized to find out that he’d been teaching faithfully at Merritt for almost 20 years and still hadn’t made tenure. Although he was on the university’s fine arts staff, he also took pride in the vocational courses he offered to the community through the extension program. But the administration viewed his community work as expendable. Vocational courses provided a social service—especially to at-risk youth—but they didn’t bring the university any prestige, so Stu’s efforts went virtually ignored. And yet, despite the low pay and lack of credit, Stu taught his metal works classes to a mix of fine arts majors, engineers, extension students, underprivileged youth, and lost souls year in and year out.

I found it was easy to draw Stu out. At one point he made a corny joke and I wondered if Victor had picked up the habit from him. After a while, I had enough material to work with and decided to wrap up the interview. As I switched off the recorder, Stu asked if I had time to stay for a cup of coffee. I had a few minutes before my next class began.

“Victor, be useful, would ya’, and get us some coffee from the thermos in the kitchen,” said Stu.

When Victor rose and left the room, Stu turned his blue eyes on me, his elbows on his knees. He smiled. I smiled back.

“So, Victor tells me you’re quite the writer. You two met in a writing class, huh?”

“Well, yes, we met in class, but I’m definitely not as good a writer as I’d like,” I said, laughing.

Stu nodded and seemed to study me for a moment. Suddenly I got the feeling that now I was the one being interviewed.

“Well, Victor’s a character,” he said slowly—carefully, almost. “Thinks he’s a tough guy. Has a lot of flaws. Certainly has a genius for getting into trouble,” he said, shaking his head. He paused for a moment, then raised his eyes to mine and said deliberately, “But I’ve never known a man with more heart.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but I didn’t know what to say. So I nodded, intrigued, wanting to hear more. But just then Victor came back into the room with three steaming mugs of coffee. He placed two on the table and dropped onto the sofa with the third, taking a loud sip.

“Ahhh, Stu. Your coffee’s as shitty as ever,” he said and smacked his lips appreciatively.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, you ingrate,” Stu muttered over his mug.

I looked from one misfit to the other and found myself laughing internally. I didn’t think I’d ever been in close quarters with two such curmudgeons, but I loved it.

After our coffee, we said our goodbyes and I was surprised when Stu gave me a warm pat on the shoulder.

“Come back any time, Ellen,” he said with a smile. I walked away from the studio-slash-garage feeling immensely pleased. Stu seemed like the kind of man who didn’t give away invitations like that easily.

“So, what did you think?” asked Victor once we were outside.

“Oh, he’s great. He’s lived and seen so much, and he cares about more than just the rich kids on campus. The administration here hasn’t treated him fairly, but he seems to bear it with such grace and humility.”

“Yeah,” said Victor. “Exactly.”

“I have to thank you for a great lead. I’m not sure Stu would have ever made it on my radar without you, and I think he’s going to make an awesome profile.”

“Well, what are friends for?” Victor said with that crooked grin. Before I could react to the fact that he had just called me his friend, he continued. “Hey, so that band I write songs for or whatever, they’re playing tomorrow night at Lucky 13. You should come.”

Oh my god, is Victor Valentine asking me on a date?

“You can bring whoever you want.”

Oh. Not a date.

“I’ll come and pick you and whoever up. 9 p.m. Text me your address.” He drew out a pen from his pocket, uncapped it with his teeth, and grabbed my arm. He wrote a phone number on the inside of my forearm, and when he was done, dropped my arm and capped the pen.

“What? You don’t want to come? Are you busy?”

I realized I hadn’t said a word.

“Um, no, of course, that sounds great. 9 p.m. See you then.”

I stood there, happily dumbfounded with the realization that Victor and I were now actual, solid friends—how had that happened?—as he strode off to who knows where.