Mine: A Love Story (8 page)

“Is everyone having a good time tonight?” he asks. There’s not much of a response, but he pushes on. “You might find this hard to believe,” he says, “but I had a date with a hot blonde chick the other night.” He pauses for a moment before continuing. “I don’t want to say she wasn’t smart, but later on, when things were starting to get hot and heavy, I blew in her ear. She said ‘thanks for the refill.’”

The joke is met with a couple of groans, but not much else.

The guy stays onstage another couple of minutes, telling more jokes about students and about blondes. He gets a few chuckles here and there, but otherwise not much of a reaction. When he finally steps down from the stage, he receives a smattering of polite applause. I think he’s lucky there’s no alcohol served in here—the reaction from a liquored-up audience might have been quite different.

Before the MC even reaches the microphone, Chris is on his feet.

“Now there’s an act I can follow,” he says. “Wish me luck.”

Uh, oh. He’s really going to do it. My mouth says, “good luck,” but my brain is saying, “oh, no.”

I feel myself slinking down into my chair as I watch Chris weave his way between the tables to the stage.
Relax, girl
, I tell myself—no one except the kids sitting near us knows which table he came from. Besides, Chris is a smart guy. He wouldn’t do this if there was any chance he might bomb—would he?

I force myself to sit up straighter. I wonder what’s he’s going to do? Not tell jokes, I hope. He’s pretty funny sometimes, but this crowd seems much more into music than comedy. He’s right about one thing, though—he’s picked the perfect act to follow.

To my surprise, Chris doesn’t get up onto the stage. Instead, he takes a seat at the piano. I definitely did not see that coming!

I have to admit, he looks pretty cute sitting there at the piano with that beret tilted rakishly across his brow. It doesn’t hurt that his mismatched sneakers are out of sight under the piano, either, at least from everywhere but the very front tables. I’m worried this is not a piano music kind of crowd, though. It could be worse, I guess. He could be playing the flute or the cello.

The MC looks over at him. “Well, it looks like our next performer is ready,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“Chris.”

“Okay, Chris. Do you need the mic?”

Chris shakes his head no. So now I know he’s not going to sing. Or tell jokes. He’s just going to play. I wonder what kind of music he plays?

The MC sticks the microphone back into the stand. “All right,” he says. “Let’s see what Chris has in store for us.” He steps down from the stage.

Chris cracks his knuckles in front of his chest as the MC disappears into the crowd. He nods his head a couple of times—establishing a beat in his mind, I guess—and begins to play.

He starts slowly, barely nudging the keys. The tune is somber, and hauntingly familiar. The low hum of conversation in the room begins to quiet as people strain to hear the music. I don’t think most of them know whether they like it or not yet. Chris begins to play louder, more forcefully, and I finally recognize the song. It’s “Hurt”—the Trent Reznor version more so than the Johnny Cash. I can hear the lyrics in my head now. The music grows more powerful, and the room grows quieter. His playing is really very good. Maybe one day he and I will play a duet together—in private, of course. Never, ever in a place like this. My grandmother always tells me to never say never, but in this case….

Suddenly, the melody changes. Chris’s fingers are pounding the keyboard now and his head is bobbing up and down. Without missing a beat, he’s shifted from the slow and somber “Hurt” to the rollicking “Great Balls of Fire” by Jerry Lee Lewis. Talk about a leap. When his fingers slide across the keys in a loud glissando, the crowd roars.

“Yee-haw!” someone yells.

Chris bangs the keys for another few moments, then lifts his right foot from beneath the piano and begins bouncing his heel on the keyboard, playing the high notes with his foot. Along with most of the rest of the crowd, I laugh and I cheer. Now I know why he wore those crazy, bright colored sneakers.

Finally, he finishes with a flourish, sliding his fingers back and forth along the entire length of the keyboard a couple of times. The crowd cheers and whistles. Chris stands up and acknowledges the audience with a quick nod of his head, then begins to thread his way back through the tables, back toward me. He’s grinning, but there’s a touch of boyish shyness in his grin. It’s the first sign of shyness I’ve ever seen in him, and I kind of like it.

I’m still clapping softly when he sits down next to me. I can’t believe I was worried he might bomb, and that I’d have to share in his embarrassment.

“Not bad,” I say. “Not bad at all.”

“Twelve years of lessons,” he explains. “Mostly church music, show tunes and classical stuff, but when I learned my assignments well, I was allowed to improvise and have some fun.”

“Well, you sure looked like you were having fun tonight, especially when you did that thing with your foot.”

He grins. “Too much?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Definitely not. The crowd loved it.”

“I told you,” he says, “it’s all in who you follow.”

“Yeah, but being good helps, too,” I reply.

“So you really thought I was okay?” he asks.

I think it’s cute that he still wants reassurance, even after the audience’s reaction.

“Better than okay,” I say. “Way better.”

He wipes his brow with a napkin. “I was a little worried. I haven’t played in a while.”

“How come?” I ask. He certainly didn’t sound like he hadn’t played in a while.

He shrugs. “No piano. This is the only place I know that has one, except for the music department, and no way am I going to play in there in front of all those genius types.”

I’m guessing that those “genius types” may have done a shade better on “Hurt,” perhaps, but no way would they have topped Chris’ Jerry Lee.

“So is this why you brought me here?” I ask. “So you could show off your talent for me?”

He laughs. “We’re here because I knew we’d have fun. Showing off was a bonus.”

“Well, I’m duly impressed,” I say, meaning it.

We listen to a bunch more acts. Some are pretty good, but only one gets a reaction anywhere near like the one Chris got, a teeny little girl with a big voice who did a great cover of Taylor Swift’s “Back to December.” She definitely had me believing she had treated some guy really crappy and now was very sorry. I wonder if guys ever feel that sorry about treating a girl badly. Probably not.

Around ten o’clock, we decide we’ve had enough. It’s cooled down a few degrees outside, but the night air is still very pleasant. I slip my arms around Chris’s arm as we stroll away from The Joint. The noise from inside fades as we get farther away.

“That was really fun,” I say. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he says.

“You realize, don’t you, that anytime we go back there now, they’re going to want you to play.”

A surprised expression crosses his face and he stops walking. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“I do. I’m going to have to share you with all of them from now on.” I smile. “I just hope you don’t have a weakness for groupies.”

He purses his lips like he’s deep in thought, and then takes the beret off his head and grins.

“I know,” he says. “I won’t wear this next time. Nobody will recognize me without it, and we won’t have to worry about any groupies.”

I laugh. “You’re probably right.” I nudge his foot with mine. “Especially if you don’t wear those sneakers, either.”

“Okay, got it,” he says. “Next time, no hat, and lose the sneakers.” He puts the beret on my head and looks at me appraisingly.

I do a quick spin for him. “How do I look?” I ask, batting my eyelashes flirtatiously.

He puts his hands on my shoulders. “Really cute,” he says, his voice serious now. “Like always.”

His eyes are fixed on mine. My cheeks begin to grow warm—has the temperature of the night just gone up? I think I want to move my eyes away from his, but I must be wrong, because they stay glued there.

Uh, oh. His face is moving closer to mine.

Have I mentioned that we haven’t really kissed yet? A few light kisses on my cheek and a couple of goodnight pecks on the lips. That’s been it. I’m pretty sure that’s about to change, though.

Am I ready for this? Truthfully, I don’t know. In some ways, I am sooo ready. More than ready. But in other ways, I’m nowhere near ready. Cautious girl versus growing up college girl, I guess. I haven’t kissed a boy for real since Brian, almost four years ago. My heart is pounding, threatening to burst out of my chest. Is it longing? Or fear? I’m pretty sure it’s some of both. And if I’m going to do this, do I want to do it here, out on the street, where people can see? At least I won’t have to worry about it going any further than a kiss out here. That’s something, right?

I wonder what my face looks like right now. Like a deer in the headlights, probably. Surely Chris can see that, can’t he? Then why is his face still getting closer?

I’m amazed at how many thoughts can race through my head in the time it’s taking his lips to move toward mine. Is he moving in slow motion? Or has time just somehow slowed down?

But slow motion or not, it’s about to happen, unless I do something to stop it. I know—I’ll close my eyes. That’ll stop it for sure, won’t it?

But it doesn’t stop it. I feel the warm taste of his breath on my lips an instant before his lips meet mine. They linger there, lightly, like a feather. A soft, moist, warm feather. A sweet, delicious feather. If I’m going to stop this, I need to stop it right now. But why on earth would I ever want to stop this? It’s heaven.

Slowly, almost imperceptively, the pressure of his mouth on mine increases. Words cannot describe the feeling. It’s almost as if our lips are falling together, merging somehow, until I don’t know where my lips end and his lips start. Time has not only slowed, I think it’s stopped. And what a wonderful place for it to stop!

My heart is racing. His kiss is flawless, fearless. I feel his lips begin to open, pulling mine open with them. His tongue presses lightly against mine, and a current like a jolt of electricity shoots through me, all the way down to my toes. An odd thought pops into my head. I can feel my toes, but I can’t feel the ground beneath them. Somehow, I’m floating, weightless. How is that possible?
Stop thinking, girl. Turn off your brain and just enjoy!

His arms wrap more tightly around me, pulling me into him. His tongue begins to move. Slowly. Deliciously. With no conscious thought, my tongue follows his lead, pressing against his. Our tongues begin to dance, slowly at first, probing, tasting, testing, and then faster as our heat builds. I feel his hands move into my hair, holding my head. Somehow, despite his grip, my head is spinning. It’s just another of the many impossibilities I’m sensing right now.

How long it all lasts, I have no idea. Days? No, of course not. That’s ridiculous. But hours at least, right? Finally he pulls his mouth away. I wait a moment before I open my eyes, afraid that doing so might break the spell. When I do open them, Chris’ face is just a few inches from mine. He’s smiling and his eyes are looking deep into mine. His hands are linked loosely behind my neck.

My heart is still racing. I try to come up with something clever to say. Or something romantic. But all that comes out is a soft “wow.”
Oh, that’s real good
, I tell myself.
Very creative.

“Yeah,” he says. “Wow.”

I’m glad to see his brain isn’t working any better than mine.

We stand like that—my arms around his waist, his hands behind my neck—for several more moments. We must look like a statue in a park—young lovers lost in each other. All we need are a couple of pigeons to complete the scene. I wonder if other girls feel like this when they get kissed, if they lose themselves so completely, so totally? Or is it something most of them get over in high school, but I never had the chance to get used to? I love the feeling—I hope I never get used to it. But it scares the hell out of me, too.

Finally, some guy across the street yells “Get a room!” His buddies laugh, like he’s the first guy to ever come up with that one.

Bite your tongue
, I want to scream as I drop my arms from around Chris’s back. Getting a room is exactly what I don’t want to do. At least, the part of me that thinks doesn’t want to. A few of my other parts might argue that point.

Chris leaves his arms on my shoulders for another moment before pulling them away, plucking the beret from my head as he does so.

Maybe it was the hat that cast that magic spell over me, like the hat that brought Frosty to life. That must be it.

“Let’s walk,” Chris says.

I take his hand. “Yeah, let’s.”

We stroll down the sidewalk. I notice we’re not heading toward my dorm.

“You know,” Chris says as we walk along the street, “I still owe you that tour of the Ritz.”

My heart rate spikes and my grip on his hand tightens for a moment. Chris stops and looks at me. The hand squeeze was a definite giveaway. I don’t think he expected so strong a reaction to his simple comment. But that’s how I am. Always reading into things. This time, though, I’m pretty sure I’m reading them right.

How do I get myself out of this? And do I even want to get out of it?

I’m sure Chris has a pretty good idea about what’s stressing me right now.

“What’s the matter, Heather?” he asks. “Don’t you trust me?”

Yep, he knows.

“No, it’s not that,” I say. “I do trust you.” I give his hand a more gentle squeeze and smile.  “At least, as much as I trust any of you horny college guys.”

“You know us guys too well,” he says, laughing.

“I’m just not ready for anything more yet,” I explain. “Physically, I mean. And I’m not sure I trust myself to stop when I should. Can you understand?”

“Yeah, I can,” he says. “I guess.”

“I’m sorry to be acting like this,” I say. “This is all so new to me.”

“Really?” He looks genuinely surprised. “I’d have thought a girl as cute as you would have had lots of boyfriends.”

“No,” I say. “Not even close. Too careful, I guess.”

“Why so careful?” he asks. “A bad experience?”

Why so careful?
That’s a question I’d need hours to answer.

“Not really,” I say. I think of Gaby. “Not personally, anyhow. It has more to do with my mom and dad, I think. But I don’t want to talk about them now. You’ll understand when you meet them. If you’re lucky enough to get that far, that is,” I add with a grin.

He laughs. “That’s not usually what guys mean when we say ‘get lucky.’ But don’t worry, I’m cool with taking things slow—for a little while, at least.”

“Thank you.” I give him a quick kiss on the lips. “But I want to do more of that,” I say. “Lots more.” I can’t believe I just said that. What happened to cautious girl?

He grins. “Maybe we need to find ourselves a chaperone, then, to make sure we behave ourselves.”

I laugh. “I think Marissa would volunteer, for sure!”

“Let’s head back to your place,” Chris suggests. “If Marissa’s there, she can watch us. If not, we’ll make out in the hallway, where we can’t get into any real trouble.”

I’m not sure if he’s kidding or not. Or if I want him to be kidding. We have to head somewhere, though, whether we’re going to do any more kissing or not.

“It’s such a beautiful night,” I say. “Can we take the long way back?”

“Sure,” he replies, clearly pleased by my suggestion that we extend our walk. “How about we go by the Student Center? That’s definitely the long way home. There might even be something going on there.”

“Perfect,” I reply.

We walk slowly, in no hurry, just enjoying the beautiful night and each other.  Sometimes we hold hands, sometimes we let go when one of us reacts to a funny comment or needs to gesture to make a point. It’s all so easy, and so natural. No stress involved. Not at all like that other stuff. Maybe that’s why things were so easy with Justin—because we were just great friends. None of this sex stuff to worry about. I wanted to be more than friends with Justin, but I never got there. And I definitely want more with Chris. Luckily, it seems he does, too. Now if I can just get my head on straight.

Lots of other kids are walking around campus, some in pairs, some in larger groups. A few of the groups are loud and obnoxious, too much to drink at a party somewhere probably, but most of the kids are doing just what Chris and I are doing—walking and talking and having fun.

There’s nothing special going on at the Student Center, but there’s still plenty of students inside, grabbing a late snack or just hanging around with their friends. In front of the entrance, a bunch of kids are puffing on cigarettes, getting their nicotine fix before going back inside. Chris and I swerve onto the grass to avoid the cloud of smoke hovering over them.

“You ready to head home?” Chris asks. “We can cut across the Green.”

“Sure,” I say.

The Green is a grass plaza bigger than a football field near the center of campus. We’re at one end, in front of the Student Center. The other end is dominated by the library, a huge, cathedral-like stone edifice that’s one of the oldest buildings on campus. Like the Student Center, the library is open twenty-four hours a day. A wide cement walkway connects the two. Two more sidewalks crisscross the plaza from corner to corner. The three walkways meet in the center, at a huge circular concrete fountain. A jet of water in the middle of the fountain spews ten feet into the air.

The Green is lit by a ring of lights fashioned to look like old-time gaslights, as well as a row of the same lights along each of the walkways, but the central area is still not as bright as the areas closer to the buildings. The grass triangles between the sidewalks are dimmer still.

Chris and I head down the central sidewalk toward the fountain. With each step, the noise from the Student Union fades and the night becomes a little darker, providing a sense of peaceful privacy. When we reach the fountain, the sound of the splashing water drowns out any remaining noise.

I’m about to ask Chris to stop here so we can watch the fountain for a few minutes, but before I can say anything, he puts his hands on my cheeks and kisses me. There’s no time to get nervous or for questions to race through my brain. I simply dissolve into the kiss.

It’s just as sensational as the first one. Maybe even better, since there was no worrying preceding it. There’s nothing but the feel of his lips, the taste of his breath, and the urgent probing of his tongue. I surrender to the delicious feelings. Once again, time loses its meaning, and I know this sounds lame, but I think I see fireworks.

“Sorry,” Chris says when he finally pulls his lips from mine. “I couldn’t wait.”

Sorry?! Are you kidding me?
I want to tell him there’s no reason to be sorry, no reason at all, but I’m still trying to catch my breath and engage my brain. I need to say something, or he’s liable to think I’m mad at him.

“Umm, that’s okay,” I finally manage to say.
Oh, Heather, you silver-tongued devil, you
.

“I figured we couldn’t get into any trouble out here,” he says.

As if to emphasize the point, three girls walk past us on their way from the library to the Student Center. They barely give us a glance as they pass, but their presence gives my brain a chance to begin working again.

“It’s not your fault I’m irresistible,” I say, smiling. I bend to the fountain and splash a handful of water up at his face. “Maybe this will cool you off, though.”

He tries to duck, but he’s not quick enough. The water splashes against his cheek and drips slowly from his chin.

“And maybe this will cool
you
off, hot stuff,” he says as he scoops me into his arms and threatens to toss me into the fountain.

“Nooo!” I scream, laughing. “Please don’t! Pretty please!”

Oh, no, he’s lifting me higher! He’s not really going to throw me in, is he? He wouldn’t!

He puts one foot up on the edge of the fountain and balances my butt on his thigh. He’s much stronger than he looks, cradling me in his arms with little effort. Before I can react, he’s kissing me again. Oh, god, here come those fireworks again.

“We can still go back to my place,” Chris says somewhat breathlessly when he finally pulls his mouth away from mine.

We’re sitting on the cement rim of the fountain now. We’ve been kissing for awhile, and standing had become increasingly difficult, at least for me.

His simple declaration sets off a firefight in my brain. Part of me screams “yes!” while the careful part of me digs in with a firm “no way.” Of course, Chris hears none of this, though maybe he can glimpse some of the internal struggle on my face. As the sensation of his lips against mine slowly fades, caution and common sense gain the upper hand, as they always do.

“Do you really think I’m any more ready now than I was a little while ago?” I ask, keeping my voice soft so he doesn’t think I’m upset. “Because of a few more kisses?”

“No, not really,” he says. He takes my hand in his and grins. “But I am.”

I smile and shake my head. What am I going to do with him?

“Why am I not surprised by that?” I say.

“Sorry,” he says. His grin is wider now. “I can’t help it. I’m a guy.”

“Well, Mister Guy, you’re just going to have to learn to control yourself,” I say teasingly. “Think you can do that?”

He grins again. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I guess that’s settled, then,” he says.

Settled?
I wish the argument inside my head could be settled so easily. But at least Chris is being a gentleman about this. I just hope patience is one of his virtues, too, because I don’t think I’m going to be ready for anything more anytime soon, despite the feelings swirling inside me. I wonder how long he’ll be willing to wait? I wish I knew more about guys.

I think I need to have a long talk with Marissa.