Ninja At First Sight (10 page)

Greg pulled his hands through his hair and shouted—with feeling—over the last part of Dara’s accusation, “Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! Fiend angelical! Dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb!”

My eyes bulged because I realized what he was doing. I didn’t recognize the play, but I was almost certain he was quoting Shakespeare.

Hivan shifted uncomfortably, taking one step inside the room, “Uh… guys, could we have some privacy-”

Greg cut him off and stabbed an accusing finger at me. “Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honorable villain! Hmm? Speak! Or hadst thou to do in hell when thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend in moral paradise of such sweet flesh?”

My shoulders started to shake with silent laughter and I had to cover the lower half of my face with the tissue as I stared at him. He gnashed his teeth, threw his arms around with exaggerated movements. I shook my head at his ridiculous raging, which sounded oddly appropriate in his accent. He ignored me, seemingly lost to the scene he was reciting.

“Was ever book containing such vile matter so fairly bound? Oh no! No! I canst not stand it!” Greg ceased stomping around the room turned toward the open door, as though just noticing we had company. Both Dara and Hivan’s eyes widened and, in unison, the couple took a step back. Greg charged toward them, chasing them out of the room while continuing to shout-recite, “Oh, that deceit should dwell in such a gorgeous palace. Shame. Shame on thee!”

And with that, he slammed the door in both their faces.

Greg wanted me
to do a backflip.

He didn’t pester me about it, not at all. But he did mention it on more than one occasion.

I agreed, since it was simple enough, on the condition he would be the only person to see it. I didn’t want anyone else to watch. My abilities felt personal to me now, and I didn’t like the idea of sharing that part of myself with strangers—not anymore. But the ground outside was frozen. We were surrounded by several feet of snow. The only space big enough and warm enough for any acrobatics was the lobby of the dorm.

During the second week of March a plan was devised. We decided to meet in the lobby at 3:00 a.m., and I would show him a backflip.

That day we met after classes, grabbed dinner at the café on campus, tried to study but ended up debating the merits of Hong Kong returning to Chinese rule, then parted ways around 11:30 p.m. My alarm clock went off at 2:50 a.m., giving me just enough time to rub the sleep from my eyes, brush my teeth at my desk, and pull on a sweatshirt. I wasn’t terribly surprised to find Greg standing outside the door to my suite. But I was impressed when he handed me a mug of hot coffee.

“I don’t know what a xenophobic hermit requires in the morning, so I made coffee.” His voice was hushed.

“Coffee works,” I whispered and took a sip of the black liquid, found it magnificently strong, “as long as it was made with the tears of women and children.”

Greg flashed me a grin that made my stomach do backflips. “Is there any other way to make coffee?”

I hid my smile with my cup and we walked side by side to the elevator. He pressed the call button, reached for my empty hand with his, and threaded our fingers together as we waited.

After Valentine's weekend things had settled down. In fact, they’d settled
way
down. No more games were played, which was great. We saw each other daily, ate together as much as we could. We went to the gym together, library, studied together—all good things…

We spend a ton of time together. Sometimes we’d kiss. But mostly we talked.

However, there was one change in particular about which I felt some confusion, and I didn’t know how to bring it up as a topic for discussion. During our first week officially together, he’d made silly sexual innuendos, puns, and witticisms. The more I was around him, the more they seemed habitual, unconsciously done. I’d been flustered at first—mostly because of the mental imagery they’d conjured—but just as I was growing used to this habit, he’d stopped.

He still flirted with me—at least I thought it was flirting—and we still kissed, but gone were the porn jokes and rhymes about copulation and masturbation.

I didn’t know how to broach this subject. Should I just say,
Hey, you know what I miss? Your sex jokes.

So I waited, looking for a natural segue for the conversation.

“Are you nervous?”

I shook my head. “No. Just sleepy.”

“We can try to go back to sleep after.”

I considered the likelihood that I’d be able to go back to sleep after a cup of coffee and backflips.

Meanwhile, the elevator dinged. The doors slid open and I was surprised to see a group of girls revealed, all dressed in club attire. Among the pack was Gail, the blonde who’d been spreading false rumors about Dara having an abortion several weeks ago. She’d also been the one to tell me about Greg and Vanessa’s break up.

As soon as the girls saw us, their chatter abruptly ended. Seven pairs of eyes bounced back and forth between us for a protracted moment, nobody making any move to leave the elevator.

“Are you going down?” Greg asked, releasing my hand to hold the door. “Or are you getting off?”

“I’d go down with you,” one of the girls said, drawing a few giggles.

“Then you’d be sure to get off,” another slurred, making the rest of them laugh, this time in earnest.

“You’re all soused,” Greg said with no judgment. “You didn’t drive, did you?”

And that’s when I noticed their movements were sloppy as well as the smell of cigarette smoke and liquor wafting towards us. I recognized several of them as they filed out. I didn’t know if they recognized me because they seemed to only have eyes for Greg.

Except Gail. I met her gaze and gave her a small smile. She didn’t return it.

Gail stepped forward, her gait was unsteady. She was obviously drunk. “What are you two up to so late?”

I sensed Greg stiffen beside me when she spoke. I glanced at him, found him glaring at Gail with unfettered loathing.

“Stuff and things.” Greg waited until they’d all exited and then ushered me forward with a hand on my back.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She pressed, narrowing her eyes. “The dorm beds aren’t really made for two people.”

“Thank you for sharing your opinion, I’ll be sure to write about it in my diary.”

“You have a diary?”

“I’ll file it under,
Fuckwit-opinions no one cares about.
” His cool delivery made me wince on her behalf and I heard a few of the girls gasp. I didn’t think she’d appreciate the sympathy in my expression, so I kept my eyes on the floor of the elevator as the doors slid closed.

As we descended I heard Greg mutter under his breath, “Rank, rump-fed harpy.”

I twisted my mouth to the side and I considered him. “Another Shakespearean insult?”

“Yes,” he responded instantly, nearly growling.

I lifted my eyebrows and said nothing. Obviously he wasn’t Gail’s biggest fan.

He appeared to struggle for a few moments before admitting, “This might be awkward for you to hear, but that girl—the blonde with the face like a frog—was very unkind to Vanessa when we broke up. She spread some nasty rumors, and I wish she were a man so I could call her out for it.”

“She spread rumors about your ex-girlfriend?” The only rumor Gail had told me about Vanessa —which turned out to be fact—was that she and Greg had broken up.

He nodded tightly, his mouth curved in an unhappy line. “Ignorant bullshit, stupid stuff. But there’s no reason to kick someone while they’re down.”

I surveyed his face, the drawn, stressed quality around his eyes. “If you want to talk about it, about…” I paused, hoping my intentions would be interpreted as supportive rather than prying. “If there’s anything you want to talk about—your break up with Vanessa included—I hope you know you can talk to me.”

“Thanks.” He gave me a half smile, his expression clearing. “I’m afraid I wasn’t very fair to her, and I… I lament that she was hurt.”

“She seemed nice.”

Even as I said the words—though they were honest—I felt a nonsensical sting of jealousy when he agreed, “She is nice.”

I gave him a flat smile, then glanced away. I didn’t know what I was doing. This conversation was weird and uncomfortable. Discussing his ex-girlfriends, and I assumed he had more than one, wasn’t something I wanted to do.

Luckily the elevator doors opened, giving me a reason to move away from him and the topic.

“I’ll go take a quick look around, make sure you don’t have an audience.” Greg walked past me, handing me his cup, his long stride carrying him to a hall that housed study rooms and led to an atrium at the other end of the building.

I placed both our coffee cups on a table near the periphery and examined the space. The lobby looked larger when empty, I estimated I had about forty feet of usable space. The floor was covered in compact carpet which would do nicely for a simple backflip. I toed off my slippers and removed my sweatshirt as Greg reappeared.

“There’s a bunch of those vampire role players at the south end, but as long as we keep to this side we should be fine.” He rubbed his hands together.

“Vampire role players?” I wrinkled my nose, confused by his words. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, those kids who dress up like vampires, they elect a king, they have court—very serious business.”

“How many are there?”

“Fifty or so.”

“Fifty? Do they bite each other?” Now I was curious.

“How should I know? Do I look like a vampire?”

I stretched my arm behind my head, narrowing my eyes on him. “Are you pulling my leg?”

“No. After you do your backflip we’ll go take a look. Learn all their vampy secrets.” He wagged his eyebrows. “Like, how do they shave with no mirrors, and how do they get blood stains out of bedclothes.”

I turned away from him, shaking my head. “Okay, how many flips do you want to see?”

He took a step forward and stood at my shoulder. “How many can you do?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, “I’ve never tried to see how many I can do in a row.”

“Okay, three?”

“Sure.”

I turned, pushed off with my legs, and did three backflips in quick succession, bouncing on my feet twice at the end of my short demonstration.

“Bloody hell!” he said, his mouth open, staring at me like I had super powers. “What else can you do?”

I smiled at his astonishment, proceeded to do a handstand, held it for a beat, and then walked on my hands, my body a stiff, straight line, my bare feet pointed.

“You’re like a ninja! My girlfriend is a ninja!”

I tried not to laugh as it would interfere with my balance, or think too much about his use of the word
girlfriend
, but then succumbed to it, ending my walking handstand with a cartwheel.

Greg peeled off his sweatshirt, leaving him in a black Run DMC band t-shirt, and tried to do a handstand. It wasn’t bad, but his height worked against him. His shirt fell to his chest and he wobbled, his long legs wavering in the air. I walked over to him and unthinkingly placed my hands on his bare stomach and back, helping him find his center of gravity.

“Point your toes, and imagine that you’re a pole, perfectly straight.” I was impressed I was able to keep my touch disinterested, though I longed to trace and explore his skin.

“I’m a pole, I’m a pole,” he chanted. “I’m a pole… I wish someone would dance on me.”

I snorted again, stifling my giggles by clamping my mouth shut. After a few more seconds, he fell inelegantly to the side, grinning at me from his spot on the floor.

“You make it look easy,” he said, making no attempt to disguise the wonder in his eyes or voice.

I liked the way he was looking at me, like I was special. I’d never been one for showing off. Competition was about skill and art, merit and talent, not about ego or unnecessary grandiose displays. But, strangely, I wanted to show off for Greg. I wanted to strut.

“You want to see something neat?” I asked, already crossing the lobby. The ceiling of the room was slanted, giving the room a breezy, open feel. At its shortest side, the walls were twelve feet; at its tallest they were at least twenty.

“
Something else
? You mean there’s more?” He made no move to stand up, just watched me with wide eyes as I stood in the corner where the wall was tallest.

“I can touch the ceiling.” I grinned at him.

His squinty eyes told me he didn’t believe me. “With what?”

“What will you give me if I can touch the ceiling, with my hand?”

“I’ll give you a big, fat diamond ring.”

I rolled my eyes, doubting this promise for obvious reasons, and said, “Deal.”

I turned, braced my hands on either side of the corner, and jumped. I then proceeded to climb the smooth surface, bracing my hands, knees, and bare feet against the walls.

When I was halfway to the top, Greg called, “Okay, point made. Come down.”

“I’m almost there, I can do it.”

“I believe you. Come down.” I could tell from the direction of his voice he was directly beneath me. I could also hear a new edge in his tone, a mixture of anxiety and irritation.

I ignored him, because I could do it, and instead methodically climbed the last five feet, touched the ceiling, then carefully began my descent. When I was eight or so feet from the ground, I felt large hands close around my waist and pull me from the corner. My arms—which weren’t all that tired—automatically wrapped around Greg’s neck as I turned my smiling face towards his.

He was not smiling.

I caught a glimpse of his austere frown as he set my feet on the ground, right before he wrapped his fingers around my jaw and neck and brought his mouth to mine. Unlike our previous kisses, this kiss wasn’t patient; no prelude, or gentle nipping, or teasing. He was rough and unrelenting, using his teeth in ways I wouldn’t have expected, but which caused an increase in both my body temperature and blood pressure.

Basically, he backed me into the corner, kissed the hell out of me, and made me hot and agitated.

And when he lifted his head, sucking and biting my bottom lip, I was left gasping for air. I could climb a wall without breaking a sweat, but after being kissed by Greg Archer I felt like I’d sprinted a mile.

“I want to say and do dirty things to you.” His voice was heavenly sinful, growly and demanding. Greg’s hands were still at my neck, his thumbs now pressing against my collar bone. “But I also want-”