Soft Shock (7 page)

Chapter Eight

Thursday night
was cold for early October. It was definitely a sign that winter was on the
way. Owen resented the weather after the seventy-degree days they’d had all
week. He’d gone on a nice, long bike ride yesterday afternoon along the James
River that’d helped clear his head a little. Today, he’d been stuck inside most
of the day, looking outside at the miserable cold and rainy weather.

He’d missed his
regular TA section for his philosophy class Monday night because he’d been
trying to get that paper finished in a do or die type situation. His friend,
Lil, had suggested that Owen come to her section on Thursday night and ask the
TA if he could sit in. Lil loved her TA and always spoke highly of her, so Owen
decided to go with her. He needed to make up the session—his TA had made
that much clear—and he’d put this off all week, so it was either now or
go to his TA’s Friday section. He wasn’t particularly fond of his TA, and he
liked the idea of an extra class on Friday even less. So he pulled on his North
Face fleece and waited for Lil’s call.

Lil was nice
enough to come pick him up. Jeremy had his jeep—again. And Jeremy had
“forgotten” to bring it back—again. Apparently, Jeremy needed to borrow
the jeep to get to a “job interview.” Owen knew he needed to take a stronger
stance with his brother, but it was hard for him to do that. Jeremy had taken
their sister’s and father’s deaths harder than Owen had. Owen had thrown
himself into work and caring for his brother and mother afterward. But Jeremy
hadn’t found a way to deal. Owen thought he was doing the right thing by
looking out for Jeremy, but maybe he’d done more harm than good for Jeremy by
protecting him from the world the way he had.

Lil texted him
that she was outside, and he grabbed his backpack and ran out to meet her. Lil
was a pretty girl—green eyes, blond hair, preternaturally tan. Even in
mid-winter. She had an athletic build and had been playing softball since she
was old enough to swing a bat. Well, T-ball first and then softball when she
outgrew T-ball. They’d met through an intramural softball league actually. Lil
could have played for CVU, but she wanted to focus on her studies. She was a
biochem and premed double major. Smart, pretty, nice. But Owen had never been
romantically interested in her. He knew that Lil had always had a small crush
on him. Before, it’d been harmless because Lil had known Owen was with Kristin and
completely devoted to her. Now, though, he wondered how things would change. He
realized he hadn’t spent a lot of time around Lil since the breakup. Had he
been avoiding her?

He hopped
gratefully into Lil’s heated Nissan Xterra. “Thanks for picking me up,” he
said.

Lil gave him an
uncertain smile before reaching across to give him an awkward car hug. She
pulled back quickly and said, “No problem. I haven’t seen a lot of you lately.
I was getting worried.”

“I’ve just been
busy. With school.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?
Because I know how you felt, I mean, you and Kristin.” Lil tucked her hair
behind her ear, revealing a tiny diamond stud. “This breakup can’t be easy on
you.”

“I’m fine,”
Owen said hollowly.

“I’m here if
you want to talk about it.”

“Thanks,” Owen
said although he had no intention of taking her up on that. “But what I want to
talk about right now is what in the world was Ming saying yesterday?” Owen
asked. “Did you understand…well any of it?” Professor Ming was their philosophy
professor, and her lectures were brain twisting.

Lil grinned,
revealing a dimple that had probably sent more than a few hearts racing. He
thought she might be dating someone right now, but he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t
remember if she’d mentioned them breaking up or not. He hoped she was so that
things wouldn’t get weird between them. Lil was a good friend, and he didn’t
want to mess that up. “Not a clue,” Lil said. “Hopefully, the mystery will be
cleared up tonight. You’ll love Marci. She’s great. So smart and funny.”

“Marci?” Her
TA’s name was Marci? Had she mentioned that before, and he just hadn’t picked
up on it?

“Yeah.” She
glanced sideways at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.”
He stared out of the rain splattered passenger side window. So her name was
Marci. There was certainly more than one person in the world named Marci. It
was a fairly common name. There was no way their paths were going to cross yet
again. Right?

Wrong.

Maybe the
universe was trying to tell them something. Trying to beat them over their heads
with it and wring their necks until they capitulated. Because when Owen walked
into the basement classroom in Grouse Hall where the TA section was to be held,
whom should he see but Marci King? Looking radiant and gorgeous even under the
harsh fluorescent track lighting. She was laughing and joking with one of her
students. She wore tall black boots over black tights that she’d paired with a
black skirt and a loose-fitting beige sweater. He’d had every lovely curve
under that sweater in his hands just a few nights ago. Saturday. Wow, had it really
been not even a week ago? The days seemed to drag on forever lately.
Ever since Sunday.

Lil nudged his
arm with hers, bringing him back to Earth. “Are you going to ask her?”

Owen looked
around, his heart beating wildly in his chest. “Huh?”

Lil gave him a
funny look and nodded in Marci’s direction. “Are you going to ask if you can
stay for class?”

“Oh.” Owen gave
a little laugh of relief. For a moment, he’d thought his feelings had been
written all over his face, that he’d been incredibly and tragically obvious.
“Oh yeah. Sure.”

Owen walked up
to
Marci,
sure she hadn’t noticed him yet as she was
involved in the conversation she was having with one of her students. He
cleared his throat and called her name. Marci turned to face him. Shock rippled
over her face before she replaced it with a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m in
Professor Ming’s philosophy class, and I missed my regular section on Monday.”
He watched her beautiful brown face for changes as he spoke, but she betrayed
nothing. “I was wondering if I could sit in on your section tonight.”

“Sure,” she
said smoothly. “Who’s your regular TA?”

“Brian Smith,”
he said.

She nodded and
scribbled something down on a piece of paper. “I’ll email him and let him know
you came tonight,” she said.

He scratched
the back of his
neck,
a little uncomfortable at the
way she’d phrased that. Especially with the way his thoughts had gone South
since he walked in the classroom and saw her standing there, looking collected
and beautiful as always even on a rainy, cold night like this one. She shook
her corkscrew curls away from her face and flashed a smile at him that caught
him off-guard. “Ready?”

“Huh?” He
unzipped his North Face. It was too hot in this stuffy classroom.

“Class is about
to start.” She looked at a point behind him, and he followed her gaze to a
clock on the wall at the back of the room.

“Yeah. Sorry.”
He stumbled to the table in the center of the classroom and took a seat next to
Lil.

“So
everything’s okay with you sitting in?” Lil asked.

“Yep. Just
fine.” Owen busied himself with pulling books out of his bag and finding a
clean sheet of paper in his ratty philosophy notebook.

Lil tapped her
fingers on the edge of her laptop. “What were you guys talking about up there
for all that time? Do you know each other or something?”

“Something.”
Owen looked up and gave Lil his best attempt at a smile.

Her blonde
eyebrows knitted together. “Really? How?”

“Uhm, it’s a
long story. Too long considering class is about to start. I’ll tell you another
time.”

“On the ride
back to your place?”

“Or some other
time.”

“Over coffee at
Java Time? Soon? I feel like I never see you anymore.”

“We’ll talk
about it after class,” Owen said.

#

Camille,
Dante’s friend from class who wanted to meet Owen, was huge in personality even
if slight in frame. When he saw her out in front of the restaurant where they
were meeting for dinner Friday night, he knew her immediately even though he’d
never seen her before. Based on their brief conversation to set up the date and
Dante’s description of her, he knew it must be her right away.

She wore a
miniscule black dress despite the freezing temperature and towering black heels
that made an impressive advance on Owen’s height of six feet four. Her shiny black
hair cascaded over her bare, olive-toned shoulders and arms. Her Italian
ancestry was clear in her sharp Mediterranean features. She was a beautiful
woman—at least on the outside. Still, something was missing. The same
thing that had clouded his vision the night he met Brynn at The Hops was
clouding it now.

Camille walked
up to him like they were old friends and nearly shouted, “Owen!” and wrapped
her arms around him in a hug. He was soon to learn that this was her regular
voice. As she would later tell him, growing up in a house with six brothers and
one very overly dramatic sister, being loud was the only way to be heard.

“Nice to meet
you, Camille,” Owen said as they pulled back from the hug.

“You, too.” She
gave him an approving, appraising look and then nodded. “This place is only a
three-star, but I guess we have to make do with what we have. We’re not exactly
in a buzzing metropolis, now are we?”

Owen thought
about how eerily that was like something Kristin would say. “I guess not,” he
said. “We should go in.” One thing Owen didn’t like and could not stand. People
who thought they were better than others because they had “good taste” that
they had subjectively put above the taste of others and a little money. He’d
gone through enough of that with Kristin and her parents. But he only had to
get through one date. No one was proposing marriage here.

The three-star
restaurant thing was definitely a signpost of how the evening would go. Camille
spent most of the night talking about how brilliant she was and looking down
her nose at most everything in the restaurant. After she sent her first entrée
back and in such a condescending manner, Owen wanted to apologize to the
server. After she sent the third one back, he wanted to crawl under the table. That
time, he did apologize to the server. When he did, Camille gave him a disapproving
look that didn’t faze him.

He guessed
maybe her elitist attitude was her way of trying to impress people. He wondered
if it worked on other people. It definitely was not working on him. Or maybe
she wasn’t worried about impressing him and just assumed he should feel grateful
to be in her presence. Was this what Dante thought of him? That he liked
shallow, self-absorbed girls? Was this payback for ditching Brynn who’d seemed
like a pretty decent human being—at least for the brief time they’d met
at The Hops? Or maybe he’d just taught Dante to think of Camille as his type by
dating Kristin for so long.

While Camille
was sneering at the dessert menu, Owen held up his phone and said, “I should
really get going. I just got a text from my brother. He needs me to come over
right away.”

“I didn’t hear
your phone go off.” Camille frowned up at him.

“I keep it on
vibrate.” Owen stared down at his phone screen. At least the vibrate part wasn’t
a lie. “It seems pretty urgent.”

“I don’t see
anything inspiring on this dessert menu anyway.” She stood. “I’m going to run
to the restroom. You have the check, right?”

“Sure.” He
would have paid regardless, even though she’d chosen an expensive restaurant that
she’d looked down her nose at all
night
. But the way
she’d just assumed she was entitled to it rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it
was just the accumulation of so many things that rubbed him the wrong way that
had him so miffed.

When they
parted ways that night, she said, “I really had a great time tonight.”

Could’ve fooled
him. “So did I.” He lied.

“Call me. We
should definitely do this again.”

“Yeah.” He
forced a smile.

Camille stood
there for a while, smiling expectantly at him. When he didn’t make any moves
toward her, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. Pulling back, she smiled,
revealing dazzling white teeth. Probably bleached. Her black hair shone under
the lights in the parking lot. If
he hadn’t been burned by Kristin
,
would he feel differently about her? He didn’t know. He’d like to think he’d
have better judgment than to end up with a girl like this, but hindsight was
20/20.

But maybe there
was more to his standoffishness toward Camille than he wanted to admit. After
all, during their date, he’d spent a lot of time thinking about Marci. His mind
wouldn’t stop slipping back to her. And it was crazy. There was no way she was
thinking about him this much, the guy she’d only wanted to sleep with because
of a bet. Was there?

He could’ve
been imagining it, but last night in the TA section, it seemed that every time
he’d glanced in her direction, she’d been looking his way. And at the end of
class, she’d given him her email address and phone number just in case he had
questions or his TA needed to get in touch with her about the makeup section. The
same phone number she’d refused to come off the day they met and on the night
of the bet.

Had something
changed last night?

Chapter Nine

Marci hated how
foolish she was being about this. Of course she hadn’t expected him to call.
She wasn’t even sure of what possessed her to give him her number. She knew his
TA, Brian, pretty well. They were both in the American Studies Ph.D. program.
All the TAs had exchanged contact information at the beginning of the semester.
And even if she were truly concerned about Owen and his TA having a way to
contact her, the email address would have been sufficient. But she’d handed
over her phone number, too. It’d been an impulse move. Like buying an extra
pair of shoes because they were on sale buy one get one half off. Only the shoe
impulse buy would’ve been a harmless move.

She should just
forget about it either way.

Instead, she’d
spent the last week or so of her life obsessing. Wondering if he would call or
not.
Like some silly schoolgirl with a crush.
And she
wasn’t the silly schoolgirl with a crush type.

She was the
love ‘em and
leave
‘em type. Well, without all that
much of the love part.
Or any of it honestly.
And that
was the way she liked it. Nobody got hurt. Everybody got something out of the
deal. No
strings attached was
the way to go for her. She
had no use for relationships—not anymore anyway—and most guys she
ran across had no problems with her NSA sex life philosophy. Most guys.

At first, she’d
been tempted to take it personally, but the way she’d caught Owen looking at
her more than once in class implied that he was more than a little interested
in her body. And the way he’d touched her that night at his apartment. Those
hadn’t been the touches of a disinterested man. Those had been the touches of a
man barely holding himself back. Just thinking of it now got her all
overheated.

Or was she just
overthinking this whole thing? One thing was for sure. She definitely spent too
much time thinking about it. Playing their few interactions over in her mind.
Wondering what, if anything, it meant that she kept running into him. She
hadn’t spent this much time thinking about a man since—well, she didn’t
want to go there.

She didn’t want
to talk to Tyler or Ronnie about this, either. They were sure to make too big
of a deal out of it. She didn’t want to think of this as a big deal or as a
“thing” at all. She just wanted it to all go away.

So of course it
wouldn’t.

She was walking
one of her appointments to the door at the writing center, giving her some
last-minute pointers about her paper, when the door opened. And in walked Owen.

She trailed off
in mid-sentence, completely losing her train of thought. His dark blond wavy
hair was windswept all across his head in a sexy, messy way. He wore light wash
jeans and a CVU hoodie. His cheeks were ruddy; he’d probably ridden his bike
over.

When his gray eyes landed on her, they lit up, and a
heartbreakingly beautiful grin stretched over his face.

“Marci?” A
voice that sounded like it was coming from another world called her name. She
turned, mildly surprised to see her three o’clock standing there. She’d
forgotten whatever it was she wanted to say to the girl.

“I’ll see you
next week,” Marci said.

“My paper is
due at the end of this week,” the girl said with a confused frown. “I don’t
have any more appointments.”

“Right, well,
good luck with that paper.” She’d momentarily forgotten the girl’s name.

Nodding, and
giving Owen a quick and nervous smile, which he easily returned, the girl left
the center.

“What are you
doing here?” Marci was disappointed in herself. Why did she have to sound so
happy to see him? He was just a boy. A good looking boy with too much charm who
happened to make her heart race, skip a beat, or do both interchangeably
whenever he touched her, but so? He was just a cute boy. She’d known a lot of cute
boys in her life.

But none like this one I’m betting
, a
little voice that was trying to get her in trouble whispered at the edge of her
mind. She kindly asked that voice to hush. Still, she couldn’t forget how
electric the feeling of his hands on her skin had been.
His
mouth over hers.
Touching her like he’d been put on this Earth solely to
do that. She didn’t think she’d ever felt like that in anyone’s arms. Not with
the first very inexperienced heartbreaker in high school and not with the
second one, either.

Shaking her
head as if that would help clear it, she looked up at Owen. He was looking at
her like he was expecting a reply. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“I asked if you
were okay,” he said. “You look kind of lost in a fog over there.”

“I’m fine.” She
clasped her hands together and held them tightly in front of her. “What’s up?”

“That paper you
helped me with?” He held up a crumpled sheaf of papers that’d been stapled
together. “I got an A minus on it. A minus! That’s the best grade I’ve ever
gotten in that class—well, ever in my whole life as far as papers go.”

“That’s
fantastic.”

“I couldn’t
have done it without you. That’s why I came by.
To thank you.
And actually to see if you could help me for the rest of the
semester.
Especially with that philosophy class.
I barely understand what that woman wants us to write about much less how she
wants us to write it.” He raked his hand through his wavy hair and let it rest
at the base of his neck. “I’d really appreciate your help.”

Had anyone ever
turned him down for anything? He was one of those people whose looks could
allow him to breeze through life and get away with anything. But it hadn’t
spoiled him. He didn’t seem obnoxious or rude or a victim of entitlement
syndrome or any of that. He was genuinely charming and humble. Unassuming. And
that made him all the more dangerous.

“Sure. I’ll
help. Three o’clock on Mondays?” She nodded her head toward the door. “My
regular three o’clock won’t be coming back for the rest of the semester.

“That’s fine
with me.” He smoothed out his crumpled paper and looked around the reception
area. He was so tall—nearly a foot taller than her, and she was five foot
six. His light wash jeans rode low on his hips. He removed his hoodie and
revealed a gray graphic tee with a slogan screen painted on it that was so
faded she could barely read it. More importantly, it fit him well enough to
hint at pecks that went nicely with those well-defined arms of his. He wasn’t
skinny, and he wasn’t overly bulky like some meathead. He was lean and muscled,
and his clothes fit well.
Her favorite look.
Absolute
favorite.
She had a certain weakness for this vintage tee,
broad chest
,
good muscles look
. She could have
stared at him all day, but that would probably weird him out with good reason.

“Let’s get it
set up then.” She led the way over to the reception desk, careful not to touch
him. She was already flustered enough by being close to him.

“You sure
you’re okay with this?” His gray eyes had suddenly become serious. They were so
pale yet bright—almost silver.

“Uhm, yeah.”
She stumbled over her own feet, cursed herself, and leaned against the
receptionist’s desk to play it off. She kept running into him, so why fight it?
At least this way, she would expect him when he showed up—she’d be able
to prepare herself and hopefully not turn into melted better around him.
Turning her attention to the receptionist and absorbing herself in adding him
to her personal schedule, she tried to shut out the gooey thoughts she’d been
having a moment ago. She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t dare look
up. Whatever was trying to happen here, it was too much for her.

Way too much.

#

Saturday, Marci
and Ronnie let Tyler talk them into going to see the exhibit of one of his
friend’s at an art gallery in D.C.

As Marci zipped
up 95 North in her beemer, she said to Tyler, “So tell us again what exactly it
is we’re seeing.” She still couldn’t get over the concept of this exhibit.

“Okay, so the
whole concept is involving the viewer in the art,” Tyler said. “It’s all very
interactive. The artist’s vision is
,
art is all around
us. And art is what we perceive it to be—we’re all participants in it.
So, potentially, ‘art’ can be something, mean something, different to each of
us.”

Ronnie, who had
very little use for contemporary art, snorted from the backseat.

“Ronnie, you’re
so cultureless,” Tyler said, turning his head over his shoulder to sneer at
her. Ronnie just laughed. Grinning, Tyler turned to face
front
again. “So, there’s going to be some simple object in the center of the room or
painted on one of the walls.” He flipped his overlong blond bags out of his
eyes. “When I saw it last weekend—I stopped by to say hello and get a
sneak preview on my way up to New York—it was just a small black dot
painted on the far wall in the room he’s been allotted. There’s someone who
goes around the room, asking people what they think of the art—sometimes
it’s the artist, sometimes it’s a friend—and observing their reactions. Sometimes,
there’s a decoy who’ll ask about a piece of litter in the corner of the room or
a smudge on the wall that’s not actually part of the exhibit to see if people
try to interpret that thing that’s not part of the exhibit. The artist journals
about these reactions, reads the entries into a recorder, and then both the
updated journal and the recordings become part of the exhibit daily.
Because art, and our definition of it, is always changing.
Evolving.”

“Yeah, yeah,”
Ronnie said. “We get to eat afterwards, right? You said we
can
go to Marvin. I’m holding you to that.” Marvin, a restaurant that was named
after Marvin Gaye and that featured soul and Belgian food, was one of Ronnie’s
favorites and was probably a lot of the reason Ronnie had agreed to come with
them.

“Of course,”
Tyler said. “You’re still cultureless,” he called into the backseat.

“Aw, I love
you, too, baby,” Ronnie said, reaching from the backseat to grab Tyler’s
shoulder. The navy blue of Ronnie’s fingernail polish stood out against the
dark red fabric of Tyler’s sweater.

“So, you’ve
been pretty quiet today,” Ronnie called to Marci. “What are you thinking about
up there?”

“Nothing,”
Marci answered smoothly. She hadn’t mentioned a thing about Owen to either of
them since the day after the great The Hops fiasco. The last thing she needed
was one of them reading too much into it. Tyler, who was determined she needed
to be in a relationship, or Ronnie who would make too much of it. She didn’t
need any of that. She was just tutoring some guy. She tutored people. It was
what she did. He just happened to be one of them. And that was exactly why she
needed to stop wondering what he was up to today. What was with her? She’d
certainly experienced enough of the nasty fallout from the inevitable end of
romantic relationships to steer far clear of anything headed in that direction.
Hadn’t she?

“I haven’t seen
Jeremy lately,” Marci said both because she hadn’t and to get herself out of
the hot seat.

“That’s because…Jeremy’s
been busy.” Ronnie turned to look out of the window. Marci glimpsed her profile
in the rearview mirror. Ronnie’s long, dark brown hair curtained the side of
her profile, hiding all traces of her facial expression.

“With what?
Who?”

“Community service,”
Ronnie said in a quick, quiet tone. Marci almost didn’t catch the words. The
quiet part was very uncharacteristic for Ronnie.

“Oh really?
What did he do this time?”

“He got into it
with this guy at a bar. Nobody got hurt too bad, but he busted up some glasses
and things, including a chair. And he got banned from the bar. The judge went
easy on him because he knew Jeremy’s dad.”

“You didn’t
mention anything about this. How long ago did it happen?”

“You guys
already judge Jeremy enough. I didn’t want to give you any extra ammo.” Ronnie’s
words were end-of-subject sharp in tone. “He’s a good kid.
It’s
just people won’t give him a break. And so he acts out.” Ronnie turned away
from the window and hunched forward in the backseat. Her lips were set in a firm
line, and her brown eyes were lit up with anger, annoyance, or both.

“Whoa. Sorry,”
Marci said. “I just—”

“You just don’t
know him, okay? Can we talk about something else? Can we change the subject
please?”

“Sure.” Marci
and Tyler exchanged looks. Then Tyler asked Ronnie how things were going at
Schaffer’s, the restaurant where Ronnie worked.

Marci couldn’t
remember Ronnie ever getting so snappy about Jeremy before even though Marci
had made it clear in the past that she thought Jeremy was a waste of human
space. Maybe Ronnie was just upset about Jeremy getting in more trouble than
usual. But still, that reaction had been out of proportion to Marci’s question.
Was there more going on than Ronnie was willing to talk about?