Taking Mine Read online

  She blinks. “I'm sorry, what?”

  “Classes? How many are you taking?”

  She ignores my question and muses, “Since when do hipsters think blue jean shorts work?”

  “Jorts,” our waitress chimes in, refilling our cups.

  Sometimes I feel like the people around me are talking in a foreign language and failed to notify me.

  A boy with bright blond hair and tall enough to touch the ceiling waltzes up to our table. Kaley's back is to him as he holds a finger up to his lips, signaling for me to keep my mouth shut. He places his hands on the back of her chair and tips it backward. Kaley screams, trying to grip the table in front of her. He catches her right as she's about to hit the ground.

  “What the fuck, asshole?” Kaley yells, not bothering to suppress her outburst.

  He laughs and eases her back upright. “Sounds like you're just as uptight as you were last semester.”

  I eye Kaley. The last word I'd use to describe her is uptight, and I'm confused as to why this boy seems familiar enough with her to think she is. He pulls the chair next to us and settles down, lounging with his legs spread apart.

  “And you still have a problem with boundaries, I see.” She smiles at him. “Lilly, this is Lance. He's in the study group I was telling you about.”

  He blows me a kiss. “Nice to meet you, Lilly.”

  “Charming,” I say. “Can we go?”

  Lance nods in approval as if he was the one I was speaking to. “This place in general gives me the creeps. I bet there's a checklist somewhere that says crazy, stalker ex-boyfriends must visit here on a regular basis. The free Internet is a major turn-on. Helps with the online stalking.”

  I look at Kaley. “You have enough crazy stalker ex-boyfriends to fill this place twice.”

  “You're right,” she says, holding up a finger to signal our waitress.

  Lance stays put, swinging his knees back and forth as he watches us pay our checks. I'm uneasy with how comfortable he is. In some ways, he reminds me of Kaley. She can feign casualness better than anyone I know. Except, Lance's isn't false. It's a real sense of familiarity he carries with him, and he watches Kaley with zero interest in hiding it.

  “Catch you later?” Lance asks, standing with us.

  “Unfortunately,” Kaley says. “The group still meets at five?”

  His smile grows as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Finally going to hit up a study session this year, Kaley? Maybe you're more flexible than I thought.”

  “Um, no,” she says, applying a layer of lip gloss. “But Lilly might.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You said maybe, still counts.”

  Lance rocks forward on his toes. “Hey, if you change your mind, we meet here Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday,” he says.

  Just for the sake of not arguing, I concede, “Okay, I'll think about it.”

  “Sure.” He kicks a smile up on one side, winking at Kaley before approaching the drink counter. He leans on his forearms and smiles at the barista, making the girl blush as she takes his order.

  Kaley smiles over at him, a touch of interest lingering. She catches me watching her and wipes the smirk off her face. I raise an eyebrow in return. She doesn't speak as I follow her out the door.

  I’m crossing the threshold when the door slams back into me. My face hits the glass and my to-go cup of coffee trails down the front of my t-shirt and jeans. I can't decide whether I want to hold my nose or pull the shirt drenched in piping hot coffee away from my chest. I'm trying to do both when I feel two hands holding both of my shoulders, keeping me steady.

  “Are you alright?” a deep voice asks from above me. I look up into deep eyes rimmed in the most perfect set of lashes I’ve ever seen. He releases me once I’m steady and runs a hand over his crew cut. “I'm so sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going.”

  My mind is too jumbled to process everything all at once. I can still feel the sting of coffee on my chest and my nose definitely hurts. Yet all I can focus on is how incredibly good looking he is. I can imagine the love drunk look cartoons get when struck by cupid. Or maybe I've been hit harder than I think and it's the tiny blue birds that circle when an anvil drops on a cartoon’s head. That's what it is.

  I run through all of this before I realize I’ve been standing in silence with my mouth hanging open. I snap it shut, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “I fucking hate two-way doors.”

  Yeah, that didn't sound deranged at all.

  He cocks his head a little, looking at me sideways. “I didn't hit you too hard, did I?”

  There’s not one thing about him that can be pinpointed as to what makes him so attractive. His nose is slightly crooked and a scar runs through the top of his lip. Hit in the face by something, most likely. His five-o'clock shadow tells me he's a habitual shaver.

  I shake off my adoration and attempt to talk like a normal human again. “What restaurant has swinging doors?”

  “Yeah, all I know is they make decent coffee.” His eyes scan my wardrobe. “Which you're wearing. Let me buy you another, make up for it?”

  I briefly catch a glimpse of Kaley throwing me two thumbs up behind him. “Umm.”

  “Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Justin.” He smiles, holding his hand out for me to shake.

  I feel like my brain isn’t wired to take in so much sensory input. Concentration on one thought at a time takes too much effort. Ignoring Kaley, I shake my head and take Justin's hand. “Lilly. And I appreciate the offer, really, but I'm fine. I was pushing my caffeine intake for the day. I'll take it as a sign to rein it in.”

  Kaley begins jumping up and down behind him, silently reprimanding. Justin follows my gaze over his shoulder and Kaley stops, demurely tucking an imaginary hair behind her ear. “Kaley,” she says, introducing herself. Justin gives a small head nod and looks back toward me.

  “She's weird,” I answer. Kaley flips me off and I tamp down the desire to smile.

  A couple of students squeeze by us, pushing Justin and me aside to make room. “Okay,” he says. “I guess I'll see you around.”

  “Sure.”

  He smiles when I don't make an effort to move. “Okay,” he repeats. Turning around, he gives Kaley a short wave. “Nice to meet you, Kaley.”

  She hums a response around her straw.

  “And you, Lilly,” he says, passing by me to get through the door. His body hovers over mine as his arm braces the door open above my head, my back to the glass. He slowly lets it close behind him, never breaking eye contact.

  “Hot damn,” Kaley says once he’s out of earshot.

  I watch as Justin looks up at the order board and retrieves a wallet from his back pocket. He must feel my gaze on him because he looks back over his shoulder and a smile spreads across his face. It holds a hint of cockiness, just enough to let me know he knows I’m dumbstruck. He probably gets this all the time.

  And someone is more than welcome to come shoot me in the face.

  I force a smile back and can see his chest give with a hint of laughter. If I thought he was good looking before, I was mistaken. His smile when laughing changes everything. Hot damn was right. For once, Kaley's nonsense makes sense.

  I CUSS AS I DRIVE UP to the house. Kip's old Chevy pickup is parked out front, leaving the carport open for me. He's used this tactic since I first got my license. He’ll leave the parking spot open for me so when he makes up a reason to leave later, he can pull in behind me when he returns, forever blocking my car in for the night. He thinks he's slick, but it's a joke. One that's getting really old. No doubt my overnight stay at the shop is his reason for using his signature trick.

  He's sitting at the kitchen table when I deposit my books on the couch. “Hey, Lil. How'd school go today?” He eyes my coffee-stained apparel and I shrug. A beer and a pile of bills sit in front of him. I can't count how many times I've come home to this very same scenario.

  “Same old, same old. How was work?”

  “Steady
. Taylor said he had you working on inventory last night?”

  “Yup,” I say, popping the top off another beer and switching out his empty one.

  He sips it, grateful. “He's been struggling since the last shop guy left. Can't keep anything in order.”

  I take the seat across from him. “And what does he have you for?”

  “I've been on the floor. We're changing six to eight air compressors a day, and that’s on top of routine oil changes and tire rotations. It’s just that time of the year again.”

  Kip wears a bandana around his forehead when he works on engines. Right now he has the red fabric pulled around his neck, the majority of his face and neck covered in grease except for the white patch of skin that was protected from the elements around his hairline.

  “Plan on hiring another hand?”

  “Can't find anyone qualified. You know how Taylor is, uses his dad's old tactics when hiring someone.”

  Meaning he interrogates them until they either leave or cry. Or they never show up for work. I've witnessed both.

  I know it’s a wasted effort, but I offer. “I could cover a few oil changes if need be.”

  “No,” he says, pinching his lips together. “I'm still pissed at Taylor for making you work a full night before the first day of class. Focus on school, I'll take care of the shop.”

  “Taylor didn't make me work. I chose to. I wanted to try to knock out what I could before I got caught up in a mountain of homework. I have almost all the paperwork done. It's really only grunt work left.”

  Kip runs his hand through his shoulder-length hair. Our hair is the same shade of soft blond, but his turns darker when it dries in sweat. The strands fall back against his shoulders. “I've got a few more applicants to run through. I'm going to cut your hours as soon as we get someone in.”

  My eyes stray to the red words blazing from the papers in front of him. Final notices, late fees. Kip's spent his entire life taking care of me, and heck, sometimes Taylor, who tends to be a loose cannon sometimes. But he never complains, takes on the responsibility as if he was born to be second. Always second.

  “How about I make chicken fajitas for dinner.”

  He looks up from the papers and gives me a grateful smile. “That sounds amazing. I'll just run to the store and pick up some groceries.”

  Of course he will.

  I OVERSLEPT. If there’s one thing Whitticker hates, it’s his class being interrupted. He’s notorious for kicking students out for being disruptive. I hastily redo my bun, tucking away stray tendrils that escaped during my mad dash across campus. I attempt to school my breathing as I open the door to the auditorium. Apparently, I misjudged the amount of strength it takes to open a fucking door. The metal ricochets off the concrete wall, effectively halting all activity.

  Professor Whitticker stands with his marker poised to write on the board, eyes narrowed into thin slits in my direction. “Mrs…”

  “Foster,” I answer for him.

  “Yes, you. Why are you late?”

  The auditorium's silence descends on my nerves as everyone's eyes train on me. I open my mouth to lie, but I get the impression he’s too good of a bullshitter to believe a dog-ate-my-homework story. Hoping he gives credit for honesty, I tell him the truth. “I forgot my syllabus. I had to run back home and grab it.” This was in spite of Kaley's reminder text she sent me last night.

  “All assignments are picked up within the first five minutes of class and you're bordering closer to ten. Your effort was futile.” And then he chuckles. Fucking chuckles. As if my entire future isn't hanging by a thread, and he helped whittle it away a little bit more. “Take a seat so I can continue my class, Mrs. Foster.”

  I clench my teeth, looking to where Kaley and I sat last class period. In my seat sits the guy who was a row below us, the one who Kaley spent the entire time smiling at rather than taking notes. I narrow my eyes at her and she shoots me an apologetic look. Sighing, I avoid eye contact as I shift to the middle aisle, mumbling apologies the whole way down.

  The entire class is silent, the only sound being Whitticker’s dry erase marker squeaking across the board. I flop into my seat, my breathing barely starting to level out from sprinting. My embarrassment grows tenfold as I fumble to find a pencil. The farther I dig in my book sack, the more irritated I get.

  A finger taps me on the shoulder and I angrily drop my backpack, giving up on doing anything productive for the day.

  “What,” I huff out.

  “Need a pen?” The voice smoothes over my nerves enough to draw my attention to the person sitting next to me. My mouth falls open the moment I recognize the deep set of brown eyes.

  “You’re in this class?” My voice is a few octaves higher than I mean for it to be.

  Both of his eyebrows shoot up. “You make me really question how hard I ran into you the other day.”

  “Sorry,” I say, quieter. Gently, I take the pen from his outstretched hand. “It’s been a rough morning.”

  “Can't be any worse than wearing coffee for the rest of the day.”

  I can’t help but smile. This, in turn, makes him smile. “I'd rather wear coffee any day of the week than be put on Whitticker's shit list.”

  A shush from the front of the room pulls Justin and me apart. Professor Whitticker's angry eye is directly pinpointed on us, once again drawing the attention of the entire class. I cower slightly, wishing I could become invisible.

  Justin tears off a piece of paper and passes it to me.

  I'm bad luck.

  His handwriting isn’t too bad. Okay, it’s bad. But it’s legible enough for me to read. I look down at the torn paper and back to him. Passing notes back and forth in class makes me feel like we’re in high school—the difference being no boys in high school would have been able to compete with him. What am I saying? Boys in college can't compete with him.

  I turn the paper over and scribble on the back.

  You must be imaginary. I don't believe in luck.

  His chuckle sends a pack of butterflies straight through my body—considering they have a lot of room to fly, banging off the walls and whatnot. I took Anatomy and Physiology my second semester of college, so logically I know there’s not space for butterflies to even be—let alone fly—but that’s what it feels like.

  He rips off a larger piece and tosses it over.

  I'm flattered you conjured me up. Am I everything you dreamed I'd be?

  It’s my turn to laugh, getting us into more trouble. This time, I care a little less.

  I bet that's why people keep shushing me. Talking to myself and all.

  His eyes dart to me and then around the room. He jots down one last note before standing up. I quickly read it.

  Let's find out.

  In the middle of Mr. Whitticker's lecture, in the middle of a sentence about how important lobbyists are to our democratic system, Justin reaches across his back and strips off his t-shirt. My gasp echoes along with those of the girls around us. His lean body mesmerizes me as he toes off his shoes. Whitticker still has his back to the class, unaware of the striptease of my life happening. Justin's sinewy arms begin undoing the fly of his pants when he catches me checking out the dimples right above his ass. His eyebrows sweep up as he drops trou, smirking when the girls surrounding us bust into giggles. A couple of guys give a few laughs.

  He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and a catcall from the back of the room follows a round of whistles. I yelp, covering my eyes. He open-mouth laughs when he sees me peak between my fingers.

  “Excuse me!” Professor Whitticker's booming voice reverberates around the entire room. “What do you think you're doing?”

  The entire classroom flies into an uproar of laughter.

  “Making sure I'm real, sir.” The seriousness of Justin’s answer doesn’t deter Whitticker’s wrath. But it does garner even more laughs, including mine.

  “Get your stuff and get out of my classroom. Meet me after class.�
��

  Justin bends over and pulls his jeans back up. He winks, passing my desk and holding his t-shirt and shoes in one hand. “I think we can confirm that you didn’t concoct me after all.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Disappointed?”

  “Are you?” he challenges back.

  “Now, Mr. Townsend.” Whitticker waits with a hand on his hip.

  Justin leisurely strolls down the steps. With the lecture on pause, every student watches him walk out of the door. It's like everyone gets a reality check when the door snaps in place. A loud rush of whispers, accompanied by glances in my direction, immediately follows. My phone buzzes on the edge of my desk, one silent vibration after another. Kaley's name with an increasing number of text messages pop-up on the screen.

  Mr. Whitticker calls the class back to order, threatening point deductions, and I quickly turn my phone on silent, shoving it under my notebook. I attempt to gather myself and focus on Whitticker’s squeaking marker again, but nothing can wipe the smile off my face. I bite my lip, seriously trying to rein it in. I keep replaying every detail. The way he pulled his shirt over his head, his muscles stretching when—

  A quick ruckus of sound snaps me from daydreaming. People are packing up—class is already over. I palm my cheeks, feeling the heat still radiating from them. The entire class period flew by without me taking one single note.

  Kaley skips down the stairs, sliding into the seat next to me. “Oh my God! What was that?”

  I shake my head, in my own state of disbelief. “I have no idea.”

  My face probably looks as flush as hers does. “Yes, you do. Tell me everything.”

  There’s a few people lingering, trying to overhear our conversation. I saddle up my stuff and stand. “Let's get lunch and I'll fill you in.”

  KALEY SWIRLS HER TEA AROUND and sniffs it. Deeming it worthy, she takes a sip. “Do you think he's in a lot of trouble?”

  “Probably. Whitticker's one of those teachers that gets off on power trips.”

  “True,” she says.