Eternal Eden (4 page)

“On the surface I’d say you were twelve, maybe thirteen, but there’s something about you I can tell you try hard to hide away, like the way you look now,” I said, eyeing over his rigid form, “that leads me to believe you’ve seen more than the rest of us.”

His eyes grew old before me, older than any pair I’d ever gazed into. He exhaled and opened his mouth, heavy words about to pour out I could only imagine, right before some guy painted head to bellybutton in black and orange ran by us, pitching a soda can in the garbage.

Our stare broke for a moment, but it was long enough so when he looked back at me, that curtain of confidence was down and ready to put on a show. “So do I get a half-price ticket since I missed half the game?”

I rolled my eyes, not understanding why he felt the need to put the ridiculous front on. Didn’t he know it was those moments of male vulnerability that the opposite sex went wild for?

“For you my friend, double,” I said, eyeing the flashy watch on his left wrist.

“That was a gift,” he said, his tone more excusing than explaining.

“Some gift,” I replied, not wanting clarification on who he’d received it from, although my imagination filled in the blanks just fine.

“It’s jam packed in there.” I pointed with my eyes to the auditorium behind me, while another eruption broke up. The particle board counter started vibrating. “Good luck finding a seat.”

“It’s alright. Someone saved me one,” he said, looking behind my shoulder.

As if his words spoken to me were some kind of alert, one of the cheerleaders with an orange ribbon curling from her auburn ponytail raised her hand at him and waved with such zeal she could have been hailing a cab in downtown Chicago in the middle of winter. She pointed at a front row seat and mouthed, “Yours” to him.

He raised his index finger at her and looked back at me. “Will you join me when you’re through here?”

The earnestness in his voice tempted me, right before I remembered he’d been invited here by another woman and was currently asking another woman (that woman being me) to join him as well. I wasn’t about to feed into his womanizer tendencies.

“Looks like there’s only room for one.” I kept my voice level, keeping any sign of jealousy at bay.

He leaned over the counter. “You could sit on my lap.”

“I could if I wanted to.” I backed away from him until my back hit the counter behind me. “Besides, little Miss Ribbons might beat me bloody with her pom-poms if I do.”

His forehead lined and his eyes said,
explain.

“She likes you,” I said in a tone one would tell a kindergartener the world was round.

He shrugged. “I don’t like her.”

I contained a smile. “Why? What’s not to like?” She looked like a swimsuit model, with a few more freckles and a
slightly
more innocent face.

He grabbed the ledge of the booth, his knuckles blanching white, while he feigned focus on the crowd filling up the hall. “I like someone else.”

“That was quick,” I said, trying not to vocalize my disappointment. “You’ve been here a whole week now. Who? The cheerleader to her left or right, or maybe long legs Kirkpatick.” I was jealous, and while I’d heard the emotion associated with the color green, I felt and saw nothing but red.

“Nope, not my type,” he answered simply.

“Just what is your type?” I didn’t really want to know if girls—who were gorgeous in my book—didn’t clear his bar.

He didn’t let a second fill in the space between us before answering. “You.”

The look on his face was unfamiliar, like a far-off land, something I wanted to know, but was too scared of the unknown to journey into.

A slow smile crept over his lips, and I let a few heartbeats pass. Heartbeats where my mind wandered to what those lips would feel like against mine, what they would taste like, how his hair would feel knitted between my fingers, what it would feel like to have his gaze find me in the middle of dozens of other people. His smile pulled tighter, acknowledging the dreaminess playing out on my expression.

I snapped back to reality, feeling its whiplash. “Stop it,” I whispered, tucking my arms around my stomach. “Stop playing with me. It’s cruel.”

His smile fell and he looked panicked, as if realizing I was aware of the games he was playing. “I’m not—”

 “Just leave,” I said, meaning to shout, but my vocal chords choked around the words.

I chanced a look up, and he was a pillar of stone still before me. “Leave!” This time I harnessed the volume I’d been meaning.

For the first time, he listened to me.

Since he’d stormed off, I’d remained in the booth . . .  I’d
hid
in the booth. With his confounding presence removed, I finally had a chance to think clearly and knew I’d behaved like a crazy person. Although I’d called him the twelve-year-old, my own behavior was more in accordance with pre-pubescence.  He hadn’t said one thing insulting or humiliating—perhaps frustratingly evasive—but it had been my interpretation of what his words meant that had put me in defense mode.

I wouldn’t necessarily consider myself confidence bankrupt, but somewhere in between being terrorized by the pretty girls and ignored by the beautiful boys, I’d steeled myself against any future attacks. I was an impenetrable fortress, but it came at a high cost. Lack of meaningful friendships and dates on the weekend to name a few. 

I wanted to retreat to the confines of my dorm, at least the coward in me did, but this other part of me—the dominant one I wasn’t familiar with—told me I had to go to him and apologize. It was telling me with such persuasion, I doubted it would have allowed me to take a step in the opposite direction.

I closed the ticket window, trying not to rehearse my apology. From experience, I knew my rehearsed speeches sounded like I was reading from a teleprompter moving at a snail’s pace.

I yanked out my ponytail holder and picked through my hair with my fingers, attempting to inject some volume into hair that was, by definition, flat. A smear of chapstick and a pinching of the cheeks completed my ad-hoc beautification.

Too bad I’d picked my favorite tee that probably should have been tossed in the rag bucket several washes ago, instead of the new tunic that played up the blue in my more-gray-than-blue eyes.

I shook my head, putting a kibosh on that train of thought. I wasn’t looking for his approval
or
acceptance
or
admiration.

Again, my best intentions at convincing myself were futile.

Despite Miss Ribbons and her pom-pom brigade’s present ra-ra-ra number, it couldn’t compete with the dark-haired man sitting quietly in the front row for my attention. I wasn’t the only one who felt the same way, either. There were five sets of eyes ogling him, and that was just within the ten foot radius around him I scanned.

The auditorium was erupting with noise, but I could still hear the squeak my sneakers made as I headed towards him. He didn’t notice me at first. He looked deep in thought, like the most practiced Buddhist in meditation.

I stopped a few feet off to the side of him, waiting for him to acknowledge me so I wouldn’t be forced to break the ice—knowing me, I’d go crashing right through and drown.

Still the thoughtful expression, as if he was lifetimes away from the cornucopia of noise.

“Hey,” I said unsurely, biting my lip.

His lids fell, revealing eyes that were back in the present time when they reopened. He sat up straighter, first looking surprised, before his smile turned into one I was getting quite familiar with—two parts smug to one part mischief. It was enraging and enthralling.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

Despite being desperate to apologize for my childish behavior, I was ready to turn around and leave if this was the way things were going to be. Dominant side be darned.

He raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“I can go if you like,” I said in my don’t-push-me voice, twisting my head over my shoulder to eye the exit. 

“No,” he rose to a stand, reaching for my forearm.

His fingers circled it, and whether he realized it—I’m sure he didn’t—this was the first time he’d touched me, the first time our skin had connected, and it was just that, a connection. From each ring of the five fingers wreathed around my arm, an energy that was as electric as it was intimate, streamed into me.

That connection opened a portal, one that was difficult, if not impossible, to explain, but I could almost feel our fates lacing around one another, cinching together so tight you could no longer tell which one was mine and which one was his. I could feel his emotions—peaceful, excited, warm—and I wondered if he could feel mine.

That terrified me,  because before this touch, I could keep him at bay, not allowing him into the triumphs and tragedies that made me who I was, but if something inside me was unveiling to him as his was to me, I could no longer keep my secrets hidden.

My arm snapped away, and the energy zapping through every fiber of me died.

This time when he smiled, it looked right, genuine. It curled up the corners of his eyes and created a flat plane over his forehead.

“Please don’t go,” he said, motioning to a section of bench that would have barely fit a toddler. “Stay,” he added, when I didn’t respond right away.

I was still trying to figure out what the heck was happening. A few seconds had passed, and by all appearance’s sake, nothing had changed between us, but everything felt different . . .
was
different.

I took a seat, squeezing tight into the guy beside me, doing my best to make space for William.

“Tight quarters,” I said, clearing my throat as he slid next to me. More energy sparking like a fallen power line between us.

His thigh pressed against me pushed at mine gently. “I don’t mind if you don’t.” His tone was different now too, no hint of swagger left. It was soft and sweet, only further confirming he’d felt something earlier, but what, and how much, I didn’t know.

The referee spilling out of his uniform in front of us blew his whistle like he was announcing the second coming, shifting my attention to the game. OSU had possession and three minutes to make the comeback of a lifetime. My math oriented mind estimated they’d have to make a three pointer every ten seconds to tie it up, so they were as likely to win this game as I was to win the man watching me from the corners of his eyes to my right.

I’d stalled for long enough, and he was waiting, somehow knowing why I’d come looking for him. “I’m sorry for the way I acted back there,” I began, the words coming easier than I’d anticipated. “You didn’t deserve it, and I don’t know you well enough to be making those kind of judgments.”

He waved his hand as if he was dismissing it all away. “Forget about it. I did deserve it, but there’s one thing I have to know.”

Feeling generous, I asked, “What’s that?”

“Do you
want
to know me better?” I could hear the grin in his voice, and before I could roll my eyes, he elbowed me.

I crossed my arms, but there was no seriousness in it.

“Sorry,” he said, leaning into me. “I promise. No more teasing for tonight.”

That was unlikely. “We’ll see,” I said, turning my attention back to the game—for nothing more than a distraction—in time to see someone sink a shot several feet behind the three-point line.

The crowd exploded, hollering and stomping the metal bleachers. I didn’t recognize the hero of the moment until he spun around and loped down the court. Paul looked right at me, as if he knew exactly where I was, and pointed his index finger in my direction. His winked before turning his attention back to the player he was guarding on the opposing team.

I didn’t have time to explain this odd demonstration away before William spoke up, “You’re one to accuse me for playing with people’s hearts.”

I looked over at him, waiting for a clarification.

“He likes you,” he said, repeating my words.

I nearly choked. “Right,” I said, dragging the word out. “He was pointing at the girl in front of me.”

William looked pointedly in front of us. “In case you didn’t notice. There’s no one in front of us,” he finished, sweeping his eyes up and down the court in a dramatic way.

I followed his loaded gaze, no one in front of me, not even a cheerleader to explain away Paul’s grandiose gesture. So there was some other conclusion, but certainly not the one William had leapt to. 

“Whatever,” I said, wincing at my cliché choice of responses. “Guys like him don’t like girls like me.”

The other team sunk two free throws before he responded, “What do you mean?”

“You know,” I said, irritated he was playing ignorant so I’d have to explain the obvious.

“I don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Would you go out with him if he asked you?”

“He wouldn’t,” I answered immediately.

“If he did,” he replied, with an edge that was both hard and delicate. “Would you want to?”

I counted to ten silently, to make it seem I was considering my response, despite having an instant answer for him. It was unsettling knowing he was the reason for the immediate certainty.