Fearless: No. 2 - Sam (Fearless) (10 page)

"PLEASE TABULATE YOUR RESULTS according to the format Dr. Witchell presented in the lecture on Thursday."

The very droopy-looking kiss-ass teaching assistant droned on as Sam pictured the way Heather would look when she appeared in his room that night.

It was unfortunate that his lab section of biochemistry had to meet on Saturday. It was especially unfortunate on
this
Saturday, when his mind was impossible to contain.

Would she wear that short black skirt that made him drool? Maybe one of those miniature T-shirts she had that showed off her belly button? And what about under it? It probably wasn't a good idea for him to go there right now,
but he couldn't help it.
He pulled his chair up so his waist pressed against the table and further obscured his lap with his notebook. It was highly embarrassing to get excited in class -- something he hadn't done since seventh grade.

He'd made his way into Heather's sexy satin bras before. That was a pleasure he was looking forward to. But it was the new frontier that piqued his interest. Would she wear satin panties to match, like the women in those lingerie ads?

Suddenly he wasn't picturing her clothes anymore; he was picturing himself
taking off her clothes.
He couldn't help that, either. And as the fantasy evolved he wasn't under the harsh fluorescent lights of a science lab anymore but in his (now almost clean) dorm room in low romantic light (he made a mental note to buy a candle). His body pressed against her soft skin, his hands exploring her luxurious curves. Her soft, dark hair tickled his chest. His lips trailed up her neck and under her chin.

He sighed (almost inaudibly) and kissed the lids of those mysterious eyes, the bridge of her thin, straight nose, the plains of her bewitching face. His desire rose to an unquenchable thirst as he burrowed his lips in her soft, buttery hair --

Sam looked up in alarm. The blissful fantasy screeched to a stop with jarring suddenness. It felt like somebody had ripped the needle off an old vinyl record spinning a Mozart symphony.

He wasn't kissing Heather. Where had this fantasy gone so far awry? Heather didn't have hair or eyes or legs like those. Somehow Gaia had arrived in his reverie uninvited. He should have been jolted, surprised, even repulsed by her sudden presence in his bed, but was he? No. The look and feel of her had sent his desire into some completely new stratosphere.

This was not good.
This was very bad. What was he going to do?

"Sam . . .? Sam, uh . . . Moon, is it?"

Sam blinked several times. It took him a moment to bring the TA's face into focus. When he looked around the lab, he realized that except for the TA, he was all by himself. The class was gone, over. The TA was gazing at him as if he were a particularly puzzling specimen in a petri dish.

"I've kind of got to close up here, if you . . . uh . . . don't mind," the TA pointed out.

"Sure. Sorry," Sam said feebly, trying to coordinate his limbs to lift him out of his chair and walk him out of the classroom. "See you," he said over his shoulder.

Still in a fog, he walked down the corridor of the science building and out into the windy courtyard, where the bright, hopeful afternoon sun was threatened by blotchy gray clouds gathering on the horizon.

Little-Known Facts about me:

The summer before my sophomore year, I fell in love. It was the most idyllic summer you could possibly imagine. My family had rented a house in East Hampton that year. My mom and sisters and I stayed for the whole season, and my dad came out on weekends. Those were the days when my dad's business was doing really well.

Ed Fargo was spending the summer at his aunt and uncle's place just a few blocks away. Ed's folks are teachers, but his aunt is this big-time lawyer with a beautiful house right on the beach.

I was working at the farmers' market in Amagansett, and Ed was working at a surf shop on the Montauk Highway. Ed is a year older. You've met Ed, so you know he's seriously good-looking, funny, charming, self-deprecating, super-sharp, and generally a great guy. He was also an amazing surfer. This all took place before his accident, as I'm sure you've already guessed.

Anyway, our love story would take too long to describe here, but it was the most magical time of my life. Someday I'll turn that story into a romance novel, maybe somebody will even make a movie of it, and I'll earn millions of dollars.

The climax of that summer, so to speak, was a night in August, when Ed and I made love on the beach. The moon was full, and the surf was so gentle, we lay together in it. It was the first time for both of us. It was too perfect ever to be described in words, so I won't try.

One month later Ed was paralyzed from the waist down. He spent the next several months in the hospital and in physical therapy. He lost a year of school. Now he's sentenced to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

Technically, I didn't break up with him. But I would have. Ed let me off the hook by doing it for -- me that's the kind of guy he is. I was under a lot of pressure from my parents and everything. They didn't want me spending my youth taking care of a guy in a wheelchair -- a guy they felt no longer had "possibilities."

Ed never acted like he hated me after that. In fact, we're still sort of friends. But in his eyes, when I have the courage to look, I see profound disappointment that can never be repaired or forgotten.

I don't need to tell you my parents love Sam. Gorgeous, brilliant, world-class-chess-playing, premed Sam. I'm only eighteen, but they'd be overjoyed if I married him tomorrow. It would relieve some of their financial pressure, I suppose.

You're probably wondering why I told Sam I'm a virgin. The reason is because Gaia is a virgin. I know it for a fact. I don't want Gaia to be able to give Sam something I can't.

Here's a little-known fact about Ed Fargo: He has a personal fortune of twenty-six million dollars. Probably more now because the settlement came over a year and a half ago, and money like that earns a lot of interest. His parents, acting on the advice (and guilt, I guess) of his aunt, sued over the accident, even though Ed begged them not to and he refused to testify.

Ed won't let anybody touch the money. He will never tell anyone he has it. I only know because I read about the windfall in the newspaper -- no names, of course, but I'm one of the few people who know the strange circumstances of the accident. In fact, I first heard about the case because Ed's parents contacted me about testifying.

Here's another fact about Ed. His reproductive organs, to put it clinically, still work perfectly well. Not that it matters to me anymore.

Heather paused at the door, hesitant for some reason to commit herself to this strange night.

GAIA WAS AS CLOSE TO NERVOUS AS
a girl who lacked the physical ability to feel nervous could be. She had taken a long bath and spent hours picking out a bra and underpants that wouldn't be completely embarrassing if revealed. She'd brushed her teeth twice.

She spent several minutes naked in front of the mirror, worrying that she was too fat. After she talked herself out of that, she worried she was too skinny -- bony limbed, underdeveloped, and flat chested.

She couldn't stop herself from
making comparisons to Heather.
Her body wasn't as feminine as Heather's. Her breasts weren't as big as Heather's. Her feet were definitely much bigger. Her hair wasn't as thick as Heather's.

Gaia had even reverted to the tactics of a seventh grader by calling Sam to make sure he was in his room, then hanging up as soon as he'd answered.

Now, standing in the middle of the floor, wearing the slinky pink dress she'd "borrowed" from Ella and a pair of heels, she felt like a big, oafish fraud. Why was she even putting herself through this? Sam would take one look at her and tell her to get lost. Why did she think he would be attracted to her? Why in the world would he consider going behind Heather's back for
her?
Even if Gaia
was
going to be out of the picture by tomorrow.

She glanced at her watch. Arg. Urmph. It was almost eight o'clock. If she didn't leave now, Sam would probably head out for the evening, and she'd go to her grave a virgin.

She took one last look at herself. No, this wasn't going to work. She was no seductress. She wasn't going to fool anybody. She pulled the dress over her head and kicked off the heeled sandals. If she was going to go, she'd go as herself. She'd be honest. She pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and dug her bare feet into her running shoes. She thrust the package of condoms into her bag.

As a safety measure she tucked her hair into a wool cap, which she pulled low over her eyes, wrapped a scarf over most of the bottom of her face, and slipped on a pair of glasses with heavy black frames. Not exactly sexy,
but neither was a severe head wound.

Thankfully Ella was out, so Gaia could walk down the stairs like a sane human being. She locked the door behind her and struck out into the cool October night, knowing that this was going to be the greatest single night of her life or a complete and total nightmare.

"THE GREEN OR THE BLACK?" HEATHER asked her sister Phoebe.

Phoebe leaned back on her elbows on Heather's unmade bed and sized her up. "The green is prettier; the black is sexier."

"Black it is," Heather said, pulling the close-fitting sweater over her head. "Can I borrow that gauzy dark red skirt?" she asked, scanning the many piles of clothing that covered her floor.

"Big night tonight?" Phoebe asked suggestively.

"I hope so," Heather answered in a way
that was mysterious but didn't openly invite further questioning.

On the one hand, it was annoying that Phoebe came home from college almost every weekend. She was a sophomore at SUNY Binghamton and hated it there. She referred to it as Boonie U. and was constantly composing the personal essay for her transfer application. Heather reasoned that if Phoebe spent even half that time on her courses, she could actually make the grades to transfer. Heather didn't mention this to Phoebe, of course. Phoebe's old room had been partitioned off and rented out, so Phoebe stayed in Heather's room, and she was
quite the slob.
On the other hand, Phoebe had managed to accumulate lots of nice clothes -- who even knew how -- and usually let Heather borrow them.

"Sure," Phoebe said. She got up from the bed and planted herself in a chair at Heather's vanity table. Phoebe leaned close to the mirror and pursed her lips. "Only it's dry-clean only, so don't mess it up."

"Yes, ma'am," Heather said, locating the skirt and pulling it over her hips. Phoebe was taller, but Heather was a little slimmer. "How does it look?"

"Fine," Phoebe said without even giving her a glance. She was rooting through her capacious makeup bag. "Have you seen my brandy wine lip liner? It's Lancôme, and it cost like twenty bucks. I'm sure I had it when I came last weekend."

Heather ignored her. Phoebe was always losing things and subtly blaming other people.

Heather slipped on her black nubuck loafers and checked her hair and makeup one last time. She felt keyed up and a little shaky. She wasn't sure where excitement ended and nervousness began. She checked her purse again to make sure she had the condoms.

"Okay, Phoebe, I'm taking off. See you later."

"See ya," Phoebe said absently, without taking her eyes from her reflection in the mirror.

Heather paused at the door, hesitant for some reason
to commit herself to this strange night.

"Wish me luck," she added in a quiet voice, wishing in a way that this were a night from their innocent past in which the two sisters would practice gymnastics in the living room for hours and try to stay up late enough to watch
Saturday Night Live
.

But Phoebe was already too deeply involved in her cosmetics to respond.

"OUCH. SHIT," SAM MUTTERED, putting his index finger in his mouth. He'd tried lighting the candle, but the wick was buried in the wax, and when he'd dug for it in the hot wax, he'd burned himself.

He lit the wick again. It took this time, but the flame was sputtering and underconfident.

He sniffed at the air. Crap. The candle was advertised to smell like vanilla, which he'd hoped would cover any residue of dirty-room odor, but instead it smelled like
floor cleaner.

He was nervous. He couldn't help himself. He glanced again in the mirror. It seemed stupid to take pains with his clothing when the whole point of this evening was to be taking them off as quickly as possible. He'd actually brought his khakis with him into the bathroom and taken an extra-steamy shower in the hope of getting out some of the wrinkles. He'd put on his softest oxford shirt and carefully rolled up the cuffs. It reminded him of Christmas Eve. All those hours he spent wrapping and tying up presents, when it was all torn up and discarded in a matter of moments.

It was already after eight. His suite mates had gone out. The place was eerily quiet.

He was ready for this. He wanted it. He wanted Heather. As he repeated those words in his head, he felt like a quarterback in the locker room, revving himself up for a big game.

He conjured up an image of Heather's lush body and felt his hormones starting to flow. And it wasn't just sex that he wanted, although face it, what guy could turn that down? He cared about Heather. He really did.

Sam found himself pacing the small (clean) room, reassuring himself. He wanted to do right by Heather. Her honesty and openness were genuinely touching to him. He wouldn't betray that or ever make light of it. Sure, he'd wrapped himself up nicely tonight, but she was the one giving the gift.

When the knock on the door came, the sound seemed to reverberate in his bones. He went to the door slowly, knowing who it was, of course, telling himself he wanted her fervently and yet wishing in a way it were somebody else.