Getting to Third Date (9 page)

“Great. I've got you to myself.” Blaine pulled me closer and nuzzled my neck. His hand touched my bare back and stroked. He laughed when I jumped at the coolness of his hand. And I realized I didn't have the protection of the geriatric squad anymore. I was briefly worried. Briefly. But like I said, Blaine has a way of making things seem okay.

I thought it was a good thing we were alone—with the food and the drinks and the game. Whatever was in Blaine's flask probably helped that warm buzz that I already had just from being the object of Blaine's affections.

Still, a little note of caution made me warn him, “They could be back any minute.”

He laughed. “They're going across campus to the president's office. The speed they walk, it'll be an hour before they come back. If they come back. So don't worry.”

Unusually enough, I didn't worry about the president of our university discovering us making out. Which was a good thing. Because we hadn't been alone for five minutes before we were making out. Not too heavy. Blaine still wanted to follow the game, and I had Mother Hubbard sitting on my shoulder, warning me that I was going to have to blog about this in the morning.

It was dark before we made our way back across campus. Blaine's arm was around my shoulders, which was nice. And warm. I had wondered, watching other couples wandering arm in arm, if it was awkward to walk that way. But it wasn't. It was nice.

“Let's sit here,” he said, choosing a newer bench in front of the library.

I found my head rested just perfectly in the crook of his shoulder. It was a perfect moment. Unexpected, but considering how the date came about in the first place, a little humbling. I'd almost stopped wondering if I would do anything to make Blaine turn off the charm like he had last time. Maybe that was just a rare bad day. Besides, I really liked that he was keeping up with the warmies even after we'd made out. Sometimes a make-out session is just that. And when it's over, it's over. But this…whatever it was…was clearly not over for either of us.

I was almost ready to concede that maybe the students of the campus, who were breaking up and making up every minute of the day, were right and Mother Hubbard was wrong. Just maybe this random hooking up does eventually lead to a real relationship. Maybe there didn't need to be rules about when to stop trying to make a connection. Maybe.

We were, for a moment, so comfortable that we didn't even need to talk. I had been in this place only once before—and not with a boyfriend, but with a boy friend. David. Who was on another coast, at another university, and with another girl.

To be here, with Blaine on a college campus—no parents in sight—dressed like a girlfriend, treated like a girlfriend…there weren't really any words. So I enjoyed the silence and Blaine's arm around me.

“What are you thinking?”

I turned toward him instinctively at the question and he kissed me. It was a good kiss. Warm and not too slobbery. I knew what I liked. And I liked knowing that Blaine wanted to kiss me, even after our heavy-duty make-out session at the football game.

Things were going well until I noticed that Blaine's hand was under my shirt again, warm on my back.

It felt good, so even though I knew there was a good reason I should ask him to move it, I couldn't remember what it was. Until I heard a giggle. Not Blaine (thank goodness). Not me. Just some random girl walking by. About a foot away from where we were making out in public, dark or not.

I pulled away. “Hey. Not here.” I was thinking that maybe my room would be a good choice, but he didn't give me a chance to make the offer.

“It's better with a little risk.” He pulled me closer again, totally missing that I was no longer in the mood. Which really got me out of the mood. Completely.

“Not here, Blaine.” I once again tried to extricate myself. And couldn't. He'd wedged me against the back of the bench and I couldn't move.

Now. One thing about me that I don't like to publicize is that I'm claustrophobic. When I was three I locked myself in my closet (way too packed with cute little dresses and some of my mom's stuff she wasn't wearing anymore). Mom didn't hear me for two hours.

I don't do locked in closets—or locked in unbreakable embraces, either. So it was panic time when Blaine wouldn't let me go, even if he was being more charming than scary.

The karate class from long ago came back to me. I slipped the tight hold Blaine had on me and slid into the bed of white stones that surrounded the bench. “Enough. Not here.”

He grabbed his elbow in pain. Apparently, I'd twisted it harder than I thought, when I Houdini'd out of his hold. “What the hell is wrong with you?” The look on his face reminded me of when I'd joked about the name of his fraternity. Only worse.

I sat there on the ground, feeling ridiculous. Fortunately, no one happened by and the windows of the library remained empty of curious faces. “I said no. Didn't you hear me? I don't like making out in public.” I guess I still had a little panic left, because my voice sounded angry. But I was a little numb from panic and embarrassment, so who knows.

Blaine watched me with a chilly frown for half a second, and then his charm turned right back on as he reached out a hand. “A little shy, are you?”

I took his hand and let him pull me up. Mistake.

He pulled me into his lap and held on tight. “Maybe you just haven't taken the risk with the right guy.”

So. The panic came back. And this time some real anger. I mean, how much more “no” did he need? I socked him hard enough that he let me go.

Then I ran.

What can I say? I'm not used to guys kissing me in public, and I'm not proud of having a claustrophobic meltdown in the middle of hooking up. But I was feeling some shady vibes, so panic took over and it didn't intend to let go until I had run myself out. Probably a good thing.

“Katelyn! Wait!” I heard running behind me. Naturally, I ran faster, despite the fact that everything, in the darkness, looked unfamiliar. I felt like a girl who'd accidentally wandered into one of those stalker movies. Which wasn't the best thing for someone who was already acting out of sheer panic.

Just as I realized he was gaining on me, I turned a blind corner and found myself in a familiar part of campus. It wasn't any better lit than the rest of campus, but there was a light on in a window. It was put the paper to bed night, I remembered, ducking quickly through the door, in too much of a hurry to be quiet, so the door slamming shut echoed in a not so good way.

I found Tyler and Sookie bent over a page layout dilemma. They had straightened up when I came in and slammed the door shut behind me breathlessly. They said nothing for a moment after I turned the lock. I didn't have enough breath after all that running to say anything either.

Tyler looked me up and down. “Hot date?” For a minute I wondered why he was looking at me as if he'd never seen me before. Then I remembered that I was dressed like a girl on a date instead of in my usual best-friend uniform of sweater and jeans.

I looked down to check to make sure nothing was showing that shouldn't be. Nope. Luck was with me and I hadn't pelted across campus in a panic with my pushed-up self popped out of my low-cut hot girl top. There was maybe a little action going on since I was still struggling to catch my breath, but nothing a hot girl should be ashamed of. Sophia would be so proud. Grace under fire, that's me.

Tyler may not have had a clue about the situation code red, but Sookie didn't even hesitate. “Hands-On Guy lived up to his name, huh? Is he right behind you?”

I gasped, “I think I might have lost him.”

Right. Just then the doorknob by my hip jiggled. “Katelyn?” A knock. “Let me in. Did you get stung by a bee or something?”

I just stood there, looking at Tyler, wondering what he thought about all this.

Stung by a bee? At night? Well, no, Blaine, I didn't. I wish I had, though. That might help explain my crazy run across campus in a more flattering way than the truth did. I wanted to die. Or at least melt away like ice girl meets flame boy, into a steaming puddle of shame.

“You're not here.” Sookie whispered. A command, not a question, as she shoved me away from the door and toward a tiny storage closet. For the first time I appreciated all the benefits of a Lois Lane approach to life.

Until I saw the closet. Tiny. Full of junk. I dug my heels in and all thought stopped.

“Get in.” She pushed me forward, ignoring my reluctance. There was room for me to crouch down and hide. But not much.

The door handle jiggled again. “Katelyn! I know you're in there.”

Even my claustrophobia wasn't enough to protest. A musty stuffed stationery closet looked good to me—better than facing Blaine, anyway.

I pressed my ear to the door and pretended I was in a suite at the Ritz Carlton. A suite with a door that was flaking off paint and greasy with grime from who knows how many years.

After a few shufflings and a quick command from Sookie to Tyler, I heard Blaine's voice. “Did you see a girl come in here?”

As I sat sweating in the dark, listening and trying to pretend I wasn't stuck in a dark, musty closet, Sookie lied without a flicker of hesitation. “Nope. Just us editor types putting the paper to bed.”

Blaine sounded like he was slowly getting his charm back after his mad dash across campus behind me. “I know I saw a girl run in here. I just want to—”

“The only girl here is Sookie.” Tyler sounded a little on the growly side. Good. That meant he wouldn't be charmed into telling Blaine what he wanted to know.

I listened for the sound of Blaine leaving. The closet was hot. And there was a box of pencils stuck in my back. Did I mention how tiny the closet was? I could tell even in the dark. Which was very dark.

“I—”

Sookie interrupted whatever Blaine was going to say with a laugh, and for a minute I was afraid Blaine had charmed her with his smile. I should have known better. “There isn't any woman here but me. But if you're desperate, I'm available.”

To my great relief, Blaine believed her and left just before my claustrophobia sent me out of the closet in a tsunami of paper and pencils. I looked over my shoulder, wondering if I could bear to put everything back as long as I left the door open.

Tyler locked the door, turned to look at me on the floor with office supplies surrounding me, and just shrugged. He rolled a chair across the room to me and said, “Sit. I'll get that later. What just happened here?”

Sookie looked at him with the scorn he full well deserved. She waved her cigarette pack under my nose. “Date didn't go well?”

I declined the offer with a wave, and climbed into the chair like I hadn't just clawed my way out of a closet. It was a feat, but I think I managed to make my voice sound normal, almost joking, when I said, “Sure it did. It's just over.”

Tyler paced, as if he were trying to figure out how to edit down a headline to fit and grab attention at the same time. The ADD Thinker look again, if the Thinker got up from his marble seat and paced. “What did he do? Do you want me to go after him?”

“Nothing. He didn't do anything.” Which wasn't completely true. He hadn't listened when I said no. Still, he'd just held me on his lap. And I'd punched him. I'd never hit someone like that before.

“So I guess the red mark on his cheek was just your way of saying you had a nice time at the football game?” Tyler sat down and looked at me. Really looked at me. “I'm glad you clocked him.” He gestured at my chest. “You look nice, except for that.”

For a minute I thought he was saying I wasn't well endowed enough, and I thought about clocking him for the insult. But then I looked down. I had a pink Post-it note stuck in my cleavage that said “While You Were Out.”

“Thanks.” I took out the pad and tossed it to him. I was too tired out from two panic attacks in a row to care. “Sophia dressed me—though I don't think she'd approve of that accessory.”

Sookie laughed. “She has taste—too much if we go by Just Say No Guy.”

“Yeah. Just Say No Guy. That suits him even better than Hands-On Guy.”

“While you're here, why don't you write your column.” Tyler put his laptop in front of me.

Sookie raised an eyebrow, but Tyler just said, “What? I'm going to walk her home, and I have to get one more thing done here before we go. She may as well get it down while it's fresh in her memory.” He looked at me, and I could tell he got how much I wanted to erase what just happened. “Then she can forget it. Hands-On Guy is history.”

“Ancient history,” I agreed. As long as I found another dining hall to eat in.

I felt a little weird writing about my experience. How much to say? How much to leave out? I ended up not saying much—I had to leave out football and the president's box, and even the exact location of the make-out session gone wrong. I may even have made it all seem a lot worse than it was, because I was writing on the leftover adrenaline from my panic attack and the caffeine from the rest of Tyler's large latte. But I think I captured the true nature of the encounter. Because the entire campus was buzzing about it the day the paper hit the stands in the student union.

The consensus seemed to be either (a) I was a tease, or (b) Hands-On Guy should become Hands-Off Guy the hard way. I was starting to wonder if anyone ever bothered to take the middle ground anymore.

It may have been weird to write about my experience, but what was getting even weirder was hearing people talking about it on campus and not being able to say anything to defend myself.

Not to mention the comments I was getting on the blog, and in the Mother Hubbard e-mail—Tyler had had to set up a separate one for the column because he'd lost track of an ad request in all the e-mail about Mother Hubbard.

One particular e-mailer, named Anonymously_Yours, had started out by echoing my own thoughts pretty closely. I'd begun to recognize his posts and think of him as a possibility in the huge pool of college guys around me. After this Mother Hubbard experiment was over, of course. If he ever decided to reveal his identity, of course.