Lily of the Valley (4 page)

“She lives in my dorm.” Then, as an afterthought, “I think.” Maybe her boyfriend lives in the dorm and she’s just visiting. I haven’t seen either of them around – but really they would both blend in for the most part.

“She’s cute,” he says.

“I guess.”

He shrugs and keeps cooking. I feel something starting to stir inside my body and I don’t get it. Mal calling her cute shouldn’t make me jealous. But suddenly, I need a break and I finish making the order before running outside for a smoke.

It’s a combination of several things that bug me. Strawberries looked at me just like everyone else always has – and she doesn’t know a damn thing about me. Her boyfriend reminds me of every other asshole I’ve tolerated, the kind of guy who has so little awareness of other people that he walks over anyone in his way. And Mal’s comment – “she’s cute” – irritates me. She
is
cute. I don’t do
cute
. She’s just another dumb bitch whose parents pay for her to come here to pretend she’s intelligent and then she’ll marry her idiot boyfriend. And they’ll live happily ever after, her being a housewife with a shopping addiction and him being a stockbroker. Or some stupid shit. So who cares how she looks at me?

I finish my cigarette and stab it out in the ashtray. I hate feeling fucking inferior.

Chapter 4

The best part of being back at school – outside of learning, which is actually something I enjoy - is that it means band practices are more frequent. We all try to play over the summer, but Neil lives on the other side of the country, so it’s either shitty practice or some kind of crappy Skype jam session.

Week two of classes is underway and I have work to do, but the idea of practicing, of playing in general, has been gnawing at me. Neil texts me Monday afternoon about practicing the next night and I feel high leaving the academic building now that we have a schedule. I have to get to work, but I’m so focused on practicing that I get my stuff and I’m nearly out the door before I realize I forgot my damn helmet. I’m already cutting it close and this will make two times in less than a week that I’ve been late. It’s not my style and I’m distracted when I get back downstairs.

I actually smell her before I see her. The strong scent of strawberries nearly knocks me over. Oh, wait. No – that was just her.

“Whoa, watch where you’re going.” The words are out before I can think and I realize I probably sound like an asshole. For some reason, I don’t want her to think I’m an asshole.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, but she looks right through me. I don’t know what possesses me to try to engage her in conversation. Clearly, she is not interested.

“You know, princess, you never told me your name.”

She glares at me like she wishes I would disappear. What the fuck?

“Not gonna, either.”

She may be cute and she may smell sweetly of strawberries, but the way she is looking at me right now tells me she’s no different from every other girl who thinks she’s better than me. Every kid I went to high school with who thought that they had the right to torture me because my dad killed my mother. I hate her.

“Oh right. Too good for me. Little innocent princess like you.”

I’m sick of the pretension and the entitlement of people like her. As if she gets to look at me like she is just because her life is fucking easy.

I grip my helmet tightly, fighting the urge to slam it into the wall. I don’t know why I don’t just walk away, but fuck her if she thinks she can come here and assume anything. What is she – a freshman? Fuck. I can barely see through the red haze of anger.

“Seriously, what’s your problem?” She asks me as if she wants an answer, and since I haven’t walked away, I decide to oblige her.

“I just see the way you look at people like me. Daddy paying for everything so you have no idea what it’s really like. You think you have every right to judge.”

“As a matter of fact, I’m on scholarship.” She says it as if she’s proud to be able to prove me wrong, but it changes very little.

“Oh great, a smart snob.”

She meets my gaze and I soften, despite how angry I am. Her fucking eyes. Why are her eyes so beautiful? I check out the rest of her; she isn’t anything special. Cute, yes. Maybe even pretty. But there is nothing about her that warrants how much I want to prove something to her.

I will myself not to meet her eyes this time, because I can’t deal with feeling something for another person and she’s making me feel something. I can’t even control my emotions with her near me. I both want to hurt her and kiss her.

She sighs. “Whatever.”

She pushes past me and is almost to the elevator. Rage, curiosity, and an undeniable attraction all swell inside of me and I call out, “Hey, princess.”

She turns around and this time I can’t help it. I look at her eyes.

“Don’t forget. 401. You look wound up. I would be happy to help.”

I take off and I don’t look back to see if she reacts. I walk faster than I normally do, because I need to ride and I need to go to work and I need to stop thinking about her.
You’re wasting your time
, I remind myself.

It takes until I’m halfway through my shift before I can breathe without feeling the ache inside my chest.

****

It figures that I don’t even make it back to the dorm that night before she’s there again. Of course, she walks in to me. For some reason, she’s pissed about it.

“Seriously? Are you stalking me?” She looks at me like how dare I walk around on my own college campus. What a bitch.

And yet – here I stand. Like a tool.

“Yeah, because I desperately want to stalk an uptight princess who cannot even pay attention to where she’s going. If you must know, I just got off work.”

Why are you acknowledging her? Walk away. Walk away NOW.
The logical voice is right, but my feet don’t move.

Strawberries smiles and gestures vaguely into the woods. “Oh yeah. You work at that café.”

Huh. She noticed?

Her snobbery disappears for a moment and her eyes actually sparkle when she smiles. Damn it. This is not going to be good for me. I contemplate applying for a dorm transfer, but as I’m thinking it, my stupid mouth moves and encourages this fucking interaction.

“I do and the fact that you know that makes me think
you
may be stalking
me
.”

She smiles even broader. I don’t think she knows she’s flirting with me, but her body opens up. I could kiss her right now. I feel like she’d probably pass out. Sure, she has that boyfriend, but I bet she’s never done anything wild.

“You wish,” she says.

The comment is sweet and it’s genuine, but it reminds me of the differences between us. I shut down, letting the momentary fantasy fade.

“I don’t believe in wishing. Anyway, did you want something – other than to walk into me yet again?”

She moves closer and, fuck, I want to kiss her. Why does she smell like strawberries? How many fucking showers does this girl take? I don’t even
like
strawberries, yet her scent clings to me and makes me stand here, waiting for her to make a move.
Walk away
, the voice repeats, but I’m not going anywhere.

“Are you going back to the dorm for the night?”

Is she suggesting we go back together? Did taunting her actually work?

“I was planning on it. Why?”

She gestures to my helmet and shrugs. “I’d love to go for a ride.”

Oh, this is good. She’d probably be grounded via text message for even suggesting it.

“You? Would Daddy approve?”

The comment bites and she looks wounded. She steps even closer, though, and the way she stands up for herself just makes me think about fucking her right here in the middle of the quad.

“Look,” she says, “I don’t know what the problem is, but do you want to take me for a ride or not?”

Say no. SAY NO.
But I say nothing. I simply turn back toward the parking lot. I don’t really expect her to follow, but she does. Every time I look back at her, she gives me a determined stare. It’s fucking adorable and it kills me.

“So where to?” I ask her when we get to the lot.

She says she doesn’t care, so I hand her a helmet and we take off. There is seriously something wrong with this girl. Even with the wind flying past us and two helmets in the way, I can still make out the faint smell of strawberries lingering in the air between us. Damn her and her eyes and her strawberry hair. She’s going to ruin me; I just know it.

I don’t know where to take her, because the only places I know well are too personal. Instead, I just drive and she clings to me. I can feel the soft outline of her tits pressed to my back and it takes a lot out of me not to pull over and see just how far she wants to take this little charade. I don’t, though, and after a while, I figure we should get back. I want to say something, to brush her fingers with my lips, but I keep my distance. I know what I am to her. I’m a symbol of how bad she wants to be, but I’m not anything real.

When we reach the doors to the dorm, however, I don’t want to let the night end.

“Still feeling wild?”

I hope she’ll say no, that this will be it, because I know I won’t be able to control myself with her and I don’t have anything to offer this girl.

“It’s late,” she says. “And I have to call my boyfriend.”

Ouch. That hurts. But a part of me wonders why she’s spending the night with me instead of with him. “He’s crazy to let you out of his sight.”

I don’t know who makes the move, but suddenly our bodies are only an inch apart. She breathes deep and I wonder what goes through her head when she’s near me. I know there’s nothing going through mine except her eyes, strawberries, and the incredible pain I’m going to be in later tonight if she walks away right now. Already my cock is throbbing and I have to fight not to push her against the door and fuck her right here.

She leans closer to me, her lips almost against my cheek, and whispers, “I’m not that kind of girl.”

Her breath tickles the hair on my neck and I lose myself. I lean down and kiss along her collarbone, feeling her body fit against mine and I pull her in to me. I don’t know if this girl is a virgin or if she’s more than she seems, but the things I want to do to her are certainly not in her repertoire. I move down closer to her tits, feeling them rising and falling as she breathes. I don’t touch her, but I kiss her where the slight curve of her breasts reaches her upper chest and she lets out a soft flutter of pleasure.

“I’d love to know exactly what kind of girl you are,” I tell her and she reacts exactly as I’d hoped and feared she would. She reaches into my jacket and runs her hands along my back. I need her desperately. Her hands move fast and I bring my lips to the edge of her breasts, kissing them as they rise to meet me. She moans, but then backs away with a gasp.

“I have a boyfriend. I can’t do this.” Her voice is insistent, but her hands are shaking and her eyes are burning.

I resist the urge to grab her and make her forget all about him. I don’t cheat and I don’t help people cheat. I refuse to be the guy who does that, no matter how carried away I’m getting. The reminder sobers me a little. Still, I’m not ready to give up completely and I reason with her. “Where is your boyfriend? You’ve mentioned him before, but you run into me a lot for someone who’s so in love.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. She crosses her arms and closes herself off to me. My body is going to hate me for this when I get back to my room.

“It was an accident,” she says.

Hearing it hurts. Tonight felt like something more than an accident. I know I’m wrong for her and I know we could never work, but it’s insulting that she can deny what just happened. Her reaction to my mouth on her skin didn’t say accident. It said she wanted this as badly as I do. It said that she was well aware that she made the choice to spend tonight with me, not with this other guy.

“Tonight was an accident?” I ask. I want to hear her confirm it, to hear her argue that the last couple hours were a lie.

Her eyes start to water and she can’t speak. I feel guilty about putting her in this situation, but I also want her so fucking bad right now. When her eyes grow wet, they shine. She could ask me for anything and I would do it.

“I have a boyfriend,” she says again.

I’m not fighting with her. I walk away and leave her standing outside. I hope she regrets that the moment ended, because leaving is nearly impossible to do.

When I get to my room, I slam my door and turn on music. It’s angry and violent and I grab the pillow off my bed and scream. What is it with this stupid girl and her stupid hold on me? I unbutton my pants and jerk off with the music raging, my cock so desperate for her and her stupid, stupid strawberry fucking hair. When I come, I cry out but I don’t even know her name. I wish I knew her goddamn name.

I fall asleep naked, dreaming of her and hating myself for it.

Chapter 5

By the time I make it to practice the next day, I’m a wreck. Yet as soon as I pick up my bass, I forget her. The music is escape.

I help Neil write a lot of the songs and they come from both of our own issues. I don’t know much about what his issues even are, but we’re both angry and hate everything around us, so I feel like we get each other.

The other two band members, the drummer and the guitarist, tend to fluctuate. Right now, we have Eric and Devon. This is Devon’s first practice and it’s a good thing he kicks ass on the drums, because Devon is one stupid ass name and I almost hate him for having it.

The newest song that Neil and I wrote last semester works well with this group and we play it a few times before taking a break.

“Here. I brought beer,” Devon says and passes around a six-pack. Okay, lame name or not, this guy might be okay.

“I think I got us a gig,” Neil announces while we’re drinking. They’re the best possible words someone can say in band practice. The only words that come close are, “Here. I brought beer.”