Tell Me When (11 page)

Chapter Twenty

Marcus

A gust of wind sends red and gold leaves scattering in all directions as students rush to their next class. Up ahead, Kitten’s familiar ponytail swings with each jerky movement of her head, as she keeps checking over her shoulder. Even from here, I can see she’s tense. If she were an elastic band, she’d snap.

A twisting in my gut stops me short, knowing that it’s my fault. I practically assaulted her last night, not realizing who she was. I woke up restless and horny beyond belief. It was dark and I was still half-asleep. I thought she was just some random girl I’d gone home with. It wasn’t until she moaned Trent’s name that I put everything together.

Including that she still cares about him, and I’m nothing more than a business arrangement. Just like we agreed.

Amber either hasn’t spotted me or she’s avoiding me. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s option B. Since she and I are headed in the same direction, I continue to watch her. It’s like she expects the bogeyman to jump out at her at any moment. Dave said PTSD could be the result of being attacked. If it’s true, that could explain her strange behavior, which goes beyond my asshole mistake.

I send Chase a text that I have to pick up a library book and will meet him in a few.

I’m almost at the library when a familiar tall blond steps in front of me. I can’t place her, which means I’ve slept with her. Which means she’ll expect me to remember her and ask her out.

She wouldn’t be the first.

“Hi, Marcus.” Blondie smiles with a feigned shyness and runs her hand up the sleeve of my leather jacket. “Sorry ’bout the other night.”

“That’s okay,” I say, having no idea what she’s talking about. Which other night?

“I must have had food poisoning.”

Oh. Now I remember her. The girl with Amber’s picture in her room. Though if she were to quiz me on her name, I’d get an F. I remember her brother’s name, but hers is a mystery.

Good thing she doesn’t know that.

“I thought maybe we could go for coffee,” she says.

A few weeks ago, I would have jumped at the chance if it meant getting to screw her. But now the idea is a million miles from appealing. That’s not to say she isn’t hot. She’s scorching hot. But she’s not Amber.

“Sorry, I’m busy.”

“Maybe later.” She wraps her hand around my biceps. “I’ll make it worth your time.”

I look away and catch Amber walking down a different path than the one she was on a few minutes ago. What the heck is she up to? It’s like she’s wandering aimlessly around campus, yet there’s purpose to her movements. She knows exactly where she’s going.

“I wouldn’t waste your time with her,” Blondie whispers, voice cracked like dry timber.

“Why not?”

“Because Amber’s boyfriends have a habit of being murdered.” Pain flickers briefly in her eyes and she looks away, toward Amber.

“That shouldn’t be a problem for Marcus, then,” Tammara says, startling me. I didn’t see her approach. “Amber isn’t Marcus’s girlfriend. I am.”

Even if I
had
said something, neither girl would have heard me. Both are glaring at each other. Shit, I could probably walk to the library before they realize I’m missing.

I take a step back, ready to test that theory.

Even though Blondie is several inches taller than Tammara, Tammara stares her down. Blondie’s gaze flicks to me one last time before she hurries off in the direction I was headed. The library.

Tammara touches my arm in the same spot. She’s remarking her territory, and the thought of that turns my stomach. I’m not hers. Never have been.

I snatch my arm away.

“I’m free for a few hours. Want to go somewhere”—her mouth moves into a slow, sensual smile—“to do what we do best?”

“We’re not dating, Tammara,” I say, not answering her question. My mind’s still spinning over her comment earlier to Blondie—that she’s my girlfriend. Apparently my message wasn’t clear enough when I told her where things stood between us.

The smile vanishes from her face, but she doesn’t seem shocked by my words. Nor does she seem resigned by them.

“I’m sorry, Tammara, but we both want different things.” She’s more interested in being in the spotlight, and I’m not. I turn on my heels and head in the direction Amber went. With Blondie skulking around the library, that’s the last place I want to be.

I keep to the path where I last spotted Kitten. The stream of students making their way to their next class has dried up, so it’s easier for me to find her. Except she doesn’t want to be found. She’s already disappeared.

Knowing Chase is waiting for me, I head for The Student Center. I’m almost there when a little girl, no older than maybe two, runs across the path on her chubby legs. She trips and lands on her hands and knees. Instinct takes over and I rush to her. But before I can get to her, she stands, grins, and toddles into the arms of a woman I hadn’t noticed.

A hand lands on my shoulder from behind. “I’m starving,” Chase announces.

“What do you know about post-traumatic stress disorder?” I ask as the mother kisses the girl’s palms.

Chase shoots me a look. “Yo dude. I’m an engineering major not a psych major.”

I shrug, having no real answer.

“Why do you wanna know?”

I shrug, again. I don’t want to share what I know about Amber, yet. I know if I did, I would never hear the end of it. As it is, he drove her to school this morning, and he knows nothing happened between us—at least not intentionally—which is making him curious about what she is to me. I can see it in his eyes. “No reason.”

He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he’s not buying it. We’ve been best friends since second grade. He knows me too well. But he also knows if I don’t want to talk about something, I won’t until I’m good and ready.

As we walk into The Student Center, Chase is talking about some of his lame ass professors, but I don’t hear much of what he’s saying. My mind keeps replaying Blondie’s words: “Amber’s boyfriends have a habit of being murdered.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Amber

I walk at a near jog across campus, taking a different route than Friday. The cool wind whips around me as I check over both shoulders.

Jordan and I always meet for lunch at The Student Center, and even though I have the same class just before then on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, I never take the same route twice in the same week. Each time I duck out the building from a different exit, which is kind of ridiculous when I think about it. It doesn’t matter if I go a different route when I end up at the same location every time. If someone wants to stalk me, they just have to wait for me there.

It doesn’t take long to find Jordan after I buy chicken noodle soup and a Diet Coke from my favorite deli, even though I’m not very hungry. The not-very-hungry part is nothing new, and has nothing to do with what happened between Marcus and me last night. But I did promise Grandma I would eat more than I have been, even if I don’t really want to.

Jordan checks her phone, a frown on her face. She rarely frowns, especially when she’s checking her phone. Usually she’s grinning and busy responding to her boyfriend.

I sit across from her at the table. The loud chatter and laughter and arguments filling the space press in on us.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Garret hasn’t called since Friday.”

“But he’s still texting you, right?” They text each other several hundred times a day. Or at least it seems that way.

She shakes her head.

“Have you called him?”

She nods, eyes damp. “Several times, but I only get his voicemail. What if something bad happened to him?”

I’m not sure what to say. I’m not sure I
can
say anything around the dry lump in my throat at the memory her words dredge up.

“Amber,” Michael said, voice thick. He sat next to me on my bed. “Mr. Kincaid called.”

My body turned to glass, stiff yet easily broken. Michael never referred to Trent and Emma’s dad as Mr. Kincaid. It was always Trent’s dad or Emma’s dad, depending on the situation.

“There’s been an accident.”

The wind outside my window howled. An unexpected chill gripped me.

“Who?”

Michael looked out the window for an agonizing second. When he turned back to me, his face was pale and he could barely get the words out. “I’m sorry, Amber. Trent’s dead.”

I blink away the tears so I don’t alarm Jordan. “Can you call his parents?”

“But what do I say? If he’s fine but he hasn’t talked to them either, they’re going to freak.”

She has a point. “Try phoning him one more time,” I say, at a loss.

I wait while she phones Garret, silently praying he’s okay. That there’s a good reason for his silence. But it quickly becomes obvious he’s still not answering and she has to leave him a message. Again.

She hangs up, her expression even more miserable than before. “What if he’s moved on, and is avoiding talking to me as a way of saying it’s over?”

“Would he do that?”

“I didn’t think so, but maybe I’m wrong.” She wipes away a tear.

“Have you tried emailing him?”

She shakes her head. “We usually just text or talk on the phone.”

“Maybe his phone’s broken,” I say, grasping for anything to give her hope. I hate seeing this Jordan. The Jordan whose heart is ripping in two.

While she sends Garrett another text, I remove my phone from my backpack and check Marcus’s message. I haven’t had a chance to respond to it yet, and I’m not sure what to say. All he wrote was: I’m really sorry, Amber.

I start to type a reply, but then delete it.

I’m still not sure what to make of what happened last night, both at the youth center and then at his place.

“You know what I want to do?” Jordan says, putting her phone on the table. I’m too afraid to ask. Who knows what else she has on her bucket list? For all I know, skydiving is next. “Go clubbing again.”

I almost sigh with relief that it isn’t skydiving. Next to that, dancing doesn’t seem so bad, as long as Marcus is fine with assuming the role of my boyfriend again...despite what happened last night.

The seat next to me pulls away from the table. Marcus sits while Chase joins Jordan on the other side.

“Amber and I are going to Nightshade on Saturday,” Jordan says, looking between them. “You two wanna come with us?”

I cringe. Cringe because if Marcus says no I’m screwed. Cringe because of the memory of last night in his room, when he almost did try to screw me. Cringe because everything is so messed up, all because I made friends with the wrong person last fall.

Chase smiles at her. “I’m in.” They look over at Marcus, who nods. His face is free of emotion, other than a slight twitch of his jaw as his gaze fixes intently on me.

My hand taps against my thigh. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Marcus reaches under the table and interlaces his fingers with mine.

“I’m sorry I fucked up last night,” he says softly against my ear so no one else can hear. “I was half-asleep and didn’t realize it was you. Otherwise I never would have done what I did.”

Jordan and Chase look at us with growing interest, like we’re a new animal exhibit at the zoo. Between Marcus moving his hand to my lap and whispering in my ear, they’ve failed to notice the odd tension between us.

Ignoring them, Marcus straightens and nods at the Styrofoam container in front of me “So what’s for lunch?”

“Chicken noodle soup.”

“You have to try their minestrone soup.” Jordan takes a bite out of her sandwich and checks her phone again.

“No thanks. I love chicken noodle soup. It’s like an addiction.” Grandma used to make it whenever I was sick, though hers was a lot better than this stuff.

“Marcus makes great chicken noodle soup,” Chase says.

Marcus gives him a funny look and removes his hand from mine. “I guess if you like chicken noodle soup from a package, then yeah, I make great soup.”

Chase chuckles. “Dude, compared to the other things you’ve tried cooking, I’d say your chicken noodle soup rocks.”

“I bet Amber makes great chicken noodle soup,” Jordan says, as if Marcus and I are now involved in a great soup cook-off, and she and Chase are our individual cheer squads.

“When’s your math test?” Marcus asks me, and I can almost feel the whiplash in my neck from the abrupt change in topic. But considering where the other conversation is headed, I’m not complaining.

I check my watch. My heart rate jumps several notches, racing me to class. I grab my backpack and stand. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you later,” I tell no one in particular.

Marcus unfolds from his chair. “I’ll come with you and give you some last-minute pointers. See you guys later.”

“Good luck,” Jordan calls out as I walk away. I guess she means good luck with the test and not good luck with Marcus, given she has no idea what happened between us.

True to his word, Marcus gives me a quick review session after he asks how I’m doing in my other classes and I tell him fine. At least in those classes I’m still sitting at an A.

We arrive at my class with a few minutes to spare. Before I can disappear into the room, he pulls me aside. “I’m really sorry about last night, Amber. And I’ll understand if you don’t want me to tutor you anymore and if you don’t want to”—he swallows hard, sending his Adam’s apple rocketing up before crashing down—“be around me anymore.” Gone is the usual cocky attitude. I’ve never seen Marcus so uncertain, so vulnerable.

“You really had no idea it was me?” I ask quietly as a guy from my class walks past.

“I swear to God. I thought you were...you were....”

“One of your one-night stands?”

He flinches, then nods.

“It’s okay. You made a mistake. We both did.” He wasn’t the only one involved in what happened. I might have
thought
I dreamed of making out with Trent, but it wasn’t him I was kissing. It was Marcus. And it wasn’t Trent’s scent I had noticed. It had been Marcus’s. I should have realized that last night.

“You gonna be okay? For the test?”

I nod. He leans in and gently presses his lips against my jaw.

I think about pointing out that we aren’t at a club and there’s no need for him to kiss me here, but a warmth spreads from the spot and travels throughout my lower limbs. It’s been a long time since my body has reacted this way—other than when I was dreaming of getting hot and steamy with Trent last night—and I’m not sure how I feel about it, or how I feel about Marcus blurring the lines of our arrangement. When we played ball, he treated me like a buddy. In bed, I was almost another name on his long list of one-night stands. But now I don’t know what he wants, just that he’s offering me comfort and I’m somehow accepting it.

His lips move away from my skin. “Just remember to breathe.”

Easy for him to say. All I can think about is the tingly sensation easing its way through my body, a repeat from last night.

The last thing I can think about is math.