The Opportunist (6 page)

“There’s something sad about your eyes, maybe it’s how big they are or the way they dip downward like they’re disappointed. They’re definitely vulnerable, but bold too, because you look at everything like you’re challenging it. Then, there’s the way that you hold your chin. You are defiant and stubborn, and you have a snobby little nose that’s always pointing due north. I think you pretend to be a snob to keep people away.”

I felt sick. Too much ice cream. Too much truth.

“And my personal favorite, your lips.” He smiled as a pink flush crept up my neck. “Full and sensual, puckered, and always turned down at the corners. They kind of make me want to kiss them until they smile.”

I balked. He thought about kissing me? Of course he thought about kissing me. Guys were always thinking about that kind of stuff, stuff that led to sex. Underneath the table my fingernails dug into the palms of my hands.

Okay, so maybe there was a little more to this egg-head than I thought. I crossed my arms over my chest and narrowed my eyes like cowboys did in old westerns.

“Okay, why did you miss the shot?”  

“Why did I miss the shot?” he repeated. “Because I cared more about knowing you than I did about winning another game.”

This time I didn’t even try to conceal the dumbfounded look on my face.  He had just passed me the greatest compliment, even better than the one about kissing my lips. Fuhgettabouit. I didn’t even have a quip to deliver. I didn’t care if my wit had failed me.

On our way out we stopped to browse through the candy and toys for sale. As if the place wasn’t small enough, they had to cram it full of junk.

Caleb was studying something in the corner as I studied him.

“Look at this thing,” he beckoned me over.  I wedged myself between him and a row of sherbet colored Beanie Babies to get a look. It was a penny press, one of those souvenir coin makers in which you placed fifty cents and a penny. The machine would then press your penny and stamp a random message on it in its newly flattened form, keeping your fifty cents as payment.  Caleb was pulling change from his pockets like he was roped on too much sugar. 

“You do it,” he said, dropping the coins into my palm.  I slid the change into the narrow slit on its front and pushed the start button. The press began to hum and vibrate in a polite vibrato. I was acutely aware of how close we were standing and I would have edged away if there was anywhere to go. I knocked a few of the Beanie Babies off the shelf. As we bent to pick them up, the machine made a small burping sound and the penny landed in the return slot with a tinkle. He rubbed his hands together and I giggled.

“Well, well.” His voice was smug. Curiosity got the best of me. I pulled his arm down until the coin was directly in front of my face and read:

              
Good for one kiss

              
Anywhere, anytime

tell me what he was thinking.

I asked him about Laura on the way back to the dorms. He told me that he only dated her for a week their freshman year and that she was a nice girl. By the time he walked me to my dorm room, I was so preoccupied with thoughts of him kissing me, that I stumbled over my own feet.

“Careful, Duchess,” he said, grabbing me by the elbow, “if you sprain something, I’m going to have to carry you to your door.” He laughed at the look of horror on my face.

He took a step toward me and I shrank back against the door, trying to press myself into the thin plywood.  He was unbearably close. Placing both hands on either side of my head he was inches…
inches
from my face. I could feel his breath on my lips. I wanted to see his lips, watch what they were doing—but I kept my eyes locked on his. If I could just hold his eyes he might not notice that my chest was heaving from my labored breaths, and that my fingernails were curved into the door behind me. He moved his head closer his nose was practically touching mine. My lips parted. How long had we been standing there? It felt like five minutes, but I knew it was probably more like ten seconds. He moved a millimeter closer. There was nowhere for me to go. If I pressed myself further against the door, I’d melt into the wood. I was so afraid…but of what? I’d been kissed before. He spoke and he was so near to my face, I could feel his lips brush against the corner of my mouth.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” He said. I felt my heart lurch. W
as it up or down? Up or down?
I didn’t know if I was disappointed or relieved. He backed up. “Not today, Olivia. But, I am going to kiss you.”

I felt a swell of agitation swirl through my belly, it traveled up my chest and reached my mouth.

“No.”

It sounded so silly; a child’s word of defiance. I don’t know why I said it, except to take back some of the control he had stolen from me.

Caleb had already turned to walk away, but my “no” stopped him. He turned. His hands were in his pockets. The hallway seemed to shrink around him, his presence swallowing it up. How did he do that? I expected him to say something else, maybe flirt with me some more. Instead he grinned, looked at the ground, looked back at me…and walked away.

He won again.  That little move had been stronger, left more of an impression than if he had actually pressed his lips to mine. Now, I had the impending feeling of being hunted. I barely had time to process what had just happened when the door was flung open and Cammie pulled me into our room by the waistband of my jeans.

“Tell me everything!” she demanded. She had rollers the size of Twinkies in her hair and her face was lathered in something that smelled strongly of lemon.

“He took me to Jaxson’s ice cream…” I began.

Chapter Five

The Present

I have to stop daydreaming. I’ve been spending too much time thinking about the past and reliving how we met. I am suddenly aware that I am seated behind my desk scribbling distractedly on a document I am supposed to be transcribing into type, and that hours had passed. I brought doughnuts into work and one of the lawyers from the firm is digging around in the box getting sugar all over his sleeve. He makes his selection and perches himself on the edge of my desk knocking over a cup of pens. I cringe, but keep my hands in my lap.

“So, how’s law school going?” he ignores the mess he made and bites into a jelly. I imagine the stack of law school applications on my dresser at home and sigh. Tonight. Tonight, I would be ambitious.

He chuckles at me.  I envision myself jamming a pen into his trachea. Blood. There would be lots of blood to clean up. I better not.

“If you ever want to excel in this field, sweetheart, you let me know. I can instruct you all the way to the top.” He smiles at me, winks, and my slime-ball radar goes off. I hate being sugar lipped, especially by a bleating goat in pinstripes.

“Instruct?” I ask with false enthusiasm. Mr. Gould picks at his teeth, flashing me a view of his wedding band, which he liked to forget symbolized fidelity.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“No,” I sigh boringly, “but you’ll have to spell it out for human resources when I tell them that you’re sexually harassing me.” I pull a nail file from my drawer o’crap and begin sawing at my thumb. When I look up, his face has gone from its usual tomato red to an ugly shade of scared shitless.

“I’m sorry you see my concern for your future as sexual harassment,” he says, quickly removing himself from my desk.

I size him up, all the way from his bony shoulders, which are poking out of his Armani suit like two tennis balls, down to his regrettably small feet.

“How about we stick to work-only conversations and you save your concern for your wife—Mary was her name wasn‘t it?” He turns away, his shoulders rigid. I hate men….well, most of them.

My intercom crackles.

“Olivia, can you come in here for a sec?” It’s Bernie.

Bernadette Vespa Singer is my boss and she loves me. At five feet even she has cankles, perpetually smudged peach lipstick, and wiry black hair that looks like poodle fur. She is a genius in her own right and a damn good lawyer. With a ninety-five percent prosecution rate and a stride to match any man, Bernie is my idol.

I smile. That was what she said when she hired me. I’d taken the job knowing she was a little crazy but not caring since she won cases.

“What’s happening with that fellow you were telling me about?” she asks. She scratches her nose with the tip of her pen and it leaves a scribble on her face.

I blush so fiercely it is an immediate emission of guilt.

“You know he’s going to find out eventually,” she says, narrowing her already beady eyes at me. “Don’t do anything stupid, you could have one hellavah lawsuit on your hands.”

“What is it with this guy?” she says ignoring me. “Is he well endowed? I can never understand why pretty girls like you go chasing after men. You should get a vibrator. You’ll never go back. Here, let me write down the name of a good one for you,” she scribbled something down on a yellow post it note and hands it to me.

“Thanks.” I looked at the wall above her head and take the paper.

“Not a probby. See you later, kid.” She waved me out of her office with her chubby, ink-stained fingers.

I invited Caleb over for dinner. Same dog, same tricks. Our coffee rendezvous ended abruptly when the pimply kid behind the counter flipped the closed sign in the window and turned the lights off in the cafe. We had lifted ourselves regretfully from the table and wandered outside.