Unspoken (The Woodlands) (15 page)

“Would you help me open this?” I handed him a jar of spaghetti sauce. I’d agreed, somehow, to make dinner for Bo tonight, ostensibly because we needed to study, but mostly because being around Bo and being the subject of his light flirtations actually made me feel good. I deserved that once in a while, I told myself.

He deftly twisted off the top and handed the bottle back to me.

“You know a man would never ask that. That’s a difference between men and women.”

“What?” I was incredulous. “You would never ask for help to remove a cap from a bottle?”

“You might ask for a bottle opener, but you’d never ask for help to remove the cap itself,” he clarified.

“But how does that make you more manly?”

“Men don’t need help opening jars.”

“Are you telling me that every jar is openable for you?”

“If it’s not, then it doesn’t need to be opened.”

“Not being able to admit you need help is manly?”

“Asking for help is a woman’s thing,” Bo said, ducking my point. “We don’t ask for directions, and we don’t need help opening bottles.”

I shook my head. “I don’t believe you. I think you’re just a Neanderthal.” I could tell he was egging me on, but I had to see how far he would take this.

“Real men never ask for help.” Bo leaned forward, his arm across the counter. “In fact, this could be our lab.”

“You’re on.” I slapped my hand on the table. “Where do we hold the lab study?”

“My house. We’ll superglue a mayonnaise jar shut and we’ll see if any of my roommates ask for help. I bet none of them will.”

“You’re on.”

“Great. We’ll do it Monday, unless you have another class after?”

“No, why do you think that?”

“Because you always run out of there like the hounds of hell are chasing you.” He leaned even closer so that his arm brushed mine and his mouth was almost touching mine. I didn’t move an inch. “It’s only me who’s chasing you.”

“I’m not running away from you.”

He leaned back. “So you say.”

B
O
DIDN
’
T
SLEEP
OVER
ON
Saturday night or Sunday, either. After we ate on Saturday night, he hugged me good-bye, molding my body to his. I might be somewhat inexperienced, but I knew an erection when I felt it poking into my stomach. But he ignored it, so I didn’t bring it up, either. Instead, I hugged him back, enjoying the physical contact. His hands stroked up and down my back, and I bit my tongue to suppress the shivers of need building inside me. When his hand swept into my hair and his nose was buried in the side of my neck, I couldn’t keep back a moan of delight.

“I’ve got to go,” Bo said, but his hand tightened in my hair and his other hand spanning my waist pulled me closer.

If I spent a rational moment thinking about it all, Bo was right. We weren’t ready. I was still feeling vulnerable after last night, and I didn’t really know where Bo’s head was. That didn’t mean I was going to turn away an embrace. As if he understood my reserve and the need to go slow, he released me with a sigh and tapped me on the nose.

“See you in class.”

Longing filled me the entire weekend, and I was so anxious to see him on Monday I think I flew to class rather than walked. When I finally did see him lounging outside the classroom waiting for me, I felt a giddy smile light up my face. Bo didn’t pressure me into making some declaration, but he made it known throughout class that he was interested by the way he found little excuses to touch me, throwing an arm behind my chair and letting his thumb brush my shoulder. In response, I leaned into him closer than necessary. Class seemed like one long, extended bout of foreplay, so I was glad that he kept the tone upbeat and neutral when we were done.

“I’m going to need directions to your house,” I told him as we exited class. Instead of responding, Bo tugged at the strap of my messenger bag until I let it slide off my shoulder. He looped it over his head and walked off again. “Hey, wait a minute.” I trotted after him and when we reached his car, Bo popped the miniscule trunk where I saw a gym bag and nothing else. He threw both our bags in and came around to open my car door.

I started to protest, but really, I loved this car. For the fun of it, though, I told him, “This is kidnapping,” as he climbed in the other side.

“How? You agreed to come to my house.”

“Forcing me into your car is kidnapping,” I replied, primly folding my hands into my lap and tucking my legs to the side looking as innocent as I could.

“I held the door open, and you got in willingly.”

“It was coercion. You wouldn’t tell me your address.”

“I’m okay with coercion, but let’s get our felony counts correct.” He grinned at me. I just shook my head and looked out the window in order to hide my smile.

“What if I wanted to shop afterward or get dinner or something?” Hassling Bo was like foreplay, too. I suspect he thought the same.

“I can take you,” he shrugged.

“Oh sure, you’ll go shopping with me at the mall.”

“Why not? It’d be interesting.”

“How so? And I thought real men didn’t like to shop.”

Bo grinned wickedly. “Oh, real men enjoy shopping for some things.”

I knew he was going to make some reference to lingerie or guns so I just said as ominously as I could, “We shall see.”

Bo must have taken this as tacit permission because he started the car and peeled out of the parking lot like a teenager with his first car. Bo played music that I’d never heard before, a kind of punk rock with a big band sound. A distinctive male voice bellowed out the lyrics, singing that I was the one who told his secrets, the one who let him down.

“What kind of car is this again?”

“See, that’s another thing. A guy would know.”

“Who cares what car it is?”

“You asked,” he replied glibly.

“I was making small talk! It’s not like I peruse
Car and Driver
every day. I may not have any interest in cars, but there’re plenty of girls who do, so it’s completely sexist to assume a guy would be more likely to know what kind of car this is whereas a girl would not. There are girl mechanics. I’ve seen them on TV.”

“Sounds like we have the basis for another lab study. We can run it after the mayo test and before we shop for shoes or whatnot.”

“Even Pixar put a female in their lineup during the movie.”

“She wasn’t a race car.”

“There’s a car hierarchy?” I raised both eyebrows.

“In the movie, McQueen was top dog.”

“A hot dog, you mean.”

“Are we really arguing about animated cars?” Bo threw back his head and laughed. “AM, this is why we should be spending more time together.”

I didn’t reply to this out loud even though all my girl parts were yelling “Yes!” Instead, I asked him, “Tell me about your place.”

“It’s in a gated subdivision about twenty miles west of campus.”

“I would think that real men wouldn’t need to live behind the security of gates.”

“Well, you may be right, but real men are interested in a good deal.”

“Are you kidding? Women love deals. Retailers know this. Men’s clothing is never on sale because they know you’re easy marks.”

Bo shrugged. “I never said that men were superior. Only that they were made differently.”

Bo handled the vehicle confidently, his large hands resting lightly on the wheel and shifting smoothly from one gear to the other. He looked just as powerful in this sedentary position as he did sitting in the classroom or striding across campus. Bo was a head turner. When he walked into a room, people noticed. He seemed to suck up the void.

When you engaged with him, you realized that whatever fantasy construct you had created in your mind wasn’t even remotely close to the interesting creature that he really was. Which, I supposed, only added to his mystique. He was funnier than I thought he would be. More self-deprecating. And maybe even bolder.

“I can feel you staring at me, you know,” Bo remarked.

“What else is there to look at?”

“Are you saying I’m the best-looking thing in the entire city?”

“If you need the praise because you can’t operate without a certain amount of adulation, go ahead and interpret my comment in the way that makes you feel the best,” I said soothingly.

“I’ll just assume you’re too shy or embarrassed to admit your adoration of me.”

“I’ll just assume you’re so insecure that you turn random comments into compliments.”

“We’re getting to know each other so well,” Bo said cheerfully. “This bodes well for our future.”

“Should we stop for superglue?” I asked. “We’ll need that to seal the cap on the jar.”

“No, every real man has superglue, duct tape, and a power drill in his house.” Bo added, “Women should have superglue in their house. Or a man who’s going to buy it for them.”

I scoffed. “Well, I not only have duct tape, but I have a superior form of an adhesive that has displaced superglue. Women, you see, are looking for efficient and multipurpose products that are full of advancement while you men are stuck in your caveman superglue ways.”

Unthinkingly, I went on, “Maybe after this, you can get an invitation to see my superior home improvement idea. It’s moldable rubber.” As the words came out of my mouth, I realized how suggestive they sounded, but rather than come back with a super salacious comment, Bo looked at me and burst out laughing.

I got out of the car with a huff. “It’s a product that dries into flexible rubber. It’s very cool.” I didn’t reveal that I had some because Brian had given it to us.

As we were walking in through the side door, Bo leaned down and said, “You stick with me, sweetheart, and you won’t need moldable rubber anymore.”

“Took you five minutes to come up with that reply, did it?”

Bo howled with laughter.

We went straight to the kitchen and Bo proceeded to open the refrigerator and make us two sandwiches. He whispered to me that this was going to “prime the pump.”

After finishing the sandwich prep, Bo put everything away except the mayonnaise, which he glued shut, and then proceeded to place our sandwiches and bags on a long wooden table that separated the kitchen from a large, open-spaced entertainment center. Two guys sat on the sofa with their backs to us, playing a video game on a giant flat-screen TV. Bo gestured for me to sit and I did. We sat at the table with a clear view of the kitchen and then Bo picked up his sandwich. At the same time, he pushed his bag off the table so it made a loud thud on the floor.

The sound made the two guys, Mal and Finn, look up and one of them zeroed in on Bo’s sandwich.

“Hey, is there meat left?” Mal asked.

Bo nodded, his mouth wrapped around the sandwich. Mal got up and went into the kitchen.

“You guys remember AM,” he said. “She, like me, failed to take the science requirement her first year and agreed to be my lab partner.”

In the fading light of the afternoon, Bo, Finn, and Mal looked like they were readying for a men’s cologne or underwear ad. Finn and Mal were contrasts, pale skin against darker skin, but both sported blinding white, perfect smiles. I wondered if there was a dentist in one of their families. Finn was the more conventionally beautiful of the three, but Mal was hot; his dark eyes seemed to promise all sorts of naughty things. Looking at them, remembering Noah, I realized that the real draw at the Woodlands wasn’t the parties, but the hosts—and the hope that you could spend the night upstairs with one of these guys.

Mal interrupted my reverie. “Leave it to you to find the hottest girl in class and make her your lab partner.”

“Nice to see you again, Mal,” I grinned. “I can tell I’m going to like you a lot.”

“Hey, hey,” interjected Finn. “I think you’re hot, too.”

“You’d never guess from talking to Bo that he would have such charming roommates,” I teased. Bo spread out our books and we pretended to study but instead watched surreptitiously as Mal walked into the kitchen and proceeded toward the sandwich makings. For at least a minute, Mal attempted to open the mayonnaise jar but failed. He finally slapped together bread, meat, cheese, and butter, making two sandwiches, and grabbed both to return to the living room where he handed one to Finn.

It was the sorriest sandwich ever. Finn must have agreed because he took one bite and said, “What the hell is this?”

Mal said “butter” as his mouth engulfed his own sandwich. Finn got up and stomped into the kitchen. Once there, he tried to open the mayo jar. Finn worked on the jar longer and in more creative ways that Mal. He used his shirt and tapped it against the counter but with no success. Bo was trying hard to keep from crying with the laughter he was swallowing back.

The tapping sound alerted Mal because he yelled out, “The mayonnaise jar is broken, asshole, or I would have put it on.”

Finn cursed a bit and put the jar back into the refrigerator. He ate his sandwich but was clearly unhappy about it.

I watched this whole debacle with open-mouthed amazement. Bo had to cover his mouth with his arm to prevent his snickers from giving him away.

“Two more,” Bo said to me and pulled out his phone. He texted something to someone and when I heard his phone ping, I knew he’d received a reply.

“Mal,” Bo called, “where’s Adam?”

“He’s playing.”

“Wait, speak of the devil,” Finn said as another roommate came strolling in through the French doors separating the patio from the living space.

Bo introduced us and Adam, all tattoos and wild hair, wandered into the kitchen, where he proceeded to make another sandwich. Adam’s efforts to open the mayo were brief. A few twists and the defective jar was returned to the refrigerator shelf. He ate his sandwich in about three gulps and disappeared from whence he came.

“One more,” Bo said, sounding confident. Noah came in with a pretty girl with long brown hair. Noah introduced her as his girlfriend, Grace, and handed Bo a grocery bag with a small mayo jar.

“Thanks,” Bo said. He got up and took the old jar out, put it on the counter, and put the new jar in the refrigerator.

Noah picked up the tampered jar of mayo and held it toward Bo. “What the hell? This thing is totally full. Why’d I have to get a new jar?”