Dearest Clementine (12 page)

“Can I be honest?” I ask. “I always thought Emilio Estevez was kind of a tool in this movie.”

“Agreed.”

“Can I also say that when I first saw this years ago, that little lipstick trick Molly Ringwald did seemed okay, but now I’m disappointed that her one skill is applying makeup with her boobs. It’s an insult to women.”

“Can you put on lipstick with your boobs?”

I turn and look at him. “I have no damn idea.” I look down at my chest and press my shoulders together to emphasize the girls. “I’ve never tried.”

When I glance up, he’s scoping out my rack, and I elbow him. He snickers as he says, “Maybe that’s a skill worth investigating before you criticize it.”

I feign concern. “But what if I’m not that talented? I don’t think I could handle that letdown.”

“I think you probably have all kinds of talents you’ve yet to discover.”

My face heats as I think about what he probably means, and he laughs.

We settle back into the movie, but halfway through the film, I can’t keep my eyes open. I’ve been up since six when I got up for a run because I was so anxious about my stupid story, and now it’s almost midnight.

“Gav, I’m falling asleep. I should go home.”

“Scoot.” He lifts my legs so now I can stretch out on his bed. “I have to write some more. Take a nap.”

I don’t argue with him. It’s a brilliant plan. I curl up on his bed, and he throws a blanket over me.

I’m not sure how long I’m asleep before I hear the light being clicked off, but I’m so tired that when he moves me over and wraps his arm around my waist, it barely fazes me.

“Clem, you smell really good,” he whispers into my ear.

My eyelids are heavy, and I start to wonder if I’m dreaming. “You kiss like a rock star.”

He laughs and pulls me tighter.

In the morning, my conversation with Jenna runs through my mind, and I think of that word.
Erect
. My professor’s directive to find fun euphemisms is now the only thing I can think about.
Morning wood. Boner. Hard-on. Stiffy.

There’s nowhere to go. This morning, Gavin is draped over me. He’s like a freaking furnace, and his man parts are trying to poke a hole through my thigh. I try to wiggle out of his hold, but his eyes flutter open.

“Good morning, Clementine,” Gavin says, his throaty voice terribly sexy.

“Sorry if I woke you.”

I let my eyes adjust to the light. Clearing my throat, I mull over the question that’s burning on my tongue. “Gavin, so last night… you were just helping me… as a friend?”

“As a friend.” He’s wrapped around me, hard against my thigh, warm against my back, and nothing about this morning seems platonic.

“Can I ask… do you have a lot of
friends
that you, uh, help like this?”

He chuckles, his chest vibrating against me before he kisses my neck. “No, darlin’. I don’t really have time for many friends, especially since you’ll remember I have a girlfriend. I don’t want to spread myself too thin.”

I roll my eyes.

“Do you have to go to work?” he asks, yawning.

“Yeah, but I have to head home and shower first. If I come in wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday, someone will know I’m a slut who slept with you.”

He snickers. “You should go before you ravish me because then I’ll feel cheap.”

God, he’s such a flirt.

Laughing, I punch him playfully. “You’re incredible.”

“I know, but the next time you say that, you should add my name, like, ‘Gavin, you’re incredible,’ and maybe throw in a few moans. That would be hot.”

“Who are you?”

This guy is fucking with my head, and what’s worse is I think I like it.

-
9 -

I stare at the register and then look back at the girl on the other side of the counter. She drops her head forward, waiting for me to figure out my shit.

“Sorry. Yeah, you need change,” I mumble before I finish ringing her up.

This afternoon I’ve mis-charged three customers because my brain got sucked down a rabbit hole the instant Gavin’s lips touched mine. All day, I’ve debated whether he’s merely helping me write my assignment, or if he’s in any way serious about me. I’m not sure if I even want him to be serious because being with Gavin is like parachuting out of an airplane… without a parachute.

By the time I get to the student union to meet Jenna and Harper for dinner, it’s pretty empty with only a few students scattered around the enormous seating area. Dani joins us, and the four of us spread out at a table.

Jenna pulls out a spiral and a pen from her bag. “I need your help, girls. In my story, my main character has a list of ‘deal-breakers,’ things that would ruin a guy for her, and I’m stalling out.”

“That’s easy,” Dani says, twisting the top off her juice. “I won’t date anyone who wears loafers with tassels or loafers without socks. Or a guy who picks his teeth. Gross.”

“Oh, those are good!” Jenna scribbles in her notebook while I peel tomatoes out of my sandwich.

I have to think about it for a few minutes, but mulling over Professor Marceaux’s declaration about not using the f-word brings me to a realization.

“I hate when people say, ‘Let’s make love.’ It makes me cringe for some reason, the same way I hate guys with clammy hands or hairy chests. Yuck.” Gavin’s chest is fairly hair-free… except for that sexy trail on his lower stomach that leads south. He switched t-shirts at the gym the other day, and I nearly had a coronary.

I wedge a fallen piece of turkey back within the two slices of wheat bread and take a bite as Jenna laughs and scribbles. “You’re so right! If Ryan told me ‘let’s make love,’ I’d kick him in the gonads.”

Snorting out a sip of soda, Harper tries not to choke. “That’s kind of harsh, Jenna. Ryan might need those some day.”

Twirling her pen through her blonde hair, Jenna rolls her eyes. “Of course I’d never kick Ryan in the family jewels. Oh, you know what I
really
hate?” Jenna cocks an eyebrow. “Crotch-scratchers, especially when they do it right in your face as though it’s not obvious they’re reaching for their frank and beans. What is it with guys adjusting themselves? You don’t catch girls randomly rubbing the vag.”

We’re laughing so hard a study group two tables down shoots us dirty looks that make us laugh harder.

“Save room for the chips and queso, ladies,” Jenna says, jumping up to get some napkins and a soda refill. She’s decided to turn this into a girls’ night, which is sounding better and better.

As I watch her cross the cafeteria, Wheeler strolls in. My mouth goes dry and my heart pounds. Flying into panic mode, I search for a hiding place, but I don’t have time because he’s already seen me.

Shit. Shit.

The girls see my expression and turn to look.

“Who’s that?” Dani asks.

I clear my throat, hoping the few bites I’ve eaten don’t come back up. “My old professor, Jason Wheeler.”

“He doesn’t look old.”

Clad in jeans, a button-up and a black blazer, he looks like a J. Crew model.

“He’s not. He’s thirty.”

“He’s really cute.” Dani tilts her head while she watches them. “But should he have his arm around that girl? She looks like a student.”

Harper looks at me for a split second before she answers. “That’s kind of what he does. Have you seen him recently, Clem?”

“No.” I swallow to quell my nausea. “I’ve seen him, but he hasn’t seen me.”
Because I’ve hidden.
And dragged Jenna down into the dirt with me. And threatened a co-worker with bodily harm.

And now he’s walking straight toward us.
Fuck.

“Clementine Avery.” My name. That’s all it takes to suck the air out of my chest. “So good to see you, love. How have you been?”

Fine, since you stopped stalking me, asshole.

I take a deep breath.

“I’m well, Jason. And yourself?” My voice sounds confident, which surprises the hell out of me. I glare back at him, and he smirks. My stomach is roiling with a rush of adrenaline. It’s a bitter cocktail of hatred, fury and fear.

“Very well. I’ve been teaching in London for the last two years,” he says pointedly, “and working on my new novel, which I think you’ll appreciate.” A shadow seems to cross his face, and I shiver. “This is my new protegée, Briget. She’s working on a brilliant book right now. It’s fabulous. Similar to your novel, but with more depth.”

Ah, he’s here to insult me.

Turning to Briget, I ask, “Has he told you what he’ll want for his services?” I really don’t want to mess with this guy, but he’s being such an arrogant prick, and the words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

Brigit toys with a lock of her short black hair as she appraises me.

Wheeler’s eyes harden. I never noticed how cold his eyes were until it was almost too late.

“Well, this has been lovely,” he says, breaking the silence. “It’s good to see you. You should come by during office hours so we can… catch up.” His eyes narrow on me as he speaks, and I can’t fight the chill that crawls over my skin. Then he puts his hand on the girl’s back and ushers her away.

I blink several times to clear my blurring vision.

“What the hell is he thinking?” Harper whispers as we watch them disappear out the back of the cafeteria.

I don’t know. And that scares the hell out of me.

* * *

When we get back to our apartment, I beeline it to my room and change into a pair of sweats and a tank top. It’s been half an hour, and I’m still trembling.

I trudge into the living room and am surprised to see Ryan and Gavin on the couch. Jenna is in Ryan’s lap, and Dani is fiddling with the TV.

“I didn’t know you guys were here.” God, I really need to be more observant.
I would have put on more clothes,
I think, noticing my hot pink bra strap hanging off my shoulder. I have my roommates to thank for my sudden increase in sexy underwear. That candy necklace game on my birthday got me one big-ass box of Victoria’s Secret.

Shrugging up the strap, I return to my room and throw on a flannel shirt, but my hands are still shaking too badly to button it up. I give up and walk back out.

“Why is everyone upset?” Ryan asks.

“How do you know we’re upset?” Harper, our in-house shrink, is always curious to see how someone’s brain works.

“Because you told Jenna you wanted to do facials, and you have an armload of girlie comfort food. Chips and queso, right?”

“Damn it, he’s good,” Harper mutters, taking the cheese out of the convenience store bag and popping it into the microwave. “We had a rough night. We ran into Professor Dickhead, and he tried to talk to Clementine.”

Ryan’s brows knit on his forehead. “But doesn’t she have a restraining order on him? Can he do that?”

I rub my throbbing temple. “Guys, no one cares about this crap. Let’s change the subject.”

“I care.” Gavin’s voice cuts through the awkward silence. “What happened? Who’s this guy with the restraining order?”

“I’ll explain,” Jenna says, sensing my discomfort. She looks to me to make sure I’m okay with this, and I shrug.

She takes a deep breath as though she’s trying to decide where to start. “Clem was in Professor Wheeler’s writing class freshman year, and he helped her edit her first book that fall. He was great at first, really encouraging and positive. But we all know Clementine is beautiful, and he fell for her, hard.”
Ugh. Must she embellish?
“But our girl wasn’t interested. She thought of him as a friend, a mentor. When he wouldn’t take no for an answer, he started stalking her—waiting outside her dorm at night and lurking in the alley. Totally creepy shit.”

I sit in a chair and try to focus on my breathing to stave off a panic attack.

Jenna waves her hand. “So this went on for a while until one night when he decided he had waited long enough.”

Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I look down at my fuzzy socks, carefully avoiding Gavin’s stare.

Jenna sighs with relief. “Fortunately, Wheeler didn’t rape her, but she got pretty banged up. By the time the cops got there, he was gone. The worst part is that police said they couldn’t do anything but put a restraining order on the asshole because Wheeler claimed he was with his parents, who vouched for his whereabouts. Without any evidence, the dean’s hands were tied too. Wheeler’s family basically built that new wing on the library, and you know how things like that always work out. He was on sabbatical for a while, but just returned this fall. And the restraining order has expired, but since he has no criminal record and has exhibited ‘good behavior,’ the cops won’t renew it.”

Hearing Jenna tell it with her Southern drawl, it almost doesn’t sound
that
bad. I lift my head, and all of my friends are staring at me.
Okay.
Judging by everyone’s expressions, I guess it does sound bad.