The Test (5 page)

“Let’s cross that bridge when we-”

“I’m saying we won’t have to cross anything!”
Now I was the one gripping a mug until my knuckles were chalked and
white. I’d just got him back. I couldn’t lose him again--the very
thought made my chest tighten and my eyes fill to the brim. “I’m
just saying that you should lie if that means you can stay.”

“And I’m saying that maybe there’s another
way to handle this, Cassandra.” His voice was no longer hesitant
but hot with anger. “You should have seen the way the dean’s gray
eyebrows wiggled like a caterpillar doing the electric slide.” He
looked like he wanted to strangle someone. “We don’t have to turn
this into something ugly and tawdry. We don’t have a damn thing to
be embarrassed of. We’re both adults. I broke the rules and now
I’ll be held accountable.”

“That’s admirable, but there’s nothing
‘adult’ about being impulsive and doing something that will make
you unemployed.”

“Impulsiveness is what ruined us before.”
When I opened my mouth to add another descriptor, he added, “And
stupidity. Impulsiveness and incredible stupidity. I’ve thought
about this scenario, losing my job because of our relationship, and
I’m ready to face it head on.”

“You’re drunk at 1pm, Chance. You’re not
remotely ready to face anything.”

“I was blindsided,” he corrected. “Whoever
decided to do a public service and prevent me from ravaging maiden
co-eds has the power. They reported it and forced my hand. But I
can get back in front of this and take the control from them.”

Maybe I would have been swayed if I was a
captain and he a general, emboldening me before going into battle,
but he was a professor and I was a student and I didn’t see this
ending in any sort of happily ever after scenario. The dean would
fire him and he would teach Shakespeare to high school students
until I noticed little pieces of him wither. I’d concede and he’d
take some job hundreds of miles away. We’d see each other on the
weekends and then slowly drift apart.

And then I saw the solution staring me right
in the face.

“What if we just hid it until graduation?” I
said, thoughts zipping from my brain faster than I could get them
out. “It’ll fly by with exams and we don’t even have to count
December and then there’s all the breaks and then we could come out
at graduation and then if you found a job out of state--”

“Hold on a second, he interrupted. “Take a
breath.”

“This is a great idea!” I said, not
listening. “We can pretend in class--”

“Right,” he said sarcastically. “Because we
were so covert and unassuming that someone pieced the whole thing
together.”

“Do you think you could move your meeting
with the Dean to Monday?” I said, ignoring him.

“What will be different on Monday?”

I put down my mug and strutted over to him,
channeling my inner sex kitten. “A weekend full of convincing
you.”

He considered it and I had him sold until my
cell rattled to life in my pocket. I ignored it, but he used the
interruption as an out, sliding off the stool and moving around me.
“I’ll let you grab that.”

I threw daggers at his turned back. “It’s
probably my mother.”

“Tell her I said hello,” he joked with a
tight grin.

I gave him a wary look as I pulled it out. “I
should, just to teach you a lesson.” But when my eyes scanned the
illuminated screen, it wasn’t my mother’s number bold and
flashing.

It was Blaine Connolly, the guy I’d dated
briefly before we mutually agreed it wasn’t going anywhere. Blaine,
the chill, relaxed business major who just texted me, in all
caps.

NEED 2 TALK!

****

The street was lined with students either
hustling to catch the bus with frantic, harried strides, or the
relaxed and relieved stroll of those walking toward the student
apartments that lined Jones Street. It was like a living snapshot
from an admissions pamphlet. A group of females in polos and
pearls, frat boy types throwing around a football on a patch of
green, the studious with their noses stuck in a book.
Here,
you’ll find your niche. Here, you’ll find where you belong.

My eyes glazed over the scene as I searched
for the turn for Wolf Creek Apartments and paused when I saw a girl
jogging, weaving in and out of pedestrians. Her hair was pulled in
a crimson bun, but fiery strands escaped, whipping around her face
like a veil. The look on her face brought a wave of nostalgia and
took me back to when I used to run on the exact same street, wind
in my hair, heart pumping in my ears. Even in the afternoon with
the sidewalk filled with people I felt at peace—until a bulky, All-
American looking guy started infringing on my turf.

The stranger and I exchanged nothing more
than the customary nod of acknowledgment, then ‘how’s it going?’
and eventually, a smile. Finally, when he started running at the
exact same time as me several days in a row, I stopped in between
pants and asked if he was stalking me. He answered, “Funny—I was
going to ask you the same thing.”

Blaine Connolly was commanding, standing at
6’2 and made of solid, hard earned muscle. He played football for
Thomas and it showed in both physique and his running form; plowing
right through pedestrians like he was on the field. He wore his
cockiness like a badge of pride and there was something viscerally
off-putting about him yet when he asked for my number, I gave it to
him. I tried to tell myself that it was a lack of oxygen to the
brain or just so he would leave me alone during my runs. I tried to
tell myself that he wouldn’t actually call me. But he did.

When our first date was at the Museum of Art
instead of something cliché like dinner and a movie, I couldn’t
deny that he had my attention. I’d seen him through new eyes that
night as he stood, seemingly a fish out of water, staring at the
paintings with a softness that made me swoon.

But there was no real chemistry with him, or
any other guy I met after Chance and we ran our course and went our
separate ways. Still, having him as a friend had its perks. He was
fiercely loyal and ready to grind any guys’ bones to dust if they
did me wrong. He was a rock, always cool and collected, which was
why the sight of his text, caps and all, sent sirens off in my
head. He’d come to my rescue after train wreck first dated and
never judged me. I owed him.

I tugged my car into one of the visitor
spaces and moved to the stairwell that led to his apartment. I
snickered as I made my way to the second floor, the herby aroma of
weed saying hello. I guess his neighbors were still tokers. I
barely knocked before Blaine pulled the door open.

“Cassie!”

I smiled, even though the pet name sounded
weird on anyone’s tongue other than my dad’s. There was just
something about someone that was pure testosterone saying a name so
tooth rotting cute that was endearing.

He stepped to the side, letting me in. “You
look great.”

“You too.” He was like Alicia in the style
department, always in a polo or name brand t-shirt and jeans that
flattered his stocky frame. He kept his blond hair short,
appropriately spiked and when he moved in to hug me, I got a whiff
of citrus body spray. He wore enough that you knew he was serious
about appearances, but not so much that he reeked of it.

He held me at arm’s length, all the angles of
his classically handsome features narrowing on me. I let out a
nervous chuckle and took a step back when his eyes lingered on my
chest.

He didn’t even take notice of my discomfort,
instead, cocking his head toward the couch a few feet away. “Have a
seat. Want something to drink?”

“Water would be great.”

He disappeared into the small kitchen area
and my eyes skittered over the rest of his place. I hadn’t been
over in months but everything was exactly as I remembered it. The
walls were still lined with sports memorabilia, the focal piece a
shot of the football team in a huddle with the stadium lights above
them twinkling like stars. The TV sat on a chipped throne with DVDs
stacked precariously around it. The coffee table wasn’t used for
its intended purposes populated instead with textbooks, a North
Face pullover, and a couple of dirty plates. He did clear a spot
for me on the couch, though. It was like some weird crop circle, a
person sized imprint among guy debris.

“So what have you been up to?” He walked back
over, offering me a glass that had a film of something unknown
still glommed on the side.

I held the cup gingerly, glad that I wasn’t
parched. “Thanks. Um, not too much.” I lowered myself onto the
couch, sitting on the edge, waiting to hear why he’d asked me over.
Instead of spilling, he just stared at me strangely, like he was
waiting for
me
to say something. And even stranger, his
green eyes were up to no good, back on my chest.

I cleared my throat. “So about the text-”

He snapped his fingers like a light bulb had
flickered on. “Your dad.” His cheeks turned rosy when he realized
the solemn turn our conversation had taken. Definitely not a place
where snapping your fingers with a “Eureka!” was appropriate.

He relaxed his broad shoulders as much as
possible for someone as imposing as he was. “I’m sorry you lost
him. I tried to call a couple of times.”

He had, but the only calls I’d really
accepted after the accident were Alicia’s and even she had to blow
up my cell to get through. “I know. I really appreciate the
calls.”

He let out a rumbling sigh and shook out his
limbs like he was about to dash around the block. Blaine was never
good at talking about feelings or showing emotions other than
smugness and lust. It had been one of the reasons I’d listed when
we decided to end things. Back then I believed it did play a role,
but that was before I was ready to face the truth. I’d never given
Blaine and I a fair shake because I measured him against Chance
which pretty much set him up for failure. Even if he quoted Sylvia
Plath and sent me saccharine sweet texts, it wouldn’t have staved
off our dissolution.

But this Blaine, blushing and wringing his
hands nervously, was kinda adorable. Show of emotion aside, I
doubted he sent a text just to say the thing he’d already expressed
via voicemail.

“Was there something else?” I pried, trying
to get to the real reason I was there. “Your text sounded kind of
serious.”

“Yeah that.” His eyebrows arched at the last
word, like whatever was on his mind was something meaty. He walked
to the sofa where I sat and gathered the jacket and odds and ends
and lowered himself down in their place. Again, he was silent, just
watching me closely like he was waiting for me to share
something.

“What?” I said, eyes tilting my head to the
side and trying to gauge why he was being so shifty.

“How are your classes going?”

“They’re going fine,” I said, sounding out
every word and looking at him strangely. “Taking a full course
load, but it’s not too bad. How about you?”

“The same,” he answered, folding his arms
behind his head and leaning back into the cushion. “My economics
class is probably finger painting compared to the stuff you’re
taking.”

“I’ve taken economics and it isn’t as easy as
it looks,” I said, cracking a grin despite the weird small
talk.

“I passed ENG 200 by the skin of my teeth,”
he said sheepishly. “And I tried reading that Tolstoy book you
recommended--”

“Hey!” I laughed, remembering the look of
horror on his face when I handed over
War and Peace
. “You
said you wanted to read the hardest book I’ve ever read.”

“And I didn’t get past page ten,” he said,
hanging his head in faux shame. “But I have to do the stereotypes
justice, right?”

I shoved him playfully. “That dumb jock stuff
doesn’t work on me, remember? I know you.”

His smile expanded a few more inches and he
scooted a little closer. “That you do.”

I frowned for a second, considering putting
some distance between us to make sure he wasn’t taking what I said
as some sort of declaration. But that was silly—he understood that
we were just friends…and there was only a few inches left for me to
go before I ran out of couch.

“So,” I said, trying to steer the
conversation back on track. “What’s up?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

I turned to look up at him and my eyes
widened when I saw his arm was draped against the back of the couch
like he was casually marking his territory

I slid over as far as I could, wariness
edging my voice. “I came over because I was worried. If you have
something to say, something you wanted to talk about…” I made an
ellipsis with my eyes, all but saying ‘speak now or forever hold
your peace’. When I opened my mouth to whip out a lie and get out
of there before things got even stranger, he lurched forward,
nearly smacking our foreheads together. A head-butt would have been
preferable to the thick fingers that locked in my hair, holding me
captive as he forced his mouth onto mine. Shock kept me still,
frozen for a few seconds as his mouth assaulted me until I let out
a muffled ‘no’. It was answered with his tongue invading, probing
and trying to force my tongue to awaken and play with his. I was
struggling, trying to disengage myself and when he paused, his hold
slackening, I fell backward in a heap on the floor.

“What the HELL Blaine?!” My shoulder rang out
in pain where it collided with the table but I ignored the throb,
instead, creeping backward. I kept him in my sights while looking
for something to defend myself if the word ‘no’ didn’t work a
second time. Luckily, his face wasn’t filled with anger but a shock
of his own.

“Cassandra…”

He rose to his feet and I scrambled back
another few feet, grabbing a broom that still had the tags on it
and holding it out like a weapon.