Hart puts an arm around me and whispers in my ear. “Don’t worry about them, Lauren.” His fingers glide back and forth over my shoulder. It’s supposed to be comforting, but it puts me on edge. My mind wanders and starts imagining what his hands would feel like on other parts of my body.
The seats begin to fill in around us. Hart will start to shut down now and put his mask back on. I don’t understand why he doesn’t show everyone what he’s really like. He pretends to be this hard, tough guy and I’m realizing that is not him at all.
Why I’m getting the privilege to know the real side of him, I have no idea. I understand it’s part of the assignment, but I can’t help thinking he is giving me more because it’s me. If he was partnered with someone else, it would be different.
I have to keep reminding myself he’s getting drafted and will be leaving after graduation. No one ever stays for you.
Hart looks at me with warmth in his eyes and a smile that no one gets to see but me. Maybe he’ll be the first. It’s a wishful thought I shouldn’t cling to, but I keep a death grip on it all the same.
“I talked to the kids last night,” I say to bring myself back to reality. Hart makes a humming noise and nods his head slightly. “They said they’re cool with you hanging out for a practice.” He smiles. That’s not exactly what they said. I mean, they agreed, but they also teased me relentlessly about wanting to bring a boy to meet them.
“When?”
“Maybe next week? We start around seven at the rec center in town. Do you know the place?” He confirms he’s familiar with the center with a slow nod. “Cool. We can meet there unless you want to come over to eat dinner first.” The muscles around his mouth twitch into a quick smile.
“I like food.”
“I’m sure. Are you going to your parent’s house tonight?” I already know the answer. He nods again in confirmation. A pang of jealousy hits me out of nowhere.
Hart places his hand on my arm with a question in his eyes. I’m about to tell him it’s nothing when Morelli walks into the room, drawing everyone’s attention to the front of the class.
“Good morning. Today we’re going to skip the lecture. You’re welcome.” He smirks. “I want you to take the next hour and get to know your partner better. By now, you should be close to wrapping up your first investigation. I’ve been informed some of you have even turned them in. They better be perfect,” he warns. A few students squirm in their seats.
Hart and I have been working almost daily, writing and editing our article back and forth. We’ve been visiting the library weekly, but I feel we could easily run out of time.
We spent Monday night walking around the library, marking areas we think are potential hook-up spots. I thought it would be awkward. It wasn’t. It was tempting. He is tempting. Several times I wanted to test our theory and see how long we could kiss without getting caught.
I’ve had more dreams about Hart being my first kiss than I would ever admit out loud. I take a sip of my coffee, suddenly feeling parched. Hart taps my shoulder. His eyebrows raise. He’s so expressive when he wants to be. Hart skims a finger over my flushed skin. He wants to know if I’m okay. I nod.
“If you haven’t started, well, time is ticking. Firm up your story, do the research, and get it written. You have two and a half weeks until it’s due.
“Get started interviewing each other. I will walk around soon, check in on your progress and answer any questions.”
Bodies shuffle around the room until everyone is sitting next to their prospective partners. A cacophony of voices begins to murmur around us.
Hart removes his arm and digs in his backpack for his notebook. I do the same. Not that I’ve been taking a lot of notes on Hart. Maybe I should.
This part of the assignment feels too personal now. After hours of texting and spending time with Hart, I don’t want to keep a glorified diary about the guy I’m interested in having a relationship with. Then turn around and use all that information to write a story about him. It doesn’t sit right with me. You don’t have a choice. You need to impress Morelli.
“You can pick the first question, brujita.”
“How generous,” I tease. “Are we going to take turns asking questions we’ll both answer or…?” That is preferable. My pulse quickens. I have this fear that Hart will learn something about me and then lose interest. It’s happened before.
“We can do that.” I sigh in relief. “With the caveat that additional questions are permitted if further explanation is needed.” Apprehension must show on my face because Hart adds, “You can tell me anything, Lauren. I want to get to know you better. Paper or no paper.”
I cut off the little thrill that shoots up my spine. I will not be tricked into telling Hart my life story because he wants to get to know me. I will not be hypnotized by his dark eyes.
I like him too much to tell him the truth.
I rack my brain coming up with a safe question. It has to be something general or about our time in college. He already knows why I picked journalism and how I ended up at Newhouse. What else can I ask about?
“This is harder than I thought it would be,” I confess.
“It really isn’t Lauren. Ask me about my mom, my childhood, my hobbies, my favorite foods, anything you want.” He makes it sound so simple.
“Alright. What is your favorite food?” Really, he looks at me. What, I say back to him.
“Gorditas. Sweet or savory ones. I don’t have a preference. My abuela makes these pork ones with pico de gallo and queso fresco. I would eat them by the dozen. My mamá started calling me gordito because of my addiction.”