Page 13 of Vipers & Roses

His baby blue eyes find a spot on the grass by my leg. I decided to wear jeans today, even though it’s stinking hot, and a plain black T-shirt since I’m working. As usual, I tie my hair up in a ponytail. I rarely wear my hair down for several reasons.

“So, I have to go to dinner this Friday night,” he says after several minutes of silence, during which I was internally plotting how to broach the subject of his swim coach. But a ball of sick stirs in my stomach whenever I try to talk about the coach because keeping those thoughts trapped in my head makes it less real. “I was wondering if you could come with me?”

Did I mishear? “What? I thought…” I glance over his shoulder, “I thought you had a harem of women in your pockets.”

He screws his face up in bemusement. “A harem? Rae, I have no time for harems.”

“But you’re always surrounded by girls, so…”

“Sounds like you’ve looked at me a lot?” he’s eager for me to say yes.

“No. I mean, on the two occasions that I have looked up, and you happen to be standing, randomly, in my viewing range, I noticed that girls were there gazing up at you like you’re some Greek God or something.”

His eyes narrow as a grin slides across his cleanly shaven dial, highlighting how handsome he is. “Randomly? Greek God,” he shakes his head. “Not fond of that. Anyway, do you want to come?”

“Um, so what is the objective of the dinner?” I ask, wondering if it’s a family thing and his father might be there. Part of me wants to see him again to thank him for how he helped me through the worst time of my life. But another part of me wants to set that part of my life on fire and turn it into ashes, and I can’t do that when people in my past are in my present.

He answers, “It’s a swim team pre-celebration meet. The Nationals are coming up in two weeks. I don’t know the point of the dinners, but yeah, are you keen?”

Anxiety clutches at my chest. I need to loosen up. “Is it just the swimmers going? What about management and coaches, etcetera?”

“The whole bamboozle,” he answers, screwing his face up again. “That’s why I need a distraction to make the night go faster, like a dramatic female mantis nihilist like you.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” I snort. “Sure. I’ll go.”

His face lights up, and those eyes connect with mine, and I immediately look away. I feel guilty that he thinks I’m going with him, not because I like him but because it allows me to get close to the Lion.

“It’s formal,” he adds, taking another sip of his coffee, and I cringe.

I have a couple of formal dresses in my closet I can choose from, but I’m not keen on wearing either. “Okay,” I tell him. “I can’t stay out late because I have to head out of town to my parents' place early Saturday morning. It’s a four-hour drive.”

“We’re in the midst of heavy training,” he asserts, “we won’t be out late. Or drinking alcohol.”

“Good,” I sigh in relief.

“So, can I have your number?” he asks. He’s quite a serious guy, doesn’t smile much, and harbors a burden of weight from something…training, maybe, or something else.

“Sure,” I’m a little rattled because I’m so out of practice with dating and men. I give him my number, and he adds it to his contacts.

“So, do you live on campus?” he asks as he places his phone on the grass.

“No, I have an apartment in town. And you?” It looks like I’m making small talk and this awkward conversation couldn’t get staider.

“Yeah, I’m in a frat house with other guys from the team. I’ll probably move out at the end of term and into an apartment block in town where several Keele students reside,” he explains. I wonder why anyone would move away from campus life to where many students are. It seems to defeat the purpose of venturing out.

“Living the college life,” I state.

“I’m too busy training to party,” he says thoughtfully, and I have an enormous urge to crack a joke to lighten him up.

“So…are you going to tell me what was in that paper ball you threw at me in Willard’s class but inadvertently landed on the girl next to me?” I tease, smirking at him, hoping his handsome face will crack into another smile again.

His face seems permanently set into a frown, but another smile comes along as he looks away from me bashfully and then sips his coffee. “Yeah, that was…embarrassing.”

“What did your message say?” I push, trying hard to stifle my giggles.

“To meet me after class,” he answers, and my mouth drops open in shock.

“And did she? I couldn’t tell if she was delighted with your message?” I inquire with great enthusiasm.

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