Page 20 of Gray Area

Declan and I go on to have a discussion regarding how this could still prove difficult, getting so caught up in our own deliberation on our topic that we don’t notice that the other students have all left until Professor Edwards comes over to us.

“I love your enthusiasm, but class is over for tonight,” he says, smiling at us.

“Oh,” I say lamely, looking at the clock and seeing that I have about five minutes to make it to the bus stop. I jump up and collect my notebook and belongings in my arms. “Have a good night,” I say to Declan as I scurry out the door, glad for the quick departure and no awkward goodbye.

Chapter 9

DECLAN

Iwatch Vivian rush out the door before I even attempt to move. She is something. She doesn’t trust me and is trying like hell to avoid me, but she absolutely amazes me. We just had an enthralling discussion, and throughout, she remained calm and considering, able to appreciate my perspective and evaluate it before giving her own. I don’t think I have ever had such an intelligent exchange, and I can for certain say I have never been turned on by the conversations I have had with anyone else.

It is sexy as hell.

She is truly the opposite of women I usually speak to. Probably because I generally find those women in bars. And I do talk to those women, but usually the discussion is more about what I do for fun and less about intense business topics.

It wasn’t until I was entrenched in the discussion with Vivian that I realized how many years I’ve been having meaningless chats with women. My last relationship, if you could call it that, was a string of dinner and movie dates. And I only took her to the movies because I was trying to avoid the vapid and forced conversation that came with the type of women I had chosen to interact with.

But now that I’ve had a taste of delicious intellectual talk with Vivian, I realize how starved I’ve been for it.

I extract myself from the chair and deftly rearrange myself, because I have a fucking hard-on from a conversation. My response baffles me. I make my way to the door, and Professor Edwards bids me good night as he fills his briefcase.

I am drawn to her, to Vivian. Even from the first night when all I saw was her shiny black hair, when all I wanted was to wind my hand around her silky strands and taste the flesh at her neck. And when I’d seen her face, I could not help but stare. But to speak with her, and find someone so intelligent and thought-provoking, is incredible.

“You really should not stare at people,” my mother used to tell me as far back as I could remember, and then she’d laugh. “You study people, like the longer you look the deeper into their soul you will get.”

It is true though. You can tell a lot about people if you study them, silently, wordlessly. Not just their looks, but their behavior. And how people respond to being stared at tells me a lot. But I never studied or stared at someone like I have Vivian. Truthfully, I’d started staring at Vivian to study her like I did everyone else, but I kept staring because she is so stunning. Her green eyes and black hair with her full lips is like setting eyes on Helen of Troy. And now that I’ve memorized her appearance, I am enamored by her actions—and really everything she does.

I toss my hood over my head as I make my way outside. I see the bus go by as I push the door open and wonder what Vivian would say if I asked to give her a ride home. I hate the idea that my time with her is dependent on the bus schedule.

I rounded on all the bars before my class today so I could have time available after class in case Vivian and I needed more time for the project. That is my cover. The truth is I have been planning on asking her out for a coffee, maybe seeing if we have a connection outside of the classroom, but our discussion in the class distracted me from asking. I have so much more to say that has nothing to do with our class. I want to know where she lives and what else she does outside of school. I want to know if she has hobbies and what they are. I want to hear every story and experience she’s had in her life.

And that backpack--there is a story there, I am sure.

My phone goes off in my pocket, and I look down to see a text from my brother: “Eddie Cruz was found washed up on the banks of the Taunton River today with a hole in his chest.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, getting into my car.

This fucking cesspool of a situation just got a whole lot shittier.

I decide to head home and see what kind of information my father might have on this new finding. When I arrive, I go straight to my dad’s house, the home I grew up in. Once I go in the back door, I cross the kitchen and hear the TV, finding my kid brother Roman watching aBig Bang Theoryrerun.

“What are you still doing up, kid?” I ask him, jumping over the back of the couch and sitting next to him.

“Dad’s on the phone and said I could stay up and watch TV,” Roman says with a shit-eating grin, a giant bowl of ice cream half gone and melty in his lap.

“And the ice cream?” I query, looking pointedly to the bowl.

Roman shrugs. “When an opportunity presents itself, you gotta take it, Dad says.”

I nod. Kid is a quick study. “Understood. Well, let’s shut it down; it is a school night,” I remind him.

“You got it,” he says. “I am too full anyway,” he remarks as he passes the bowl of ice cream to me and heads up the stairs.

He’s a good kid, my baby brother, the kid that shocked the shit out of my parents when Slade was already thirteen. I shut the TV off, and as soon as I do, I can hear muffled shouting coming from my father’s office, just down the hall. I walk toward the door, my step light to not make any noise, and listen.

“No. I told you it isn’t a fucking threat. I am telling you that this shit you have pulled is going to come back and bite you in the ass. Don’t try to fucking talk over me and threaten me. I have shit on you that makes my stomach turn, and I’ve made men slit open their own fucking balls!”

Who in the hell is my father talking to? Someone threatening him?

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