Page 12 of Sweet Little Lies
Chapter 4
Mica
It’s been two weeks since I agreed to help Lance with his Spanish studies. Honestly, when I initially agreed, I didn’t have a lot of faith that he’d take it seriously and put in the work.
It’s not that he isn’t smart, because he is. And he can do anything he sets his mind to. But it’s just that I’ve learned the hard way that Lance is often committed more to basketball and partying than he is to his studies and grades. Or graduation.
That’s one of the many differences between us. Maybe it’s what complements us both. I’m not sure. And I do have the reputation of being too serious and one-track minded, where he is notoriously flippant and irreverent.
Either way, I’m pleasantly surprised at his follow through and dedication so far. Our study sessions during the weekday mornings have been productive and he’s kept the goofing off to a minimum. And that’s saying something for Lance. Because he is the biggest goofball I’ve ever met.
As I stare at him now from across the café table in the student center, I remember the first time I met him a year ago when Ainsley and I were studying in this very same spot. It was in that moment that I knew I was going to have it bad for Lance Britton.
“Hey, what answer did you come up with for question four? Is it Admitting and Discharge or Admitting Diagnosis?” Ainsley asks, using the pencil eraser to tap against her bottom lip in thought.
I peek up from my notebook and consider the question.
“I think it’s Diagnosis. Those two acronyms are so confusing because they look so similar…but-” I’m unable to finish my response because Cade, her boyfriend, sneaks up behind her and covers her eyes with his hands.
Ainsley shrieks in fright and practically jumps from her chair as she whirls around to find it’s Cade behind her. And then before I know it, he’s leaning down and covering her mouth with his in a very public display of affection. In fact, there are a bunch of catcalls and whistles around the student café from other students, and I turn my head in embarrassment, blushing from the intimacy of the scene.
While they are absolutely adorable together, it feels like I’m a voyeur in a very private moment.
Before I can focus my attention elsewhere, the chair beside me is pulled out and a very large body drops down next to me with an exaggerated flop.
“Fuck, dude. Get a room,” he says, his voice low and booming. Then he turns to me, as if we’re in cahoots. “Right?”
I can do nothing but just stare at him because I’m speechless. It’s one thing for Ainsley to be going out with Cade – the hot shot basketball player at ASU – who everybody knows and worships. But to have his friend and teammate, Lance Britton, sitting right next to me and speaking to me like he knows me is something else entirely.
My eyes find his – which means I have to crane my neck, the back of my head practically hitting my shoulders – and I’m immediately ensnared in the warm swirl of his grey irises. The amusement in his gaze has me flustered and I quickly look away, searching for something to gain my attention.
I glance down at my book and notebook, picking up my favorite lip balm that I always keep handy and slather it on my lips.
And then in an instant, Lance’s face is right next to mine and he’s sniffing me. Like I’m some sort of scented candle at the mall candle shop.
“Mmm. Strawberry. I love strawberries,” he casually, yet sensually, comments. “They’re my favorite fruit.”
My head snaps back in surprise and I’m not sure what my facial expression says, but the way he’s looking at me suggests he’s not used to having a girl flinch around him.
Lance snickers and then leans in to grab the tube I hold from my shaking hands. I watch as if it’s in slow motion – as his shoulder brushes my left breast, his fingers unfolding mine and the freshly showered scent of him – it’s all overwhelming.
As if in a trance, my eyes remain locked on him as he uncaps the balm and sniffs it again.
He tilts his head toward me, smiles coyly and says, “Now I’ll always think of you when I eat fresh strawberries.”
He reaches for my hand and places the tube back in my open palm. The current of electricity runs through my veins and up and down my spine. I feel like I’ve been hit by lightning. His touch is that potent. That electric.
“What’s your name, gorgeous?”
Swallowing thickly, my eyes dart to Ainsley in hopes that she’ll save me, but she and Cade have left the table and I see them walking toward the doors. She left her things here so, she must be coming back. But for the moment I feel like a cornered and petrified bunny.
Lance laughs and with exaggerated diction, says. “Okay, let me try this. I’m Lance…and you are?”
His smile is both amusement and interest. He’s part of the royal court at this school and I’m just an immigrant pauper. Wholly undeserving of his time or consideration. Or so I believe.
That’s been one of the toughest things for me to get over since starting college. To truly believe that I deserve to attend college when no one else in my family ever has before.
Those strawberries that Lance loves so much? Most likely, a member of my family or distant relatives – immigrants from my family’s home country of Mexico – spent grueling days out in the fields under the hot sun, picking those berries so that people like Lance could enjoy them. Not realizing the backbreaking work that goes into bringing their food from the farm to the table.
