Chapter Four – Wren
I’m so flustered after that weird encounter in the bookstore that I don’t pay attention to where I’m walking as I round the sidewalk directly outside of the student union, and I walk into someone carrying what looks like an ungodly amount of papers.
I ram into them hard, and before I know it, papers go flying everywhere.
And it’s my fault, completely.
“I’m sorry,” I quickly say, hurrying to help the person pick up the scattered papers. I have to set down the book I carry to grab at the papers with both hands. The breeze picks up, of freaking course, which makes them scatter even more.
The guy I ran into seems easygoing, immediately telling me, “It’s no problem. I got it. You can go.”
“No.” It’s all I say as I help him pick all his papers up.
They must’ve been in a folder, and when I rammed into him, that folder went flying, as did all the papers in it.
Together, the man and I manage to pick everything up, and it’s only when I hand him the papers in a messy stack that I finally meet his eyes.
And the moment I do, I’m struck by just how crisp and blue they are. The color is warm, like the waters in the Caribbean, and I imagine just as easy to get lost in. Surely the prettiest set of eyes I’ve ever seen, to the point where I’m jealous of them and wish my brown eyes were more like his.
“Thank you. You really didn’t have to help,” he says with a dimpled smile, and I’m so lost in his eyes that it takes me a while to realize he’s an attractive guy.
Older than me, definitely, somewhere in his upper twenties, if I have to guess, but the kind of drop-dead gorgeous that makes him worthy of modeling.
Flawless white skin, a chiseled square jaw with no hint of stubble to be seen, and a thick head of dark brown hair, cut short on the sides.
We’re both kneeling, but based on his size next to mine, I have to assume he’s on the tall side.
“It was my fault,” I say, trying hard not to outright stare at him, slack-jawed. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“No, you weren’t.” Now that his papers are all back in their folder, tucked away as neatly as they can be after that, the man’s smile widens at me—and then he reaches for the book I set down. He studies the title as he stands, and I’m slow in standing with him.
Yep. Just as I suspected. The guy is easily a foot taller than me. It’s not that hard to do, since I’m short as heck. Any guy six feet or over makes me feel like I’m invisible.
“Intro to psychology, huh?” he asks, offering me the book, which I measuredly take. “Whose class you taking?”
I have absolutely no clue why he’s asking me that question, so it takes me a few seconds to tell him. “Uh, I think the professor’s name is Scott?”
The man nods. “I hear the guy’s a total hard-ass.” My eyes must widen in horror, because he quickly says, “I’m kidding. I haven’t heard that.”
“Oh.” It then occurs to me the guy was trying to make a joke, and then I smile and shake my head—mostly at myself and how stupid I am for not realizing he was attempting to be funny. I tuck some of my hair behind an ear before meeting those beautiful blue eyes once again.
“A bad joke, apparently,” he says, still grinning down at me.
“No, it was funny.”
That makes him chuckle, and the sound is weirdly alluring. Deep and low, the kind of laugh I’m apparently drawn to. “It’s okay. That one didn’t hit the mark. Not all of them do. My manly ego can take it, I promise.”
I want to say something funny back, I want to keep talking to him for some strange reason, but I’m awkward, so we only end up staring at each other.
But that staring contest can’t last forever, and after a short while, the man says, “Well, I have to go. A boring meeting to get to. I hope you enjoy Mr. Scott’s class. Have a good one.”
“You, too.” The words are barely out of my mouth before he leaves, and I turn to watch him go, a funny feeling in my gut.
Handsome strangers have never really gotten to me before.
Then again, up until recently, I never paid handsome strangers much mind since I was in a relationship.
I never saw the point in ogling people I’d never see again.
Why bother, when I, at the time, had what I thought was the world’s best boyfriend?
What a joke.
I only stare at the man as he leaves for a few seconds, and then I turn away, not wanting to seem like a weirdo.
Clutching that single book—a book I cannot believe I missed when I did my ordering three weeks ago—I hurry back to the house, where I find Sloane in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, with the TV on, but her eyes are on the tablet in her lap.
She looks up when I walk in, and my face must be an unhappy one, because she sets her tablet aside and sits straighter as she asks, “Something happen?”
“Um, no. I got the book I needed.”
“Might want to tell your face that, then.”
I shake my head, slow in wandering over to her.
We still don’t know each other that well, but I’m learning her quirks, her moods.
I’m always extra careful around her, because I don’t want to make her mad.
This house is a boon, the only thing that’ll make this semester bearable, so I don’t want to screw any of it up.
“There was just a mean guy at the bookstore,” I say as I sit down near her.
“And then I kind of ran into someone on my way out of the union. He was cute. I think I made a fool of myself.” As I say it, I hug the book closer to my chest, as if the book itself can take me back in time and let me not be so weird.
Turns out, being in a relationship for most of my high school years did not help me gain experience or confidence around attractive guys. You’d think it would’ve.
Sloane studies me, and it’s a while before she says, “Tell me if I’m wrong, but I’m betting you’re an overthinker.” I don’t correct her; she’s not wrong, as much as I wish she is. “You probably let things fester in your head, obsessing over every detail.”
Am I that obvious about it? I just met this girl not that long ago and she already knows this about me. I never thought I was mysterious, but dang, I didn’t know I’m that easy to read.
“And,” she goes on, “you’re not totally over your ex and what he did to you. You know what they say the best cure for something like that is?” Her lips tug into a wide grin, and she flashes me a set of perfectly white teeth. “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
I absentmindedly pick at the top right corner of the book on my lap. I don’t tell Sloane my secret—the reason I think Mike went behind my back in the first place—I can’t. It’s not something I’m proud of, not something I like to advertise to the world.
I’m a virgin. I’ve never had sex.
Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re thinking.
A lot of virgins make their virgin-ness their whole personality.
They make it a huge deal. I don’t think I’ve ever made it a big deal.
The fact of the matter is and has always been that I just wanted to save myself for marriage.
My parents had been married for twenty-seven years now, and they started dating when they were in high school.
I know, I know. Times were different back then, and I don’t really know my parents’ sexual history—yuck. Don’t even want to think about that.
There’s just something romantic about it. Something I could never shake.
But… I’d be lying if I say it’s not something I’ve worried about. If I would’ve given in to the thousand times Mike had asked me to sleep with him, would he have still cheated? Would we still be together? Would we be happy?
Was I wrong for saying no all those years? I mean, people didn’t really get married young anymore. Did I really want to wait until my twenties to have sex?
See? An overthinker. Sloane nailed that one.
She must sense I’m too lost in my head to respond to her. She says a bit louder, “Why don’t we go out tonight?”
I jerk back to reality. “It’s a Wednesday.”
“Yeah, but classes haven’t started yet. Let’s go out. Let’s find you a hottie to bang. I can be your wingwoman.” She laughs at that. “I’ve never been a wingwoman before, but how hard can it be?” The girl oozes confidence, unlike me. She can do anything she sets her mind to, I bet, also unlike me.
Maybe it’s just the fact that I’m kind of depressed lately, but it seems like I can’t do anything right.
Can’t keep my boyfriend of four years from cheating on me. Can’t keep a best friend from going behind my back with said boyfriend. Can’t order all of my textbooks without forgetting something. Can’t even walk on campus without messing up somebody’s day.
Clearly, what I’ve been doing isn’t working. Maybe Sloane is right. Maybe I do need to get under somebody else.
Maybe I just need to do the damn thing already.