Chapter 29
Benson
I have been at my desk for an hour pretending to do a problem set, and my phone has not lit up since Lucy’s call this morning.
I keep glancing at it between problems. That’s a thing I have not done since I was in high school.
I’ve never been hung up over a girl, and I’m annoyed with myself about it.
Around nine, I close the notebook, pull on whatever t-shirt is closest — which turns out to be Blue’s, judging by the Detroit logo on the chest — and go downstairs.
Blue is at the kitchen island with the finance textbook he has been carrying around all weekend.
“Why the hell do you have my shirt?”
“Why the hell was it hanging in my closet?” I ask, looking down at it. “Want to go for a run?”
He looks at the shirt and shakes his head. “Give me two minutes.”
He marks his page with a sticky note and goes upstairs without another word. We lace up our running shoes in the entry hallway in silence. Stanley is on the couch watching something with a laugh track, eating something out of a tupperware that may or may not be Rowan’s leftover pasta.
“You guys running?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
He goes to stand up. “I’m coming.”
Blue says, “You’re going to die.”
Stanley snaps back, “What the fuck? Can you see the future? Are you planning to kill me?”
I glare at him. “He means on the run, dumbass. You’re still hungover.”
Stanley stands with that for a thought, and then he looks down at his pasta. “Oh. Yeah, right. Suddenly, I’ve changed my mind.”
“Yeah.”
“Eat your pasta, Stan,” I call out.
“I am eating my pasta, fucker.”
The path behind campus is the path we always take. We go out the back of the house and cut across the south lawn and pick up the loop where it crosses behind the science buildings. The October air has gotten serious, and Blue’s t-shirt is too thin.
We run the first mile without talking. Blue is the only guy in the house who knows when to let me be quiet.
We have been doing this since freshman year.
We did it in February when Blue’s grandmother died, then we did it in April when my agent first called, and we are doing it again because I cannot sit around and stare at my phone any longer.
The path comes around the back of the chemistry building and dips into the small ravine where the cross-country team practices.
Around the second mile, between Camdenths, Blue says, “You good?”
“Not according to the Hawthorne House rules.”
“Well, shit.”
“Yeah.”
We keep running. We finish the loop in a little over three miles. By the time we get back to the house, I’m sweating through Blue’s shirt and my head is, for the first time all day, quiet. We walk the last block to cool down. Blue doesn’t ask me anything else.
In the kitchen, Blue pours us both glasses of water. I drink mine standing at the sink. Stanley is asleep on the couch with the tupperware in his lap and the TV still on.
“Thanks, Blue.”
“Yeah.”
“Want your shirt back?”
“Yeah, later.” He puts down the cup in the sink. “Good run.”
I go upstairs and shower. I look at my phone one more time. She hasn’t texted. I consider texting her but remember that I texted her three different times last night without hearing back from her. I need to give her space. I put the phone out of my reach and fall asleep faster than I expected to.
Monday morning practice is fine until the second drill. It’s the same forecheck drill we have run a hundred times because I am, for the entire third rep, thinking about whether I have a text from my cute tutor. When Coach blows the whistle, I know I’ve done it.
“Reeve.”
I skate over. He has his arms crossed. “Coach.”
“Your head’s at seventy today. What’s going on?”
“Family stuff.”
He looks at me in disbelief, and I get it.
I never have family problems. He takes a moment and then he says, “I’m not going to ask what it is, but I want you to think long and hard about the day you’re in the NHL and if this family stuff is worth your performance.
Do you hear me? It’s a mental game just as much as it is physical. ”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now,” he says sternly. “You’re going to leave it at the door or channel it productively. Get back out there and prove that you’re a pro.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Run it again.”
Channel it productively or leave it at the door.
My thoughts running on a loop are what if Lucy wants nothing to do with me because of my sister, what if my sister cockblocks me for the rest of my life, and what if I never get a chance to eat Lucy out.
I want to eat her pretty pussy. Fuck. I’m leaving it at the door.
I run the drill again. I run it correctly this time, letting my mind go blank.
Coach doesn’t applaud my skills of not thinking about Lucy, so I pat my own damn back when I don’t fuck it up.
I sit through Markham’s class without absorbing more than half of the lecture. The midterm is two weeks out. I’m not worried about it because I have the best tutor on the planet.
That night, the kitchen is full. Stanley is at the island. Percy and Blue are at the table. Rowan is at the stove like the housewife he is. They’re all talking about hockey and about the girl Stanley kissed on Friday.
Rowan asks, “Is this Allie one or Allie two?”
Stan says, “Allie one is the bartender. Allie two is the marketing major.”
“Allie three?”
“There’s a third?” I shake my head.
“Allie three did not text me back. We do not speak of Allie three.”
Speaking of text messages, I pull out my phone.
Zero notifications. Okay, that’s not entirely true.
Stanley here has codependence and is always texting the group throughout the day, so technically, I have thirty-four unread text messages, but I have nothing from Lucy.
She hasn’t called or texted, and I’m sick of waiting around, so I start typing.
Me: Tomorrow at four.
It’s the best that I can do for now. Blue catches my eyes, but I ignore him. I can’t stop thinking about this girl. It’s taking everything in me not to find her and force her to tell me what’s going on in that head of hers.
It’s not until I’m in bed that my phone vibrates.
Lucy: Tomorrow at four.
Thank God.
Me: Goodnight, Lucy.Lucy: Goodnight, Benson.
Two text messages and I feel like a new man.
Tuesday morning practice is fine. I’m at the rink at six, and I stay sharp on the drills. I run the rush with Blue and Stanley, and we look like the line that scored three goals on Friday. Coach nods at me once on the way past the bench, and the rest of the practice happens around me.
I shower at the rink, put on the jeans and the clean Camden U hoodie I laid out last night. I eat lunch at the dining hall with Walsh and his girlfriend. She goes through the roster of drama with her basketball team. Man, I’m glad to have a good group of hockey players this year.
By three-forty, I’m at the library, taking the stairs to the third floor with my heart pounding in my chest like there’s something wrong with me.
I open the door to 3B at three forty-two.
I pick the chair facing the door and pull out my notebook and textbook.
I open the textbook to the chapter Markham covered on Friday because that is where Lucy will want to start, and I write the date in the corner of the notebook page.
I sit and wait patiently.
At three fifty-nine, the door opens. Her hair is up in the small black clip.
Her tote is over her left shoulder and the strap is slipping.
Her lips are extra glossy today, and I’m determined to find out what flavor it is.
It feels like I haven’t seen her in so long that my heart starts to race because I have no idea what to do with myself, and the silence is deafening.
I’m annoyed with myself that her lip gloss is the thing I am locking onto. It’s all I’m fucking looking at. My sister kicked her out of her home, and I have the audacity to stare at her mouth.
She sets her tote on the chair next to hers and unloads it the same way she always does. Her pencil case to the left of the textbook, highlighters to the right in their order, and the pencils with the bite marks.
She lays her hands flat on the table and leans down. “Hi.”
I smile, searching her face for permission. “Hi.”
“How early did you get here?” she asks, staring back at me.
“Day late and a dollar short to find out, babe.”
She sits on the chair, keeping her posture tall.
“How are you?” I ask, fidgeting with the pencil I stole from her. I’m pressing my fingertips into the end where she bit it. I catch her watching my hands.
“I’m good.”
I don’t skip a beat. “It’s been a while, Lucy. Do I need to start scheduling appointments to see you?”
She smiles shyly. “Maybe.”
I reach down and grab my planner. I keep my eyes on her as I flip to the month of October. I slide it over to her.
She glances down, seeing her name written in all caps every Tuesday and Thursday and chuckles. “You have me written down twice a week, Reeve. I think that’s fair.”
“Are we calling each other by our last names now, Moss?”
She grins, passing my planner back to me. “I would like to start the tutoring session now. We’re a few minutes past the clock.”
I pat the chair next to me. “Come sit next to me.”
She looks to my right at the open chair. “Oh, is that why you’re sitting there?”
I nod.
“I have a hundred percent tutoring success rate, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“You said so yourself that I don’t even need these sessions.”
Her eyes glare up at mine.
I add, “You can still keep your high success rate if you sit next to me.”
“We have this room booked for the next hour, so let’s get your work done.”
“Do you want to hang out after?”
She tilts her head. “Depends.”
I smirk. “On what?”
“How well you do.”
Game on.
She grabs her notebook and flips it to a fresh page. Then she reaches over and grabs my textbook. “Now, where did we leave off?”
“Six four.”
She flips to six-four and reads me a problem.
I work it. I get it wrong on the first pass — I miss a step in the conditional probability — and she catches the error and explains why. Then I fix the problem. She marks it correct. She slides the page back to me and her fingertips brush the back of my hand.
We do five problems in twenty minutes. The tutoring is happening.
But my mind has other ideas. I watch her lips, look at her neck, her chest in that long sleeve that’s modestly covering her entire upper body.
I want my mouth all over her. Shit. I try to concentrate on what she’s saying, but I can’t. Fuck, I might fail the midterm.
We work. She reads. I do. She marks. I write. She slides. I read.
At some point around four-thirty, her foot rests against my ankle under the table. I didn’t think she meant to do it at first, but when she doesn’t pull away, I like that she’s touching me.
I get the next problem wrong. She’s telling me how to get it right, but I’m staring at her neck. The spot right behind her ear.
“Benson,” she says. “Focus.”
I mutter, “I am.”
“You’re not.”
I look into her eyes. “I’m focused, babe.”
She points at the textbook. “Focus on stats.”
I nod. “Stats.”
She rolls her eyes. I grin. She inhales, staring at my forearms because she is, I am pretty sure, also not focused.
By five, we have done real work. Two chapters covered. A practice quiz half-graded. I have gotten enough problems right that Lucy says, with her pencil still on the page, “I think you’ll do great on the midterm.”
“I hope so.”
“No. I mean, you’re doing great. You’re a fast learner.”
She caps her pencil, closes the notebook, and starts packing. I watch her zip the tote and try to keep it cool.
“Dinner?” I ask.
She looks up at me and smiles. “Okay.”
When we stand, I reach over, put my arm around her neck, and Camdenthe her in. She keeps her hands on her bag in front of her and smiles sweetly at me. I don’t know how much longer I can go without kissing her.
There’s a small Mediterranean place on Ash Street that has booths in the back.
I’ve eaten there once with Blue and Percy after a game last spring, and I remember liking the kebabs, the hummus, and the booths.
I tell Lucy I know a place. She lets me drive.
The hostess seats us at a corner booth. The lighting is warm.
There is a small candle in a glass jar between us.
The waitress brings two waters and two menus and tells us about the specials.
I order the kebab plate. Lucy orders the grilled chicken thing.
“So, your mom’s?” I ask, wondering what that’s been like for her.
She takes a sip of water, nodding. “Yeah.” Her eyes look around and land on the table.
“How is that going?”
She looks up at me with soft eyes. “It’s a far drive, and I’m sleeping on the couch. But it’s fine.”
I lean back and listen. Before I rush to offer my bed to her, I need to know where her head’s at. She’s at dinner with me now, so that’s a good thing, but I get the feeling that if it wasn’t convenient, she wouldn’t be here with me.
“You haven’t gone back to the apartment yet?”
She nods. “I have, but I know Gianna’s schedule, so I just went quickly to grab a few things when she wasn’t there.”
“I take it that you haven’t talked to her yet?”
She shakes her head.
I lean forward and say, “You’re more than welcome to stay at my place.”
Her cheeks turn pink. “You’re just saying that, Benson. Please, don’t worry about me.”
I stare at her pretty face. “I swear I’m not just saying it.
And I’m not worried about you, honestly.
I just don’t think I can go days without seeing you again.
” I grab my glass of water and add, “Selfishly.” I don’t take a sip of water.
I’m grabbing it just to do something with my hands.
“You could sleep over for a night and see how you like it.”
“You’re going to get sick of me.”
I whisper, “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“What will the guys think?” she asks, peeking through her lashes.
I hadn’t thought about that. “They’ll love it.”
“Really?” she asks.
I nod.
“It would be temporary,” she says.
I smile to myself. Temporary? That means more than one night? I take a sip of water and then say, “You can stay as long as you’d like.”
She blushes. “I’m only taking you up on this because I can walk to school from Hawthorne.”
I lift my hands. “Yes, of course.”
“Are you sure?”
I smile at her. “Haven’t been more sure of anything.”