8. Vani
8
VANI
I ’m shaking from the confrontation I had with the black haired, blue-eyed boy in the classroom. I told myself I’d dealt with far worse at the club, and I had, but then I’d known I had about thirty club members I could call on to back me up.
Here, I’m on my own.
It’s not as though I’m unused to men being sexist—I’ve dealt with plenty of it at the club—but his clear aggression has still shocked me. I wasn’t expecting it here, in a place of learning.
Plus, the guys at the club might be pigs in many ways, but there are rules and hierarchies, and we all know what they are. Here, I have no clue of the lay of the land. Am I going to have to deal with this kind of shit in all my classes? Though he hasn’t said anything else to me since the teacher reprimanded him, I’ve sensed him glaring at me the entire lesson. The only way to deal with assholes like him is by giving as good as I get, so though every part of me wants to run away and hide, each time I catch his eye, I glare right back again.
He's clearly one of those guys who thinks a lot of himself. It’s understandable, I guess, considering what he looks like. His gray t-shirt clings to his broad shoulders and the muscles of his back. His dark hair is cut short, shaved at the nape, and highlights his strong neck. He has cheekbones you could cut glass on, blue eyes framed with black lashes, and a perfect mouth. I expect his teeth are equally perfect—not that he’s smiled to show me.
As striking as he is, it’s as much the air of confidence that surrounds him that draws attention as anything else. It reminds me of the guy I’d spotted hanging around outside when I arrived. I can tell people look up to him. Even the other guys in the class seem to be vying for his attention.
It occurs to me that having my father put me in the men’s classes might have been a mistake. While I want to learn, it also means there are no other girls in class with me. I’d wanted to listen out for names the teacher used, hoping to pick up on the name of Reagan, but of course that didn’t happen.
I remind myself that I just got here. If it takes me days or even weeks to locate my sister, so be it. Colleges are big places, almost small cities in many ways. She’s not going to be found on day one. This isn’t a movie, and seeing as I can’t ask straight out, at least not at first, I need to be patient.
There’s also the possibility she isn’t here at all. Though Mom seemed to think all the Olsen family went here, something else might have happened to my sister. Maybe she decided not to go to college or went somewhere else. What I need is proof of her being here, and the one place I’m most likely going to find that is in some kind of school records. I could just ask, of course, but I also don’t want word getting around that the new girl is asking questions. If Reagan hears I’m looking for her before she knows who I am, she might go to her father with questions, and that will stir up a whole heap of trouble.
I’m relieved when the bell goes again, and I’m able to pack up my things. How the hell am I going to survive three years in this place? I hope I haven’t made a horrible mistake. I remind myself that I can leave anytime—my dad and the club will always be there for me. But if I run, I’ll never be able to return, and then I’ll never find my sister.
As it so often does, my mind drifts to an imaginary world where my sister and I are close, and she’s here to defend me. A big sister would definitely put this asshole in his place. I picture her linking her arm in mine, and us both sauntering off down the corridor, leaving Blue-Eyes in our wake.
A pang of grief for all the lost years hits me. I wish I could turn back time and have a re-do, so we could have grown up in each other’s lives, but that’s impossible. It doesn’t stop me wanting it, though. I’ve always been lonely. A motorcycle club isn’t exactly the sort of place where it’s easy to make girlfriends, and growing up as an only child made it harder too. Having Reagan in my life would have changed everything. She’d have forged the way with my mom and dad, pushing their boundaries first, making it easier for me growing up. Maybe I’d have been cooler with her in my life, rather than the lonely, at times awkward person I’ve become. Or perhaps my personality has nothing to do with me being an only child, and it’s just who I am. I cover myself with tats as camouflage and use the presence of the club as my shield. I have a prickly and feisty outer shell to match my clothes and a fake hard attitude, but deep down I am a scared little girl, hiding behind the club for protection. But now one of those things has been stripped away, and my tattoos and biker boots don’t exactly fit in around here.
I want some air. I have a map that I was given by the office staff, and it shows the outdoor areas too. There is a wooded piece of land not far from the college, and it’s bright out now, so I decide to head there and try to chill out a bit. Nature always helps to ground me.
Back at the club, the noise, the people, even the smell of oil, gasoline, and stinky men, would sometimes get too much, and I’d take a walk into the woods nearby and just sit. I want to try to find that feeling of calm now, so I head to my room and grab my mini Michael Kors backpack. I put a bottle of water in it, my phone and ear buds, and a book, and head out.
When I step outside, I consult the map and take a back door, which leads me across a kind of quad. I take a right where I find a path which leads to a track into the woods. I know I’m safe from any outside threats, as the college is heavily fenced off and guarded. There are drones, too, and guard dogs.
The path narrows, and I listen to the birds sing as I stroll along the track. It goes deeper into the woods, and I follow it, until a small clearing by a pond appears in front of me. The sun is shining strongly enough now to make it warm. I find a spot to sit and take off my light sweater. I’ve only got a camisole underneath, and it’s showing a hell of a lot of cleavage, but there’s no one around, so I’m not too worried.
I lie back and use my bag as a makeshift pillow. My eyes drift closed as I let the sun beat down on me. I’m enjoying the warmth of its rays as it filters through the gap in the trees. When I arrived here, I hadn't been thinking about how beautiful the place was. I’d not even considered exploring the massive grounds that surround the building. My only goal had been to find my sister. However, I must admit, from what I've seen, the college is set within some very beautiful land.
I shift a little and adjust the backpack under my head. It isn't the most comfortable thing to lie back on, but I really need a little time to ground myself. I let my mind run through some simple meditations as I focus on my breathing, and the sounds around me. I concentrate on the breeze rustling through the trees, the twittering of birdsong, and the wind brushing over my skin.
It's a pleasant sensation, and the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end as my nipples pucker. It's the breeze making it happen, but, as I focus on the sensation, my mind drifts from calming thoughts to thinking about cigarette guy.
He really was impressively built, and I wonder what he would look like naked. More than anything, it wasn't his actual body, or his handsome features, that grabbed my attention but the cocky wink he threw my father. That took balls. Real chutzpah, and I liked it.
Behind me, there’s the crunch of a twig, followed by rustling. I sit up and look around. I strain my ears, and the noise comes again, and I realize someone is walking toward me.
I reach for my sweater, as I don't want to be found sitting here alone wearing only a camisole, not that I should have to worry about what I'm wearing. I can't stand the idea that women should have to dress modestly in order not to titillate the men around them or offend people. However, so far, my experience of the guys at this college hasn't been all that great.
I think back to the asshole in class and try not to let the anger sweep over me again. I have only just managed to calm myself down, and don't need to get all riled up again.
A figure steps into the clearing and comes to an abrupt halt. I can see it's a man, but the sun is behind him, so I can't make out his features. I lift my hand to shade my face, and as I do so, my heart falls. This cannot be happening to me.
It's the same guy from class earlier, and the very last person I want to see.
My mind quickly calculates how far I am from the college, and how long it would take me to get back there. Not that I think the man will do anything to me, but I can't be sure. He seems to have a shitty attitude toward women.
He stares down at me for a long beat, and even though I can't see his face clearly, I feel his gaze taking in every inch of me. I'm horribly aware of how low cut my top is, and how pushed up my breasts are in this bra. I didn't wear it on purpose, to be seductive, but it's a balconette style and tends to have that effect.
I hurriedly pull on my sweater before standing.
“Oh, hey,” the guy says. “I didn’t know anyone else would be here.”
I nod and move to walk around him.
“Not in a talkative mood?” He chuckles. “I get that. It’s why I come here, too. I like to get away from that place. Need to be out in nature, you know? Anyway, I’m sorry if I disturbed your peace.”
Is he insane? I stare at him for a long moment. Why the change in attitude?
“You didn’t disturb my peace,” I say coolly. “I’m just leaving.”
“Don’t leave on my account. I’m happy to sit in silence.”
“Well, I’m not. See you around.”
He watches me as I stride past him, his expression, which I can see more clearly now I’m standing too, seems puzzled.
“Are you one of the kitchen staff?” he asks. “I haven’t seen you around before.”
Okay, he is insane.
“Are you shitting me?” I demand.
He does a double take and confusion on his face tightens into something else as anger darkens his features.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he growls.
“I should ask you the same. I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, but pretending you don’t remember me from literally an hour ago is just stupid.”
He cocks his head. “What happened an hour ago?”
“We met in class.” I almost shout the words at him. This game isn’t funny. “You were a rude, arrogant dick, and now it seems you’re playing some sort of game to psych me out. Well, I don’t like silly boys who play games.”
The darkness in his face morphs into amusement, and his perfect lips stretch into a smile. What the hell?
“Oh, you must have met my twin.”
As if . “Ha-ha,” I say and shake my head.
“No, really, that’s my twin. You can tell because he’s got a mole, here.” He touches his throat a little way below his jaw. “Plus, he’s an asshole, and I’m not.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Really?” If this is a trick, I am going to feel so stupid.
He shrugs. “Why would I lie? To what end? You’ll find out soon enough. Like I say, look close next time you see him. You’ll see the mole right here. Oh, yeah, and the asshole attitude. That’s Lex.”
I feel my anger recede a little. This guy does seem a little friendlier and more relaxed. “So, you’re the nice one, huh?”
He laughs. “I didn’t say I was nice, now, did I?”
Not really sure how to react to that, I say nothing.
“I’m not a rude asshole like my twin, but in many other ways, I’m far from nice. You look nice, though.” His grin widens, and I note that he does have perfect teeth.
It doesn’t pass me by that he said “look,” not “seem.” He’s not ogling me, but his gaze is intense, just like his brother’s.
“So, you’re a new student?”
“Yes,” I say.
“We don’t get many students who look like you.”
“What? Short and curvy?” I say sarcastically.
“No, the ink.” He reaches out and brushes my loose sweater away from my right shoulder, revealing the tattoo there. I swallow as the heat of his fingers burns a path along my skin.
His eyes are so beautiful in the bright sun, they’re dazzling. He and his twin hit every single pretty branch on the way down, and then fell into a puddle of testosterone at the bottom that made their pretty oh-so-masculine in a mouthwatering way.
“The girls here don’t have tattoos?” I’m surprised he thinks my having ink is unusual. Back at the club, not having ink would make you the unusual one. I can’t help wondering if I’ve joined a convent by mistake.
“Not many,” he says. “They tend to be kind of pristine and perfect, you know? Or they try to pretend they are. It depends, I suppose, on exactly what kind of lifestyle they come from. Take the Cosa Nostra girls. They are so protected.”
I flinch. Of course, I know what this place is, but the way he says that organization’s name so casually niggles me.
I swallow hard. He has a slight lilt to his accent, so maybe he’s part of that organization himself “Are you Italian?” I ask.
“ Merde ,” he mutters. “You insult me. French.” Then he holds out his hand. “ Enchante .”
I take up the handshake, and his grip is firm but gentle, his fingers warm. Oh, this guy is a charmer. He’d charm the birds from the trees at the same time as your panties were dropping.
“ Parlez-vous fran ? ais ?”
“ Non, ” I reply with a small laugh of my own. “I understand a few phrases, though.”
I realize we are still holding hands and snatch mine back. “I better be going,” I say. “Umm, good to meet you …”
“Saint,” he supplies.
Saint? Is that a French thing? I keep my question to myself.
“Good to meet you, Saint.” I go to turn away, but his voice stops me.
“Wait, what’s your name?” he asks.
“Ivani,” I say. His brow furrows a little. Anyone would think my name had twenty syllables. “Vani with a V is just fine, though.”
“Nice meeting you, Vani with a V.”
I walk away, and I can’t help the smile on my face. I met the asshole twin earlier, but his brother is a gorgeous charmer, and seeing those kinds of looks used by a guy who knows how to work them is quite the experience.
I wonder how much I will see of the twins during my time here. I bet together they are a real force to be reckoned with.