20
Flower petals are faded by the hot summer sun, and if it hadn’t been for Keele’s University sprinkler system, many of these plants would have dried up and died. The assignment requires me to take two samples of each plant category listed. Rosaceae, or the rose family, contains many edibles, including raspberry, strawberry, apple, pear, plum, and crab apple. But there are some less glamorous plants or herbs such as lady’s mantle, agrimony, and blackberry, and trees such as mountain ash.
The sprinkler is currently on in the rose garden, and it’s unwise to take samples of wet plants as they’ll go moldy, so I walk towards the sports field where two rowans grow or Sorbus aucuparia that were planted by a British botanist years ago because he missed the native trees of his homeland.
When I dive head-first into the realm of botany and plant biology, a peacefulness comes over me; the weight falls off my shoulders, and my heart rate drops. The conversation with Blake fades to the back of my mind, becoming smaller and less hostile so I can reflect on my reaction with a level head. Yes, I overreacted viscerally to his suggestion to take it slow. The more I think about it, the stupider I feel.
As I cut across the baseball diamond towards the rowan trees, standing lonely against the locker rooms, I realized my adverse reaction to Blake was not because he said he wanted us to take it slow but because he could feel my scars. I can’t be around someone who sees through my disguise and peels back the layers of my armor to find nothing but flesh and bones that are easy to cut and splinter. After what he said to me today, I don’t think my pride will let me look him in the eyes again.
There is a group of guys playing a friendly game of baseball. When I notice the ball coming my way, I hit the ground and run toward the rowan trees to avoid being struck. A wolf whistle infiltrates the air, which I ignore, assuming it’s not for me. I keep running until I reach the first tree.
I don’t have any secateurs, so I twist a leafy, thin twine until it snaps and slip the sample inside a book in my bag. Apple and pear trees are growing in the Horticulture School, which botany and plant biology students share, and that’s about a twenty-minute walk from here. Checking the time on my phone because I don’t want to keep Z waiting and realize I don’t have enough time. Still, I remember spotting agrimony or sticklewort growing on the other side of the locker rooms, where a grassy courtyard was nestled in purply pink magnolia shrubs. I don’t attend the Sports Science School much apart from my one Sports Science class with Ed Willard, but I spotted the yellow flowers as I was walking through because they seemed to have no business being there with the woody shrubs.
As it’s getting late in the afternoon and the crowds are thinning out, I’m unsurprised that it’s empty when I step into the grassy courtyard. Due to the three-story tall classroom buildings framing the courtyard and blocking out the sun, the entire area is steeped in cool shade. The bright yellow flowers stand out like a sore thumb against the woody shrubs, and as I step toward them, three students pour out of the building entrance in the throes of pink-faced laughter.
Ignoring their cackles, I crouch down and break off a flower sample of the agrimony, and when I stand up, one of the girls states under her laughter, “He’s so old.”
They linger outside the classroom opposite me, with the drapes drawn. I assume that’s because the students are watching an educational film inside and need dark space. But what piques my interest is that the three girls keep peering through the window, where there’s a crack in the drapes.
“They so need a room,” another girl exclaims, disgusted but also curious, as she keeps glancing through the crack in the drapes.
I only need two brain cells to understand what they’re talking about. Slipping the agrimony sample between two pages of the same book as the rowan sample, I step towards the alleyway that leads back out onto the sports field when the three girls decide to leave.
My curiosity is getting the better of me, so first checking that I’m alone, I step up to the window and peer through the crack in the drapes. As to be expected, I’m met with two people fucking. The blond girl is bent over a student”s desk while being pummeled from behind.
Feeling like I’m encroaching on their privacy, I pull away and inspect the rowan tree and agrimony samples in my bag to ensure I have not crushed them. As I step towards the alleyway to leave, something gnaws at my stomach to take another look at the fucking pair. I’m not a pervert, but a flicker of familiarity in the two people urges me to satisfy my intrigue.
Again, I peer through the crack in the drapes, and this time, I focus on the man and the woman in the act. The woman’s long, straight blond hair has fallen over her face, so I can’t identify her correctly, but the man in the dark blue polo shirt who is now finishing off and pulling up his sports shorts is none other than Lyons—hitlist number one. The old geezer probably needed Viagra to get that limp biscuit moving. Yuck.
Since Lyon”s wife is dark-haired, I can confidently say this woman is not her. After he pulls out of her, she stands up straight and flicks her hair back, and my heart crashes against my ribcage at whose face I see before me. I step back in shock, mouth gaping, and slam against something hard.
“Hey,” his smooth, deep voice exclaims curiously.
“Cormac?” I state breathlessly, moving away from the scene of the crime.
He frowns and narrows his eyes suspiciously, glancing at the window and then at me. “What are you doing out here?”
“Sticklewort,” I answer, opening my bag and taking out the yellow-flowered sample. “For a botany assignment. I’ll press it between two leaves of paper under heavy books.” I can tell he’s trying to show interest in my passion to be nice, but isn’t really.
My heart still flips in my chest after seeing Lucy railed by the putrid Lyons. I thought she had a boyfriend. Surely, she must know he’s married, or maybe that doesn’t matter to some people. I’m so confused.
“Huh, interesting,” Cormac mumbles. “It’s always about flowers and aphids with you.”
“I do have other interests,” I try to convince him, like killing the man only a wall away.
“I’ve been meaning to message you,” Cormac states as we walk towards the alleyway, which takes us out onto the sea of green.
“That’s what they all say,” I tell him.
“Yeah,” he sighs, and I can almost feel the burden upon his shoulder blades. “I”ve been training hard because the nationals are coming up.”
“How is your father?” I ask him, and he seems confused. “The reason why you had to leave on Friday night.”
“Yeah, right. He’s fine,” Cormac answers flatly. He’s so serious and in direct contrast to Blake in energy and mannerisms, but I like him, even though I’m certain he lied to me on Friday night about his father.
We come onto the sports field, and the falling sun strikes our eyes. I think of Blake, and that kiss and guilt seep into my pores. Is it officially cheating when I’m not in a relationship with either of them? No, I’m playing the field; that’s what I’m doing.
“So, what happened?” I press to see how far I get with my interrogation.
He shrugs those vast, incredible shoulders. “He had a minor accident, but he’s okay. How was your weekend?”
“I was on the coast for my father’s birthday,” I explain, absolutely sure that I had already told him this unless I imagined it.
“Yeah, I know,” he says. That”s good; I didn’t imagine it. “Are you close to your family?”
“Um…I used to be,” I say quietly as the guilt scours my chest. My breath hitches a little until I compose myself again.
He gazes down at me with tired eyes, and I grace him with a smile. His short, typically neatly cut hair is a little disheveled, and his big hands are fitted into his sweatpants pockets, but that sadness is still behind those eyes. Maybe he’s tired of training, and I don’t blame him. It takes an exceptional athlete to train at his level, day after day, week after week. I don’t miss the long hours, sometimes for a win or a placing, and other times for nothing.
“What happened that you’re not close anymore?” he asks as I keep to his long strides across the green where the baseball game is still in session. I bet they won’t wolf whistle with a six-foot-four giant by my side.
“It’s complicated.” I don’t want to talk about it to someone I barely know.
“Gotcha,” he understands, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling bad. I have no reason to.
“Something happened to change the course of my life,” I add, instantly regretting it because he’ll probably ask more questions.
“Is that why you dropped out of the swim team?” he asks, proving why I should’ve kept my mouth shut. It doesn’t take a brainiac to put two and two together, which is what he’s done.
“Yeah, but like I said, it’s complicated,” using a firmer tone, so we drop the topic.
There are several beats of silence as we stroll across the diamond before reaching the gardens, and he breaks the silence. “I’m heading to the Olympic pool for training.”
“With Lyons?” I have to stop laughing because he’s back in the classroom, wetting his wick. Soon to be dead wick and limp forever. Creep.
“Yeah,” he grunts. “Listen, do you want to come to my place tonight after training?”
“Um, I can’t. My bestie is coming over to catch up,’ I tell him.
“Male friend or female friend?” he hits, and I’m a little taken aback.
“Female.”
“Good,” he snaps.
“Is it?”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want you hanging with other guys,” he says calmly, as if confessing to someone he barely knows.
“You don’t dictate to me whom I hang out with,” I spit angrily. “You’re not my minder.”
“I’m a jealous guy, and you’re a beautiful girl. On top of that obvious fact, I don’t have much spare time these days, so I want to spend it wisely.”
My feet stop dead beside the bleachers, annoyed by his comment. “That’s coming from a guy who forgot my number for the last three days. I mean…hello,” I wave at him. “Left me in the lurch Friday night and not a single message from you for days. If I hadn’t bumped into you in the courtyard, you would’ve forgotten I existed, and I could’ve gone on my merry way.”
“That wasn’t a coincidence, Rae. I saw your blond hair dazzling in the sun as I walked along the corridor in the building, so I doubled back to ‘bump’” air quotes “into you. There are no coincidences.”
“There are no coincidences in life or this particular excursion?” I ask curiously.
“Both. We create our destiny.”
“Wow, that’s deep,” I hiss sarcastically.
His voice croons as if this conversation is going exactly how he envisioned it. “Thanks. And by the way, Rae, you’re fucking hot when you’re angry.”
“Shut up,” I snap. “And there was no sun in the courtyard. It was one hundred percent in the shade, so there was no dazzling of blond hair.”
“Still, your hair caught my eye, so I came to see you,” he explains. “Again, it was no coincidence.”
“You still haven’t explained why you haven’t contacted me for three days,” I snap, feeling my nostrils flare in a fury.
He opens his mouth, then closes it, giving me no reason or excuse.
“Fine,” I huff, turning my back on him to storm toward the front entrance where my car is parked.
“This is exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” he calls after me, and I look back in confusion. “See, you do like me, and that’s why you’re upset that I didn’t call. Feel free to admit it.”
“Fuck you,” I growl, turning my back on him to stroll away.
“See, I like this view,” his voice echoes through the open space, and I turn back to examine him again. He’s standing there like he owns the world, arms folded across his great chest, head tilted, and sky blues on me. “That ass.”
“Don’t stare, or I’ll find a pastime for those eyeballs of yours that includes a meat mincer,” I yell back.
“Sexy, dirty language,” he calls after me.
“What the hell has gotten into him?” I hiss angrily as I zip into the rose garden, so he can’t watch my ass moving, but the sprinklers are still on, and my clothes are getting wet.