Chapter 3 Steven
Chapter three
Steven
When We First Met
When I was seven years old, I was convinced I had my life figured out. I was going to be the next Lane Frost, riding bulls for a living and getting the girls. Fast forward to now, and only one of those has rung true.
Girls.
My sisters call me a womanizer, and I don’t bother correcting them.
There were times I wore the label like a badge of honor.
And my best friend, Liam, isn’t any better.
Always wanting more but never wanting enough to stay.
We’re in our second year of medical school, constantly busy, with no intention of slowing down.
Until last night.
“What’s so special about her?” Liam whispers, ignoring our anatomy lecture like it’s background noise.
“I don’t know, dude,” I whisper back, almost like saying it too loud might break whatever spell I’m under. “She’s just…”
“Dude, stop.” He shoves my shoulder then recoils low into his chair. “You’re weirding me out.”
“I can’t get her out of my head.” The confession slips out like it’s been trapped behind my teeth all morning.
My hand drags across my forehead, down my face, to my neck.
I still feel her there, every inch of me sizzling with the adrenaline of last night, every nerve ending screaming her name. “I should’ve kissed her.”
I mumble it more to myself than to him, but Liam’s fist still finds my shoulder. Again.
“Shi—what was that for?” I wince.
“Mr. Jones, is there something you would like to share with the class?”
Carstarp’s voice cuts like a blade. Our professor peers over his bifocals, the glow of the projector illuminating his platinum hair. The class stills.
“Sorry,” I mutter, sinking in my seat.
“You too, Mr. Peters. Anything you’d like to share?” His eyes slide to my left with a slow, bone-chilling precision that wipes the smirk right off Liam’s face.
“Now, where were we?” Carstarp returns to his slides.
“I can’t believe you didn’t seal the deal,” Liam mutters a few minutes later.
I can’t believe it either.
By the end of the lecture, I’ve drawn the same letter so many times into my notebook that the grooves have practically burned into the desk beneath.
The world blurs around me, and all that’s left in my brain is her laugh, her smile, and the way she looked at me like she saw something no one else ever bothered to look for.
Every second stretches me, aching, like the pull of a harness, until someone eventually taps me on the shoulder.
“Stevieeeeeee,” the girl croons, dragging my name out like taffy as she scoots her desk closer to mine. She’s vaguely familiar, someone from one of Liam’s parties probably. “I didn’t know you were taking botany.”
The way botany somehow trills out of her mouth jars me back to reality. “I’m not. I was just headed out.” My hands and feet fumble as I simultaneously shove my things into my bag and head for the door.
“Will I see you this weekend?” Her voice follows me, sticky with expectation.
“I—I don’t know…” I weave through the rows without looking back, my usual weekend plans looking less appealing by the second.
I can already see it: keggers, hookups, endless debauchery with no remorse in sight.
Usually, that thought would thrill me. Now, the idea of another nameless, forgettable night makes my stomach twist.
For the first time in my life, I don’t want to lose myself in a night I’ll forget by morning.
I want to remember every second. I want to savor it.
With my crumpled notes still clutched in my fist, the scribbled E on my page blinks up at me like a beacon. I know exactly where I want to be this weekend.
With her.
My legs move before my brain catches up, steamrolling across the campus lawn, pounding up the library steps, storming through the business building, until I burst into the communal art studio like a man on fire.
I spot her instantly. Even in a crowd of thousands, surrounded by noise and color, she shines. I stop for a moment, breathless, just to drink her in.
Long legs in frayed denim shorts. Van Halen t-shirt clinging to her like a second skin.
Brown hair tucked behind a crocheted bandana, hiding her fringe bangs.
She looks like summer and rebellion. Like she belongs everywhere except here—and definitely not with someone like me.
Nothing about her screams “ready to commit.”
She told me last night she was leaving for Europe to study art after graduation. Settling down with a second-year med student isn’t in her cards.
But damn it, I have to try.
She’s surrounded by a strange harmony of tie-dye hippies and leather-clad punk rock dudes. They’re all admiring a painting of a monkey holding up a sign that reads Say No to Bananas.
“Do you think this is a symbol for socialism?” one guy asks.
“Totally,” another replies.
“Maybe it’s their way of supporting feminism,” a girl adds.
“Orrrr…” a voice—her voice—ripples through me, warm and aching. “It’s just a monkey that hates bananas.”
The group goes quiet, but I can’t hold it in. A laugh tears out of me, a loud cackly one. Heads turn, everyone stares. But all I see is her.
Our eyes meet, and in that brief moment, the world around us vanishes. Something flashes behind her eyes, something that makes my chest tighten. She masks it with a soft smile, but I see it. I feel it.
She’s happy to see me.
“Em, you’re wild.” The first girl turns back to the painting. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I’ll, uh…catch up with you guys later,” she tells them, but her eyes never leave mine.
My body moves toward her, helpless. Drawn like a moth to a flame, knowing full well I will burn for her.
“Well, hello there, Stan, is it?” A tease curls her lips.
“Emily, right?” I counter.
Throwing her head back, she lets out a sweet, gut-twisting laugh. Everything inside me zaps awake, heating and pulsing like a bear coming out of hibernation. I’m suddenly ravenous, like I haven’t eaten in days. Her teeth scrape against her bottom lip, and my mouth goes dry.
“So…” I ignore the crack in my voice, and she graciously does too. “Funny to run into you here.”
“Oh, yeah? Do you come to the art building often?”
“Ha, yeah,” I stammer. “All the time.”
“Right.” She smiles and takes a step closer. Her expression is a mask, aloof, like she’s not nearly as flustered as I am. And I hate to admit that it’s working for me. “So what do I owe this pleasure, Steven?”
My blood heats at the way she says my name. Slow and intentional. Lethal. The vein in my neck pulses erratically as her breath brushes my skin. Her red lips are so close…and so much trouble.
“I, uh…wanted to see you.”
“Just couldn’t get enough of me, huh?” she jokes.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I blurt out before I lose my nerve.
She blinks up at me, the mask cracking. “What?”
I should pull back. I’ve never been so forward before. But I’ve also never felt this way. Never felt so alive. I would be the stupidest man on the planet if I let this feeling slip away.
“I had an amazing time with you last night, Emma Bailey,” I add. “And I would very much like to see you again.”
Her breath catches, her cheeks flush, and I think I might just have a chance. But then a slow breath flows out of her.
“I thought I made myself clear.” Her eyes stay pinned to my chest, oddly empathetic as they fixate on the toad wearing a cowboy hat on my shirt. “I’m not looking for anything serious right now.”
“You did say that,” I murmur under my breath, and her thick lashes flutter. “But I also know a man’s brain isn’t fully developed until age twenty-five, so I, unfortunately, can’t accept that as fact.”
She laughs. It’s sharp and sweet, but she still won’t meet my eyes.
“Why won’t you look at me?”
“Because…” she whispers.
I tilt her chin gently, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll back off.”
“I…” Her eyes flutter closed, and she takes a deep, fortifying breath. “I can’t… I’m not a liar.”
I smile, helpless against the relief crashing over me. She’s scared. She has every right to be. I am too. Because whatever is going on inside of me is wild, and new, and downright impossible to ignore.
“I have plans…” she adds.
“Tonight? That’s fine, I can see you tomorrow.”
“No, plans for my life.” She smirks. “I have a binder.”
This makes me snort, and she swats at the toad. I catch her wrist and pull it close to my mouth, letting my breath linger there. Goosebumps bloom up her arm.
“You are a huge disruption to my plans, Steven Jones.”
“Disruptions can be a good thing.”
“Or they can be detrimental.”
“Such a big word.” I kiss her hand. I can’t stop myself.
“I’m leaving for Europe in six months.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“What about medical school?” Her hand goes slack in mine.
“Okay, I’ll come visit you.”
“What if I don’t come back?”
“We’ll worry about that when the time comes.” I kiss her wrist, where her heartbeat thunders beneath my lips.
“Steven, I…” her words trail off as her eyes finally meet mine. I can see a world of life in them, a life she desires, a life she’s longing for. And it’s not here. Something inside me aches. Whether it’s from rejection or guilt, I’m not sure.
“Give me six months.” I release her wrist and push her long hair behind her shoulders.
Her Van Halen t-shirt looks like it’s been chopped with kitchen scissors, slouching off one shoulder.
My fingers trace over her skin, and heat moves through me at the contact.
“Let me have six months with you, Emma Bailey. Then you can jet off to a new life.”
Her eyes search mine, probably for some kind of loophole.
I wish I had one. But I don’t. I have nothing to offer this woman but my heart.
And if after six months it’s not enough, I won’t blame her for wanting to move on.
I’d do the same. But something about the way her green eyes flicker at me and the way her chest heaves each time I touch her tells me it might be just enough.
When she doesn’t answer, I reach up and cradle her face in my hands, letting my thumbs trace the line of her jaw. My touch is gentle but also desperate.
I’ve never been one to beg, but I’m about halfway to dropping to my knees for this woman. “Please, Emma.”
“Do it, Em!”
We whip around to see her group of friends we thought had left lingering in the foyer, wide-eyed and grinning like this is the art show they’ve been waiting for.
“Yeah, Emma,” one of the hippie bros chimes in, “get yours!”
“This could be a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love,” another friend shouts.
Emma turns beet red and groans, burying her face in my chest.
“Is that a yes?” I laugh, my fingers now lost in her hair.
“I don’t know,” she says, smirking as she tugs at a loose strand, twirling it around her finger like it’s nothing. Like she’s not actively unraveling my self-control. She’s enticing. Tempting. A menace in denim shorts. “I think I need a grand gesture,” she muses.
I blink. “A grand gesture?”
“Oh, come on, you know what I mean!” She throws her arms out wide, motioning to the open space around us, like it’s a stage I haven’t stepped onto yet. “I need something big!”
I arch a brow, feeling pretty confident that she’s already in.
Grand gesture or not, I could walk away right now, and I’m pretty sure she’d follow.
I know it. She knows it. I’d take two steps and she’d be right behind me, grinning like she planned it that way all along.
But the way her green eyes glint, alive with challenge and possibility, makes me feel like some small part of her needs to believe I’ll go all in.
I want her to know she’s worth the grand gesture. All of them. I need to make this count.
So I say, “Fine, I’ll give you the best damn gesture you’ve ever seen in your life.”
Her smile spreads, slow and devilish, and she does this little shoulder shimmy that hits sends a whoosh through my chest.
I am so screwed.
“Wait right here,” I tell her, planting a quick kiss to her forehead before I jog over to her friends.
They greet me like they’ve been waiting for this. My five-foot-ten frame in athletic shorts and a stained orange t-shirt sticks out like a sore thumb among their floaty clothes and wild hair, but they don’t care.
“Do you have a speaker?” I ask. One materializes like magic. Their giddy smiles give me the silent pep talk I need as they shove me back toward Emma.
Confusion and barely concealed excitement are all over my face as she watches me fight my tangled iPod headphones, finally yanking them it and connecting it to the speaker. My hands are shaking. My heart’s pounding. I have no idea where to start. By the door? The stairs? The table?
Before I can decide, one of her friends yanks the iPod from my hand and hits play. Loud.
Suddenly, Cheap Trick is blasting through the speaker, and I’m on a table. I don’t remember climbing the table, but I’m here now, and there’s no going back.
“I want youuuuuu to want me. I neeeeeeeeed you to need me.”
It’s not pretty. Definitely out of tune. But it’s heartfelt as hell. Emma’s face lights up, all sunshine and wonder, and my lungs can barely handle how much I want this, how much I want her.
I get through the first verse then jump down and reach for her hand. She grabs it like she’s been waiting her whole life to. We’re both singing now. Then it’s her friends. Then the entire building joins in. It’s a choir of chaos and magic. And she’s right there with me, glowing.
Halfway through, I’m gasping for breath, and she’s laughing.
“Can’t keep up with Cheap Trick, huh?”
I wipe sweat off my brow. “I’ll leave the rest to the pros,” I joke, nodding toward her friends who are committed to every lyric.
“So…” I say, really looking at her now. I’m breathless for a hundred reasons. “What do you say?”
“I say…”—she smiles—“this is going to be pretty hard to beat.”
“Sounds like a yes to me.”
She laughs, pressing her body flush against mine.
The contact pulls something tight inside me, like a coiled wire being stretched.
Her arms slip around my waist, and suddenly, I feel like I’m being stitched together for the first time.
For twenty-four years, I didn’t even realize I was just a scattered mess, unanchored and untethered to the ground.
Just pieces floating through the ether. But now I know what it’s like to be held together, to be mended.
“Where are you taking me to dinner, then?” she asks, and I squeeze her tight against me, my hands splayed across her back, touching every square inch of her I can without getting out of hand.
“How do you feel about karaoke bars?” I joke.
“They’re the best kind.”
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
“About time.”