Chapter 3 Carrie
I hear footsteps thundering down the stairs behind me. No matter how hard I try, I can’t run fast enough to shake him off. Part of me wants him to catch up, even though I hate him for leading me on.
“Mel, wait! It’s not what you think!”
Sure it isn’t. I was stupid to think he would ever change for me.
By the time I make it to the sidewalk, the pain is searing. I stare straight ahead and press on, blind to the headlights sweeping over the asphalt.
I’m right in the middle of a pivotal scene in my romance when some genius decides to stand over me and clear their throat. I ignore them, quickly turning the page.
Over the screams flooding my head, shattering the silence of the night behind me, I hear the blaring of a car horn and the screeching of tires. I turn to see light coming at me—too bright, too fast.
My muscles tense, bracing for impact, but before I know it, I’m in the air.
A soft mass breaks my fall; strong arms closing around me.
We roll down the shoulder, and when finally we reach the bottom, we lie there, perfectly still.
My eyelids flutter open. It’s Jonas—his eyes bright and gleaming with fear, brimming with feeling I never thought I would see.
Another, more insistent throat-clear makes me reread the same line twice. Oh my God, I’m gonna lose it. Whoever you are—read the room.
“Mel,” he moans, covering my face with kisses. “Mel, I lo—”
I honestly thought my mental “Get lost” command had worked—right up until a giant hand slides in front of my book and waves around. At the most crucial moment possible. Right between me and the long-awaited release for Jonas and Mel. Talk about a cliff-hanger.
“Hello?”
I take a deep breath in, fighting back the urge to bite a chunk out of the thumb wiggling in front of me. I look up.
I recognize this guy. I narrow my eyes. He’s drumming his fingers on the table, a coy grin plastered across his face, so casual you’d think we were friends.
“Hey, Cassie!”
Cassie? Major red flag. I’m neither surprised nor offended, though.
“What’s up, Donald?”
His smile dims. “Donovan. As in, Do—No—Van.”
“And I’m Carrie.” I beam, stressing my name, too.
I can practically see the light bulb flickering on.
“Okay.” He slides a chair out. “Let’s call it even.”
“Let’s not.”
I slam my book shut and fix him with a steely gaze as he stretches out his legs, then grunt when his sneaker smacks my bare toes.
“Having a good day?” he chirps.
I swivel in my seat, glancing from left to right, trying to figure out what this guy is doing at my table. What have I done to deserve this? We’re surrounded by empty seats, so why me? I catch sight of the other Campus Drivers at the back of the dining hall, which freaks me out even more.
I turn back to Donovan Wolinski, and that’s when I realize that he’s still talking.
I decide to cut to the chase.
“What do you want?”
“An orange juice would be great, thanks.”
I open my mouth. Close it again. I slide my glasses down the bridge of my nose—a nervous tic that drives all my friends insane. I’m just about to ask whether he needs medical assistance, when he speaks first.
“How does it feel to be back at school? You enjoying it?” He smiles. “What are you studying? You’re a junior, right?”
Okay, where’s the hidden camera?
“Dude, how can I help you?” I snap.
“Whoa, take it easy! I’m just making conversation here.”
“Oh no!” I fake gasp. “Did I hurt your feelings?”
He studies me more closely now, searching my face for something I’m apparently missing. “Did we… I mean, have we ever…” He coughs nervously. “If I was a douche to you at some point…”
“You really know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you?” I tap a nail against my glasses frame. “Relax,” I add. “Little Donovan and I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting.”
I flick my hand vaguely in the direction of his crotch and mime a little gag. Okay, maybe I’m pushing it—but I’m hoping he’ll get the message and leave. He’s not my type. He’s the type to interrupt a girl mid-chapter. Mid–plot twist, as a matter of fact. That’s a cardinal sin in my view.
“If you’ve ever hit on me and I shut you down, then I’m really sorry.”
“Oh boy. I have zero interest in you. Maybe that’s what’s throwing you off?”
Is it me, or does he look kind of relieved?
“Anyway, let’s circle back to the start. I’ll try again, slower this time.” I clear my throat. “How can I help you?”
“We have mutual friends,” he tries, like that makes this okay. “Why is it so surprising I would swing by to shoot the breeze?”
“ ‘Shoot the breeze’?”
What in the hell is going on with this guy?
No matter which way I turn it, I can’t figure out what he wants—and to be perfectly honest, I’m not in the mood for chitchat.
Especially not with him. What isn’t he getting about this situation?
You’ve got a girl, sitting here alone with a book in her hand, clearly lost in the story, and clearly in no mood to talk.
Although to be honest there is no scenario where I would ever want to “shoot the breeze” with Donovan Wolinski.
“Hey, what’s the big deal here? I just wanted to see how you’re doing. You know—like a normal person, and stuff.”
“Normal people tend to ask one question at a time. And anyway…”
I actually don’t know what else to say, so I let my sentence fizzle out.
He eyes my book. “You like to read, huh?”
I’m about to give him a slow clap for his scintillating conversation skills, but really, I just want him to leave. Like, he must be fucking with me.
“Yeah, I love to read. I especially love to read in silence. Alone.” I give him a meaningful look.
“Nice.”
Real deep, man.
He tilts his head, and for a second I think he might’ve actually picked up on the message.
But nope. Out of nowhere, he reaches over and plucks the book out of my hand, flipping it to read the back.
I chew the inside of my cheek. I know I’m acting like a total Gollum right now, but I bet his fingers are all sticky and dirty and shit.
“Romance.” He flicks through the pages. “Interesting.”
“Give it back!”
I swipe it off him and stuff it into my bag, making sure I tuck it away in the padded sleeve I always carry with me. I’m half expecting a dig from him, but when I glance back up at him, he’s watching me in silence.
“Why do I feel like you’re plotting something?”
Slowly, he smiles, and a chill skitters down my spine. Not the spicy kind. More like a shiver of fear—or horror. He scrapes his chair back and walks around to sit at the table next to me, leaning back and slinging an arm around my chair. I am not liking this at all.
“Listen, Carrie.” His voice is hoarse. “This might surprise you, but…”
I slap a hand over his mouth, and he jolts back, his eyes widening as a single high-pitched laugh bursts out of me.
“Please tell me you’re not trying to flirt with me right now.”
He tries to shove my hand off, so I press it harder over his mouth.
“Listen carefully, okay? It’s never going to happen. Like, ever.”
He frowns, breathing out through his nose. His mouth has stopped moving under the weight of my hand, and suddenly he starts to laugh, as if I’ve just said the dumbest thing he’s heard all year. Wrapping his fingers around my wrist, he eases my arm away.
“I’m not trying to hook up with you, I swear.” He sighs.
Praise the Lord!
“Okay, good. So what the hell?” I ask.
He still hasn’t let go of my arm.
“I have a favor to ask.”
Now that doesn’t sound good. Still, if there’s one thing I am, it’s curious.
“I’m listening.”
He always looks so free and confident. Cocky, almost. Right now, though, he seems suddenly unsure. It lasts only a split second, but I swear I see a flicker of doubt dance across his features, so fast I barely register it.
“Becca says you know a lot about guy stuff,” he starts slowly.
Aha! Here we go. Now I get it!
“Okay, well, ‘guy stuff’ is pretty vague.” I smirk, crumpling up my sandwich wrapper and tossing it onto my tray. “If you’re wanting me to wax your balls, you’ve come to the wrong place.”
“Wait—what?! Who said anything about ball waxing?”
I shrug. “Considering the weird look on your face, I’m guessing the favor is something freaky. I only do chests, backs, and legs,” I add.
“What the fuck are you even talking about?”
He seems really confused by the whole conversation.
“If Becca sent you, then it’s got to be about hair stuff.”
“Sorry, but you lost me at ‘wax’ and ‘balls.’ ” He frowns. “Why would I want to talk to you about that?”
“Because that’s how I pay my bills—by waxing all the cracks on campus.”
He blinks several times, puffing out his cheeks.
“Hello?” I ask, snapping my fingers in his face.
“Sorry, I was just picturing…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. That’s not what this is about. I stay away from that shit.”
I stare at him. “Okay. So, spill.”
“I need help getting better.” He blurts the words out.
“You want tutoring?” I frown. “But we don’t even have the same classes.”
“Not like that. Not for college.”
Of all the crazy shit I was expecting…
He sighs. “I need help learning how to be a good boyfriend.”
… this definitely wasn’t on the list.
I’m half waiting for a “Just kidding!” or something, but he’s staring at me, dead serious. Shit. He’s actually for real. It feels like getting the words out took some serious effort, too, and I can understand that. His request is pretty ridiculous, after all.
I burst out laughing, and his eyebrows shoot up.
“I’m serious,” he growls. “Stop laughing, people are staring!”
“I thought you loved it when they did that?”
When he first came up to me, I was pissed—but it turns out this conversation has been worth it. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard.
“So, is that a yes?”
I reach for my tray and push back my chair.
Am I dreaming, or is Donovan Wolinski actually asking me for private classes in Boyfriend Basics 101?
Does he know that I’ve never even dated anyone long enough to meet their parents?
That coupley stuff breaks me out in hives?
Realistically, of course he doesn’t. And he doesn’t need to, either.
“Is that a yes?” he asks again.
“It’s a no. Sorry, but I promised some junior I’d teach him how to wipe his own ass—it looks like I’m all booked up.”
I give him my most regretful pout and turn on my heel.
I’m still laughing to myself by the time I get to my next class.