Chapter 14 Donovan #2
It took me four solid minutes of online searches last night to come up with this crazy plan, and as the bus swings into view, my shoulders relax.
I haven’t tried calling Carrie again, and I can’t wait to see how she reacts when she sees me here waiting for her.
She’ll probably wonder what the hell I’m doing—and to be honest, I hardly know it myself.
As the passengers spill out of the bus, I’m pretty sure I got the time wrong. I’m just about to turn and leave, when I spot a messy bun. She hasn’t noticed me yet, and I watch as she sighs and stretches, her shades slipping down her nose as she cracks her neck. Suddenly, she freezes.
I wave at her, a smile spreading across my face. She frowns.
I have no idea what she’s thinking, but she’s walking over to my car, so that’s a good sign.
“Hey.” I straighten. “The country singer thing didn’t work out, huh?”
I grab her bag and lower it into the trunk. I offer her a coffee, ignoring the way she’s staring at me like I just stepped out of a spaceship. I clink my coffee cup against hers and raise it to my lips.
“Thanks… I guess.” She squints at me. “How’d you know I’d be here?”
“Google!”
“Creepy,” she mutters, lifting the cup to her lips. “You’re— Oh my God! This coffee is insane!”
I grin at her. “How many points does a perfect coffee earn on the book-boyfriend scale?”
She takes another sip. “Ten for showing you care, and another five because it’s still piping hot. Where’d you get it?”
“If I tell you, I’d have to kill you.”
She peers at the side of the cup. “Commando Café, right?”
I stare glumly at the logo on the cardboard. “Busted.”
“It’s just what I needed, honestly. What do they put in this stuff? It’s amazing.”
“It’s a Wolinski special.” I wink.
I lean back against the hood, and she pauses mid-sip.
“Okay, that doesn’t sound good.” She arches an eyebrow. “A ‘Wolinski special’? My spidey senses are telling me a fangirl made this.”
“Correct.”
“Which means there’s probably some secret ingredient in here I don’t want to know about.” She curls her lip.
“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got an overactive imagination?
” I sigh. “Yes, I did have an insane night with Jodana once, sure. But that was at least two years ago, and she’s had a kid since then.
Bobby or Billy or Buddy, or something. And no,” I add, before she has time to ask, “I’m not the baby daddy. ”
“Jodana, as in Jodana Odalec?”
“How come you know every single girl I ever slept with?”
She snorts, and I immediately regret asking.
“Considering you’ve slept with every single girl I ever met, it’s not exactly hard, is it? Anyway, I don’t even want to know what bodily fluids this mystery mix contains. I feel like there’s a fifty-fifty chance she spit in it.”
She scrunches her nose, and it’s so damn cute, I burst out laughing, coaxing a meek smile out of her.
“That a flirting technique?”
“You have no idea what women are capable of.” She takes another sip, more gingerly this time.
“I’ll add that to the agenda for our next tutoring session.”
“Trust me, you’re not ready for the truth.”
“Is this the part where I show some more vulnerability?” I pretend to quiver, and she slow-claps.
“Want me to drop you at home?”
She looks up at the clouds, taking her time mulling over her answer.
“Well, since you’re already here…”
She elbows me gently, and heads over to the passenger side.
Slipping behind the wheel, I can’t stop grinning.
Carrie’s something else, that’s for sure.
She’s so bizarrely herself. My initial reason for approaching her back at the start of the year seems like a distant memory.
Even if Amelia is still lodged somewhere in the back of my mind, spending time with my love coach softens that frustration buzzing under my skin.
It’s too early to brag about any transformation, but I’m starting to feel like I’m heading in the right direction.
“Why’d you turn off your phone?” I ask as I back us out.
“Weekend reading challenge, remember? I just felt like… hiding away from the world.”
She takes a sharp breath in, and it occurs to me she’s not being totally honest with me.
I’m curious, but at the same time, I’m not too sure how to handle this.
Part of me wants to find out more about her, but she doesn’t ever give me much to work with.
She’s straightforward and complicated at the same time. A whole personal challenge.
“You got class today?”
“Only in the afternoon.” She sighs again. “Today’s the day we start our end-of-year projects.”
“What’s your major?”
She turns to me, surprised, like she didn’t expect me to give a crap.
“The short version is I’m studying graphic design.”
“Like marketing stuff?”
“Basically.” A flicker of impatience flits over her features. “Why are you here, Donovan?”
Apparently my Monday-morning good deed is suspicious behavior in her book.
“I’m free until ten thirty.” I shrug. “So I thought I’d come grab you.”
“Not literally, right? Because if you were planning on pinning me to a service station wall or something…”
“Breaking news!” I yell out the window in my best news anchor voice. “Carrie Wolinski just made an inappropriate joke!”
“Oh my God!”
She grabs hold of my T-shirt and pulls me back into my seat, and I glance at her, smirking as she flips me the finger.
“I appreciate that you remembered the whole wall thing,” I say smugly. “Hold that thought—you’re gonna need it later.”
“Don’t tell me you were serious.”
“Oh, I was definitely serious. But you’ll need to be patient.” I pull a face. “I’m not having post-Greyhound sex. Who knows what germs you’re carrying.”
“My disappointment is immeasurable,” she says, wiping a fake tear. “I was so looking forward to watching your confidence crumble.”
“Poor, sweet, innocent Carrie.” I shake my head. “Once you’ve cleaned up, I’ll show you exactly what you’ve been missing. And then…” My voice trails off.
“And then what?”
“Keeping the mystery alive for now.”
She laughs, then goes quiet as she turns to look out the window.
Her mood flips fast—I’m starting to get that about her—and for someone who just spent two days back home, she seems more unsettled than usual.
“How was your weekend?” I ask, shooting for casual.
“Great.”
“You don’t seem great.” I glance at her. “And no, I’m not just saying that in the hope I’ll get laid.”
“I appreciate your honesty, but I mean—I went to visit my mom. It wasn’t exactly a weekend with the girls, you know?”
“You only ever mention your mom. Where’s your dad at?”
She balls her fists in her lap. “They’re divorced.”
“Since when?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
She hasn’t snapped at me or anything, but I feel the sting. Okay, I get it. Touchy subject. I knew that already, but right now the message is painfully clear.
AS WE REACH CAMPUS, I park by her dorm. She gets out, grabs her bag from the trunk, and sets it on the ground while I walk up to her.
“Thanks for picking me up,” she says, shifting from foot to foot. “It was sweet of you.”
“Hey, look how much you’ve helped me out. It’s the least I can do.”
“Don’t feel like you owe me anything. I never asked for anything in return.”
What’s with the defensiveness?
“I know that.” A thought occurs to me. “Just a heads-up—practice ramped up today, so afternoons will be tight for me. We have workouts after classes,” I explain. “So, that only leaves evenings and weekends when I don’t have away games.”
“Okay.” She shrugs.
Damn. I was expecting something a little more.
“Should we go ahead and schedule something now?” I suggest.
“Why don’t you just get into a routine first. Message me when you feel ready to pick back up.”
She sounds bored as fuck, and it’s depressing me. Does she think I plan on skipping my one-on-ones with her, or what? Because that won’t be happening.
“Our first game is this week. Wanna come?”
“Thanks for the invite, but I’m late with my assignments.” She smiles. “Maybe next time!”
Why the fuck is she being super distant all of a sudden?
“God, I could really do with that shower.” She hoists her bag up her shoulder. “Good luck with practice!”
And with that she gives me a quick wave, and she’s gone. As I watch her disappear into the building, all I can picture is grabbing her by the hips and pinning her to the wall in her tiny, tiled bathroom.
I spend the rest of the day completely and pathetically obsessed with that image. Even more when I’m in the locker room showers at the end of practice, hot water beating down on me while the memory of her thighs, her mouth, her sounds, her everything… takes over all functioning brain activity.
I barely towel off before I’m out the door—hair still dripping—heading straight to her dorm.
I don’t even text her.
I just go.
I take the stairs three at a time and rap on her door, ready to hear her yell “Who is it?”
But she opens it so fast I stumble back a step.
“You knew I’d head straight over, didn’t you?”
She stares back at me, and I freeze. There’s something about her eyes. Something’s off. I step toward her.
“Have you been crying?”
She slinks back to let me through. “I just got to a sad part in my book.”
I elbow the door shut and grab her by the waist, feeling her gasp.
She doesn’t move away, though.
I tilt my head. “New sleep shirt?”
“I brought it back from Cincinnati.”
“Very entrepreneurial of you.”
I look her up and down, taking in her long, bare legs, imagining them wrapped around my hips. I was already half hard on the way over. I’m a lost cause now. I run my hands up and down her sides, kneading at her hips as she wriggles in my arms.
“What are you doing?” She giggles.
“Just planning how I’m going to do this,” I growl. “Pick a wall, baby!”
I head over to her bedside table, kicking her bag to one side, pulling open the bottom drawer to fish out the condoms. The drawer is empty. I freeze. Did she take the condoms to Cincinnati?
“Looking for something?”