5. Dixie
DIXIE
The evening is unfolding in a friendly atmosphere.
Saphya, the young woman sharing a room with Pia, suggested organizing a small dinner so we could all get to know each other.
Tonight there’s six of us. Keri and I, Saphya and Pia, Emery and his roommate Sonam.
Only Player’s missing, but I don’t consider that a great loss.
"This gumbo is the best I've ever eaten!" Saphya raves. She brings her fork to her lips to devour a piece of chicken.
"Well done, Sonam," I congratulate my new neighbor.
The young man shrugs modestly. When Saphya suggested organizing this evening, she thought it would be nice if we all brought a specialty from our hometown. I opted for a pecan pie.
"What about me? Don't I get any praise?" Emery grumbles.
"You didn't do anything," Keri retorts with the blunt honesty that seems to be her specialty. The hulking football player widens his eyes and his face twists into a pained grimace. "You mean my hot dogs count for nothing?"
I quietly laugh at his antics. Gathered in the living room, we're sharing a rather eclectic menu consisting of Sonam's gumbo, Emery's hot dogs and popcorn, Pia's deviled eggs , Saphya's key lime pie, and finally, my pecan pie.
The whole thing is far from balanced, but I admit Saphya had a good idea regarding the theme.
"Technically, it's a dish that could be considered typical of New York," Keri notes. "But these were produced on the other side of the country..."
"Says the girl who brought a bottle of tequila!" Emery replies.
Far from being embarrassed, Keri maintains an impassive expression when she answers, "I don't cook. And believe me, you don't want to taste the specialties from the rat hole I come from."
I'm about to question her on this when Pia says to Sonam, "I really like your bracelet."
Everyone's attention shifts to our neighbor’s wrists, which are loaded with unique bracelets. Leather straps accumulate, small fabric pouches hang from some, and I can make out beaded details and wooden beads.
"Which one?" he asks.
Pia hesitates for a moment before pointing to a brown leather strap with two small khaki fabric pouches hanging from it. Sonam's gaze brightens when he smiles, and says, "It's a protection charm made by my grandma. Bene gris-gris."
I notice Keri's movement of interest, but it's Saphya who asks, "Do things like that still exist?"
There's no condescension in her voice, just genuine curiosity.
"Voodoo still has followers," Keri comments simply.
She's always very serious. Actually, I haven't heard her laugh since we moved in here. Saphya continues, "Oh, I know, it's just that I'm surprised people still believe these kinds of trinkets have power. No offense, Sonam."
"No problem," he replies. "To each their own beliefs."
Pia's curiosity is piqued, as she asks him, "What exactly does this charm do?"
Sonam looks at the bracelets with a thoughtful expression before answering, "Where I'm from, we believe that the spirits of the dead surround us, that they live in our world, but we're separated by a kind of veil.
Some spirits are able to cross it to haunt the living.
This charm is supposed to protect me from the dead who might be tempted to cling to me. "
No one makes any comment as Sonam continues, "Grandma is known for her protection spells, and as far back as I can remember, I've always had one or more on my wrists or neck. They're such a part of me that I can't imagine ever being without them."
"You seem very close to your grandmother," Pia remarks.
Sonam nods, a tender smile on his lips. "She raised me after my mother died."
My heart tightens at the thought of what he must have gone through. Losing a parent is truly horrible.
"Grandpa and she are the people dearest to me."
"It must be hard being so far from them," Pia sympathizes.
"I'd be lying if I said otherwise, but I have goals in life, so I chose OMU for my studies. As soon as I graduate, I'll go back to New Orleans."
A silence follows this declaration, but Saphya has a question for everyone. "Do you all want to go back and work close to home after you graduate?"
"No way," Keri retorts. "I left that backwater town for good, and I don't plan on setting foot there again."
Pia's tone is dreamy when she responds, "Well, I love my hometown, but I hope my career takes me traveling around the world. I'd like to visit as many countries as possible and meet different people..."
Seeing her so shy and fragile, I wouldn't have thought she aspired to move around.
"I'll go wherever they'll have me," Emery comments. "You don't turn down a position in the NFL. Or fuck, the CFL even."
"I'm going to build my career in Washington DC," Saphya declares. "The White House better watch out!"
Nobody contradicts her, and my roommate's attention turns to me:
"What about you, Dixie? Will you want to go back to Alabama later?"
"Alabama?" calls a male voice from the entrance of the room.
All heads turn toward Player who just arrived.
His gaze locks onto mine and doesn't let go.
There's a fiery gleam in his brown irises that makes me fear the worst. "Dixie from Alabama, is that some kind of bad joke?
" he sneers. "What's next? Don't tell me that you like to ‘Roll Tide’ or maybe scream ‘War Eagle’ while drinkin’ a Zima at the ol’ Greenbow waterin’ hole! "
I tense up, as if he'd caught me doing something wrong, but it's Keri who answers him in a level tone, "You could also reference country music and pickup trucks, but I don't see what bigoted stereotypes have to do with anything."
Emery stands up just as Player is about to say something really stupid, declaring, "Come on, I think it's time to get some sleep."
Pia and Sonam get up and start clearing the table, while Keri heads to our room without saying a word to any of us. Only Saphya stays near me. I try not to let myself be intimidated by Player who's still glaring at me.
"Good thing you're here," Emery adds, "I wanted to talk to you about practice..."
The rest of his words are lost when he manages to push Player into his room .
"What's his problem?" Saphya wonders.
I shrug. "No idea, but I don't intend to give him more attention than he deserves."
"Good idea. I think that guy has an issue with women..."
It's late, and I'm having a hard time focusing on my studies. Maybe I shouldn't have had another slice of Saphya's key lime pie. The dessert was delicious, but it's sitting heavy in my stomach.
I close the thick economics textbook on my desk and get up to head to the common room kitchen in search of a life-saving bottle of water. I'm on my way back to study some more when a figure appears in front of me, blocking my path.
My gaze hits a muscled chest then slides down a row of abs that would make the most seasoned bodybuilders jealous before moving up to meet Player's brown eyes. My throat goes dry at about the same time my brain decides to leave without a forwarding address.
Player is hot!
"Problem, Alabama?" he asks with a smirk.
It takes me a moment to understand he's talking to me.
"You know I have a real name, right?" I counter. "Just because you don't use yours doesn't mean everyone else has to do the same."
Why am I rambling on about the use of nicknames?
Is it a way to avoid thinking about what the sight of my roommate's sublime body is doing to me?
With his physique, no wonder he's so full of himself.
He must be used to dropping panties. Player takes a step toward me, and I feel my heartbeat accelerate.
I should move to get out of his way, but my feet seem cemented to the floor.
When he's close enough for me to smell his cologne, he leans toward me, whispering, "You want to touch me, don't you, Alabama? "
That was exactly the kind of line I needed to come back to my senses.
I lock my gaze onto Player's and don't even try to hold back the fit of laughter rising inside me.
My whole body shakes as I laugh until I could cry.
My reaction doesn't please Player at all because without warning, he grabs my forearm and pulls me against him. My laughter stops abruptly.
His brown eyes seem to have turned stormy black as he stares into mine.
I'm acutely aware of his chest against my breasts, of his breath grazing my lips with each exhalation.
I swallow with difficulty. Player's presence isn't threatening, but if I have any fears, it might be for my panties, which could go up in flames just as quickly as those of Player's conquests.
Oh shit! I'm completely losing it! This guy is crazy, and he has no effect on me whatsoever!
"Nobody laughs at me," Player growls.
"I guess there's a first time for everything," I retort, refusing to be intimidated. I don't know where I find the presence of mind to stand up to him, but I'm grateful to have regained my faculties.
Player's fingers still hold my arm, while his free hand moves to my collarbone to trace its outline. His attention drifts to my nipples, which are pointing through the thin fabric of my tank top.
Damn traitors!
"I know you want me, Alabama."
I wiggle a bit trying to make him let go, but I'm really lacking conviction, and Player doesn't budge an inch.
"You wish," I state firmly. "I'm not attracted to..."
I bite my lip to hold back the insults that come to mind.
"To what, Alabama? You've already called me an asshole, surely you can do better. "
A fire ignites in his eyes, or is it just the reflection of the blaze racing through my veins right now? I'd rather die than admit that Player attracts me. I manage to retort, "Jerks don't attract me at all."
A small smirk tugs at my neighbor’s lips. You'd think I just asked him to tear off my clothes and take me against the wall.
Where did that come from?
I'm appalled by the direction my thoughts are taking. When did Player become so attractive?
"I love challenges, Alabama." His voice is low, husky, sexy… arousing. His face moves closer to mine, and I sense he's going to kiss me. I should run! Except I don't want to at all… do I?
His lips are almost on mine when he adds, "But little Miss Goody Two-Shoes have never turned me on."
It feels like a cold shower. Player pulls back, though he doesn't release my arm.
"Great!" I say through gritted teeth. "Now that we've clarified we're not attracted to each other, we can get back to our lives."
He narrows his eyes while studying me, an almost devilish gleam on his face when he declares, "You're not my type at all, but I love to play games, and I'll make you crack, Alabama."
"Is that supposed to scare me?" I reply sarcastically.