27. Dixie
DIXIE
Last night with Player left me with a strange impression.
I discovered new facets of his personality that surprised and touched me.
His slept restlessly, talking to himself and sometimes jerking awake.
All I could do was hold him close, hoping it would soothe him.
I think it worked for a few hours, then he woke up and left the room.
I could have talked to him, but something told me he needed to be alone.
Morning classes pass without major incident. I'm having a hard time concentrating on accounting and economics because my mind is focused on Player. The Player from last night, this man who made love to me. Yes, this time, it wasn't just sex between us.
You're getting carried away. He only wants sex and nothing else.
Did I imagine that moment of intimacy between us?
Am I attaching more meaning to last night than Player did?
To know for sure, we'd need to have a serious discussion about us, but I don't have the courage.
I don't know if I'm dreading that he'll end our relationship or if I'm afraid to admit what I truly feel for him .
I shake my head. I don't feel anything! Player is just my lover, nothing more. I can't forget that.
Pia is settled in the common room when I get back to the dorm. With a pencil tucked in her hair, dressed in a paint-stained t-shirt and ripped jeans, she sits in front of a large sketchbook on the table.
"Hey!" I call out as I enter the room.
Her gaze passes over me, but I can tell her mind is elsewhere. She returns her attention to the sketch she's drawn, and I move closer to peek over her shoulder. The delicacy of her drawing touches me. She's depicted a rose in the process of wilting, both sublime and sad at once.
"It's beautiful!"
"Beauty is fleeting," she mutters.
"Just like humans," I point out.
Pia turns to me, her face serious. "You're right."
"How are your projects coming along?"
She shrugs. "More or less... depends on the subject."
I look back at the rose, and comment, "Drawing class, huh?"
"Oh, no! This is just a personal thing."
She fiddles with the gray pencil in her hands. "What's giving me the most trouble is the sculpture class. I still haven't found my subject while everyone else has made good progress. I feel so useless!"
Pia collapses back into the couch cushions, and I come sit beside her.
"You're anything but useless, Pia. OK, I'm not an art critic, actually I don't know much about it, but what I do know is that each of your projects touches me."
"But they're asking me to master the technique. I'm not a high schooler playing around in an art workshop anymore. I need to prove myself to my professors. "
A silence passes between us before she places her hand on mine. "And you? How's it going?"
I shrug, like she just did. "I know I have to go through this to get my degree and take over my parents' business, but I can't wait until we get to the practical part of the program."
"The internships, you mean?"
I nod. “But that’s still two years away at least.”
"Are you planning to do them in your family's business?" she asks.
"If I can't find anything better, yes, but I'd like to use the opportunity to see how other companies operate. I'm certain I can learn useful lessons for the future."
"Stepping outside your market to look for new ideas, that's smart!"
I smile at my friend. Suddenly, she blinks several times, then tightens her grip around my wrist. Her gaze settles on the bracelet I'm wearing. She plays with the links, looking thoughtful.
"Do you like it? My brother gave it to me."
"Eureka!" She jumps up, startling me in the process. Her cheeks turn deep pink while her eyes sparkle.
"What's got into you?"
Pia points her index finger at me, grinning. "You just gave me an idea for my project!"
"Great!"
She doesn't have time to tell me more, because Player enters the living room. He freezes when he sees us, but Pia seems to bubble with excitement. "Player! Perfect timing!"
Player’s rumpled, sweat tousled hair and eyes move from my friend to me. He doesn't seem concerned about the scene.
"Come here, please," Pia asks him.
Player raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't move an inch .
"I need you to sit next to Dixie," our mutual neighbor explains.
He seems to come back to his senses, and I watch him approach me, my heart beating faster since he entered the room. When he sits beside me, closer than necessary, I swallow.
"Perfect," Pia approves. "Now, take her hand."
I feel my cheeks heating up as I wonder if he'll dare to make such a gesture in Pia's presence. She suddenly comes to life, retrieving her sketchbook and turning to the first page. Then she pulls up a chair facing us. I furrow my brows, not understanding what she's getting at.
Her clear gaze settles on us. Player still hasn't complied.
"I need you to hold hands," Pia insists.
I'm already surprised that Player agreed to sit down, he who takes orders from no one, but he surprises me by taking my right hand.
Immediately, I feel like an electric current is running between us.
This tension feels so familiar... I remain silent, lost in my thoughts and overwhelmed by what I'm feeling in this moment.
Player moves even closer to whisper in my ear, "You're trembling, Alabama."
His gaze captures mine and I feel like nothing exists outside of us. His attention drifts to my mouth, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from doing something stupid, like jumping on him, right here, right now, in front of my friend.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Pia's movements. She looks like she's in a trance. She's sketching very quickly in her notebook, without really paying attention to us.
"Cat got your tongue?" Player adds.
I turn my attention back to him, not quite understanding what he's getting at. His fingers press mine a little harder and I swallow. I finally respond in a low voice, "What are you playing at?"
He doesn't take his eyes off me, and I can feel myself blushing. Thank goodness Pia is just drawing our hands, because I'm afraid of what her sketch might reveal about me right now.
"I want you, Dixie."
Player spoke so quietly that I could almost believe I dreamed it, if I didn't see that familiar gleam in his eyes.
A fiery heat spreads through my stomach, rising through my body, awakening each of my cells as it passes. How far can we go in this physical relationship without feelings interfering?
"If we were alone," he continues, "you'd already be naked on this couch."
The way he whispers indecent proposals electrifies me. Maybe I should remain stone-faced, and that's what I strive to do, but my body reacts anyway. I shiver imagining what we could do together, memories of our lovemaking resurfacing as if to add more weight to Player's words.
He has a little smirk that makes me want to both move away from him and jump on him. My ambivalence toward Player tends to fade because I'm fighting less and less against this extraordinary attraction pulling us toward each other. And somehow, it's easier that way.
"I'm good," Pia announces.
I don't know how much time has passed. Maybe a few minutes? Maybe half an hour? Impossible to say.
Player recovers faster than I do, he lets go of my hand and jumps to his feet. He doesn't even give me a glance before leaving the living room. I watch him disappear into his bedroom, desire coursing through my body.
Come on, you have more dignity than that!
I shake myself mentally. I'm not going to follow him to his room! That's out of the question .
"Thanks for your help, Dixie."
I turn my attention to Pia, who's putting away her sketchbook.
"You're welcome," I breathe in a husky voice.
"I'm sure I have everything I need for my sculpture. It's going to be beautiful, you'll see!"
"I don't doubt it."
When I return to my room, the desire I feel for Player hasn't completely subsided. I lean against the door and close my eyes, trying to regain my composure.
Suddenly, I feel the need to call my brother. I grab my phone and make the call. The ringtones play, but he doesn't answer. I hang up with a sigh.
I drop onto my bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, body tense and mind confused. Will I ever be able to rid myself of this carnal desire for this quarterback of the Jaguars?
What if it's not just physical?
This idea haunts me more and more often, but like every other time, I chase it from my mind. No need to complicate the situation even more.
My phone rings, making me jump. It's my brother! I answer quickly, "Hey, Bradley!"
"Is everything okay, Dixie?"
I realize that I called him in the middle of the day, which isn't like me.
"Yes, yes!" I reassure him. "I just wanted to talk to you. How are you?"
"Good. We just got back to base."
He lets out a slight sigh that doesn't escape me. I wonder what his life in the military is like. I know he only tells me what he wants to, and that it's not necessarily a reflection of his daily reality. According to him, everything is fine, but what's the truth ?
"Do you have leave?" I ask, voice full of hope.
A silence passes between us, then he answers, "Just a few days. I'm going home."
"I wish I could be there too!"
"We'll see each other for Halloween, I promise."
"That seems so far away."
But it’s not, and I know that.
He doesn't respond, and I suddenly feel the need to confide in him, "I met someone."
Another silence, then my brother responds, "I'm happy for you. What's he like?"
"We're not really together, it's complicated."
"I see."
And from the tone of his voice, I get the impression he perfectly understands what I'm going through. How is that possible?
"But I don't want to bore you with my stories. You have more important things to think about."
"You never bore me, little sister. I'm here for you if you need me. Tell me more about this guy."
I take a few seconds to think about what I can tell him.
"He's a quarterback on the football team. He's so talented on the field, you should see him, Bradley! Everyone considers him a football genius. There’s already talk that he’s going to have the NFL sniffing after him once he takes over starting full-time.
Well... that's the rumor going around anyway. "
I stand up and pace back and forth in the room while I talk to my brother about Player.
"And off the field, what's he like?" he asks me.
I think back to our beginnings, to his jerk attitude with me. When I think about it, he hasn't changed much since the start. True to himself.
Except I can't tell my big brother that I'm sleeping with a complete jerk who's incredibly skilled in bed, but a moron as soon as he opens his mouth. On the other end of the line, I hear a conversation without catching the words. "Dixie? I'm sorry, but I have to go. Can we talk about this later?"
"No problem, talk to you soon."
He hangs up, and I'm left alone in my room. This conversation at least had the merit of putting my thoughts back in order.