Chapter 11 #2
“Was that jab meant for me?” His deep voice causes her hair to stand on end, and she refuses to look up as she continues to pack her notebooks next.
Grabbing a stack of papers, she lines them up, avoiding eye contact. “No idea what you’re talking about. That was clearly an announcement for the entire room. You know, because the world doesn’t revolve around you.”
He scoffs. “You’re mean today.”
This time she does look up and—
He’s closer than she realized, because she can see that he has a tiny mole under his eyebrow.
She stalls, trying to formulate a response that isn’t purely driven by her overwhelming need to push him away, because he’s not wrong.
She breathes out shakily. “I am.”
His head rears back, and he smiles. “What?”
“I am really fucking mean to you today. I’m sorry. I just—”
“Don’t like it when I’m late, half-ass things, and bomb quizzes after I’ve asked for your help?” he says, smiling wider, like this is a good thing.
She licks her lips, shaking her head. “Exactly. I don’t like my time being wasted.”
He holds up his hands. “I understand. I’m sorry, I’ll try to do better.”
“Try?” she says, a scoff slipping out. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Will. I will be better,” he says, correcting himself.
She lets out a soft laugh, rubbing her fingers to her temple. “Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it, Hayes.”
Shouldering her bag, she steps from behind the podium and moves toward the double doors. Roman is already in front of her, holding one side open.
“Thanks,” she says under her breath, stepping into the university quad.
A grassy lawn sits in the middle, flanked by two long paths that stretch to the main area of campus.
The smell of the damp grass tangles with the aroma of roasted coffee beans emanating from the student café next to them.
Students are spread out, swinging from hammocks, chasing dogs, noses buried in a textbook.
She shields her face as the sun glares down on her, fishing her headphones from her bag.
A sudden shadow blocks the light and she looks up.
“Can I help you?” she asks, not meaning it at all.
Go away, and take your stupid, laboratory-grown green eyes with you.
He slides both hands into his pockets as he looks down at her, smiling like he knows something she doesn’t.
“I’ll be there—for office hours and the event.”
She blinks up at him. “You want a cookie or something?”
He laughs, throwing his head back. “No. No cookie, but you could be less mean. More friendly,” he says, eyes raking over her as he steps closer.
She regards him warily. “I won’t be more anything.”
She walks around him, willing herself not to look back, even as the echo of his laugh calls to her.
The following day, Jahlani sits in Professor Jackson’s room for office hours when Roman walks in.
His backpack hangs from one shoulder and he’s wearing a black cotton long-sleeve with the arms pushed up.
His expression is radiant as he sidles in.
Like the dryer actually got all his creases out with “wrinkle control” turned on, and she finds herself on edge wanting to know what’s got him so overjoyed.
She can’t help the way her chest thunders against her ribs, and her knee starts to bounce.
She hates it.
She hates that she doesn’t have control over it.
And more than anything, she hates that she didn’t foresee it happening.
She looks at the time on the digital clock then to Roman as he pulls out his laptop and settles it over his lap.
“You’re late,” she murmurs, dragging her gaze back down to the computer and clicking through to find the lesson from yesterday. He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head.
“Family emergency, and hello to you, too. I’m doing well, thanks for asking. How are you doing today?” he asks, giving her a blinding smile that makes her feel entirely too much.
Make it stop.
Clearing her throat, she rolls her shoulders back. She gives him a pointed look over the screen, her lips pressing together.
“I’m fine, let’s get started.”
He tilts his head backward, letting out a loud groan. When his eyes land on hers, they’re firm.
“Come on, Jahlani. Give me more than that. It’s not a crime to get to know each other, is it?”
“Yes. It is,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “And, there’s only forty minutes left for office hours, we don’t have time for that—”
Roman waves her off before standing up. “There’s always time. Come on, it’ll be quick.”
And to Jahlani’s absolute horror, he starts to drag the chair around the desk toward her. Her palms land on the surface, and her posture turns rigid as he sets it next to her.
“What are you doing?” she asks, leaning back as his lavender scent carries through the enclosed space.
“Moving closer.”
She scrutinizes him and shifts her chair slightly to the left, which he apparently doesn’t miss because his smile slips before it’s back in place. “Why?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m not contagious, Jahlani. It’ll be easier for me to see the screen, and this way you won’t have to talk to me with this giant monitor blocking you.”
And before she can move further away, his fingers wrap around her armrest and drag the chair closer than it was before.
“Roman! This is too close,” she hisses, dropping her hand back to the desk to prevent herself from moving any closer. “Someone could see and think—”
She stops herself, but it’s too late. The damage is already done.
His eyes flash, and a slower, lazier smirk holds firm on his face.
“Think what, Jahlani? You’re just a graduate teaching assistant helping one of your struggling undergraduate students. There’s nothing suspicious about that, right?” he asks, his voice dropping low.
It’s too much.
His stare, his smile, his carefree spirit.
Entirely too much.
“Come on,” he whispers, shaking the chair with her in it. “Two questions, and then we work.”
She purses her lips. “Two questions, and you move the chair back,” she says, glancing toward the empty space in the center of the office.
He laughs, tipping his head back. “Deal. Why a statistician?”
“I’m good with numbers,” she retorts, shrugging.
He sucks in air through his teeth, looking down. “That’s unacceptable.”
Jahlani scoffs, unscrewing the top of her water before taking a sip. “What?” she asks, raising her shoulders to her ears. “That’s it. I like math. I enjoy it, and you didn’t say there was a criterion for answering,” she says, setting the bottle down and wiping the corner of her lips.
His eyes close partially, and he leans forward. “Jahlani—”
She holds up her hand, silencing him. “What’s your other question, Hayes? We’re wasting time.”
He gives her another pointed look before rubbing his fingers across his jaw. He slouches back, seemingly deep in thought, and Jahlani fights the urge to laugh at how seriously he’s taking this.
Is she really that interesting? Is she really worth getting to know?
Letting out a heavy exhale, she resumes clicking on her laptop. Her eyes flick to his momentarily before dropping back to her screen as she tugs on her ear.
“My favorite color is green,” she murmurs, turning it around to show him the first half of the lesson. “So, we spoke about Bayes’ Theorem—”
“Were they happy to see you?” he asks, shifting forward in his seat.
“What?” she asks, blinking slowly, taken aback by his question.
Roman scratches his wrist, staring at her intently. “Were they happy to see you? Your family.”
She starts to shake her head. “I don’t—I’m sorry. What?” she repeats, tilting her head.
He clears his throat, moving his laptop to the desk, and clasps his hands together. “The day we met, you said you didn’t know if they would be happy to see you. I want to know if they were,” he says, his expression somber.
Jahlani blinks, unsure of how to respond or react because he remembers, and better yet, he wants to know the outcome of her silly little family reunion.
“Why?” she asks, sounding breathless. Why do you care? she wants to ask. Why do you remember? she wants to scream. Why are you made like this and why is it affecting me so much?
Her mind drifts back to Teryn’s graduation celebration—the sun burning bright, the music pulsing, and the chatter loud between her relatives.
Even through the night, spirits were high and the conversation persisted.
She went through most of it unscathed by their interrogations and statements.
She spent most of the evening apologizing for not keeping in touch, promising to do better.
Her mother barely said a word to her and ignored comments from relatives asking if she was happy to have Jahlani home. That hurt more than anything.
That, after all these years, her mother was still the same detached, nonchalant person she’d left behind.
Her cousins were different. Jahlani remembered Trent, the older twin by seven minutes, as the comedic relief.
Laidback. He could hold a conversation with just about anyone, but the person she saw the other night was nothing like that.
Trent was taller, muscled out, and dark all over.
His expressions were deflated, and she spent all evening trying to figure out what was wrong.
He was good. Deflecting, smiling, spinning the conversation back to her, but his eyes were wide and glistening. Unnatural.
And then there was the case of Teryn.
She straight-up ignored her the entire night. But Jahlani figured she deserved it for ignoring them all first.
“Some more than others,” she says quietly. “It went exactly how I knew it would.”
He nods slowly, drumming his fingers on his knees. “Hmm.”
“What?” she asks, sitting up straighter. “What’s that for?”
“Nothing. I just … I think it’s impossible to be around someone like you and not feel some form of joy,” he says, his gaze unwavering. Jahlani feels her muscles relax as she searches for any signs of ridicule.
She swallows, looking down at her fingers. “How do you do that?” she asks, pulling at the skin surrounding her wrist.
“Do what?”
She looks up at his face. “See the good in everyone. Think that everyone is worthy of such high praise.”
A gentle smile builds on his features. “I don’t think that about everyone.”
“No?”
He shakes his head, smiling down at his hands like he knows something that she doesn’t.
“No, Jahlani,” he says in a low voice. “I’m pretty sure I only think about you.”
Her breath hitches when his words catch up to her.
Her skin flushes as they maintain simmering eye contact.
Her stomach flutters and she becomes hyperaware of her braids against her neck, her knee bouncing, his arms in his shirt, the part in his lips, his fingers tugging at his earlobe, the tick of the clock—
Clearing her throat, she breaks the connection first, gesturing to her laptop screen.
Grabbing the tie on her wrist, she wraps her braids up before shrugging her cardigan from her arms. His eyes latch onto the movement, and goosebumps arise over her skin.
She decides she’s better with it on, and her gaze trails to the closed door.
Standing, she takes a wide step around him to pull it completely open, cursing under her breath as she does.
“Let’s start,” she says, but her voice comes out shaky. High-pitched. As she walks back to the desk, she reaches for her water, turning away to finish the bottle. From her peripheral vision, she sees him adjust in his chair, dragging the laptop back to his lap.
“Why did you open the door?” he asks, tapping on his keyboard. Wiping a hand against the corners of her mouth, she settles back into the chair.
“Just a little warm in here,” she says, avoiding his gaze. “Move your chair back. We’ve wasted enough time.”
For the rest of the session, he doesn’t steer the conversation away from the lecture, and she can’t stop the wave of disappointment that consumes her when it’s over.