Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Len
My body flushes with inferno-level heat, embarrassment pricking at my skin. Zaiah knows no boundaries. Showing up at my work, shaking Clark’s hand, and asking me to write an article for him? What the hell?
I’m glued to the seat, making sure my eyes don’t stray from my laptop to do something stupid like glare at him walking his jock ass out the door.
The entrance door finally snicks closed. My shoulders relax but tighten again when quick footsteps approach. Judging by the way the person leans into my chair and the smell of Bath & Body Works enveloping me in a cloud of fruity perfume, it’s Candice. “Who was that? I don’t recognize him.”
Knowing her, I won’t need to answer. She has more thoughts to share than anyone I know. Like those clickbait articles on the internet, she spits out useless information repeatedly.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
I nearly choke.
It must echo in here with my own thoughts because two distinct voices answer at the same time with a resounding “No.” Peering up, I spot Flora first. She’s not looking at me, she’s eyeing up someone else over my shoulder. I hesitate to glance that way because I’m pretty sure I know who it is, and I’m already mortified enough if he overheard anything Zaiah said to me.
My brain tells me to get it over with—like ripping off a Band-Aid—so I meet Clark’s horrified stare.
My heart starts to beat faster. His nose scrunches up. Another “No” flies out of his mouth like Zaiah and I dating is the worst possible scenario.
He likes me. I knew it.
I practice my calm breathing exercises to quit freaking out, but my brain still works in overdrive. How do I tell him I like him too? Should I say it now? Perhaps Hell no, I don’t like Zaiah James because I’m already crushing on someone else. Then, I could peer deep into his eyes until his analytical brain figures it out.
“No?” Candice continues. “You two looked cozy.”
Some sort of weird noise escapes my throat, but again, another voice answers. I stare at Clark, and I swear literal hearts come out of my eyes. He’s making sure everyone knows there’s no way I could date someone else. Staking his claim like Clark Kent would, only slyly. He’s not showy or dramatic.
Except…
He laughs. “Len? Date? She’s not really…” He pauses as if he’s someone who doesn’t work with words all day. “I mean, Len doesn’t date. Look at her. She’s the type of girl who’s not worried about stuff like that. No makeup. Hair thrown on top of her head every day. She’s married to the job. Everything about her says she doesn’t care about the opposite sex. She cares about the stories. Really, Candice, if you’re going to be a reporter, you should work on your observation skills.”
My gut twists. Horror fills me. A Godzilla-sized footprint tramples my heart. He doesn’t think I date. Or care about my appearance. Or—
Flora nudges me under the table, but I can’t look at her. Shame washes over me. Of course I would never be able to attract a guy like Clark. Or Zaiah. Or anyone. I’m nothing like Trish. I’m the sidekick. The hanger on. The—.
“Clark,” Flora calls out to get his attention, and I can only count it as a blessing because he’s continued his analytical tirade over me like I’m a specimen under a microscope. “I have a question about my article.”
The smell of Bath & Body Works dissipates, and Clark walks to the other side of the table, leaving me with my tiny thoughts. I’m about the size of an ant. Even pebbles and dirt and discarded trash outshine me.
Slowly, I pack up my things, throw my bag over my shoulder, and walk from the newsroom. When the glass door closes behind me, I run. All those feelings I thought I overcame six months ago slam into me once more. Shame. Being an outcast. Being not good enough. I had no idea the old wound remained, festering, waiting at the surface to be ripped open again.
Once I step outside, I stop for a second, peering around wildly. The first tear falls, and red-hot anger fills me. I take off for Knightley, cutting through the quad. I thought I could fit in around people who don’t know who I am or where I came from. That was the beauty of college. No one knows your story, and you can remake yourself. I—
My legs buckle beneath me, and I sprawl. I land in the frost-laden grass, embarrassment adding to my shame. Worse yet, whispers rise up, and when I glare that way, I realize I’m right outside the cafeteria.
I pull myself to a seated position, keeping my gaze on the grass while I work up the courage to block everyone out, stand, and run. I’m never coming out of my dorm room again.
A bag drops next to me, and then someone sits. I peek up to find Zaiah, and I immediately look away again.
“Hey, you okay?”
The tears come faster now. What is it about my stupid body that reacts to people asking if I’m okay? I have enough strength to hold back until someone utters that ridiculous question and then the waterworks are inevitable.
“Len, are you hurt?”
I wipe at my tears and sniffle. “That’s a difficult question to answer.” My high-pitched voice cracks, like it’s at its breaking point. “Physically, I’m fine. Just fell.”
He reaches for my chin, and I twist it out of his grasp. He drops his hand to my knee, rubbing it. “You want to go back to the room? I can take you.”
I scramble to my feet, indignation sweeping through me with a healthy helping of distrust. “I don’t need your sympathy…boy I could never date.” I cringe. That was only supposed to be inside my head.
His brows knit together. “What?”
My face crumples. “Nothing. I need a moment. I’m going back to the room.”
Like a ninja, he rises to his feet and snatches my arm as I’m about to make my escape. “If this is about me showing up while you’re working, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know you would react this way. I won’t do it again. Promise.”
I yank my hand from his grasp. “It’s not about you.” I wipe furiously at my face while tears still fall.
“Then what is it?”
“Don’t you have a class to get to?” I snap, walking away.
I make a beeline for Knightley, power walking like I can escape Clark’s words swirling through my head. My bed calls to me. Throwing myself under the covers and sobbing the rest of the day sounds like the perfect plan. I’ll put on The Notebook so I can really feel like shit.
Finally, I arrive at Knightley and trudge up the main steps while taking out my student ID. I swipe it, but it doesn’t read. Furious, I press the ID into the reader. Nothing happens again. I groan out in frustration, and suddenly, another card pushes mine out of the way and swipes instead.
Isaiah James’s picture stares back at me. He even looks good in his ID photo. Caramel-brown hair styled short, the sides shaved with longer hair on top, flopping over. Those sparkling brown eyes. I can imagine him charming the pants off whoever took the photo at the DMV.
Some people have it all.
His look is so effortless, yet ridiculously handsome at the same time. A bit of hair product and it’s as if he stepped off a magazine cover. Plus, hockey keeps his body toned and muscular. Add to that his tall frame, and he’s basically a god.
With the way Clark talks about me, Zaiah can’t even stand to look in my vicinity. “Thanks,” I mutter, then run for our suite to hide.
Luckily, his footsteps don’t follow.
After I shove the key into our main door, I don’t stop until I’m safely in my room. Dropping my bag in the middle of the floor, I go straight to my bed and face-plant the mattress.
Clark said those things with utter conviction.
“Len doesn’t date. Look at her.”
“Everything about her says she doesn’t care about the opposite sex.”
He doesn’t see me like I see him. Clearly. Not by a long shot. Rejection ripples through me with the aftermath of a tsunami. He practically described me as a troll. Maybe I should find a bridge to live under to spare everyone the burden of looking at me.
Shifting my mouth away from the sheets so I can breathe, I stay there until I convince myself to move again. Even then, I only exert myself enough to start The Notebook on the TV I bought after one of my roommates commandeered the communal space, and then prop myself up against the headboard with the sheets pulled up to my chin. I’m not that far into it when the main door to the suite opens and closes. Muting the movie, I pray Zaiah goes to his room, but I have the luck of a bad penny today because his footsteps grow louder and there’s a knock on my door.
I swallow before answering, trying to appear unfazed. “I’m fine. I want to be alone.”
He doesn’t listen. He opens the door and strides inside, carrying a grocery bag with him. “Sorry, no can do.” He points to the clear plastic. “I need to know what flavor you like before they all melt.”
“What is it?” I ask as he moves closer. I glance into the bag and take in several pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.
“I wasn’t sure which you preferred. My sister is a Half Baked kind of girl, but I didn’t want to presume.”
I fish through the offerings. Half Baked is good, but I find myself pulling out the—
“Wait, let me guess.” Zaiah turns away, his eyes closed. “The cheesecake one?”
“No.”
“The Tonight Dough?”
“No again. You’re missing an important ingredient.”
“Chocolate Fudge Brownie?”
“Getting warmer,” I say, taking off the top.
He peers over, eyes widening. “I should’ve guessed. Chocolate Therapy. That bad, huh?”
I stifle the comment I want to make and instead ask, “You buy your sister Ben & Jerry’s?”
“I know the way to a female heart.”
I tug off the plastic covering and look up at him. “Right now, you’re only teasing me.”
His brows pull together, then he realizes I don’t have a spoon and zips off to the kitchen with the ice cream, returning with a utensil in record time.
“Thank you.” I take it from him and dig in. The chocolate goodness practically melts on my tongue. I don’t care that all I had for breakfast was half a bagel before I decided to go to the newsroom and that this will probably wreck my stomach. Worth it.
My phone dings, and I leave the spoon in my mouth to reach for my bag. Zaiah picks it up and throws it on the bed while I take out the device. It lights up with a message from Flora.
Are you okay? He was out of line.
I roll my eyes, throwing it onto the bed next to me without responding.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
Especially not with perfect Isaiah James. What would he know about being below average and having people look over or through you as if you’re not even there? It’s embarrassing.
Instead of leaving, Zaiah physically pushes me toward the wall and gets into bed next to me, pulling the comforter back up over my waist. I eye him. He doesn’t listen very well, does he? But despite my thoughts, his presence feels better than being alone. His large body blocks out some of the numb that would be very easy to catch with this pint of Ben & Jerry’s in my hand.
“ The Notebook , huh?”
“Don’t like it?”
“Didn’t say that.”
I shove a whole spoonful of ice cream into my mouth, letting the chocolate work its magic while the movie plays. It’s at the part where they’re in the ocean and Rachel McAdams is asking Ryan Gosling to say she’s a bird.
As soon as he says, “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird,” my tears run over again.
Why is that line everything? It packs so much meaning.
“My sister cries at that part, too. I don’t get it.”
I blink at him, my vision blurred. He stares at the TV, forehead cinched in confusion, and I sit up straighter, gesturing toward the scene with my ice cream spoon. “He wants to be what she is. If she wants to be a bird, he’ll be a bird too. It’s so romantic.”
“Being a bird is romantic?”
“No! Ugh ,” I groan. “It means he’ll follow her. He’ll be next to her through all her craziness, even her wanting to be a bird, and he’ll do that forever and ever. Meanwhile, I can’t even get a guy to look at me. It’s like that part in Pride and Prejudice when Lizzie’s father says: ‘Mr. Darcy, who never looks at any woman but to see a blemish, and who probably never looked at you in his life.’”
My eyes widen. I’m a blemish . Is there anything worse than to be a blemish?
“You’re not a blemish,” Zaiah states.
“ Ugh , why do I keep saying things out loud that I mean to say inside my head?”
“Because you’re sad?”
“You know, not everything I say needs an answer.”
He nods. “Okay.”
I have to admit, he’s taking all of this well. He’s only been my roommate for about twelve hours and I’m already having a meltdown.
“It’s admirable that you take care of your sister this way, but you know you don’t have to watch me blubber over The Notebook and gorge myself on ice cream. Thank you for this, by the way.”
“What are roomies for?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly, voice cracking. Another tear falling over. I thought I had the best roommate. The singular best friend someone could ever ask for, but all of that was a fa?ade too. Why does everything in life suck?
“Hey,” Zaiah says comfortingly. He slides his arm around my shoulders, and I snuggle into his chest, still scooping ice cream in between trying not to cry. “Tell me what happened. It’ll be good to talk about it.”
A few minutes ago, he was the last person I wanted to divulge my problems to…
“Come on,” he encourages. “I promise I’ll just listen. Get things off your chest.”
I swallow, setting my ice cream on my leg, my fingers cupping the cold carton. “When you left the newsroom, this girl Candice came over and asked if you were my boyfriend. She seems interested, just so you know.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about Candice.” He squeezes my shoulders, his gaze intent. “Then what happened?”
“Well, I said no, but the worst part was, so did Clark. Except, he didn’t only say no. He went on a long spiel about how I’m basically incompatible with dating and that I put no effort into my appearance, and then berated Candice for asking because she should have a better analytical mind to observe that about me.”
“He…said that? All of that?”
I nod into his chest.
“What a dick.”
I shrug my troll shoulders. “What about it isn’t true, though? I don’t put makeup on. I don’t dress like I’m trying to impress people. I’m really only trying to be a reporter because that’s the one thing I want most in this whole world… I thought he would respect that.”
“He shouldn’t have said anything about your appearance. He’s a douchebag.”
“But he’s such a cute douchebag. We have the same interests. If he would see me.”
“I knew it,” he remarks. “You like him. But listen, I’m not sure this dickh—”
I bolt upright. “You could help me.”
“What?”
Excitement peaks when the plan starts to unfold in my head, and I smile. How many times have I thought that whatever Zaiah does is so effortless? I want that. I want attention without even trying. I want charm to ooze out of my pores. “What if you showed me how to get Clark to notice me?”
“Len, he doesn’t—”
My eyes round as I come up with the perfect bartering token. “I’ll write an article about your hockey team. I’ll make sure they publish it.”
He sits up straight. “You’re serious about this?”
I nod enthusiastically. Strictly speaking, this is the best idea I’ve ever had. Look at Zaiah. He’s perfect. If he teaches me one ounce of the charisma he holds, Clark won’t be able to look away from me.
He sighs, running a hand through his floppy hair. “Despite this working out in my favor, I feel I should tell you that this asshole isn’t the one you should be seeking attention from. He sounds like a jerk, Len.”
My mind automatically refutes that. Clark isn’t an ass. He’s far from it. He was being observant, and had I really been paying attention instead of looking at him with heart eyes, I might have understood that I wasn’t what he was looking for. This doesn’t have to be the end of the story, though. “Right now, I want him to eat his words. I can be all those things he said I couldn’t. He said I’m not the type to date because I don’t put in the effort, but I could.”
“You don’t need my help, though.” Zaiah hesitates. “Look it up on the internet.”
“Well, you’re a guy. Your feedback will be invaluable. Plus, it’s not only about putting effort into my appearance. There are intangibles. Like charm. Flirting.”
“Wait, you think I’m charming?” His lip twitches, and it’s ridiculous that he doesn’t know what he has. His personality comes so naturally. It makes me think of the night I first met him.
Even from two floors up and standing on a table staring down at the figure below asking to come up, I knew he was gorgeous. He was swathed in shadows, but you could tell by the cut of his clothes and his angular jawline that he was built. I started freaking out, asking Trish what I should do. She had only let me borrow the dress I was wearing. The low-cut, clingy material wasn’t something I would be caught dead in, especially not in public, too afraid my private bits would show, so I wanted to change. I ran into the room to put something more comfortable on, telling her to get the door when he knocked, and by the time I came out, I didn’t have a chance in hell.
He looked right through me, and all he saw was her.
The initial rejection only worsened the more we got to know him. Watching those two fall for one another was like a kick to the gut—a double kick when I factored in the shame for crushing on my best friend’s guy. It didn’t matter that I saw him first. Or that he initially saw me.
I peer at Zaiah, trying not to think about what could have been, and instead, stick out my hand. “Do we have a deal?”
He sighs, staring into my eyes for the longest moment before he says, “Deal.”
He gives my hand a hearty shake, and I grin at him. “First, we wallow in ice cream. Then, you can tell me what I need to do to grab Clark’s attention.”
“Ice cream it is,” he says, lying back into my pillows and getting comfortable. “Then we make you a bird.”
I smirk at his attempt, but he still doesn’t quite understand the concept.