“Nothing is simple when it comes to you, Birdy. I get the feeling you’re going to try and figure me out.”
He’s so right, not that I think I have a chance in doing so, not with the limited time we have to work on this project.
Figuring out Crew Lancaster and what motivates him will probably take months. Maybe even years.
“That’s what we’re supposed to do,” I stress, leaning across the desk. His gaze drops, lingering on my chest, and I realize a second too late, my breasts are basically resting on top of the desk.
I pull away, my cheeks going hot, and when he returns his gaze to mine, he’s smirking.
“I have an idea,” he says, and I momentarily forget my embarrassment, just grateful he’s willing to come up with something.
“What is it?”
“Let’s make a list of our assumptions about each other.” It’s his turn to lean in closer, those glittering eyes of his never leaving mine. “I’d love to find out what you think you know about me.”
I don’t want to know what he thinks about me. I’m sure it’s all terrible, more gossip than facts. Most of the guys at this school don’t care for me, only because I won’t succumb to their charms.
I sound like my mother with that term, but it’s true. I don’t fall for the coercion, or their lies. They flatter, they say what us girls want to hear, and next thing we know, we’re on our knees for them. Or beneath them in a bed, or a car, or whatever dark, supposedly private place they can get us into. They ask for provocative photos, claiming they’re private, and then they share them with their friends. Making them a mockery.
They don’t respect women. And that’s the problem. They’re all a bunch of bros, who are eager to add girls’ names to their sexual conquest list. That’s it.
That’s all we are.
Even Franklin and Maggie, who I thought were sort of solid, really aren’t. Theirs is a volatile relationship that I wouldn’t want.
None of the relationships at school are ones I long for. The boys are either too forward, or too immature. I’m not a particularly religious person, but I do value my body and my morals. My parents have always stressed how careful I should be when choosing who I eventually share my love and my body with.
They do their best to talk me out of being in any sort of relationship with someone right now, especially my father.
“Well?” Crew’s deep voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I blink him back into focus. “What do you think?”
“You’ll be nice?” My voice is cautious.
“You want real? Or do you want nice?”
I guess when it comes to Crew and his opinion of me, they don’t go hand in hand.
Good to know.
“Real,” I say, sounding a lot more confident than I feel.
“I want the same. Lay it all out, Birdy. Tell me all your secret thoughts about me.”
His words make me bristle. How can he take something that sounds so innocent and make it seem dirty? “I don’t have secret thoughts about you.”
“I’m disappointed.” He chuckles, the rich sound making me warm. “I have all sorts of secret thoughts about you.”
Interest flares deep, and I mentally tell it to stop. I don’t care about his secret thoughts of me. “I don’t want to know them.”
“You sure about that?” His brows knit together. He seems surprised.
I shake my head. “Absolutely. I’m sure every one of them is lewd.”
“Lewd.” He chuckles again. “Nice word choice.”
“I’m sure it’s accurate.” I flip past the list of questions I created in my notebook, smoothing my hand across the fresh clean page. “Are you ready?”
“We’re doing this?”
“Let’s set a timer.” I grab my phone and open up the clock app. “Ten minutes?”
He nods. “Tell me when to start.”
I set my phone on the desk and grab my pencil, my finger hovering above the start button as Crew grabs a pen, clicking it a couple of times, I’m sure only to bother me. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go.”
I start scribbling immediately all of the things I’ve heard about Crew over the years. A few of my own assumptions. Considering we’ve never really talked before, I have no clue if any of the things I’m listing are actually true or not.
Which makes me feel kind of bad, but I don’t let the guilt linger for too long.
I’m too busy writing out my list.
Crew, on the other hand, takes his time, scribbling a few words here and there. Tapping his pen against his slightly pursed lips as he contemplates whatever he’s thinking about.
Knowing that he’s thinking about me throws me a little. Makes me hesitate, my pencil still poised upon the paper, my breath lodging in my throat when I glance up to find him watching me. We stare at each other for a beat until he points the pen at me and immediately starts putting something down on paper.
I do the same, writing blindly, not quite sure if I’m actually composing words but hoping for the best.
What did he just realize? Was it good or was it awful? Knowing Crew, it was most likely terrible.
When the timer finally sounds, it makes me jump, my pencil falling to the floor and rolling in Crew’s direction. He stops it with his foot, bending down to pick it up while I attempt to shut off the alarm. I finally manage it at the same time he hands me my pencil, his hand covering almost the entire thing.
Forcing me to touch him when I take it from him.
His fingers slide over mine, electricity crackling between us at the connection, yet his expression is completely neutral. As if what just happened never happened at all.
Again, another figment of my imagination.
“Read me your list,” he demands, his voice smooth as silk as it washes over me.
I shake my head, frowning at the scribbles across my paper. “I need to decipher what I wrote first.”
He holds a single sheet of paper in front of him, his eyes narrowing in seeming concentration. “I’ll go first then.”
I lean back in my chair, my entire body stiff with worry. Pressing my lips together, I swallow hard and wait for the horrible words to come.
“My assumptions about Birdy.” He glances at me over the top of the paper. “That’s you.”
I huff out a laugh, though there’s really no sound. “Right.”
“She’s nice to everyone. She wants people to respect her. To listen to her. Though really most everyone just takes advantage of her.”
I remain quiet, absorbing his words.
“She’s a good student. Smart. She wants teachers to admire her. To think she’s a hard worker. Some admire her too much.” The pointed look he sends my way has me immediately thinking of Figueroa.
Doubtful. But whatever.
“She surrounds herself with a lot of people, but I never see her with actual friends. She’s closed off. Thinks she’s better than everyone else. Judgmental.”
I wince at that particular word.
“…she’s also a prude. A virgin. Not interested in sex. Probably scared of it. Scared of guys. Scared of everyone. Possible traumatic experience in her past?” He lifts his gaze from the paper, his eyes meeting mine. “And that’s it.”
My mind is awhirl with a mountain of things. None of them positive.
I’m not scared of guys. I’m not scared of anyone.
Well, this particular guy makes me feel a decent amount of fear, not that I’d ever admit it.
“That was plenty, don’t you think?” I try to smile at him, but it comes out so twisted, I give up.
“You don’t have an opinion about any of my thoughts?” He raises his brows in question.
“There was never a traumatic experience in my past.”
“Are you sure about that?”
That he would even doubt me…
“Yes,” I say firmly.
We’re quiet for a moment, watching each other, his gaze finally dropping from mine to stare at the scribbles on his paper. All while my mind goes over what he said about me.
Take advantage of her.
Closed off.
Has no friends.
Judgmental.
A prude. A virgin.
Scared of sex.
None of that is true. I have friends. I don’t let people take advantage of me, and I’m very open. I’m not afraid of sex. I’m just not interested.
The only thing that’s true is I’m a virgin. And proud of it.