Too Late

When I look up at him and meet his eyes for the first time, I gasp. His face is perfection. A strong jaw, two plump lips that are wet and inviting. When he smiles at me, dimples form just at the corners of his mouth, giving the harshness of his strong features just the right touch of boyish charm.

I could go on and on about the perfection of his physical appearance, but I’m not that type of person. I’m not that shallow.

Right?

It doesn’t matter to me that his hair looks thick enough to grab fistfuls of. It doesn’t matter to me that his defined arms look like they could lift me up without a struggle. It doesn’t matter to me that the heather-blue T-shirt he’s wearing fits him in all the right places, and I don’t even have to slide my hand inside his shirt to know where every contour of his six-pack is.

None of that matters. I’m not that kind of person.

So why am I finding it so hard to breathe?

He’s still reaching out, trying to hand me the pen. He chuckles at my lack of response and then he lifts out of his chair far enough to lay the pen on my desk. He winks at me and then faces forward again.

I look down at the pen. I look back at him and he’s no longer taking notes.

He gave me his only pen?

I pick it up and force myself to finish taking notes, even though I’m consumed with the fact that I’m going to have to give this pen back to him and thank him. Which means I’ll have to actually speak to him.

By the time the professor ends his lecture, my hands are shaking. I’m completely ridiculous. I pack my backpack, and before he’s even standing, I walk past him and mutter a “thanks” as I lay the pen on his desk and rush away.

I exit the classroom on two flimsy excuses for legs. When I make it about ten feet from the door, I feel a hand on my elbow.

“Hey.”

I close my eyes because that voice sounds even sexier when it’s being tossed in my direction from this close. When I turn around and look at him, he’s staring down at me, his dimples sinking in with his smirk. His eyes scroll over my features, one by one, and I’d give anything to be able to know what he’s thinking as he checks me out. He leans against the locker beside me and says, “What’s your name?”

Oh, God.

He’s going to ask me out.

The guy I never thought would notice I existed has noticed. And for some reason, he wants to ask me out. I thought I’d want to say yes, but I don’t. Not after seeing him up close. Not after feeling what his voice alone does to my insides. I’m no match to his experience. I can tell by the look in his eye that he would eat me alive.

I need to ease my way up to someone like him. I can’t dive into the dating world with him as my first attempt, never even having kissed a guy.

I immediately turn around and walk in the other direction. A few steps later, I feel a hand on my elbow again. “Hey,” he says, laughing this time.

I stop again and face him. “I already thanked you for the pen.”

Why am I being such a bitch?

That stupid, adorable smile is still affixed to his face. Even his teeth are sexy. Who the fuck has sexy teeth?

“I realize that,” he says. “And you’re welcome. But now I’m kind of in need of a return favor.”

I may not know anything about dating, but I know what it means when guys like him ask for favors. “You let me borrow a pen. That’s hardly a favor worth repaying.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “I let you borrow my only pen. Now I need a copy of your notes.”

Oh. Maybe he doesn’t want to ask me out. “You show up to one out of every four classes and now you’re worried about missing ten minutes of notes?” I say. “Seriously?”

His eyes squint in the corners a little. “Actually,” he says, leaning forward. “I’m trying to flirt with you, but you’re making that a little difficult.”

Oh.

I chew on the corner of my lip for a moment, trying to hide whatever reaction that comment just elicited. But he’s probably used to that reaction because I’m sure I’m the only girl left in the whole school he hasn’t flirted with yet. “I’m Sloan. And I’m not interested in being flirted with.”

“Sloan,” he repeats with a smile. “Very nice.”

Seriously? How do those three words cause chills to run down my arms?

He takes a step closer. He smells like peppermint. “Sloan...you should go to dinner with me tonight. I promise to be a gentleman for as long as you need me to be.”

His comment repulses me and turns me on at the same time. I have no idea how. I feel like my body and my conscience are at war. Especially now that I’m staring at his mouth, wondering if he’s going to be the first guy I ever kiss. I imagine kissing a guy is sort of like how it feels when you eat a pineapple. Kind of satisfying and sticky, but you can feel it on your tongue hours after you eat it.

He lets me borrow a pencil and now I’m daydreaming about kissing him? My thoughts are not safe around this guy.

I shake my head and turn around to walk away.

I have no idea why I just turned him down. It’s not like I have anything better to do tonight. But something about him tells me I’ll be getting in way too deep. He’s not safe. He’s not shallow water where people normally tiptoe in, ankle deep. He’s the shark-infested deep end of the sea and if I agree to go out with him, I’ll be walking the plank, right off the boat and into his dark depth.

How am I supposed to do that when I don’t even know if I can swim?

He’s in front of me now, causing me to come to a sudden stop. He takes a step forward and I take a step back.

“We don’t have to call it a date,” he says. “I’m just really fucking attracted to you and I’d like to eat a meal and be able to stare at you while I do it. Will you let me pick you up tonight so I can stare at you while I eat food?”

A playful smile breaks out on his face and I can’t help but laugh at him. And damn. He has a potty mouth. Why do I find that such a turn-on?

He mouths the word, “Please,” while looking at me desperately. I don’t know why I love that he mouthed that word and didn’t voice it.

I take a moment to think about all the things I was just telling myself in class earlier. I’m young. It’s my first time to experience life now that Stephen is in full-time care. If I don’t start to experience things soon, I’m going to be too far behind to ever catch up.

I blow out a breath and nod. “Fine. I’ll let you watch me while you eat. Weirdo. Pick me up in front of the student union at seven.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll pick you up at eight thirty. I’m free then.”

“That’s a really late date.”

He smiles and says, “So it is a date.” He leans forward, his lips coming close to my ear. “Wear the dress you wore to class last Tuesday, please. The one with the yellow flowers on it.”

He brushes past me and walks away, and I don’t even get to see his expression after those words. I feel like those words sent a charge of electricity coursing through me.

He noticed what I was wearing last week?

I cover my smile with my hand and walk to my next class.





I got ready at the laundromat.

How sad is that?

The dress Asa asked me to wear was dirty and I don’t have access to a washer or dryer at my house or at the girl’s house I’ve been staying at the last few days. So I grabbed my dirty clothes and went to the laundromat and did my hair and makeup in the laundromat bathroom while my clothes washed.

I wonder if he’d still be attracted to me if he knew that.

I’ve noticed the name brand clothes he wears. The new pair of shoes he always has on when he decides to show up to class. Even the pen he let me borrow looked more expensive than this dress.

I still can’t figure out why he wants to take me out. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have huge issues with self-esteem. I just wonder why, out of all the girls I see flirting with him, he asked me out on a date. I’m not loud, I don’t seek out attention, I don’t dress to impress. If anything, I do what I can to avoid guys like him for this very reason. Because I hate the unknown.

When you go your whole life without interacting with guys in a flirtatious or sexual way, you just get to a point where you feel so far behind, there’s no way you’ll ever catch up to the people your age.

I feel like I’m in a completely different race than they are. I stare at all the people passing me as they go in and out of the student union. Some stare at me, some don’t. Two guys have asked if I need help.

I don’t know if they were hitting on me or if it’s because I’ve been standing here for half an hour now. One of my least favorite things about a person is tardiness. I’ve already deducted a point and we haven’t even started the date yet. I’ll give him ten more minutes and if he isn’t here, I’m leaving.

One minute passes.

Three.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Time’s up, asshole.

I wrap my purse around my shoulder and turn to head back toward the bus stop. Just as I’m rounding the corner, I hear a car screech into the parking lot and come to a stop. I hear a door slam, but I don’t turn around. I keep walking.

“Sloan!”

I can hear him running toward me. I’m relieved he’s here. It means he didn’t stand me up. But he’s still almost forty-five minutes late.

I come to a stop when he appears in front of me.