There I am, lying on the floor, legs spread as an open invitation for God knows what reason—clearly not a graceful faller—hand tangled in the rat’s nest that is now my hair, and half my face scraped off from the lack of water used while trying to get rid of my mask.
In a word. Disaster.
I’ve had my fair share of embarrassing moments before, but I would have to say, this is a low point for me.
The only thing that would make this worse was if I farted as I fell.
Thank God for small miracles.
From the doorway, three heads stare down at me, two of which I’m going to murder once the third leaves. Unlike me, Lindsay and Dottie don’t have curlers in their hair or masks on their faces. Instead, they look like perfectly normal college girls, completely opposite to the beast they’re staring at.
“Hey, Em,” Knox says, so casually, as if I’m not a rabid gargoyle snarling on the floor. He walks into my room, gives it a courtesy perusal, and then lends his hand to help me up.
I’m tempted to army crawl away from the scene and slither under my bed with my towel tucked close to my side as my only remaining friend, but I think otherwise and take Knox’s hand in mine, the one that isn’t stuck in my hair.
He sets a box to the side and reaches up to my hair where he carefully frees my hand. He then bends down and picks up my towel and smiles when he brings it to my face. I stand there, perplexed and embarrassed that he’s seeing me like this.
“You have something on your face.” He wraps the towel around his index finger and then lightly makes one small swipe across my nose. “There, perfect.”
I glance in the mirror and come face to face with a patchy green monster.
Oh my God.
Attempting to take a step back, he grips me by the waist and studies me, both Lindsay and Dottie still hanging out by my door. “You look mortified,” he says, observation and surprise in his voice.
That would be correct. He’s a smart one.
“That’s because I am. Don’t look at me. Close your eyes.” I try to cover his face with my hand but he’s too quick and too strong.
“No way in hell.” He looks down my bodice and then back up. “I like this little number. I think my grandma wore something like it back in her day.”
“Oh my God, things not to say to a girl.”
He chuckles. “And the hair, it’s different but it’s doing all kind of things for me.”
“Stahp,” I groan, trying to push him away. His grip on me only grows tighter. “You realize this is the last time you’re ever going to see me, right? There is no coming back from this.”
“The hell it is.” He glances down at his watch and grimaces. “I’d happily stay here and enjoy this visual feast, but I have to get to late-night weights.” Letting go of me, he grabs the box he carried in and hands it to me. “Cookies . . . for my cookie.”
Dottie and Lindsay both snort as my face flushes once again.
“I am not your . . . cookie,” I say, the word so vile coming off my tongue.
He laughs some more and pats the top of the box. “These are the best in Brentwood. I’m sure your girls can vouch for me. Fresh from the oven, just for you. Go ahead, lift the lid, you know you want to.”
I really do, they smell so good.
Giving in, I lift the lid and find one dozen of the thickest, most delicious-smelling cookies I’ve ever seen in my life.
Holy crap.
Cookies for his cookie indeed.
“Are those from Mr. Tom’s?”
“The only place to get cookies in town,” Knox answers Dottie, whose nose is sniffing the air. “And if Em’s a good friend, she’ll share with you two.”
“I’m not.” I slam the lid and place the box on my desk, eyeing my friends at the door with daggers. They could have avoided this entire embarrassment by remembering what I look like during power hour. But noooo, they had to let Knox in without even giving me a second to at least change out of my apparent grandma garb.
“I’ll leave you guys to settle this.” He takes a step forward and reaches for me, pulling me into a hug before I can retreat to the other side of the room. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” He kisses the top of my head and then once again lowers his mouth to my ear where he whispers, “Remember this, Em. I’ll take you any way I can have you.”
With those parting words, he gives Lindsay and Dottie a curt wave and then takes off. I stand there, slightly breathless, and tingly from head to toe.
He’ll take me anyway he can have me. Well, boy oh boy, did he get a special part of me today.
“That seemed like it went well.” Dottie smiles.
I point my finger and yell, “Out, both of you.”
“But he liked your outfit.” Lindsay chuckles, scooting backward as I reach for the door to slam it.
“You’re both dead to me.”
“But . . . don’t you want to share those cookies with us?” Dottie asks.
“No.” I slam the door and flop on my bed where I can no longer hold back the smile that cracks the corner of my lips.
Knox: Party tomorrow night, are you coming?
I pause my movie on my computer and open the preview message from Knox’s student chat. Over the past two weeks, Knox has made it known how much he’s interested in me. It hasn’t been every day, or even every other day, but he keeps surprising me with gestures here and there. It’s sweet, and he’s slowly breaking down my wall, but not completely. Even though he knows the answer, every Monday after our class, he asks me to go to lunch, and I always tell him I can’t.
But with every no, his smile gets bigger. I know he can see right through me and can see the yes on my lips. He’s smart enough to know what he’s doing to me. He’s smart enough to feel the way I linger a little longer with each hug he gives me, or the way I lean into him more when he throws his arm around my shoulder. He sees the smiles I try to hide, the small touches I try to hold back, the way I dress up for him on Mondays, making sure I look my absolute best. He’s observant, and even though I’m still trying to keep him at an arm’s length, he is so close to breaking down the rickety barrier I’ve erected between the two of us.
I type him back.
Emory: I don’t think so.
Knox: Why not? Scared of the theme?
Emory: What’s the theme?
Knox: Topless.
Emory: Are you serious?
Knox: No. LOL. There’s no theme, just a beer pong tournament. I could use a partner.
Emory: Then you’re going to want to ask someone with skill. I can barely toss straight.
Knox: I’ll carry you on my back, Em. I’m a champion.
Emory: I think I’ll pass.
Knox: Then just come over to hang out. We can watch a movie in my room.
Emory: While a raging party is happening just outside the door? Won’t that be weird?
Knox: Nah, I’ve hung out in my room during a party before, and it’s not as loud as you think.
Emory: No, you have fun. I’m going to hang out here, get some work done.
Knox: Please.
Emory: Are you batting your eyelashes while typing that?
Knox: Yes, did it work?
Emory: I don’t know.
Knox: Envision this, you, me, on my bed—clothed of course, I’m a gentleman, after all—the latest trending movie on Netflix and a calzone to split from The Hot Spot. My arm draped around you, you curled into my chest, sodas, a sleeve of Oreos . . . how can you resist that?