His words are wistful as he recites the poem, and it strikes a chord.
“My mom used to say that last line to me a lot, especially when I was upset or working through something. She died when I was seventeen, right before I came to HU.”
I bite my lip. “My mom passed when I was eleven.”
A long, long sigh comes from him. “Mine had breast cancer. She and my dad hid how bad it was from us for a long time, but it got her.” I hear a rustling noise as if he’s really getting comfortable. “She gave me a necklace with the last line from the poem on it before she died. She said it was a reminder that life isn’t always gold, but that green does eventually come back around. It’s the way of the universe.”
“It’s beautiful that you have that.” I swallow.
“How about you? What happened?”
My heart is heavy, even though it’s been years. “I came home from school and she was dead. Seizure, they said. She was epileptic and wasn’t great about taking her meds. She…she was all I had. My father had completely broken up with her by the time that happened. Plus, he already had a wife and kids. I was the love child he never wanted.”
There’s silence for a while.
“Are you still there?” I say.
“Yeah. Just thinking about you being alone…it must have been hard coming here, your dad not being around and all.”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
“Can I come in, Sugar? I just want to hold you. I was an asshole.”
“Honestly, I like talking to you like this. It’s easier.” With a door between us, there’s no risk of me having sex with him. “Tell me about your cat. What’s her name?”
“She’s not my cat. Her name is Long John Silver.”
I smile. “Who named her?”
He snorts. “You’ve been talking to Eric. Okay, okay, the cat is mine. I dig the cat. She curls up next to me when I sleep, and honestly it makes me feel calm, and I need a little of that during hockey season.”
I grin and a few more moments pass of us just breathing.
“Let me in, Sugar. I need…I need to see you. Just let me give you a hug and I’ll leave.”
Another voice interrupts us and I recognize it as the girl from across the hall, a stocky rodeo chick. Whenever I see her approaching in the hall, I always give her a wide berth. “Oh, for God’s sake, open the damn door already, or I’m calling security! A person needs their sleep in this dump!”
Z huffs out a chuckle, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
Fine.
I crack open the door and there he is.
He’s standing up now and he leans against my doorjamb, wearing black running gear from head to toe. There’s a serious expression on his face, and his hair is wild and flying everywhere as if it has static in it. Static hair is such a regular human thing and it’s nice to see, because honestly I was beginning to think of him as very non-human with that face and body.
“You look like a burglar who stuck his finger in a light socket,” I murmur.
He shoves a black knit hat down on his head. “You should have seen me when I had this on—cat burglar extraordinaire. I had to slip in through the side door because the girl at the front desk told me visiting hours were over for this floor.”
“Alas, I got housing so late, I have sucky hours. They call this dorm The Virgin Vault.”
His brows go up. “You trying out being a nun?”
I give him a look. “We just had sex in a garage—does that sound nunnish to you? And yes, I know that’s not a real word.”
He grins. “Let me in?”
“CHRIST, LET HIM IN!” comes from the door across the hall.
“You should definitely listen to her.”
“You’ve worn me down at this point, plus I’ve had a drink, so I’m willing to hear your apology,” I say.
I step to the side so he can brush past me. Of course my gaze follows his physique. Mr. Black Spandex is hot and every muscle in his backside ripples. I sigh—I can’t help it. He turns around and catches me checking him out. Moving with a swift athletic grace, he sweeps me up in his arms and hugs me, his voice gruff when he speaks. “See, hugging is good.”
I slide down him, my body pressed tight against his.
He frowns, looking down at my shirt. There’s a white logo on the front of a girl sliding down a pole. “You’re a stripper?”
I stiffen. I’ve learned that some people get weird when they find out where I work. I once had a professor who discovered it and pulled me aside after class one day and got a little too close when he asked what nights I worked. Just no. I was glad when that class ended. “Would it bother you if I were?”
“Fuck yeah. I don’t want anyone looking at you like that.”
I cross my arms. “As it happens, I don’t strip, but if I did, it would be fine. Mara owns BB’s and I mostly do office work and sometimes tend bar.”
His lips compress.
“What?” I ask.
He rubs his face. “Just…I don’t know. It’s not a safe place to work, even if you’re not…”
“It is. Mara runs a tight ship. We have bouncers and our place is clean. Plus, some of the girls are like family to me.”
His chest rises.
“Z, you have no right to judge where I work. Don’t even try.”
“I know, I know. Just…maybe I should come check it out.”
“I can handle myself. You have no clue how I grew up, okay? Hockey in the suburbs is your normal, and hanging out at a strip club is mine. It doesn’t mean I have questionable morals. In fact, Bennett was my first.”
He frowns and holds a hand up. “Okay, just stop and let me back up. I know you’re not a bad person. I’m just…surprised.”
“I didn’t grow up rich.”
His face softens. “And I like you the way you are. I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”
“Good.”
“Nice place,” he says as he walks toward what is obviously my side of the room since the TV is on. He takes in my white duvet and fluffy pillows.
“It’s not, but it’s all that was left. I was supposed to move in with Bennett this semester.” I move to the desk where the bottle of vodka sits. “You want a drink or a donut?”
He surveys the room, taking in my books before his eyes land on the vase of flowers. “Nah.” He picks at one of the blooms. “An admirer?”
I detect a steely glint in his eyes.
“My ex. They were here when I came home tonight.”
His nose flares. “I see.”
“He leaves gifts for me, trying to get me to talk to him.”
His shoulders stiffen. “Are you still in love with him?”
“He cheated on me. He lied.”
He stares at me. “That doesn’t mean you don’t still love him.”
I pause, thinking.
There are residual feelings of loneliness, especially hurt, but he tossed me aside to be with someone else on a whim, and that…that I can never get over no matter how many flowers he sends me.
“I don’t love him.”
“Good.”
An easy silence fills the room, as if the tension has dissipated, and his gaze washes over me. I tug at the tank I’m wearing, but really what’s the point? I’m braless and he knows what I look like.