“The house on the right,” I point out.
She pulls the car/the golf cart––whatever you wanna call it––into my driveway and parks. In the meantime, I study her profile, the long neck, the freckles across the bridge of her nose. Those lips––glossy and full.
As much as I’m tempted to put my mouth on hers right now, I’m guessing she wouldn’t dig it. Nope her body is a bundle of nervous energy, both of her small delicate hands wrapped around the steering wheel like it’s an anchor meant to steady her.
Impatiently, she taps her short dark nails on the wheel, eager to get rid of me. In contrast, I could sit here all day. As a matter of fact I haven’t felt this good, this at ease, since before…
She finally looks at me, the red in her hair making her eyes look a light shade of brown. They’re long-lashed and tilted up at the corners––what my Grandpa calls bedroom eyes.
“Look at that broad over there, Dallas. Not much of a looker but the bedroom eyes on that one…those eyes could ruin a man’s life.”
“If you ever wanna do it again, you know where to find me.”
Her face flashes red again. As expected. I hop out and turn to face her, the car still idling in my driveway. The smile I’ve been fighting breaks free. Then, in case she didn’t get my meaning, I shout, “The kissing, I mean.”
Chapter Seven
Dora
If you ever want to do it again, you know where to find me…
It feels like I stuck my face in an oven and it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m exercising. Of course he recognized me. He’s not a total idiot. I, however, am. An idiot who’s been caught red-handed and shamed to death. Well…not exactly shamed to death, but he definitely got his kicks at my expense.
The humiliation spurs me on, my arms pumping faster, my chest expanding and contracting as I huff and puff, power walking uphill back to my dorm.
Confession: I’ve never been an athlete. Hard to believe, I know. I mean, it’s not like I’ve been a couch slug my entire life. Just the last few years.
When I was still living at home, I played with Iggy a lot and took him on long walks. That was the extent of it, though.
My parents on the other hand…
They play tennis, golf, basketball, surf. They both hit the gym regularly. Yeah, that gene skipped right over me. Once I got to collage, I shed the walks and gained the freshman fifteen. That’s just a really longwinded way of saying in the spirit of making changes, I’ve started going on regularly scheduled power walks. Which, more often than not, happens to be after dark.
Earbuds in, I’m strutting back to my room still riding high on Taylor Swift and some serious post work-out endorphins when I catch a strange sound rise above the music.
Conspicuously, I turn off Taylor and listen. Maybe it’s the wind. The Santa Anas are gusting tonight. A beat later, much to my chagrin, I hear the sound again and my pulse begins to race. Maybe not the wind.
This campus is built on a chain of steep hills. The grounds manicured to within an inch of their life, the sidewalks all well-lit. Which is why personal safety has never been a concern. It has crossed my father’s mind about a trillion times, however. And thank God for that.
I’ve been warned repeatedly about the dangers of walking around alone at night. I know the stats by heart, got them all memorized and everything. And yet, I still can’t believe it’s happening to me.
Having a parent in law enforcement is both a chore and a blessing. Am I maybe a little more paranoid than most people? Probably. But I sleep well at night knowing I’m prepared for just about anything. Case in point, the tiny can of pepper spray dangling on my keychain.
I hear it again, the sound. Under closer scrutiny, it definitely sounds like footsteps. And they’re drawing closer. Goosebumps break out over my skin and the palpitations are going to put me in cardiac arrest. I take hold of the pepper spray, finger poised on the trigger, hand shaking.
Regardless of the near panic attack I’m having, I manage to control my instinct to cut and run. I need to get closer to the safety of my dorm first––I can’t risk being dragged behind a bush or building––and I’m only a block away.
Roughly thirty steps.
Ten steps.
With each one I take, my anxiety escalates. I’m too terrified to look back. I don’t want to make him real.
The footsteps behind me accelerate, and they definitely belong to a man. The cadence, the hollow heavy sound of weight hitting cement is distinct––even in sneakers.
By the time I reach my dorm, I can barely hear anything over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it pulsing in my throat. I punch in the code on the security pad. The chime signals that the door is open and I dive inside. But not before someone––a large someone––barrels in right behind me.