Misunderstandings (Woodfalls Girls 2)

“Shut it,” she snorted, throwing a pillow at me. “Wait, where are you going?” she asked as I headed for the door.

“Look, I love you despite the fact that you’re a total spaz, but seriously, you make studying damn near impossible,” I answered, throwing her a kiss.

“Do you want me to order you purple balloons?” I heard her call through the door as I headed down the hall.

I shook my head. She was a mess, but surprisingly, we’d really hit it off after a few initial speed bumps last year. Melissa’s vibrant and enthusiastic personality reminded me of my friend Tressa. Every emotion she was feeling was always on display for the world to see, like she was throwing up the Bat-Signal or something. Everything was a big deal whether it was good or bad. I was the polar opposite, not wanting the whole world to know every little detail about me. On our first night as roommates, I’d watched her with morbid fascination as she had buzzed around our room chattering nonstop about the great year we were going to have, and how we would be the best of friends. After hours of endless chatter, she had finally fallen asleep in the middle of regaling me with stories of all the parties and hot guys we would be exposed to now that we were in college. While she snored loudly in the bed next to mine, I vowed that first thing in the morning, I would do everything in my power to switch roommates, but by the time the next morning had dawned bright and early, she didn’t seem nearly as bad. Of course, that was probably because she woke me with a steaming cup of coffee from the small kiosk near our dorm. Anyone who recognized the importance of a morning hit of caffeine couldn’t be all that bad. I won’t lie, though; during the next few weeks I did question the sanity of that decision. Now, a year later, I was glad I didn’t follow through with my initial plan. Sure, there were still times she wore on me, but she was pretty terrific all the other times. Even if she did act like a hyped-up Red Bull junkie most of the time.

Leaving Melissa to her costume dilemma wasn’t that much of a hardship. Despite the dreary day, I enjoyed sitting by myself at one of the cafés just off campus. I was supposed to be doing my schoolwork, but people-watching kept distracting me while I sipped my coffee and nibbled on a sinfully good Danish that practically melted in my mouth.

I was halfway through my second cup of coffee and finally working on my paper when the annoying squeals from a nearby table broke my concentration.

“What about this one?” a girl asked in one of those fake baby-talk kinds of voices that got on my nerves. I could practically hear her eyelashes batting.

“Well, sweetheart, I designed that one when I was seventeen. The other half is here,” a masculine voice drawled behind me.

“Oh my God. On your thigh? I want to see,” another voice squealed so loud that I’m sure dogs halfway across the state were sent into a barking frenzy.

“I’m not that easy, babe,” the same masculine voice chuckled as he answered. “What are you willing to trade?”

“Oh brother,” I said, louder than I intended. The sudden silence behind me clued me in that my comment had been heard. Now was one of those times I wished my best friend Tressa were here. She hated when girls made an ass of themselves by fawning over some guy. Better her making the loudmouth comment than me.

“You mean, like, I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours?” the same piercing voice asked after a few awkward moments had passed.

I waited to hear what his response would be, completely annoyed with myself for paying attention to their conversation. I fought the urge to turn and look at Mr. Sure of Himself to see what had the two girls so entranced.

“You have no interest in seeing my art?” he asked into my ear, making me jump.

I silently berated myself for jumping. “Excuse me?” I asked, taking in his rugged appearance. He had nice eyes, I’d give him that, but the typical bad-boy getup made any interest I might have had go down several notches. It seemed like he was trying too hard to portray his image. Even the drenched white T-shirt that showed his six-pack abs and a well-defined chest covered in tattoos was a complete turnoff. I wondered what he would have done had it not been raining. Suddenly, I found myself laughing at a mental picture of him using a garden hose to soak himself down.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, seeing that I was trying not to laugh. Without waiting for my answer, he pulled out an empty chair. The heavy metal squawked loudly across the concrete as he scooted himself toward the table.

“Why don’t you sit down,” I said sarcastically. “And get rid of the cigarette,” I added, not caring that I didn’t even know him.

His lips quirked at my testy tone before looking down at the cigarette. I expected him to scoff at my demand or even ignore it, but he surprised me by using the sole of his shoe to put it out. He earned a few more brownie points by placing the butt in his pocket versus throwing it on the ground.

“Won’t your ‘girlfriends’ wither away into a pile of simpering drama now that you’ve left them?” I asked, casting a look over my shoulder, where the two blond bombshells were staring daggers into my back.

“Nah, they’re cool,” he said, flashing them a smile, which must have been laced with some kind of potion considering the way they both smiled back at him with such adoration. I was disgusted. He was nothing but a flirt who treated women with little respect.

“I think I’m going to hurl,” I commented, making him turn his attention back to me.

He laughed. “You’re hard-core. So, I’m getting the sense you don’t like me. Is it because I interrupted your studying, or have we maybe hooked up before? Because I definitely think I would have remembered that.”

“Please, I shudder at the thought. Does that crap actually work?” I sniped. The fact that he was callous enough to find nothing wrong with flirting with me while he was on some weird ménage-a-trois date was irritating as hell.

My comment only spurred more laughter from him. “I think you just broke my heart,” he said, clutching his chest.

“I’m sure your Playboy bunnies will be more than willing to repair it.”

“How about you make it up to me by going out with me?”

This time it was my turn to laugh. “Um, no thank you.”

“Why not?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

“Because I don’t like you,” I answered, stating the obvious.