Ridorkulous (Dorky Duet Book 1) Page 6

  I firm my resolve with a nod. “Right. How, exactly, are you going to help me?”

  She shrugs. “I haven’t quite figured that part out yet. But it won’t hurt to have someone in your corner, don’t you think?”

  The slam of a door yanks me from the only hour of sleep I’ve gotten all night.

  The couch is worse than not good.

  Not good is an understatement of gigantic proportions.

  Scientific notation would be necessary to quantify how awful it is.

  The noise-canceling headphones don’t help when people don’t see you and accidently sit on your face. Which has happened more than once. And I don’t think always accidently.

  I rub my gritty eyes and reach for my cell phone to check the time. Did I set the alarm?

  It’s 7:36. “Holy scatterplot.”

  I have exactly twenty-four minutes to make it to class.

  Leaping from the couch, I race to the bathroom, nearly tripping on Mr. Bojangles asleep and splayed out in the middle of the hallway, belly exposed, perfectly content and unconcerned with my struggles.

  I only take the time to pee and splash my face with cold water. I left my book bag in the room and I don’t even attempt silence, throwing the door open and then rummaging through the closet for the stuff I stashed there last night.

  It doesn’t matter. The door is unlocked, which means Fitz is gone. The bed is neatly made. He probably slept like a baby and flitted out the door to the sound of songbirds while forest creatures helped him dress.

  All the more reason to hate him.

  I throw on an old tie-dyed T-shirt and jeans.

  I’ve nearly made it to the front door when a looming presence appears in the kitchen doorway and I gasp before I realize who it is.

  Beast.

  For someone so large, he moves like a ninja. Or an ambush predator.

  His giant hands hold out coffee in a disposable cup and a small brown paper sack. I take the items and peek inside the bag. There’s a neatly wrapped sandwich next to an apple.

  I meet his eyes with a surprised blink. “Thank you.”

  A slow nod is my only response.

  Then I’m out the door, blowing down the sidewalk along with the dead leaves from the trees finally catching up with the change in seasons, even though it’s already over seventy degrees.

  I didn’t have a chance to grab a hair tie, and the wind whips my hair all over the place.

  The house isn’t far from campus, but I’m never late and I already missed a full day.

  “Hi,” a voice calls in passing, but I don’t look over.

  I’ve made the mistake of waving or returning salutations, only to discover they were inevitably attempting to communicate with someone else nearby.

  “Hey.” Now from someone coming in the other direction. This time, I glance around. No one else in the immediate vicinity. Must have been some kind of mistake.

  It’s not until I’ve reached the building where my calculus class is held that I have a minute to catch my breath.

  The auditorium-style classroom is nearly full, but I make it through the door with only a minute to spare and take my normal spot in the very back.

  I toss my bag at my feet and bend over to pull out my materials while trying to get my breathing under control.

  While I’m still in a supine position, I catch someone sitting next to me out of the corner of my eye.

  Unusual in and of itself, but even odder is the fact that when I sit up and meet his eyes, he’s smiling.

  At me.

  “Hi.” Dark hair, scruffy jaw, flannel shirt. Vaguely familiar.

  And he’s talking. To me. There can be no mistake this time, his eyes are fixed on mine and there’s no one on my other side. I look twice to make sure.

  But people don’t do this. People don’t notice me. Ever.

  What is happening?

  “Hi,” I reply. My face is already heating. I’m so unused to talking to fellow students, it’s actually making me blush. I take a slow breath. I can do this. I can talk to people I don’t know.

  I can be normal.

  Maybe.

  “You did a great job last night,” he says.

  “Oh. Thank you?” The heat in my face increases. He was there?

  “I’m betting on you next time, so don’t let me down.” He lifts his fist.

  I stare at it. I’ve seen people fist bump before, but I’ve never actually done it.

  Before I can think about it too much, I tap my clenched fist against his. The gesture is unpracticed and graceless, but my classmate doesn’t seem to care too much.

  His response is a slow grin, exposing a dimple on one cheek. “I’m Duke.”

  I nod. “Reese.”

  “I know,” he says.

  Class starts.

  I turn my attention to the front and try to ignore the presence of Duke while I take notes and listen to the lecture.

  I guess I’m not so invisible anymore.

  But I am exhausted from the lack of sleep. So much so, I nearly doze off, jerking awake when Duke stands up next to me.

  “See ya, sleepy.” He laughs and takes off.

  I blink. Everyone is moving. Class is over. Still a little fuzzy, I gather all my items and head down the steps to the front of the auditorium.

  Relief soars through me when I get back to Jude’s after my last class and no one else is home.

  Without another thought, I immediately collapse on the bed in the little room in utter exhaustion.

  I don’t care if Fitz won the game last night. It’s daytime and he’s not using the bed now, so it’s mine.

  Between the lack of sleep over the last couple of days and all the socialization, I’m drained. I conk out so hard I don’t emerge from my sleep cocoon until darkness is falling.

  I’m not sure what brings me out of my slumber, whether it’s the dull sound of voices outside the door or the sensation that I’m not alone.

  Either way, I blink my eyes open to find a figure standing in the middle of the darkening room.

  Gasping, I jolt upright, heart pounding, brain still foggy from sleep.

  “What?” I ask to the room in general.

  “Sorry.” It’s Fitz. He clicks on the light and the Christmas bulbs fill the space with subtle illumination. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

  “How long have you been standing there?”

  Was he watching me sleep?

  Should I be flattered or offended? I reach a hand up to correct my mangled ponytail and wipe away any drool.

  Offended. Definitely offended.

  “I just got home. I had track practice so I need to change.”

  I focus on him. He’s wearing a Blue Falls athletic tank top and running shorts. “Right. Sorry.”

  Wait, why am I apologizing? I hate him. Also, he didn’t really answer my question.

  I hop off the bed, suddenly embarrassed to be lying in a bed with a guy looming over me. I fidget with my rumpled clothes and chaotic hair and we stand in strained silence until we both move at once, me in the direction of the door and him toward the dresser, the small space making it impossible to avoid brushing against each other.

  His skin is still hot from the sun. He smells like masculine deodorant and fresh air.

  “Sorry,” he mutters.

  He’s apologized twice—and me once—during this conversation, which makes me feel somewhat better about myself, in a petty and vindictive way.

  Once I’m in the hall, he shuts the door with a thud and I stand there for a second, not quite ready to leave the quiet emptiness of the hallway, still trying to wake up and gather my thoughts.

  He shuffles around inside the room. The dresser opens and shuts. Is he getting undressed?

  I blink away thoughts of what he might look like under the tank top. All lean torso and corded muscles.

  If I were a renaissance man like da Vinci, I would sculpt him.

  Stop, Reese. He’s lower than a snake fart.
<
br />   But my wayward thoughts don’t have a chance of being squashed, because the door opens and Fitz steps out and now it’s gotten so much worse because he’s not wearing any shirt at all and my imaginings are nothing compared to the sight of Fitz Moreland bare chested and only in running shorts.

  Broad shoulders—broader than I realized, or maybe it just looks that way since he’s so close I could lean forward and taste him—taper down to a trim waist. It’s not quite a six-pack, but near enough that I can’t stop staring and—

  “What are you doing?”

  “Um. Nothing.” Mortification floods through me like a tsunami.

  I turn on a sharp heel and walk down the hall.

  Awkwardland. It’s where I live. And I’m the president, mayor, and sole citizen.

  I shake off the embarrassment. Nothing is wrong with me. I’m simply having a normal, human reaction to an attractive potential mate. Just like in the animal kingdom. And I’ve never felt more animalistic than I do at the current moment, but it’s nothing I can’t control, it’s biology.

  He’s the enemy, and I’d do best to remember it.

  6

  Real courage . . . is when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what.

  —Harper Lee

  Fitz

  There’s no challenge tonight, but a group of people are gathered somewhere in the house. Occasional laughter, clapping, and shouting can be heard even with the door shut.

  At least it’s not as crowded as it was last night, which is a blessing. I have homework to do. Jude clearly doesn’t need to worry about school, but Beast has class. I’ve seen him around campus. He’s hard to miss.

  After I shower off the sweat from practice, I try to get some work done in the room, but I’m starving and the bed isn’t very comfortable for sitting and working on my computer. After hunching over for almost an hour, I give up and head out to the kitchen.

  Making my way through the living area, I get a look at Jude’s guests. They aren’t college students. They’re all over sixty, at least.

  Jude is right in the thick of it too, laughing and passing around trays of appetizers while Mr. Bojangles sits in his lap, regarding the goings-on like a king lording over his subjects.

  As soon as I step into the kitchen, Beast hands me a steaming bowl of food along with a fork and napkin.

  “Thanks.” I take the bowl. Smells good. Some kind of meat, vegetable, rice concoction.

  How did he know I was coming?

  Beast covers the casserole dish, puts it in the fridge, then walks silently out the doorway into the living room, where I can still hear voices and laughter.

  Does he ever speak, even to Jude? I haven’t heard him utter more than a grunt since moving in.

  I turn toward the dining table and that’s when I spot her.

  Reese. Alone, laptop open in front of her, typing away at warp speed.

  It’s going to be an uncomfortable couple of weeks if we can’t be civil to each other in close proximity. Especially after the odd moments both inside and outside the room before I went to shower.

  I didn’t mean to creep on her sleeping, and she woke up right as I was about to announce my presence anyway.

  Then outside the door, I could swear she was checking me out before she ran away.

  It was . . . really flattering, actually.

  So flattering it led to a very pleasurable shower.

  Maybe this means we can be friends, at least? Attraction leads to . . . peace treaty? Maybe it’s a stretch, but there’s only one way to find out. I make my way to the table and pull out a chair.

  I’ll probably get the freeze-out. Again. But no one will be able to say I didn’t give it my best shot.

  “Hey.”

  Reese isn’t watching me, her eyes resolutely on her computer screen. There’s a textbook next to her and a dirty dish set to the side, forgotten.

  I glance at the cover of her textbook. “Quantum physics?”

  She nods.

  Well, at least that’s some kind of acknowledgement. “Isn’t that a third-year class?”

  She shrugs.

  It’s not actual verbal conversation, but I suppose it’s an improvement over a complete snub.

  I sit across from her and take a few bites of food while I decide how to approach this.

  “Listen, Reese,” I wipe my mouth with the napkin, “I’m really sorry about how things started out with us and everything. I said a lot of things that were hurtful. I shouldn’t have placed the blame on you for this . . . situation.”

  She blinks at me, her eyes wide and hyperfocused on me like she can read my actual thoughts.

  Don’t think about sex.

  Heat creeps up my neck.

  Her stare is sort of erotic, in an intense-pixie kind of way. And she’s wearing a thin white T-shirt that reveals the outline of her bra underneath and I have to force my eyes to remain fixed on hers.

  “You’re right,” she says finally.

  What were we talking about?

  I wait for her to say more, maybe apologize for her own rude behavior, or maybe scold me for inappropriate thoughts, but she turns back to her work.

  I stay at the table, eating my food in silence, which actually isn’t as tense as I thought it would be.

  Shouts and laughter and clapping echo from the living room.

  “What are they doing in there?” I ask.

  She doesn’t answer for so long I think I’m being shunned again, but then finally, “They’re watching Antiques Roadshow.”

  “Uh, you mean that program on PBS where people have their old junk valued?”

  “Yep. Jude has them make their bets when each item is first presented. They have to guess how much it’s worth, and whoever gets closest to the actual value wins the pot.”

  “Huh.”

  I keep eating as she keeps typing, and I relax into the silence. It’s better than I thought it would be. The sounds of conversation continue to trickle in from the living room and Reese’s gentle tapping on her computer is actually kind of soothing and the food is pretty damn delicious.

  And then my phone rings and it’s my mother.

  I’ve been dreading her call. I don’t want to lie, even by omission, but I can’t ignore her either.

  “Hey, Momma.” I stand up from the table and take my bowl to the sink.

  “Hey, baby boy. How is school?”

  “It’s great.” The words are like dust in my mouth. I grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it.

  “How’s Abby doing? I was talking to Martha earlier and she wanted me to tell you to have Abby call her. Would you let her know? I know you kids are real busy, but she’s starting to worry. And you know how Abby gets. If things aren’t right in front of her she forgets they exist.”

  My stomach churns, the food suddenly a lump of lead in my belly. I take a long drink of water before I respond. “She’s fine. I’ll tell her to call.” Or not.

  Maybe I can text Abby or have someone from the team pass along the message for me. Not necessarily a lie.

  She keeps up a steady stream of conversation while I wash my dish, asking about my grades and track and if I’m getting enough sleep and brushing my teeth. Typical mom stuff.

  Then after a small silence, when I think we might be done, she drops the bomb. “I wanted to let you know we’re selling the house.”

  “What? Why?”

  I grew up in that house. Granted, it’s not any kind of mansion, just a modest one story out on the south side of town. Not quite middle class, not quite the worst neighborhood in town. But I can’t believe they would sell their home of over twenty years.

  “Well, your grandma is getting a lot older now and since she’s living alone down there in Florida, it’s about time your father and I went to stay with her.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine, baby. It’s just her hip is bad, you know. Now that you kids are out of the ho
use, there’s nothing to really keep us here. We’re gonna get more than three times what we paid for this place. And with your father being off work now a few months, it’s not looking like he’s going to be able to go back.” The last sentence streams by, like getting it out fast will make it hurt any less.

  “But he’s going to be okay, right?” A get a flash in my head, a memory of when I was young and he used to lift me up and fly me around like Superman. He was so strong, I thought he could never be anything else.

  “He’ll be all right. Now don’t be worrying about us. We’ll be okay. He’s gonna have to take early retirement, but that means we’ve got to cut back. I already called Annabel and let her know. I need you kids to come by soon and get some of your stuff. Scott will let you store a few boxes at his place, right?”

  “Uh.” Shit. More lies. But she’s stressed enough, I can’t go making it worse. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s no problem.” Jude has a garage. There’s got to be somewhere for me to keep a few boxes. If not . . . well, I’ll figure something out.

  A few minutes later, we hang up and I turn away from the sink to find Reese still sitting at the table, watching me.

  I had forgotten she was there.

  “Is everything okay? With your dad?”

  She heard my whole conversation. And I’m a little annoyed she’s asking. Now she wants to be cordial?

  I swallow back the harsh retort that wants to escape.

  “He’s fine,” I say instead, and then I leave her to her studies.

  Twenty-four hours later, the crowd at Jude’s is once again near capacity. It was Reese’s turn to make dinner: macaroni and cheese with cut-up hot dogs. Not exactly a gourmet meal from the person who tried to use the fact she could cook as a bargaining chip, but the food is filling enough. We haven’t talked since the night before, since our days are full of classes and schoolwork, and I spent what was left of my afternoon pounding out my frustrations on the all-weather track next to the football stadium.

  Track has never been something I’ve loved, but I’m good at it. All you need is heart. Determination. Nothing else really matters. It was my ticket to getting an education and helping my parents.