Page 18 of Oar Than Friends

The week might have gone by in a blur but easily my most favourite part of it had been spent on the river. While part of my scholarship here was based on my coxing skills and becoming part of the university rowing squad, I’d still had to try out with everyone else. LuckilyImogen and Hannah had also been invited, and the three of us would be leaving shortly to go and cheer the teams on, even if we weren’t competing ourselves.

Today – the first official race of the year – promised to be a big one. Today we were rowing against Oxford, so even if I hadn’t spent the week listening to how our one goal was to beat them on all accounts, or watched the rage almost steaming off the C.U.B.C. president when he announced that Oxford had already stolen our precious golden oars, and even if the entire squad hadn’t been mandated to attend, I wouldn’t have been anywhere else.

Being back on the water during tryouts had given me the calm I had been desperately craving. The smell of the water, the sound of the oars breaking the surface, the rhythm of my crew powering themselves along the river at my command as the coaches watched, all worked to unravel the knots which had been quickly building under my shoulder blades.

I’d spent the last five years rowing with my local club back on the east coast; I’d competed in races and regattas during the season, but from the first time I guided my crew along the River Cam, I knew I’d never experiencedthislevel of competitiveness and it was exactly what I needed to keep me focused. It would keep my mind clear from everything else happening around me, and remembering I was 3,000 miles away from home studying for a degree I didn’t want. I might be completely out of my depth here in Cambridge, but my seat at the stern of a boat was the only place I knew exactly what I was supposed to be doing.

It was the only place I really felt like I belonged.

I shifted on my mattress and was immediately met withthe sharp pain of my phone sticking into my hip, though I seriously considered leaving it there if it meant I could have another minute with my face pressed into the pillow. Sadly, a quick buzzing only exacerbated my discomfort, and I was forced to retrieve it.

When a second ago I could sleep forever, the name flashing on the screen had me sitting up with all the energy of a six-month-old puppy.

Oz:

Good morning, Yankee Doodle. Still meeting me at thepublater? X

Making the C.U.B.C. squad might have been my favourite part of the week, but without a doubt, Oz was my second.

When I’d finally woken up last Sunday morning, I couldn’t be certain I hadn’t dreamed him, but then my fingers brushed against the soft cashmere of his sweater and I was transported back to the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, stripping me bare until my soul was visible for anyone who might have walked past.

There was cathartic power in the knowledge I wasn’t alone in feeling a little trapped in the life I was currently leading; that another person knew exactly what it was like to live with someone else’s future mapped out for you. The tension which usually whispered its constant presence though my chest had been distant when I’d finally gotten out of bed, and I’d breezed through the rest of my day like I hadn’t a care in the world.

If I hadn’t been so busy, I might have been more upset it had taken him two days to message me, or that I hadn’t run into him on campus no matter how hard I tried. I wasn’t an authority on dating, and I hadn’t expected tohear from him the second we’d parted ways, but two days seemed … I dunno … long?

He didn’t seem like the type of guy who’d play hard to get, either.

But, if I was totally honest with myself, as much as my heart had pounded in my chest when I’d seen his first message, not hearing from him so soon had given me a little relief. Because how was I supposed to keep up with my course work, the rowing team,anddate the most perfect specimen of a man I’d ever met? If the latter wasn’t distraction enough, I didn’t know what was.

Even looking at my schedule now, I still wasn’t sure how I’d fit it all in without Oz in the picture. Monday to Friday I had to be on the six a.m. train out to Ely for water training, then back on campus for nine. After a full day in school, I was then expected down at the Goldie boathouse for late-afternoon land training in the gym.

At least at the weekends we just had one training session – for seven hours …

I no longer had time to go out because if I wasn’t studying, I needed to be in bed sleeping. At nineteen, I’d long come to the conclusion that I was never going to be one of those people who could thrive on little sleep. I loved sleep. I craved sleep. It was also an important requirement of any friendships I cultivated that I had ample quantities; tired me was not someone people wanted to be around.

So when the message from Oz came through asking to pick up where we left off, I should have suggested maybe we didn’t pick up, maybe we remembered it for what it was – the best almost-kiss there’d ever been. That I was scared if we picked up where we left off, and our kiss waseverything I thought it would be, all I’d want to do was kiss him more and forget the rest.

But I didn’t, because the second I saw that message all I could think about were his lips breezing over mine. All I could smell was the intoxicating oaky scent of vetiver and sandalwood, reminding me of New England in the fall, and sipping hot chocolate as you kicked through the leaves. All I could feel were his palms cupping my cheeks and long fingers brushing against the thumping pulse in my neck that reverberated over every inch of my body.

We hadn’t messaged a lot, but it was enough for me to find out a third year studying classics doesn’t need to spend the week before term starts doing anything other than lying around readingThe Iliad. I’d also learned that he lived in a house off campus with two of his best friends, and that Olly, who I’d had the somewhat pleasure of briefly meeting last weekend wasn’t one of them. Olly was in Downing like me.

In fact, I’d seen Olly nearly every day, and while on Monday he’d stared at me with a marginally confused expression, yesterday he shot a smirk my way which left me wondering if I had peanut butter on my face from the toast I’d just scarfed.

But tonight everything would change because I was meeting Oz at the pub, and because of the races, tomorrow’s training session started at ten a.m., therefore my curfew could stretch a little longer.

Tonight would be my first date with Oz, and my second visit to an authentic English pub. Tonight I’d finally get to experience the kiss I’d been thinking about during thevery minimal free time I’d had – the minutes before I fell asleep.

I ran my fingers over his name still lit up on my phone screen, allowing myself a little smile as I did, and typed out a response.

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