Page 148 of Collision
I head toward the bus stop, hunching over the tangled knot of my earphones; I am about to plug them into my phone when I hear the roar of an engine behind me. I don’t have time to turn around before a black motorcycle pulls alongside me and slows to a stop.
“What’s up with the Minion-chic?”
Dear, sweet, Thomas.
“There’s nothing wrong with my overalls. And a Minions reference, really? Are you my grandma?” I taunt him.
He puts one foot on the ground and lifts his dark visor. His jeans cling to his muscular thighs. “My sister was obsessed with those movies when we were kids.”
“Of course…” I chuckle. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m taking you to campus,” he says seriously, handing me the second helmet he has hanging from his handlebars. “Hop on.”
I adjust my bag to sit more comfortably on my right shoulder and bite my lip, unsure of what to do. “Uh…thank you, but I’d like to get to campus all in one piece.”
“Come on, I promise I’ll go slow,” he insists with a cocky grin.
Against all common sense, I can’t help but give in to those cunning eyes that pretend at innocence. “Okay.”
Fortunately for me, he keeps his promise. The ride is slow and calm. My body is pressed against him, and every time he feels me tense up, he puts his hand on my knee and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
Our arrival at the college piques the interest of a few students, who give us curious looks. Thomas, heedless of everything as usual, slips on the Ray-Bans he had hanging from the collar of his sweatshirt. He puts his arm around my shoulders and plants a chaste kiss on my left temple. The awareness that multiple eyes are on me makes me stiffen. Uncomfortable, I pull away from the embrace and I distance myself a little.
“You ready?”
“I spent the night studying, so I’d say yeah,” I answer vaguely, looking around.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks grumpily.
I frown and look up at him. “Nothing.”
“Why’d you pull away?”
“Ah, no, that’s nothing. It’s just a little hot, isn’t it?” I smile, trying not to show my discomfort.
He grabs me by the wrist and stops me. “Of all the bullshit excuses you could come up with, you picked the worst. It’s November and you don’t get hot. Ever.”
Damn, he knows me better than I thought. “You know what the problem is. I feel uncomfortable with everyone looking at me.”
He sighs, irritated. “Still?” He pulls me back until I’m beside him again and puts both arms around my shoulders, locking me in his embrace. “How long do you intend to let these dumbasses influence your life?”
“That’s easy for you to say, Thomas. You’re a man. You don’t know what it’s like. I’m sure whenever you turn a corner, the boys are there to high-five you and congratulate you on scoring once again. But it’s different for me. You’re not going to be the one who gets publiclyhumiliated in the hallway. Or labeled as just another girl who slithered into your bed.”
“What are you talking about?”
I sigh rubbing my forehead. “Nothing, never mind.” I could tell him about Shana’s little jealous scene, but what would be the point? “I’m just saying that when a girl is seen to be with someone like you, she’s inevitably thought of as easy.”
“Someone like me?” He gives me a confused look.
“Yes, come on, you get it. You’re not what one might call a chaste innocent, Thomas,” I add, starting to get a little upset at his apparent willful misunderstanding.
“And how does this reflect on you?” he asks with surprising naivete.
“Well, because they’ll think that I’m one of many—which, by the way I am—and that I’m exactly like you, which I am not. At all.”
“You know what your problem is? You think too much. You care too much about the judgment of others. The people who love you know what kind of person you are. I know it too. That’s all that matters. Everyone else…let ’em think whatever they want.” He turns me toward him, so that we are facing each other, and wraps his arms around my shoulders. “You are not my slut.” He emphasizes the word, alluding to that time a while ago when I had called myself that. “You are mine. Mine and that’s it.”
The look on his face is so reassuring that I almost believe him. Almost, because then I remember who I’m talking to and I come back down to earth. Thomas doesn’t want girlfriends. He doesn’t want relationships. He doesn’t want ties. So, with a tiny smile to hide the bitterness, I remind him: “I’m not yours.”
