Page 55 of Cheater and the Saint
14
Saint
Sitting in psychology class that Wednesday morning, my mind kept drifting to Leo. We’d barely spoken in five days, apart from the generalgood morning, good night,andwe need more toilet papercomments.
Having sex with him had been one of the most intense moments of my life. Better than any other screw in the past—although, there weren’t too many on that list. But something had broken in me that night. As I’d made love to him, I’d felt my chest start to crack, as though the wall I kept around my heart crumbled. I became vulnerable with him and, just like I’d suspected, it’d made me crave things I knew I couldn’t have.
So, I pushed him away. Before he had the chance to do the same to me.
I’d seen him treat other people that way several times: bring them into the house and be all over them, before sending them packing the next morning after he’d gotten what he wanted. I didn’t want to be another heart he stepped on or another sucker added to his list of sex partners who made the mistake of falling for him.
He’d told me before he was a cheater, that he hated monogamy.
Falling for him was out of the question.
“Hey,” someone whispered from my left side once class ended. I turned toward them and saw a guy around my age with black hair and beautiful pale skin. “Do you have notes on Monday’s lecture?”
“Yes,” I answered, scrolling through the document on my laptop. I took my notes that way in class instead of handwriting them. “Do you want me to email them to you?”
Helping slackers wasn’t something I did, but that guy had never missed a day since the semester started, so I didn’t mind lending a helping hand.
“That’d be great,” he said with a beaming smile. “I usually don’t miss class, but I woke up puking that morning.” My face must’ve reflected my thoughts, because his eyes widened, “No, no. Don’t worry. I’m not contagious or anything. It was food poisoning.”
“Oh.” I smiled, relieved. “Well, I don’t mind giving them to you. What’s your email?”
He told me his email before saying, “I’m Angel, by the way.”
“Saint,” I responded.
“Wow. Isn’t that some shit?”
At first, I didn’t catch what he meant, but then… I smiled as it became clear: Angel and Saint. “That’s just a little crazy. Even for me.”
“What do you mean?” Angel asked, gathering his books and standing at the same time I did. We walked together down the aisle and toward the door. “If it’s crazyeven for you, then how crazy are you?”
“I’ve been told I have a warped sense of humor sometimes,” I answered. “Mainly when I talk about my philosophies or when I laugh at certain jokes. I’m also a firm believer that when it comes to movies and books, I don’t care if all the people die, but if you kill an animal… you’re an asshole.”
Angel chuckled, and I found that I kind of liked the sound. “Then I guess I’m warped, too, because I agree.Old Yellertotally fucked me up as a kid.”
“God,” I said with a laugh. “That andWhere the Red Fern Grows. Shit. I bawled like a baby.”
“Hey, I wonder why all the animal tragedy movies are mostly with dogs,” Angel pointed out as we left the Gardner building and walked past the small courtyard. A stone fountain sat in the center, but the water wasn’t flowing, since the weather had cooled off. “Why isn’t it ever a cat?”
“Huh. Good point,” I said, arching a brow at him. His hazel eyes were surrounded by black lashes so perfect and long that I bet girls hated him for it. “Perhaps because cats are assholes?”
He laughed. “Say what you want, but my Diego is one cuddly cat. Pretty sure he thinks he’s a dog, though, because he growls at people.”
“That’s not creepy at all,” I said, grinning like a fool as I moved my gaze from him and to the sidewalk in front of me.
The trees had lost most of their green leaves and were now an assortment of oranges, yellows, and reds. Perfect fall weather. October was my favorite month, but for the past few years, we’d had some shitty fall seasons in Arkansas. So bad that it’d still been eighty degrees in November… at night.
But the crisp air as I walked with Angel gave me hope that maybe, for the first time in a while, we’d actually get a great fall and winter.
“Thanks for the notes, Saint.” Angel had stopped walking, and we stood in front of the library. “Maybe we can hang out sometime. Or not, if you don’t want to. I don’t want you thinking I’m a creep or something. But if youdowant to hang, I’m cool with that.”
His dithering was amusing, and I wondered if this was how Leo felt with me. Well, before I shut him out, anyway.
Angel was a great looking guy—very easy on the eyes—so I wasn’t sure why he’d ever be shy. His voice had that kind of smoothness that sounded great for rock songs, and I wondered if he was in a band. I looked at his clothes for the first time—because I’d been a bit too preoccupied with staring at his face—and noticed the band shirt, skinny jeans, andVansshoes.
