I drop into my seat, my backpack landing loudly on the desk. The professor always likes when I’m dressed up. He takes it as a sign of respect. Fuck him.
Resting my chin in the palm of my hand, I turn to look out the window. She’ll be leaving the building too far for me to see and heading to . . . Where does she go after her psychology class? I should ask her one day. Or meet up with her and walk her to her next class. It’s been a long time since I did that. It’s been a long time since we just existed. Our lives have been running full speed in two different directions, and I’m not sure how to slow it down. She has the whole world ahead of her—opportunity, job options, potential. I have Kingwood Enterprises and a heart that’s almost black. Correction, I may not have Kingwood Enterprises anymore. What will I do?
“Mr. Kingwood. You with us today or taking a mental leave by staring out the window?”
Among bored laughter, my gaze lands on the professor up front. “Carry on.”
“Thanks for the permission, Mr. Kingwood,” he replies sarcastically. “As I was saying . . .”
Fifty minutes later, I grab my backpack and get out the door before he can call on me. I’m long gone, cutting off other students, and down the hall before I hear the faint call of my name. I ignore it and push through the double doors that lead to the quad.
“Hey, Alex?”
I turn to the sound of a girl’s voice. Blonde. Big tits. California tan from her spring break to the Golden State that she bragged about last week, spoken loud enough for me to hear. Or she wanted me to hear. “Hey,” I reply because I can’t remember her name. I’m not sure I ever knew it. Or cared to.
“You done for the day?”
“No.”
“Oh, bummer. A few of us,” she says, then glances behind her to a group of girls all watching like this is their entertainment for the day, “are going to get margaritas and wanted to know if you’d join us.”
“I have class.” And a girlfriend.
“Skip it.”
“I don’t drink margaritas.”
“I’ll buy you a beer, or even better, your own pitcher.”
“Alexander.”
Shit.
The voice I love. The tone not so much. Turning, I see the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. “Hey, babe.”
“Really?”
“Don’t be jealous. It was nothing.”
“How would you feel if the roles were reversed?”
“I’d kick his ass without a second thought,” I reply, smiling and taking her by the waist. Pulling her close, I kiss her neck since she turns away from me. “Don’t be jealous over nothing.”
She sighs and the tension in her rigid body softens under my touch. When her arms wrap around my neck, she looks up at me, and I know I have my girl back. “Why do you have to be so damn handsome?”
“Just born this way.”
Sara Jane rolls her eyes and steps back. “I see you went to class. Your professor must have been thrilled by your presence.”
“I got my paper back. My A still stands so he doesn’t say shit to me about my lack of attendance.”
We start walking and like so often lately, silence intervenes. I try to muffle it with stupid conversation just to hear her talk, to bring the happiness back into her life. “You have more classes, right?”
“Yeah. And the group project.”
“I’ll still pick you up.”
“Thanks.”
Silence.
Fuck. I hate silence when it comes to her. Normally, I crave it. Not with her.
“I should get going,” she says, stopping and looking up at me.
Taking her hand in mine, I kiss it. “Everything okay?”
She looks away and then shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Hey, look at me.” When she does there’s a slump to her shoulders and not a smile in sight. I lift her chin and step closer, smothering the silence between us. “What’s going on?”
“I just have a lot to deal with. School stuff. This project and a paper.” She looks away again.
“Look at me, Sara Jane.” She does. Such a good girl. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
“What do you see in me, Alexander?”
Whoa. I didn’t see that coming. It’s the easiest thing I’ve had to answer all day. “Everything. Anything good in my life is because you’re a part of it. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be standing here.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. You know the truth deep down even if you don’t like to talk about it.”
Her patience is worn today and she looks across the aggregate quad toward the English building. “I need to go or I’ll be late.” Her hand, so small in mine, slips away.
I won’t lose her. She’s my sanity in the storm I’ve created. “I’ll pick you up, okay?”
“Outside the library.”
“I’ll remember.” I give a wave before feeling stupid and shoving my hands in my pockets.
I start walking in the other direction but look back. She never does. How can she ask me what I see in her? Surely she can’t look at girls like California spring break and think she is less? She’s less than no one. With all this shit at work happening, am I missing something? I refuse to lose my Firefly. I refuse to lose.
4
Sara Jane Grayson
Alexander Kingwood IV.
He is so easy to spot. When every other guy on campus is dressed in slouchy jeans that hang too low or tattered cargo shorts, university T-shirts, and Abercrombie & Fitch, Alexander strides onto campus in fit-to-a-T jeans that highlight his great ass, and a shirt too expensive to be called a simple T-shirt, pullover, or button-down. It’s like he walked off a runway. I stopped shopping with him years ago because he spends money without a care in the world. I don’t have such freedom. He’s more than generous, and would pay for everything, but I like to feel I own something from earning it or working for it.
I’m no martyr. I have no problem accepting gifts. I just don’t believe in spending hundreds of dollars on a cotton shirt that looks the same as a five-dollar tee right out of the pack.
When I see him through the library windows, I’m quickly reminded of the difference. The white shirt accentuates his biceps, fits his shoulders—that might be broader now than when I left this morning—and the hem hits at just the right length, exposing a brown leather belt. If he reaches up, I bet I’d get a glimpse of his amazing abs too. I might have to test this out. He takes my breath away like the first time I saw him. It’s funny that, at that moment in time one week before my eighteenth birthday, I had no clue how much my life would change forever. Deep down, it’s like he did. Alexander was sent to steal my heart and corrupt my mind. But I love him. I love him so much that it aches to be without him.
What’s not to love? The man looks at me like I’m an angel on earth and his savior. I wish I could save him. Whatever he’s gotten into, he’s dug himself in pretty deep. Maybe too deep for me to save him any longer. To reach him. It used to be exhilarating—an exciting adventure—when I was with him. The thrill is still there, but I worry about the future now—mine with his specifically.
He once called me na?ve.