Chapter 21:

Tuesday Afternoon

The error sound broke out of my daydream, my finger was on the backspace button. "Oh, damn." I exited and typed the school link again. I blinked three times to stay awake. I began browsing the school website for any updated newsletters while I waited for Damien. A headline caught my eyes. Hmm. ballet. Classes were open. I'm a bit rusty. Where is he? I checked the time on my phone, it's been over twenty minutes. I looked up at the entrance, seeing each and every student come in and out. I messaged him on the classboard site to meet up for research, he said he was coming this time. What the hell? Where is this guy? I pressed my cheeks against my palms up and down to my eyes. The project was due before we went on Thanksgiving break. The discussion board was updated for us to pick a topic and how it affects us as a society. Now it's thirty minutes.

The manager at Bookholders hasn't called me back. Forget this. Packing up, I slung my backpack strap over my shoulder. I texted Damien again: where are you?

Damien: Hey.

Me: Hey? That's all you have to say? I've been waiting for you for thirty minutes. We're supposed to meet up for our project.

Damien: Oh, shit. Sorry. I'll be there. Give a few minutes.

Me: You haven't left your place?!

Damien: Calm down. Let's reschedule.

I gritted my teeth, what the hell? I pushed the doors open and stomped away. I've been here waiting for him and he's still at home.

Me: No, no reschedule. This is the second time. We need this for our grade.

Damien: Fine, I'll pick you up.

"Pick me up?" I ask out loud. I moved to the side when someone said excuse me.

Damien: I'm on my way.

Huh? I frowned.

Me: where are we going?

I didn't get a response quickly. No bubbles. I stuffed my phone in my pocket, tapping my foot against the sidewalk. Why can't we meet here? He's on his way, we'll make the best of it. Minutes later, I spotted his car entering the campus property. I rested my hands on his hips. He swerved in front of me. I stumbled backwards.

"Speed limits!" I yelled out, crouching down to the car level. He's wearing dark sunglasses. His hair was messy, white shirt wrinkled. He looked like he just woke up and he managed to look good.

He winds down his window, "sue me," he shrugged.

"I might," I told him. He chuckled, and seemed to be in a good mood. I climbed in his car, wearing the seat belt. "That's twice you almost hit me. Why can't we study here? Like we planned?"

"Too quiet." His voice was groggy as he shifted his gear. Ok, he had a point but a reason for it is to research. I don't know if he has wifi at his place.

"That's the point. We need to concentrate. And we have resources. For free."

"Silence breaks my concentration," he shook his head. He drove away from the library building. I gripped the handle above the door.

"You drive in silence," I mentioned.

He shook his head, turning the radio on. "There." I dropped in my seat. The radio's playing My Oh My by Camilla Cabello.

"Please drive at the legal speed."

"Can't make any promises, sweetheart." I scoffed. Licking my lips and keeping my eyes on the road like I'm the driver.

"You have to, our lives are in your hands." He licked his lips, squeezing the wheel. His knuckles were red. The car slowed, the speed still above the limits and I could let go of the handle.

Safely, we arrived at his apartment. I'm back here. I followed him as he led the way to his door. "Is your roommate here?"

"Not sure if he left yet," he said as he unlocked the door. The living room had the same feel as before except messy. There's an empty cereal bowl filled with milk on the counter. His roommate was snoring on the couch and Damien walked past him. He's home all right. His mouth was opened, in his gray boxers. Shoes in front of the couch and cups in the sink. His job must be draining. Moving from the spot I went to his room. His bed was not made, the sheets were wrinkled. His punching bag was dented with hand grooves. Was that there before? I sat down on the edge, holding my bag tightly urging myself not to make his bed. I sniffed twice. My nose was runny. Back here again, I brushed against the comforter again, enjoying how soft it was on my fingertips. He came from the kitchen with two white mugs in his hands. I reached in my bag for tissue, if I remembered having it. Feeling around my other items, it was at the bottom of the bag. I took two out and blew my nose. I got up to the bathroom, throwing it in the toilet. His roommate was still sleeping, snoring like an offkey symphony.

"Here. Coffee." He handed one of them to me.

"Oh. Thanks." I told him, gripping the mug. "You don't have water?"

"From the sink." I squinted, ew.

"Never mind." Sniffing again, freaking allergies. I swiped under my nose off the drip of my snot. I forgot my nasal spray. "Is there sugar and cream?" If I'm drinking coffee, I need it to be sweet to keep me up. I'm still a tea drinker but on occasion I drank coffee. Not black. It's hot at least.

"No."

"Wow." I sipped, shuddering from the bitter taste, dropping it near my feet. "Accommodating."

"So," he grunted as he sat laid next to me, "what are we doing?"

"Our project," I raised my eyebrows.

"I know, but what topic?" He rested on his pillow in a lounging position.

I reached into my bag after I unzipped it, taking out my spiral notebook. "Since our main project is what affects us as a society, I have some written down." I cracked it open, with the pen still in the book. "I was thinking about police brutality or mental health in America." I pointed to the words with my pen. "Like affordable therapy on health insurance."

"Does it have to be so serious? Why not the effects of comedy or something?" He leaned back.

"The effects of comedy?" I blink slowly, repeating his words.

"Yeah, like the cause and effects of it. The downfall of SNL?"

"Wow, the downfall of SNL. Really?" I tilted my head to him.

"Yeah. Like why the jokes are unfunny and too political. Rinse and repeat jokes."

"How does it affect us as a society?"

"We're not laughing." I puttered a laugh. I thought Saturday Night Live was still funny. I haven't watched some of the skits but with its success over the years, people were still laughing.

"Ok, comedy is subjective. If we want to be open about it, we can talk about parodies. Or the other sketch shows."

"We can do that, and it still won't be funny."

"That's not the point, but I'll write it down." I scribbled down for the last one. "I have others. Fentanyl." I see him stiffen his posture, squeezing his hands. Seems like a sore subject. It affects many families in America with easy access. I stuttered, trying to change the subject. "Or. or. Miscommunication."

"What?" He raised one of his eyebrows.

"Yes, like how there's a lot of miscommunication. Of some sort. Relationships. Friendships. Lovers. Family. One night stands." He's giving me a blank look, like I told him a complicated formula in quantum physics.

He scratched his head and leaned forward. "Are you trying to tell me something, Olivia?"

"No. No. Just that there's just a lot of it nowadays. Not a lot of conversations are one sided. There's two sides to every conversation."

"Maybe someone should get to the point of the conversation." His jaw clenched as he drank from his mug.

"Maybe." I looked away, clearing my throat as I continued my list.

"Social Media." I pointed to my notebook on the third to last topic. I sniffed again.

"Social media," he stated.

"Yeah. The news, celebrities, politicians. Viral trends. How everything is so combined all at once is kind of overwhelming for people to catch up. The need and want to be famous. We can research the positives and negatives. Brain waves. Mental health. Desentization."

"What about people that don't have social media?"

"We can talk about that, too." I wrote down a bullet point, sucking in my bottom lip. "Like how someone can feel left out or worried you might not be found." I scratched under my nose.

"What if you don't want to be found?"

"Like a Joe Goldberg of sorts?"

"Who?"

"From the Netflix show, You?"

"There's a show called You? It's actually called You?" He moved forward, resting his elbow on his pillow. "On Netflix."

"Uh huh." I nodded. "It wasn't actually a Netflix show. It aired on the lifetime channel but the channel thought it was too explicit so it was moved to Netflix."

"Is that the guy with the glasses?"

"That's Jeffrey Dahmer. He was real."

"The Joe dude isn't real?"

"Sort of. Joe Goldberg is fictional. Don't confuse the fiction ones with reality. Well, there are real killers out there. You're not one, are you?" I backed my head away.

"What gave it away?" He answered sarcastically.

"You know, limited drinks and food." I sucked the air between my teeth, "very antisocial."

"You caught me, dial the feds." He threw my phone, I caught it in time.

"I will," I laughed. He smirked again. He should smile more. He got in a good mood. I threw his phone back. It landed next to him. "Your roommate sleeps a lot. Night shifts, right?"

"Yeah. Why didn't they call it Joe? The title is confusing. Someone can assume the show is about them. Our narcissistic society." He puts his phone in his pocket.

"I don't know, to be honest. It's based on a book called You by Caroline Kepnes. He narrates it, in second person, you know. Sometimes the love interest narrates as well in one or two episodes. There's two other books in the continuation. That is a good topic to choose." I'm babbling, I wrote down 'narcissism.'

"Mmm," he said in a hum.

"Do you not have any type of social media?" I tried searching for him but nothing came up. It was the time I was searching for his number.

"I have an instagram," he answered.

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"I'm on instagram, facebook and snapchat." I smiled eagerly. I should have asked him his snapchat name but that would be too much.

"Hmm," he drank his coffee again. Staring at him, he shifted on the mattress with a grunt. I watched his adams' apple bobbed when he swallowed. He licked his lips and bit the bottom one.

"What kind of shows do you watch?" I cleared my throat, my face was hot.

"Uh whatever I find that doesn't suck."

"Makes sense." I was wondering if this conversation should continue. Our eyes locked. There were times I got a chance to scan his face. From Damien's jaw to his nose. He was molded by the gods. He reminded me of the actor Tom Hardy. I couldn't look away. His eyes were so blue. He hasn't looked away either. What's on his mind?

Ok, I drummed on my lap, "should we take a break?" I asked instead.

He turned his TV on, pressing each icon and landed on his Netflix profile. I closed my book, tossing it in my backpack. I drank my coffee again, bracing the bitterness. I didn't like the taste but I was thirsty. I was drooling. I wiped the corner of my mouth. I got in a resting pose, my back on the wall, my legs out and crossed over each other. He scooted in close, his knee bumped mine. His body moved closer. He chose You. I side eyed him, he peeked at me as the first episode played.

"She's hot," he said, pointing at the character Beck as she smiled in front of the camera talking to Joe. I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah," I mumbled. Beck was beautiful but there was nothing special to her. She wasn't boring, she did need to pick better people around her life. As the episode continued, he asked me who was who and what was going on. I explained as much as I could, pointing out each character so he could enjoy it. He bumped my knee again, I didn't move away. Instead I straighten my leg closer, my feet hit his. I cleared my throat. He didn't respond, staring at the screen as the show went on. My foot tingles, I flexed my toes and got comfy.

"He's so obvious with his stalking. A baseball cap. That dude knows what's up. The neighbor guy," he shook his head. Joe walked around following Beck inside the bar.

"Yeah but Ron sucks too. He hits his girlfriend and her son," I told him.

"Wow," he shook his head. "They both should be in jail." He squeezed the remote, not taking his eyes off the screen. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to watch this. His knuckles were turning red. "I fucking hate abusers."

"We don't have to watch it if you don't like it. We can watch something else."

"It's cool. I want to see what happens next," he assured me but he was still frowning.

"The friend, the other hot girl, what's up with her? She's a bitch. Why are they friends?"

"Peach? She's judgemental and snotty. I don't want to spoil it for you."

"I don't care. Tell me."

"She's in love with Beck, too."

"She has a fucking funny way of showing it. That's not how you get love."

"Have you ever- oh never mind. You said that you don't," I reminded.

"What? Love? It's a waste of time." I nodded. The next scene moved to where Joe was in front of Beck's place while she was with her ex boyfriend, Benji. Oh god this scene. It shifted to Joe fantasizing withBeck while he was masturbating. I inhaled, holding up my shoulders, peeking at Damien. I wouldn't mind falling in love. I'm scared of heartbreak, who isn't. Mutual attraction, it's rare for chemistry without becoming crazy like Joe. or Peach.

"No fucking way," Damien mumbled. Shocked, his mouth slightly opened and shaking his head. I held in my laughter. I stood up, heading to the bathroom. When I finished, I came back. He was texting someone on his phone as the screen was paused. My eyes wandered around his room again, staring at the punching bag again, noticing the brown gloves on the ground. I pushed it, it swung side to side.

"How long have you been boxing?" I asked, pointing at the hanging punching bag. His finger followed the direction to the corner of his room to the red bag.

"A couple of years," he said.

"Is that your workout?" He did have a great upper body, the abs and all. I watched the Rocky movies with my sisters and Creed was good. Michael B. Jordan's body was crazy buff.

"Yeah."

"Do you compete or is the racing you make money off of?"

"I competed once."

"Is it fun? Have you been in a lot of fights?" I punched it softly.

"Wanna find out?" He asked all of a sudden.

"What?" I asked in a confused tone. I didn't mean now.

"Come on." He went straight to the corner, standing next to the bag, and patted it. There were a lot of dents embedded in it that made it look sunken. It looked like it wanted to fall. He must hit it a lot.

"What's going on?" I let out a shaky laugh.

"Let me see what you got."

"You want me to hit it?" My voice squeaked.

"Yeah."

"Uhh." I shook my head. He pulled me closer to the bag. My hands were sweating, I wiped them off my pants.

"I was asking questions. I didn't want a boxing lesson."

"I think everyone should have some type of defense." He had a point. Most of my defense was from TV. Before I did anything, I wore my hair in a ponytail. He took his gloves from the and wrapped them around my wrists.

"Oh, they're not heavy!" I lifted my hands up and down with a wide smile. They felt kind of wet from his sweat.

"You thought they'd be heavy?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, those UFC clips and movies I've seen, I assumed they had weights in them. Like ankle weights. All that blood and flesh being pounded," I shuddered.

"That all comes from the power of your legs and how you hit it. You need to have your right leg behind you and your left one in the front." I positioned my legs like he told me to. "Now your fists should be up to your chin, for blocking." I put them up to my cheek, he came closer for me to lift it up higher. His touch gave me butterflies.

"I feel like I'm in the Creed movie," I giggled.

He laughed with me, lifting up my arms, "widen your stance a little bit."

"Ok." I did as he told me as he went around the bag, holding it firmly.

"Now jab straight." I followed directions, one of my fists covering my chin and I hit it softly.

"Come on, you can do better than that!" He sounded like those trainers.

I scoffed, "that was the best I could do!"

"Again!" He slapped it twice. I did it again with the same force."Harder!" I bit my bottom lip, pulling all my strength into the jab with a grunt. It almost pushed him back.

"That felt kinda good." I smiled, the adrenaline rushed through my veins.

"Good! Again," he praised. I continued hitting the bag as hard as I could. After ten more punches I called it. I'm wiped, out of breath. I'm not athletic.

"One more." He patted the bag.

"I think I got the hang of this," I said in a sassy tone, placing both hands on my hips.

"Really?" His eyebrows raised, impressed.

"Yes sir." I slammed my gloves together like what I've seen on tv.

"Since you want to be an expert, let's spar."

"Spar? Like me and you fight?" I pointed between us.

"Yeah," He answered simply.

"Um, all right. Put 'em up." I raised my fists up in a playful way, trying to feign a mean face and winding up. He balled up his fists, ready to jab. I made the first hit. He dodged it easily, moving my hand to the right. "Please be gentle, I was kidding."

"You gotta be ruthless, sweetheart." He swung slowly across my face, I backed my head away in time. I aimed for his crotch twice.

He held his mouth open amused. "Whoa, fighting dirty there, huh?"

"I thought I'm supposed to be ruthless. That's for almost hitting me with your car. Twice." My lips formed in a tight smile.

"You have to give me a chance to hit back. And I didn't know it was you."

"Give you a chance to hit back," I mimicked before trying a low jab again. He blocked it easily. I stuck my tongue out, I swung over his head, he dodged it again. I began moving around the room, shuffling my feet like I was in a match, "float like a butterfly," I teased, quoting Muhammed Ali and moving my feet in a shuffling motion like a boxer.

"You can't think you're Muhammed Ali and not fight like him." He shook his head and inched his way closer to me.

"I'm pretty like him, no scars." I batted my eyes. He paused, our eyes didn't move. I couldn't read his face. He looked lost in thought staring at me. "I was kidding." His stare was making my face heat up, I felt a tingle up my spine. "What?"

"Nothing." The word came out hoarse and he cleared his throat. "Just looking for your weak spot."

"My weak spot?" I frowned. He maneuvered, grabbing my arm and twisted it behind my back. "Foul. You distracted me," I scoffed.

"No distractions during fistfights," he chuckled.

"You're a pro. Not fair."

"Don't lose focus, Ali. That's the number one rule." He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me into his pelvis. His mouth was close to my neck, brushing against it softly. There goes my weak spot. "And there's no foul in boxing."

"Does that make you Tyson? You're kinda close to my ear." I tried to push him away with my elbow to avoid this swimming feeling in my gut. He blew into my ear, okay. Now, he's teasing me. I tried to push him away with my butt, he held tighter.

"He bit Holifield, not Ali," he confirmed, breathing heavily on my skin.

"Oh yeah. Ali fought Holifield in Africa, right?" I stuck my tongue out in thought. Keeping my strength in my knees to not give out.

"Yep," he answered in a whisper.

"I thought we were sparring." I took a hold of his wrists; He needed to release me. "And there should be a foul. You're the trainer."

"I like this a bit better." He leaned in, lips against my cheek. "What should be your play of defense?" He spun me around to face him; the tips of our noses touched. His mouth parted. I couldn't take my eyes off him. I hitched a breath, I closed my eyes and kissed him softly.

He didn't move a muscle. "Sorry. Sorry. So much for my defense." Sucking in my mouth. I shouldn't have done that. He hasn't released me. Looking down at my feet, I feel embarrassed. He was being sweet and flirty. I assumed. I needed to stop doing that. His finger lifted my chin as he returned the kiss. Nothing like how Justin's lips were.

It was torture, his lips were sweet like candy. I'm addicted. His tongue broke my mouth open, sensually massaging in my mouth. Making me whimper and my knees almost giving out. "I'm still wearing gloves," I muttered against his mouth, grinning and moving forward. "It's kind of difficult." I let out a nervous giggle as I was moving backwards. The back of my ankles hit the bed frame. I fell to his bed, he came closer. Our lips grazed again, he pressed his to mine hard.

I sucked in my bottom lip, my butt hit the bed. He was on top of me, leaving pecks on my cheeks. Kissing me slowly, his hands fondling and caressing my stomach over my shirt.

I tried to remove them myself in a sexy way, it was hard and slippery to remove the Velcro. He laughed, taking them off for me, one of them got stuck. I tried to shake it off, he held it and removed the strap, throwing them over his shoulders. Our tongues collided in a frenzy, his hands roaming all over my lower body. It became hot, like I had a fever. I gripped onto his shoulders. He took a hold of the hem of my shirt, it slipped off over my head. Was this crossing boundaries? I felt goosebumps grow on my chest. Good thing I was wearing my good black t-shirt bra. I grabbed the back of his neck, opening my mouth to kiss him. My hands crawled to the hem of his shirt. I struggled to remove it over his head, it got stuck.

"Wait." I let it slip off, his hair got roughed up. I chuckled, "okay, I'm bad at this." His body seemed more muscular than the tank tops he wore when we were in bed. His arms were fit, the boxing really helped him. I took my time admiring his abs.. His lips tracing from my jaw to my neck. Down to my chest. Panting and moaning. Is this really happening? I didn't want to look foolish at this. But I'm not ready. I shut my eyes as he went between my breasts. I inhaled and exhaled. Just go with it. I didn't feel his body anymore. Opening my eyes, he's staring at me. Hovering over me. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. No. You're perfect. I-" he stuttered. I'm far from perfect. He sighed and swallowed hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This isn't what I want."

"Oh." I looked away, I guess it was nothing. "Should I go?"

"No. Don't. I know if we had sex I wouldn't want to see you again. I wanna see you again. I like being around you."

"Me too. But this doesn't distract us from our project?"

"Nah." He winked. I nodded, tucking my hair behind my ear. I felt better, he wasn't trying to use me for sex. "I don't want this to be awkward."

"It kind of is," I giggled, twisting my fingers. "Do you want to watch the rest of the show?"

"I do. I want to see if he gets caught." he chuckled.

"Well, you're in for a journey." I grabbed his remote and resumed the netflix series.