Carry Me Home (11 page)

“I think that can be deceptive,” she said, trying to ignore the tingle as he, yes, looked at her. At her mouth, specifically, as she ate another fry, licked the salt off her finger. She realized what she was doing, flushed, and reached for her napkin. She ate alone too much.

“Deceptive, huh?” Cal said softly, still watching her. “How? I think it’s a pretty damn good test. How I feel when she looks at me. How I feel when I touch her, and when she touches me. How much I want it. How much I can feel her wanting it.”

Everything in her was trying to lean into him, to respond to that. But she needed to answer this. She needed him to know. “Guys can lie, though,” she told him. “You know they can. They promise what they can’t deliver. Or worse, they promise, and then they just . . . hurt. Because they want to win, and that’s all. That’s why no jocks, because it’s just a game to them. It’s all about winning, and when you need everything to end in a win for you, that means you need the other person to lose. I don’t want to be the loser. I don’t want to be the tool for somebody else to get another win.”

The booth went quiet for a long moment. Luke’s eyes went to Cal, then back to her. She barely noticed. She was still watching Cal, her eyes steady on him.

“Now, see,” he said at last. “You’ve got me, because I don’t have a comeback to that. Except to say that I don’t want you to be that, either.”

DOUBLE DATE—OR NOT

She was still looking at him, and he was still looking right back at her, trying to let her know he meant it, when Luke broke the silence, because Luke always did.

“Damn,” his brother breathed. “Could we just eat some dinner here? The sexual tension—I’m all hot and bothered. And now I’m all sad, too. It’s putting me right off this excellent hamburger.”

Zoe shook her head and laughed, although Cal didn’t think she’d been joking. Not one bit. “Yeah,” she said. “Sorry. It’s your guys’ fault. Asking me for my list. Like I have a list. What’s on
your
list?” she asked Luke, trying to shake it off. Again. She had some guts.

He pointed to himself as he chewed, his eyes widening. He swallowed, then answered, “Me? Well, yeah. Look good and show up. Take her clothes off, preferably. It’s a pretty short list.”

“And now, see,” she said, “I don’t even believe that.” She looked at Cal again, and he could tell she was trying hard to keep it light. He tried to smile at her, let her know it was all right. He wished he knew who had made her feel like that. He’d like to pound him.

“That what’s on your list, too?” she asked Cal. “Besides the hamburger thing, I mean. She just has to show up and take off her clothes?”

“No,” he said, not smiling now. “She has to be all kinds of wonderful. I’m pretty picky these days. But I don’t really have a list. That was a joke. I know what I want when I see it.”

She dropped her eyes, picked up her burger again, and took a bite. Like she couldn’t believe it. Like she
wouldn’t
believe it, and he sighed and ate some more himself. Leave it to him to finally find somebody he wanted, and have her be a project. Good thing he liked a project.

“So, tell me,” she said when she’d done some more eating, and Luke hadn’t said anything for once, because he was sitting back and watching. More entertainment, Cal guessed. “Tell me why the donation. The truth, not the jokes.”

“You mean you’re not going to believe that I’m giving it because it’s too hard for engineering students to get a date otherwise? If you have a tough time talking to girls, maybe at least if they’re in your classes, you can form a study group or something. Could be I’m just charitable to my fellow man that way.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “You mean you’re not going to tell me. And I’m starting to get really suspicious here. You love to act like you’re just some hick, or some jock, and that’s so obviously not true.”

“Isn’t it? Maybe jocks and hicks aren’t all exactly what you think, you ever consider that?”

Clearly, she hadn’t, because she looked a little startled. “Exactly what was your own major? And where?” she demanded.

“Man, you’re tough,” he said. “Bet your students are scared to death of you.”

She just looked at him, her eyes narrowed, and he sighed. “Mechanical engineering. And Stanford. Of course, Stanford. That’s where I played football. Oh, wait. You don’t know that.”

“Mechanical . . . engineering,” she said slowly. “At Stanford.”

“It’s actually kind of fascinating,” he said. “It’s like I can see all the cogs working, all the assumptions reshuffling, even as we speak. Yeah. I’m a jock, and a hick, and a farmer, and I have a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford. Not the very best degree, I’ll point out, so you can feel better. I wasn’t any scholar-athlete or anything. But I managed to make it through without them kicking me out.”

“While you were on a football scholarship,” she said. “While you were playing. How?”

“Because I’m not as dumb as you think, maybe?”

She sighed. “I don’t think you’re dumb at all. I just know how much time athletes spend outside the classroom, how tough it is for them to keep up even in a . . . less rigorous major.”

“Well, it
was
a less rigorous major for me,” he pointed out reasonably. “If it had been English literature or something, if I’d had to write ten-page papers about Shakespearean sonnets, I might have had a rough time. But when you grow up looking at machines, poking around in there, taking things apart to figure out why they’re not running, you tend to see how they’re put together, too. And I’m good at math, even when I can’t take my shoes off to count on my toes. It comes pretty easy. Just like you. What was
your
major?”

“Physics,” she admitted.

He stopped with his glass halfway to his lips, pointed it at her. “There you go. I’m not a dope, you’re not a dope, Luke’s not a dope. Can we take that as a given, go on from there? In fact, could we go back to flirting again? I liked that a whole lot better.”

“Is that what we were doing?” she asked, but at least she was smiling again.

“Oh, now, Professor. A smart woman like you? You’ve got to know that’s what we were doing. And I’d like to segue right into talking about what we’re doing after dinner, because unless I can buy you another beer, we’re about done here, and that’s pretty much a tragedy.”

“After dinner?” she said. “After dinner, I’m going home. I’m doing some catch-up reading on my journals, since I decided to give myself a night off from preparing for my classes, even though I shouldn’t. And then I’m going to bed. There you go. My plan for the night. Not sure how exciting it is to hear about, but you asked.”

“And see,” he said, “that’s just a crying shame. Luckily, I’ve thought up an alternative plan.” He ignored her sarcastic huff and continued. “You get yourself dressed up in something pretty again, and we go dancing. Of course, we’d have to get Rochelle to loan you another dress, because I don’t trust you to go for the gold by yourself.”

Luke was shaking his head again, Zoe was sitting up straighter and looking outraged, and Cal smiled at her, picked another french fry out of the basket, and waited for the explosion.

“If I can’t get pretty enough for you,” she said, “then it won’t be any problem when I say no. You go on over there, though, find somebody who meets your standards. Knock yourself out.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t get pretty enough for me,” he said. “I said I didn’t trust you to do it without some help. You’ve got a gift like that, and that’s how you’re using it? You need to burn that suit, darlin’. It’s a crime against nature.”

“A gift like . . . what?” she asked, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

“Once you get the right dress on,” he said, “a little shorter, a little tighter, and a whole lot prettier, like the one you had on last week, you won’t have to ask me. You’ll look in the mirror and see for yourself. You’ll see exactly what I saw when I looked at you.”

Her color was higher, and her breath seemed to be coming a little harder, too. Of course, he couldn’t tell if she was turned on or mad, but either one was better than cool and indifferent, on the verge of turning him down flat, which was where she’d started out.

“What do you think?” he asked his brother. “What’s Dr. Zoe’s color?”

Luke looked at her, his head a little on one side, considering. “Mmm . . . red,” he said.

She snorted. “What a surprise.”

“Deep red,” Luke said. “Wine red.”

“Think Rochelle’s got a red dress?” Cal asked him.

“Rochelle, huh?” Luke laughed. “Yeah, bet she does. Of course, it might not be Zoe’s red.”

“Who knew,” Zoe asked the air, “that I was eating hamburgers in the Burger Barn with two experts on women’s fashion?”

“Isn’t that lucky,” Cal agreed cordially. “Here’s an idea. We give Rochelle a call right now. Take you on over there, get Luke to find you that red dress, although I’d settle for the yellow one again, and Luke and I take you girls dancing. Double date, nice and safe, featuring your very own non–scholar athlete.”

“Good of you to volunteer me,” Luke said.

“You got an objection?” Cal asked.

“Nah,” Luke decided. “Other than on principle. Just felt duty bound to point that out.”

Zoe was already shaking her head. “Thanks,” she said. “But no.”

Cal sighed. “It’s the jock thing,” he decided. “Still holding that against me?”

“I’m not holding anything against you.” And she wasn’t going to be, either, not tonight. Unfortunately. She pushed her mostly eaten burger away in its plastic basket, swallowed the last of her beer, and put the glass down. “Like I said, I appreciate your help getting me onto the committee. I appreciate you catching me in your truck. I appreciate the dinner. I do. And I’d really appreciate a ride home.”

OFFICE HOURS

“Excuse me? Dr. Santangelo?”

Amy’s professor lifted her head from where she’d been focusing on her laptop. She looked so serious that Amy almost lost her nerve, except that she couldn’t afford to do that.

Dr. Santangelo eyed the blue book in Amy’s hand. “If this is about your test corrections,” she said, “I’m very sorry, but they were due on Friday.”

“But . . .” Amy’s hands were shaking, and her voice was, too, just like it had been all week. “I can explain. Please. I can’t . . . I can’t flunk. Not now.
Please
.”

Dr. Santangelo looked at her more closely. “I think you’d better sit down and tell me.”

Amy wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t. She sat down, and Dr. San
tangelo got up and shut her office door, then came back to her desk and shoved the tissue box across. “What’s going on?” she asked.

The concern in her voice made Amy choke up more. She wiped her eyes, shook her head violently, and put the blue book on the desk.
Get it together.
“I know I missed class,” she said. “I know I missed the deadline. I had to go home for a few days.”

“A family thing?”

“No. I was . . . I was . . . attacked.” Amy’s throat worked. “Wednesday night. In my apartment.”

Dr. Santangelo’s expression changed. “Oh, no. What happened?”

“It was . . . you remember I told you about that guy? Or whoever? Following me?”

“A couple weeks ago. Of course I remember.”

“I think it was him. Not because anything else happened then,” Amy hurried on. “I mean, I got scared, but then it seemed like it was nothing, like I was imagining it. And everybody
said
I was imagining it.”

“But?”

“But . . .” The trembling had started again, and she couldn’t help it. It kept coming back. “Wednesday night. Halloween. That night. I woke up, and he was in my bedroom. In a ski mask. And . . .” She shuddered. “And gloves. Doctor’s gloves, because his hands were . . . shiny. Like . . . monkey paws.”

“Oh, no,” Dr. Santangelo said again. “I’m so sorry.”

“But I hit him with a baseball bat,” Amy said. The memory made her feel better. Still. Always. “I chased him out of my apartment. He tried to . . .” She swallowed hard. “Catch me again outside, to pull me into . . . the bushes, I think, and he almost did, but then my neighbors came out.”

Dr. Santangelo let out a breath. “Good for you. Did they catch him?”

“No. He got away.” He’d gotten away, and he was still out there, and she couldn’t forget what he’d said, because he’d meant it.

“But you reported it,” Dr. Santangelo said. “Of course you did.”

“Well,
I
didn’t. Somebody called the cops. They did a report and all that. And I went home for a couple days, for the weekend. I know I missed class. I know. But I had to. And then I came back, because I have to go to school. I
need
to go to school.” She pushed the blue book across the desk. “So . . . please.”

Dr. Santangelo finally put her hand on the book, slid it across her desk, and the relief nearly knocked Amy over. It seemed like she bounced from one emotion to the other, completely unable to find stable ground.

“Of course I’ll make an exception, for this,” her professor said. “And I’m glad you came back. Sounds like you did well all the way around. But are you getting some counseling?” She reached into her desk drawer, pulled out a card. For the counseling center, Amy saw at a glance. “That’s what it’s there for, and I do urge you to go.”

“Yes,” Amy said, not taking the card. “At least, yeah, they already gave me that. The police did. I guess they have to. But I’m not sure how much good counseling’s going to do.”

“Oh, you might be surprised. I know it doesn’t sound like it would help much to talk it over, but I think you’ll find it does. Please do try.”

“Everybody says that,” Amy burst out before she could stop herself, because she was so tired of hearing that, like that solved everything. “But if they’re not going to even try to catch the guy, how is counseling going to make me feel better? And if I don’t have a place to
live
. . . I get that it’s good to talk about it. All right, fine. I’ll talk about it. But what good is it going to do?”

“Whoa.” Her professor held up a hand. “Let’s take this one at a time. Why do you think the police aren’t trying to catch him?”

“It doesn’t seem like they are, that’s all. I don’t think they even believe—well, at least the cop I talked to. I don’t think he even believes that the guy meant to rape me. I mean, I
know
that’s what he was going to do. I
know
it,” she insisted, getting agitated all over again, because she couldn’t help it. Why wouldn’t anyone
believe
her? “He didn’t tell me so, I realize that. He didn’t
have
to tell me so. What’s he supposed to do, say, ‘I’m here to rape you’? The cop said he could have just been a burglar. That he probably thought the apartment was empty, being Halloween and all. He wasn’t a burglar. I know it. I was
there
.”

“I hope you find that you’re wrong,” Dr. Santangelo said. “Not about the burglary,” she went on hastily as Amy stiffened, “but that they’re investigating. If you find they aren’t, let me know. But for now—you don’t have a place to live?”

“I don’t want to stay there,” Amy tried to explain for what felt like the tenth time. “He broke in through a sliding-glass door. They replaced the lock, like that’s supposed to make it all right, after he
broke
the lock once already? And my roommate moved in with her boyfriend, because she’s scared, even though she wasn’t even there. My boyfriend said he could stay with me, at least for a while, but he’s in a frat, and my dad doesn’t want him to, and
I
don’t want him to. I’m not ready to live with somebody, and we’re not that serious. But I don’t know what else to do. I can’t stay there alone. I
can’t
. I don’t even want to be there. I went in this morning to get my stuff, and I was so scared. I wanted to run.”

She was weeping again, tears trickling down her cheeks despite her efforts at self-control. She’d come back to school, and she’d been determined that she was going to stay here. But right now, it seemed impossible. “I’m going to have to sleep on my best friend’s floor again,” she got out, “but her roommate won’t want me to, and I don’t know what else to
do
.”

“Okay.” Dr. Santangelo held up her hands again. “Whoa. Okay. This one is solvable. Have you talked to the housing office about finding you alternative housing?”

Amy reached for another tissue, blew her nose, and nodded. “I called them on Friday. My dad tried to talk to them, but they said it had to be me.”

“Because you’re over eighteen. And what did they say?”

Amy shrugged in helpless defeat. “They said they didn’t have space. That on-campus housing was full. That I could look for an apartment off-campus. But what can I find now, in the middle of the semester? Nothing. There won’t be anything left now, and I need it
now
. They said they’d put me on the list, but I can’t wait for the list. I called the counseling center to see if they could help, and they said I could ask about it at my appointment, but they couldn’t promise. They told me to call housing, but I already
called
housing. And I don’t know what else to
do
, because I can’t go back there. I just can’t.” She was crying again, and she hated it.

“All right,” Dr. Santangelo said hastily. “Come on, now. It’s going to be all right, because we’re taking a field trip. You and me. This one, at least, we can solve.”

“Really? You’ll help me? Because they said . . . that there was nothing.”

“There’s never nothing.” Dr. Santangelo looked at her watch. “I’ve got office hours coming up. Right now, in fact. I need to open my door again. But if you can come back here at eleven thirty, I’ll help you, and we’ll get some answers. And some action.”