College Girl (2 page)

I tapped my fingers on the desk
with nervous energy. The story I was reading had to be in the top five
creepiest short stories ever. I flipped through the pages as fast as I could,
and as soon as I finished I knew that images from this story would give me nightmares
for years. Twin girls laid out in shining white, plastic caskets. I shook my
head, wishing I had stuck to the assigned reading for once.

When the elevator doors slid open
across the hall, I jumped. Looking up, I felt my heart thump as someone got off.
It took a second before I recognized him—the shifty-eyed guy from my
Creative Writing workshop. I was pretty sure he wasn’t a freshman, and based on
the short stories he had written so far, I was also pretty sure he had a
collection of dolls with blacked-out eyes. I had never said a word to him, but
the way he watched people in class—like he was plotting their
deaths—creeped me out.

He looked around, and when he
started moving in my direction, I froze. Walking toward me, he grinned like he
could tell I was freaking out. Suddenly it felt like I was in one of those
terrible horror movies where the lights go out row by row as the main character
hides behind a desk or stack of books—seconds before a hand shoots out
and grabs her. I watched as he disappeared behind a bookcase and let out the
breath I had been holding.

Fuck. I had been doing this since
fall term with no problems.
Until tonight.
My hands
started shaking as I put my books back in my bag and scanned the room for a
normal-looking person. No luck. The floor was completely deserted. Getting up,
I walked quickly toward the back elevators. I was almost there when someone
stepped out from behind the stacks. Shit! That creepy asshole must have doubled
back.

This
was
a fucking horror movie, and I totally should have taken off
running when I first saw him get off the elevator. He took a step toward me,
smiling again in a way that made my fingers go numb. Grasping at the pocket of
my backpack, I tried to reach my phone, but his hand shot out and grabbed my
other wrist. He tugged me toward the stacks. Then, before I could scream, he
saw something behind me that made him drop my wrist immediately. I was about to
kick him in the nuts when I heard someone running toward us.

“
Alex
!”

I turned toward the strangely
familiar voice—and my jaw dropped when I saw Mr. Hot.
Or
Ryan Matthews.
Watching in awe as my new Calculus TA jogged up to me, I
completely forgot about the asshole who I was pretty sure had been about to
make me the star of his own torture-porn movie.

“Sorry I’m late!” Ryan Matthews
said when he reached me.

Frowning, I stared up at him. It
sounded like he was truly apologetic, and before I could make any sense of what
was going on, he took my face in his hands and leaned down across our
considerable height difference. When he touched his lips to mine, my knees
weakened and I gasped. My eyes closed without my permission. Then, to my
horrible embarrassment, I whimpered and gripped the front of his shirt.
Suddenly his lips parted mine, and I felt his tongue skim along my bottom lip,
which caused a sharp spike of unfamiliar warmth to pool low in my stomach. A
second later I sort of fell forward into him, completely hypnotized by the feel
of his mouth on mine.

I didn’t want this feeling to stop
… ever, and when his hands moved to my shoulders, gently pushing me back, it
felt like somebody was waking me out of an epically wonderful dream. I opened
my eyes, and my hand flew to my lips, which were puffy and sensitive. Then I
just stood there, gaping up at him like an idiot.

 
“You’re welcome,” he said in a way that
brought me hurtling back to reality.

“Oh my god.”

“Really, feel free to call me
Ryan.”

Ignoring him, I swung around and
looked for horror movie guy. Gone.

“What the hell are you doing
here?” I asked, turning back to Ryan Matthews.

“Apart from saving your ass, you
mean?”

I gave him a sharp look, but I was
having trouble slowing my breathing—mostly because of the kiss, which
just happened to be my first ever.

Ryan

I looked down at the freshman from
Robertson’s intro Calculus class. Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils were
dilated, and her small, pink lips were still parted. It took every ounce of
willpower I had not to reach around, grab that round little ass, and haul her
up against me all over again. But the rational side of my brain kicked in just
in time for me to avoid being a bigger asshole than the guy who had followed
her here.

“Where’d he go?” she asked, her
eyes darting around.

“Your stalker? Took off when he
saw me. I can call campus security so you can file a report if you want.”

She groaned.

“Seriously? The first guy to even
look at me twice just had to be the creepy asshat from my—”

My eyes narrowed.

“Whoa. Back up. You
knew
that douchebag?”

And next up: first guy to look at
her twice? Was she out of her goddamned mind? Then, to confirm my suspicions,
she started talking to herself.

“Fucken Brit! Why do I keep
letting her kick me out of the room? I should have gone back and told her that
I
was bringing a guy back. Right! Like
she’d believe that! Little Alex, who’s never been kissed—”

Before I could respond to her
soliloquy, she suddenly went completely still like she had just realized that I
was still standing right in front of her.
Nice
.
I had to get a fucking hard-on for the freshman who had never even made out
with a guy. What the hell was wrong with my dick? I wondered caustically.
Couldn’t my manhood fucking sense the practically under-aged danger standing in
front of me? She looked up at me with those wide green eyes, and finally it
occurred to me that she was crying and shaking.

I should have been comforting her,
but all I could think about was biting her lower lip. I
wanted
to hear that sound again—that tiny whimper as I slid
my tongue into her mouth. My cock throbbed out a rhythm of fuck-her-now, which
I ignored—painfully— as I reached for my phone and dialed the
campus cops.

“Do you know that prick’s name?” I
asked as I cast her a sidelong glance, mostly to make sure she hadn’t clued in
to the fact that my dick was practically trying to jump out of my pants.

“Um … Justin something, I think,”
she mumbled, looking dazed.

I tried to focus on what she was
saying instead of watching the rise and fall of the small, firm pair of tits in
front of me. My pre-frontal cortex was telling me not to reach out and run my
finger along the underside of those round—
fuck
! A bored voice came on the line identifying herself as campus
police, thus saving me from making a complete ass of myself.

“Yeah, my name is Ryan Matthews.
I’m at Shorenberger Library with a girl who was just attacked by her classmate.”

The woman asked to speak to “the
victim,” and I held out the phone.

“Yes?” Alex squeaked. “No, I’m all
right. I was on the third floor, and I saw him get off the elevator. Then, when
I tried to leave, he grabbed my arm. Then my TA showed up, and the guy ran. …
No, I don’t know his full name. He’s in my Creative Writing class with
Professor Salinas. Oh, okay.”

She handed me the phone, and the
woman asked if I could bring her over to their headquarters for a statement. I
should have been lamenting the fact that my Thursday night was being hijacked
by some girl who had been dumb enough to go up to the third floor of the
library right before closing to wait for the fucking Big Bad Wolf to show up.
Instead, I found myself actually looking forward to this next part. Taking her
hand, which was soft and cold, I began leading her toward the stairs.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To file a police report.”

“Fuck. But that guy’s going to
know I filed a report.”

I smiled crookedly.

“
You
have a fucken foul mouth. And that’s the whole point. You file
a report, and then no more stalker.”

“Right! I’m not a moron. They’ll
tell him not to do that again, and then send him on his way. He’ll be sitting
there glaring at me when I show up in class on Monday.”

I led her to the edge of campus
where my bike was parked. When she saw the motorcycle, she stopped. I turned
back, enjoying the look of shock on her face.

“Come on,” I urged.

She shook her head.

“That’s yours?”

“No, I thought I’d steal it to get
us to the other side of campus.”

She smirked at me, but when I
produced the spare helmet, her eyes went round again.

“My mom would fucking kill me if I
got on a bike.”

I smiled.

“I’ve been riding since I was
seventeen. You’re in perfectly good hands.”

“Are you sure you’re a math TA?”
she asked. Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait!
Since
you were seventeen? How the fuck old are you
now
?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Oh my god,” she gasped with a
twinge of horror.

“Ancient, I know. And how old
might
you
be, little one?”

She paused, and for one terrible
second I thought maybe she was some fifteen-year-old genius who had gained
early entrance.
Anything but that.

“Eighteen.”

I exhaled. I had never been
happier to hear the word
eighteen
in
my life. Because all my brain interpreted was
legal
. I walked over to her, grabbed her hand, pulled her over to
the bike, and strapped on the helmet before she could argue. Then I got on and
reached for her, pulling her behind me until her legs were firmly straddling
mine.

The second I eased away from the
curb, she gripped my waist like she was going to be catapulted into space if
she let go. I should have felt guilty for imagining taking her back to my
place. Hell, I did feel guilty. But that didn’t stop me from thinking about
stripping those tight jeans from her legs. I took a corner a little fast and
heard her squeak over the bike’s engine. The pressure of her hands only inches
from my cock was doing nothing for rational thought.

By the time I pulled up to the
modular building that served as the headquarters for campus police, I had to
pry her hands from my waist. I had to admit it: the Ducati had its perks.
Getting off the bike, I pulled her down and slid the helmet from her head. Alex
Reed stared up at me wide-eyed and silent. Her long hair—in the dark I
couldn’t tell if it was red or brown—was a little wild.

“I can’t believe I just did that!”
she laughed, her green eyes flashing. “Un-fucking-real!”

I smiled, amused by her newfound
lack of inhibition.

“You like the bike now?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t have a death wish.”

“And I do?”

“You ride a motorcycle.”

“Logical correlation there.”

“It is!”

When I gestured toward the ramp
that led into the modular, she frowned.

“Oh! Sorry!” She blushed. “I mean,
thanks for the ride. I guess I’ll see you in class next Tuesday.”

I smirked and shook my head.

“You think I’m going to leave you
alone here?”

“It’s campus police. I think I’ll
be all right.”

Shaking my head again, I reached
out and took her hand, pulling her up the ramp.

“Don’t you have something better
to be doing on a Thursday night than escorting a freshman around campus?”

“Wait until you get to graduate
school, and that will answer your question.”

I opened the door and waited for
her to walk ahead of me. She turned back, laughing.

“It’s nice to know that grad
school means no life.”

The woman at the desk looked up.

“Are you the ones who called in?”

When I nodded, she thumped a
clipboard down on the counter.

“Fill these out, and then an
officer will go over your statement before you sign it.”

Turning around, I watched as
Alex’s face turned sheet-white again. Grabbing the clipboard, I pointed to the
plastic chairs in the corner and sat down next to her as she began filling out
the forms. In an attempt to look purposeful, I pulled out the assignments I had
shoved into my backpack before following her stalker to the library. A second
later, she looked up and winced.

“Oh shit! Don’t grade mine right
now! You’ll hate me! I suck at math.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“What’s your major?”

“English and French.”

“And you’re taking
Calculus—why?”

She exhaled and tapped the pen on
the clipboard.

“It’s a long, embarrassing, stupid
story.”

“Long, embarrassing, and stupid. I
think I need to hear it.”

She shook her head and then went
back to the forms in her lap.

“And you think I’ll hate you
because you’re not a math savant?”

“Well, yeah. My Trig teacher hated
me. Teachers always have a hard-on for the students who
get it
without them actually having to teach.”

I smiled and leaned forward
reflexively, trying to conceal my very real hard-on for her that just wouldn’t
die.

“Harsh.”

“So true, though,” she laughed.

A few minutes later, the
middle-aged woman behind the counter stood up and directed Alex to one of the
back rooms.

“Is it okay if my TA comes with
me?” she asked.

Her
TA
. Goddamn. This girl thought of me as her fucking elder, and all
I could think of was fucking her.

“That’s fine,” the woman responded
with zero interest.

The rest of the process took way
too long. When the officer asked me what had happened, I added what I could,
leaving out the part about wanting to fuck a nearly under-aged student. I
couldn’t help noticing that by the time he informed us we could leave, Alex
Reed looked even more out of it than when we had walked in.

“Are you taking this young lady
back to her dorm?” the officer asked me.

I nodded as I steered her out of
the room.

“I’ve never had to do that
before,” Alex muttered blankly.

“File a police report? Why would
you? You’re only eighteen.”

“
Only
eighteen? You make it sound like I’m in freaking
kindergarten!”

We walked back to the front where
the bike was parked, and I could tell her enthusiasm for two-wheeled
transportation had worn off. Without a word, I pulled the helmet over her head
and tightened the strap before putting on my own. Then I flipped up the visor.

“Which dorm?”

“Mercer.”

I pulled her on behind me, and she
gripped my waist in the same cock-raising way as earlier. With her breasts
pressed firmly against my back, I had to wonder if she had any idea that she
was making me completely insane. By the time I pulled up in front of Mercer
Hall, I had to unglue her hands from my waist. Still, I wasn’t deluded enough
to think she was turned on. More likely traumatized.

“Thanks,” she whispered like most
of the energy had drained out of her.

She couldn’t have been more than
five-four, which meant that at six-five, I towered over her. I watched as she
started ransacking her backpack for the student ID card that would get her into
the building, and when she finally found it, she smiled weakly in my direction
and started walking away.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my
breath.

When I caught up with her, she
looked up at me expectantly.

“As your TA, I’m not going to feel
right unless I make sure you get into your room safely,” I said priggishly.

“Oh.”

She looked bemused, nearly
disappointed, like she had been expecting something else. Taking the backpack
out of her hand, I started walking. When we reached the glass door, I saw a
group of half a dozen guys sitting in the lounge by the pool table. Alex slid
her ID in the card reader, and I opened the door, watching as she glanced over
at the guys across the room.

“Hey, sweet
cheeks,” one of them called.

She blushed bright red and started
hurrying toward the stairs. I stopped and took a few steps toward the boys, who
fell silent immediately.
Yeah, that’s
right, you silly little freshman pukes. Shut the fuck up.
I looked down and
saw an ID card on the cement floor. Reaching down to pick it up, I studied the
details.

Alexis Reed
. DOB 08/19. ID# 83-555-4632

Fantastic. This girl had barely
turned eighteen before matriculating at this fine institution. Of course, the
first girl to have caught my attention since Gretchen had to be a freshman. And
not just a freshman,
but
a barely-eighteen-year-old
freshman. I resisted the urge to slap my forehead as I followed her up the
stairs.

“You dropped this.”

She turned and looked down at the
ID.

“Oh shit! Thanks!”

“Friends of yours?” I asked,
gesturing down the stairs.

“Those guys?
Hell
no. Second floor Neanderthals,” she mumbled.

She swung open the door at the
third floor landing and growled.

“Fucken Brit!”

Brit …
Brit
. Oh shit. The girl wearing two inches of makeup who had handed
me a sheet of paper—not her homework assignment—with her number on
it.

“
That
was your roommate?” I laughed in surprise.

“Yeah. She’s the university’s idea
of a sick joke.”

Alex pointed at the door just off
the landing where there was a sock hanging off the knob.

“And the sock means what exactly?”
I asked.

“What do you think, Sherlock?”

I laughed again.

“Wow. I didn’t think kids still
did that.”

“What? Have sex?”

I smirked.

“You have a smart mouth.”

“Yeah? Well I’m gonna end up
sleeping on the couch in the lounge again.”

I looked into the lounge at the
end of the hall and grimaced.