More Than Water (5 page)

“The one and only. What a sexy ass he has, too. We’re supposed to have drinks tonight.”

“Just drinks?” I ask suggestively.

“We shall see. Maybe I’ll let him drink me.”

“Okay, too much information. I don’t want to hear how you use each other as lick sticks.”

“You know you fantasize about it.”

“Not so much.” I scrunch my nose. “I’m not into the curiosity sandwich. I’m a mature young lady.”

He barks a laugh, wrapping an arm around my neck. “I love you, little lady. You’re so full of shit.”

We continue down the hallway toward the cafe area. Wolfgang orders a pumpkin muffin from the counter, and we take a seat at one of the small round metal tables.

“Let’s talk shop. How do you plan to handle your water series?” he asks, wiping the napkin across his mouth.

“I almost feel like starting over, to tell you the truth,” I admit, feeling overwhelmed. “Dr. Jensen was right. My stuff is all over the place.”

“You’re not looking at it right. You have some brilliant pieces in there.” He taps my binder. “The fountain stuff in particular has some profound messages and composition.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yeah. Maybe you just need more of those?”

“If I were to go that route, it’d be best to get some images in different lighting. Everything I have is during the day.”

“That’s not a bad idea. You totally should.”

“It’s not going to happen.” I sigh. “The assignment is due on Friday, and I need to print and matte everything tomorrow in order to make the deadline. There’s not enough time.”

“What’s the issue? Take the shots tonight.”

“Can’t. I have to work and by the time I get off, it’ll be nearly midnight.”

“So?”

“So, the fountain is downtown. You know, the one on the square? That’s the problem.” I raise my brows.

“Still not following.”

“Late night, girl with her head shoved behind a camera and not aware of her environment,” I say, like the issue is obvious. “There’s been a lot of crime in that area lately. I’d be asking for some serious trouble without a safety buddy, and Chandra has a date tonight. It’s a big reason all my shots are daytime ones. Plus, everyone is always so busy with studios and assignments. It’s a little late to ask someone else.”

“I’ll go with you,” he offers.

“You just said you have a date with Jasper. I can’t let you give that up.”

“I love you, little one, but I’m not offering to give up anything.” Wolfgang leans his elbows on the table. “I’ll have a drink with him, and then he and I both can chaperone your silly ass. So, you’ll have two guys watching your back.”

I glance at my photo binder, wanting so badly to fill it with greatness. “Do you think he would mind?”

“Nah,” he says confidently. “Besides, you need help, and you would do it for me.”

“I’ll owe you big time.”

After returning the recently checked-in books to the stacks on the second floor of the engineering library, I descend the steps and join Foster behind the desk where he’s studying for his upcoming industrial chemistry processes exam. I needed a break from all his knowledge-spouting. My head might have gone into shutdown mode when he started to explain the specifics of enhancing metals with chemicals—otherwise known as smelting. I never should have asked what he was working on as a courtesy because he definitely got a geeky hard-on from talking about the science of the procedure. To me, the word
smelting
sounds more like a drug-induced sniffing party than a sophisticated scientific process, but to each their own.

“Are things still going smelt-tastic?” I ask, taking a seat in the cushy gray chair and sliding over my book on surrealism.

“Smelt-errific,” Foster quips back, scratching the side of his head and shuffling his warm-brown hair over his ear. “So great that I’ve moved on to pyroprocessing. I’m on fire.”

“I’ll get the fire extinguisher.” I fan myself. “The heat of your brain is spilling over into my space.”

He peers at me oddly over his shoulder and then concentrates on his textbook.

Over the past month of working together, Foster and I have fallen into a comfortable pattern at the library. We complete our jobs independently, have occasional conversations, and do our school assignments in between. As far as coworkers go, he’s fairly easy to work with. He gives sporadic comments about my attire or hairstyle, and I, in return, ask falsely interested questions about complex molecular structures. He usually laughs because my inquiries are completely fiction and totally miss the mark.

“After you finish your flame-induced studying, do you want to help me reorganize the periodical section?” I ask, pulling my hair up into a ponytail. “The group of freshmen that was here finally left, and magazines are all over the place.”

“Should I put on my superhero cape?” He’s mocking me. “Is it a complete catastrophe?”

“Worse. The hydros might be mating with the motherboards soon. If we don’t fix it, engineers around the world might go ballistic.”

“Now, that would be a travesty.” He shuts his book and places it underneath the desk. “Let’s get on it before there’s any dangerous crossbreeding.”

Leaving the front-desk area together, we begin the process of gathering the magazines strewed about the library—on the chairs, windowsills, tables, and even on the floor. Within fifteen minutes, the entire section of periodicals is neat, clean, and alphabetized.

Returning to our seats, I pull out my notes to study for an exam on American artists in the 1920s. It’s not my favorite time period at all. I prefer the Renaissance period.

Before settling my brain into study mode, I take out my phone to check for any texts or emails. There’s a voice mail from Wolfgang. He’s likely just confirming that I’ll pick him and Jasper up once I get off from work, so we can go down to the square and get the much-needed shots for my photography assignment.

I listen to the message.

“EJ, it’s Wolfgang. Listen, something came up. Call me as soon as you can.”

That’s where the voice mail ends. The tone of his voice was a little…tentative…urgent. Without any pause, I dial his number, and the phone rings twice before he answers.

“Hey, EJ,” Wolfgang says, somber. “I’m…”

“What’s going on?” I ask, slightly nervous.

“I’m a full-blown idiot.” He exhales heavily. “I’m in the emergency room.”

“Oh, crap. Holy shit! Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine. My ego is a little bruised though. I cut my hand.”

“Is it bad?”

“Sort of. There was a lot of blood.”

“Shit. What happened?”

He groans. “Jasper and I went back to my place to have another drink, and I decided it would be a good time to slice a pineapple to bring out the flavor of the alcohol. Apparently, drinking and slicing don’t go hand in hand because I sliced mine instead of the pineapple.”

“Holy fuck!”

“Tell me about it. I’m a total moron, and now, I’m waiting to get stitches. Some date, huh?”

I shake my head. “It’s not your finest. That’s for sure.”

“It’s pretty pathetic.”

“At least you had a hottie by your side the whole time.”

“True. He is quite a looker. Anyhow, I’m so sorry, but I can’t do the shoot with you tonight. I haven’t even been triaged yet, and this place is packed. I swear, if one more kid pukes, I’m going to ask for a healthy dip into a vat of sanitizer. I could be here all night.”

I sigh. “It’s okay, Wolfie. Don’t worry about it. Get your hand fixed, and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Sorry. Maybe we can do it after I get out of here? Not sure when that might be, but I hate letting you down.”

“No. Don’t worry about it. You take care, and don’t apologize. Accidents happen.”

“Thanks.”

Ending the call, I stare at the phone. What happened to Wolfgang is horrible, and life is totally going to suck for him in the coming week. As an artist, working with an injured hand is a huge disadvantage, and I hope he heals quickly.

Then, my reality settles in. Friday is less than forty-eight hours away. A huge project is due, and I have no backup plan to speak of. I was counting on Wolfgang.

Taking the risk of going downtown by myself is a possibility, but it would not be smart or safe. Wolfgang was kind of a one-shot deal. Chandra is busy, and it’s too late to really call anyone else. I’m sure most of my other friends are buried in their studio work at this time.

I could take on a new subject, which would basically be starting over and doing two weeks of work in twenty-four hours. I could always resign to turning in my existing shots. It is not my best work, and it doesn’t meet my full potential, but it would at least be something.

All these options suck huge dick.

I toss my phone onto the desk where it spins round and round. Pushing the chair away from the counter, I rest my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands.

“Is everything all right?” Foster asks hesitantly.

“Yeah,” I mumble into my palms. “No. Shit. Yes. No one is dead, so that’s a plus.”

“Okay…” He edges himself closer to me. “Did someone get hurt?”

I tilt my head to find us closer than I expected, discovering that the shade of his blue eyes are more cobalt than cerulean at this range.

I inch backward a bit. “My friend sliced his hand while trying to show off his pineapple ninja skills on a date.”

“That’s certainly a unique tactic for impressing someone. Is he going to be all right?”

“Yeah. He just has a mild case of drunken klutz and needs to get stitches. Should be good as new.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” He purses his lips. “Are you two really close?”

“Yeah. We have some classes together.”

“Are you going to be okay? Do you need to leave early? I can cover the rest of the shift.”

“Huh?” I ask, confused by the random offer.

“You seem pretty upset. If it’s too much to deal with, you can go, and I’ll close up for the night by myself.”

“What? No, I’m okay. He’ll be fine, and he has someone with him.” I shimmy my seat closer to the desk, placing my palms on the hardwood surface. “He was supposed to help me with a project tonight after work, and now, he can’t. I understand why, but...” I frustratingly kick the inside of the desk, causing a bellowing boom to echo through the entire room. “Shit,” I hiss. “Fuck.”

“That bad, huh?”

I groan, placing my face back into my palms, and mumble, “You have no idea. It’s thirty percent of our grade, and I have shit to present. I’ll never be able to recover. My GPA is going to tank, and I might as well say good-bye to grad school. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Was he going to be a nude model for you?” Foster asks, totally oblivious.

“No.” I half-laugh. “Is that what you think all artists do? Look at nudes all day?”

He shrugs. “That’s how they’re portrayed in movies. I figured they were into it for the real-life porn.”

I crack up. “You must think we’re all a bunch of horny bastards. If that were true, don’t you think that every guy in a fraternity would be an art major?”

“Maybe they secretly want to be.”

“You might have a point. If you must know, Wolfie—”

“Wolfie?” He raises his brows.

“My friend—his name is Wolfgang—was going to go downtown to the fountain on the square with me tonight, so I could take some night shots for my project. The day ones are ready to go, but I need different lighting.”

“In the nude?”

“No.” I giggle. “He was just going as a chaperone, so I could take some pictures of the fountain and not have to worry about watching my back. When you’re behind the camera, all you see is what’s through the lens. It’s a safety thing. I’m thinking about risking it and going alone.”

“Don’t do that.” He gives me the are-you-a-total-moron look. “That’s stupid. I’ll go with you, if you really need to go.”

“Stop it. You don’t have to do that. It’s late enough as it is, and you have a test in the morning.”

“So? It’s not like I have a curfew.” He places his book into his bag. “And you shouldn’t be down there alone at night. I’ll stand with you and watch your back while you take your pictures.”

“You would really do that?”

“Sure.” Foster pushes the bridge of his dark glasses higher. “Why not? Weren’t you sent here to—how did you put it? Babysit me? I can return the favor.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Most people usually just go with thank you.”

“Then, thank you.” I smile.

“You’re welcome.”