Soft Shock

SOFT SHOCK

By: Nicole Green

Cover
by Cheryl of CCR Cover Design

Chapter One

Marci expected
a rough day when she woke up that morning, but there was no way she could’ve prepared
for being a victim of a bike-and-run before the day even got started good.
Well, without the run.

As she hurried
down the sidewalk, Marci mentally prepped for her presentation, rehearsing the
main points she wanted to make in her head.

Until she wasn’t.

She was paying
little attention to oncoming traffic. Not that she expected any oncoming
traffic on the sidewalk.

By the time she
heard a voice shout, “Watch out!” it was too late. She barely had time to
glance up and think
,
why don’t bikers understand that sidewalks are not for them?
before
the front tire of a bike connected with her shin. She
staggered backward as the bike toppled over and the rider tumbled forward.
Letting the books go, she tried to save the coffee cup for many reasons.

She was going
down. At some point during the collision, the coffee cup lid had loosened, and
when she tried to get a better grip on it, it came off all the way. The biker’s
elbow knocked into her forearm as she finished her fall to the ground, and that
was it for the coffee. Scalding hot coffee went all down the front of her white
blouse. Scalding. Hot.

She screamed
out in pain, effectively drowning out the biker’s apologies. Throwing the
coffee cup down and pushing at his arms, she screamed, “Get away!”

He scrambled to
his feet and reached for her hand. “Jesus. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did
that. I didn’t see you until it was too late.”

Marci pulled
herself to her feet without his help and grabbed at the front of her shirt,
wondering if you could get third degree burns from hot coffee. Finally, she
looked up into the culprit’s face. She was taken aback for a moment by his wide
gray eyes and beautiful face. The thought that he was quite possibly the most
gorgeous man she’d ever seen in real life flitted through her mind. However,
all thought was quickly replaced by the throbbing, burning sensation in her
chest. She saw his tanned face through a cloud of pain.

“You should
watch where you’re going,” she hissed through clenched teeth, fighting the urge
to scream. She was going to get over this pain. It wasn’t going to come between
her and her presentation.
 

He ran a hand
through his dark blond wavy hair, lifting it momentarily from his forehead. “I
was running late.”

“Now we both
are.” She started to bend and pick up her books, but her chest put the brakes
on that idea. Biker boy bent and retrieved her things.

“I really am
sorry. I’m going to buy you a new shirt. But before that, let me take you to
student health to get checked out.”

“In what?” She
smirked at his bike.

“We’ll walk.”
He shifted her books from one hip to the other.

“That’s okay.”
She took a deep breath, trying to will away the pain. “I really have to get to
class. I have a big project due. Huge.”
Half her grade huge.
It didn’t hurt so much now. Not as long as she didn’t breathe too much.

“But you could
really be hurt.”

She had to look
up to meet his gaze. He had to be well over six feet. She’d always had a thing
for tall guys.

“I feel fine,”
Marci lied. Lied, lied, lied. Her chest was burning. One thing was for sure, though.
She wouldn’t feel fine at all if she didn’t give this presentation.

He shook his
head. “I’d feel awful if you got even more injured because of me. I already
feel badly enough that I ran into you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Let’s make
sure it’s nothing.”

Marci reached
forward for her books and groaned in pain. Her chest was not cooperating. Even
if she could make it to class, she probably wouldn’t be able to concentrate
well enough to give a presentation on tying shoes much less on right to work
laws in the American South and Midwest.

He held her
books firmly at his side and said, “It’s probably a ten minute walk. Do you
think you can make it? Or should we take the bus?”

“I know where
student health is,” she muttered from between clenched teeth and headed down
the sidewalk. She was already running way behind. She didn’t have time to wait
for a bus, pain or no pain.

He followed
her. “My name’s Owen, by the way.”

She nodded to
acknowledge that she’d heard him.

“What’s yours?”

“Marci.”

“Listen, Marci.
I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this up to you,” he said. “I work
at Java Time, the one near campus. Free coffee on me whenever you want from now
on.”

“Talking hurts
my chest,” she said. That was only slightly a lie. Although the initial pain
had subsided a little—or maybe she’d just gotten used to it—her
chest still ached. She made sure to keep her breaths short and shallow.

When they got
to student health, Owen filled out her paperwork for her, talking only to ask
her questions as he filled out the form. He then sat back in his
chair,
one sandled foot crossed over his knee, and said
nothing as they waited her turn.

“What about
your bike?” she asked. He’d left it behind so he could carry her books.

He shrugged.
“It’ll probably be there when I get back.”

“And if it’s
not?”

Golden late
morning light from the window above them in the waiting room shone down on his
dark blond hair. “I’m more concerned with whether you’re okay or not right now,”
he said. “And whether you hate me forever.”

“I don’t even
know you. How can I hate you?”

“Maybe we can
change that. The not knowing me part.” He gave her a crooked grin that exposed
straight teeth. He could’ve walked out of a toothpaste ad or off a movie set.
Leaning forward on some very nice forearms, causing some equally nice biceps to
flex, he started to say something else, but then her name was called. They both
looked up. “Should I wait here for you?” he asked. “No, I will. I definitely
will. This is all my fault.”

“You might as
well come back with me.
If you want to.
After all,
you’ve come this far.”

Owen sprang to
his feet, grabbed her books, and followed her to the exam room.

It turned out
that she didn’t have any serious burns. The doctor prescribed her an ointment,
gave her a prescription for a few painkillers with instructions to switch to
over-the-counter aspirin or ibuprofen when they ran out, and sent her on her
way.

At the door to
student health, after she’d picked up her drugs from the pharmacy in the back
of the building, Marci started to take her books from Owen. He held them away
from her slightly. “When will I see you again?” he asked.

“Look, you’ve
been real nice, and I appreciate it. I get that you’re sorry about what
happened, but I think we should just say goodbye now.”

“You have to at
least let me buy you a new shirt,” he said. The way his hair fell across his
forehead made her
want
to reach up and push it back.

“That’s okay.
It’ll give me an excuse to go shopping.” She just wanted to get out of there
and go beg Professor Ming for mercy. And there would have to be some serious
groveling involved knowing Professor Ming.

“At least come
by Java Time for free coffee. Free until one of us graduates.”

“I dunno.”

“What can I do
to make it up to you?”

“Promise me you
won’t mow down anymore pedestrians.”

“Deal.” He
shifted her books to one arm and held out his hand for her to shake. At first,
she hesitated. Then she reached out and shook his hand. When his warm fingers
closed around hers in a strong grip, her heart skipped a beat. Clearing her dry
throat, she pulled back and gave him a shaky smile. What was wrong with her? It
wasn’t like
she’d never been touched by a cute guy before
.

He’s not just cute. There’s something else
there…
okay. It was time to get out of her head.

“See you
around, Owen,” she said even though she wasn’t planning on it.

“Can’t I at
least get your number?”

“I really have
to get going.” She reached for her books again. This time, he gave them to her.
Before he could say anything else, she was off.

#

If she hurried,
she could catch Professor Ming before she left the classroom. Marci ran all the
way to Drew Hall. And Marcy wasn’t a runner. Huffing and puffing, she dragged
herself up the stairs to the second floor. Her chest, which still hadn’t completely
recovered from that morning’s incident, was on fire once again. Staggering into
the doorway of the classroom, she saw Professor Ming gathering her things and
stuffing them back into her stylish brown leather tote.

“Professor, so
sorry, coffee,” she said between gasps for air, gesturing to the front of her
shirt. “Let me explain.”

Professor Ming
looked over at her. Straightening her tan pencil skirt by tugging at the sides,
she walked over to one of the tables near the front of the room and sat on the
corner of it. Folding her arms over her chest, she said, “Give it a try.” Silky
black hair framed the oval face that was giving Marci an all-business look.

“I was on my
way here when I was attacked by some fool on a bike. Coffee went everywhere. I
went to student health to get checked out.”

Professor
Ming’s dark, serious eyes gave away no clues as to what she was thinking. “Do
you have a doctor’s note?”

“No, I, a
doctor’s note?” Damn. She hadn’t thought to ask for one. Owen had distracted
her in more ways than she cared to admit. “No. Just look at me.” Marci gestured
to her blouse. “I have this prescription.” Marci started digging in her bag for
the cream and nearly empty bottle that contained her meager prescription of
painkillers.

“There’s no
need for that,” Professor Ming said quietly.

“What?” Marci
looked up. That didn’t sound good.

“Do you
remember what I said about projects at the beginning of the semester?”

“No make-ups.
No exceptions,” Marci said glumly.

“Now, clearly,
something happened to you this morning,” Professor Ming cast a judgmental eye
over Marci’s outfit. “But if you could make it here to tell me about it, I’m
wondering why you couldn’t make it here two hours ago for class. You’re
obviously not deathly ill.”

“But…the burns.
And the coffee…” Marci couldn’t get farther than that. Her mind was too filled
up with the missed presentation. It was half her grade. “There’s really nothing
I can do to make it up?”

“Today was your
day, Marci. It would throw off the schedule if I let you have a make-up. And it
would set a bad precedent.”

Marci had heard
about a student who’d missed one of Professor Ming’s tests in one of her
undergrad classes and emailed Ming to tell her about it. The student had mono
and didn’t respond to Professor Ming’s reply email within two hours to schedule
a time for a make-up test. Professor Ming hadn’t let the student re-take the
test, and the student later failed the class. The student’s parents had taken
Professor Ming to the school’s judicial council, and Professor Ming hadn’t
budged. Professor Ming won the case. Professor Ming was all about precedents.

“But
it’s
half my grade,” Marci said, stating the obvious.

“You still have
the final project.”

“So the final
project counts as my entire grade.”

Professor Ming
nodded. “You’d better get used to it if you’re still thinking about pursuing a
J.D. while working toward your Ph.D. In law school, you only get one shot at
your grade in all of your classes.”

Marci sat down
in a chair behind a table near the one on which Ming had perched. She needed a
moment. She was going to need one of those pain pills soon. She watched
Professor Ming sling her tote over her shoulder and head for the door. At the
door, Professor Ming turned to her and said, “This is the way the world works.
Things aren’t going to get any fairer the farther you go in life. I’m sorry,
Marci.”

“You and me
both,” Marci said.

One thing was
for sure. She never wanted to see bike boy—what was his name, Owen
?—
again in her life.
Even if his
touch had made her skin tingle in a very not unpleasant way.

Chapter Two

Owen didn’t
know how he would manage it, but he did know he had to see Marci again. He was
still thinking of her as he opened the door to his apartment and wheeled his
bike inside. His roommate, Dante, had to call his name several times to get his
attention.

“Oh, what,
huh?” Owen said finally.

“I still don’t
understand why you have to keep that thing inside,” Dante said, pushing his
black thick-framed glasses up on top of his head. Dante must’ve recently gotten
home from class as he wore tan slacks and a white button-down. It was either a
suit or business casual for Dante in class. Dressing up wasn’t a requirement
for the business school at CVU, but Dante was one of the more go-getter
business students who did that. Some of those kids seemed addicted to competing
with each other.

“A bike was
stolen from that rack outside our building the other week, and a tire was
stolen off one last week.” Owen shrugged. “Not taking any chances.”

“Probably be
fine if you kept it locked up.”

“They cut the
lock on the stolen one, and how’s locking it up going to keep someone from
stealing the tire?” Owen laughed as he rolled the bike over to its designated
corner. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the wall facing
Dante who sat on the sofa with his laptop.

“You’re in a
good mood. And what’s with that goofy look on your face?” Dante closed the lid
on his laptop and set it beside him on the couch.

“I might have
met a girl.”

“That was
quick. Home girl just steamrolled you not a month ago. And you’ve been moping
around here ever since. Just yesterday you were moping.”

“Just met her
this morning.”

“Who is she?
What’s she like? When are you going to see her again? I know you’re already
planning these things. You are the only guy I know who’s ready to pack up and move
in with a girl by the third date. And you’d do it, too, if they were crazy as
you are and crazy enough to let you. I’m surprised you’re not married yet.”

“Me, too,” Owen
said. A cloud scudded across his thoughts, but the sun came out again as he
focused back on Marci.

“So? When is
the wedding?”

Owen grimaced a
little. “It’s a bit complicated.”

“How can it be
complicated already?”

“Has to do with
the way I met her.” Owen pushed off from the wall.

“And how did
you meet her?” Dante sat back on the couch, crossed his arms over his chest,
and raised his eyebrows.

“I plowed her
over on the sidewalk. And I might have caused her coffee to spill all over her
chest. Hot coffee. Very hot.”

“Oh. Damn. I
told you about that bike.”

“You hate the
bike on principle.”

“I do, but in
this case, I happen to be right. If you’d gotten rid of that thing before this
morning, you wouldn’t have assaulted that poor woman.”

“And I probably
wouldn’t have met her either,” Owen said. “So there’s your catch-22.”

“How much good
is it gonna do you, though, that you met her like that? I bet she was mad.”
Dante drew the word “mad” out to several times its normal length.

“Yeah. I
offered to buy her a new shirt, but she wouldn’t let me. She wouldn’t even give
me her phone number. I would’ve offered her mine, but she left before I could.
I doubt she would’ve taken it anyway.”

“Dawg. That is
beyond a lost cause. You might as well let that one go right now.”

“But I can’t.
That’s the problem.”

“You’re right
it’s a problem.”

“She’s
gorgeous. And she must be smart. She’s a grad student, and I could barely
understand the titles on the books she had with her much less have any idea
what they’re about. And—there was just something about her, about the way
she carried herself.” Something that was both magnetic and hard to describe.

“What does she
look like?”

“Average
height.
Light brown eyes.
Brown skin.
Curly brown hair.
She’s curvy.” On that last one, he once
again got lost in the memory of how beautiful she’d looked even with coffee
staining the front of her white blouse that morning.

“So, is she a
sister?”

“Yeah,” Owen
said, barely aware of what his roommate had asked him. His mind kept drifting
back to Marci, replaying that morning with her over and over again. It’d been
doing that since they parted ways. He was tempted to look her up in the student
directory, but something about that seemed a little too much. One thing was for
sure, though. He wasn’t giving up on the idea of seeing her again.

“Well, if
you’re not too wrapped up in this fantasy you have that you’re going to see her
again, some of us are going down to The Hops Saturday night. My friend, Brynn,
is
gonna
be there. Remember I said you should meet
her?” The Hops was a place downtown specializing in craft beers—mostly
from local microbreweries. Lots of kids from CVU, or Central Virginia
University, ended up there on the weekends.

“Yeah. I
remember,” Owen said.

“Well, her
parents are from Denmark, and she’s got that Nordic thing working for her.
Blonde, blue eyes.
Tall. Damn, baby girl could be a model.
And you have more than a phantom chance of getting with her.
And
she’s not pissed at you for trying
to murder her with her own coffee this morning.”

“That’s a
little drastic. I didn’t try to murder her.”

“Regardless, if
you see that girl again, you’ll be lucky if you get more than a slap in the
face.”

“I guess.”

“So are you
coming to The Hops on Saturday?”

“I guess,” Owen
repeated. Dante had been trying to set him up with girls since he became single.
That was okay, he guessed, as he didn’t care too much for being single. Well,
it had been okay until now. However, now there was only room for one girl on
his mind. But as nothing about that situation was likely to change by Saturday,
he might as well go out, have a few beers, and humor Dante by meeting this
friend of his.

“Oh, before I
forget, Jeremy stopped by a little while ago.”

He snorted. “Jeremy
was awake before noon?” Jeremy was Owen’s younger brother. Their mom lived in Richmond’s
East End, and Jeremy lived with her. Jeremy was a bona fide, certified
man-child.

“Yeah, I
actually don’t think he’d been to bed yet.”

“What did he
want?”

“He says he
lost that hundred you gave him last week, and he needs you to spot him until he
has that job interview next week.”

“He always has
a job interview next week,” Owen muttered. His brother’s real occupation,
apparently, was playing video games in Mom’s basement. Owen tried to look out
for his brother because he’d been through a lot—they both had—but
sometimes Jeremy made it so difficult. “Wait a minute, what do you mean,
‘lose’? How’d he lose a hundred dollars?”

Dante shrugged
and held up his hands. “Hey. All I know is he said he was on his way back from
Atlantic City. He just got back this morning. You know what I’m saying?”

“How’d
he—he doesn’t have a car.”

“He probably
took the bus. Or maybe he got a ride with someone. He does have friends, right?
In real life?
Not just on the video games?”

Owen ran a hand
over his face and sighed. “Aw, man. I
gotta
fix this.
I’m surprised Mom hasn’t called yet.”

“Probably
doesn’t know yet.”

“Helpful.
You’re real helpful.”

“I know,” Dante
said. “You’re welcome.”

Owen jumped and
then pulled his vibrating phone from his pocket. He looked down at the caller
ID. Mom.

“It’s her,
isn’t it? Right on cue.”

Owen picked up
a pillow from the end of the couch and tossed it half-heartedly at Dante who
caught it. As he answered the phone, Dante said, “Tell Mom I said hi. And
thanks for those homemade granola bars. Those things were on
point
.”

Owen nodded in
answer to Dante and said, “Hey, Mom,” fully prepared for her to be in crisis
mode yet again because of his brother’s mishaps.