Love Show (9 page)

I winced, imagining.

“Yeah,” he said. He smiled, eyes
sparkling. “Don’t try that one.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

"So, I have a question,” he
said.

"Shoot," I said, trying
to sound calm. I got to my feet and took off my coat and draped it over the
back of his desk chair.

"Am I freaking you out?"

"No. Why?"

"You seem ready to bolt."

"I'm not going anywhere,"
I said. I sounded kind of like a coke addict, though. I didn't even believe I
wasn't going anywhere. I cocked my head and he stepped towards me.

“Relax,” Jack murmured. He pressed
his lips against my neck.

“I am relaxed.”

“Bullshit,” he whispered. A smile played
at the corners of his mouth when he kissed me. He spun me around so I was
facing him and walked me back to the bed. I sat when we reached its edge.

He then leaned forward, pressing me
back onto my elbows. I thought he was going to kiss me, but he dropped his head
next to my ear and whispered, “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want
to.”

“Says Jack as he pins me down.”

He laughed softly in my ear. The
breath was warm against my neck. He moved his mouth from my ear to my mouth and
kissed me.

“Maybe I'm nervous."

“You don’t get to be nervous. I’m
nervous,” he said. He kissed me again and I smiled, breaking the kiss.”

"But I'm an
overachiever."

“You’re not going to underachieve
in bed,” he smiled. “Not with me anyways.”

I closed my eyes, lifting one hand
up to his strong jawbone, and kissed him. My fingers tangled in his soft,
still-damp hair. My heart started racing, like it was going to explode. “Well,
I could be rusty?”

 “Shut up,” he whispered gently. He
lifted me up and slid me further back on the bed, so I was lying underneath
him. I could feel his heat, but he braced his weight on his own hands. And he
kissed me again.

I broke the kiss abruptly, pulling
my head aside and sitting up. He sat back on his heels.

“Okay?” he put his hand on my lower
back.

I nodded.

“Too fast?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you want?”

“This. Just. Not sex. Not tonight,
I mean,” I managed. I looked at him. “Sorry. I want to. Just not so fast. And I
wanted to say something before we got ahead of ourselves.”

He nodded. “I never took that for
granted.”

I nodded. “Good.”

He smiled and coaxed me onto his
lap. I straddled him and put my hands on his shoulders. They were warm. His
cool fingers ran up my ribcage, he dropped kisses along my collarbone. He
pulled me closer. I felt him beneath me.

He reached for the hem of my shirt
and pulled it over my head. He unhooked my bra gently with one hand and bit one
strap and pulled it down my arm. His teeth scraped ever so softly against the
hairs on my arm.

I shivered as he thrust up slightly
and dropped his mouth gently to my breast.

I ran my hands through his hair.

“You taste like vanilla,” he said,
lifting his mouth. He stood up, lifting me with him and knelt onto the bed and
dropped me onto my back.

“You taste like beer and tequila,”
I replied.

He smiled. “That’s what I brush my
teeth with.”

“So, we’re just going to have a
long make-out session?”

“A shirtless make-out session,” he
teased. “I think the kids call it second base.”

I smiled. “Benefit of the
friendship?”

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

We made out until our lips ached. And when we had stopped,
we lay silently against each other. I felt sleepy and I laughed, reached for my
shirt, and said I had to go. He sat on the stoop and waited with me for the
cab, both of us shivering.

I leaned back on my hands,
breathing in the cold air. He was easy to be near, when he wasn’t making me
nervous, and after rolling around in his bed shirtless, I wasn’t nearly as
nervous.

“We should do something fun,” Jack
said, when the cab came. “Not a date,” he said when I gave him a look. “Like
some kind of friend thing. What do you do for fun?”

“The newspaper.”

“That’s fun?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “It is,
actually.” I meant it too. It could be stressful, but it was voluntary. I liked
it.

He smiled. “Well, we can read some
newspapers.”

“Maybe you should be in charge of
fun.”

“And you can be in charge of
achievement?”

“I’ll be in charge of rules.”

He chuckled and walked me down the
path towards the car. “I’ll see you around, Hadley.”

“Later, pal.”

I heard him laugh as I got into the
car. He watched me leave. There was something about that that I liked. And something
else about that scared me a little.

By one o’clock, my hangover was starting to get the better
of me. I couldn’t remember comma rules, and I kept missing split infinitives
and all the other nasty grammar mistakes that riddled freshmen’s articles.

When the door to the offices swung
open and Andrew appeared, I let out a sigh of relief. He held two large
Starbucks cups. He handed me one.

“I love you almost as much as I
love coffee.”

He looked over my sweatpants and
the empty Pedialyte bottles on my desk. “Rough night?”

“Oh, not really.”

He laughed dubiously and nodded.
“Right.”

“Hey, at least I showered this
morning,” I said. “This is why I don’t go out,” I informed him. “Socializing
melts my brain.”

“I think that’s probably just the
alcohol,” he said.

“You’re awfully judgmental this
morning, Brenner.”

“Sorry.” He yawned. “Tired, I
guess. Did you find David last night?”

“Yeah, I did. Finally. He was
wearing a polo shirt. Confused the hell out of me."

He leaned over my shoulder to look
at the article I was reviewing. “Verb agreement, first paragraph.” He tapped
the screen.

“Shit. I should not be copyediting
right now,” I said. I fixed the mistake and reached for my coffee.

“So, I was talking to Juliet, and
she thinks we should do something big for Valentine’s Day.”

I gave him a look. “Like what? I’m
not putting Valentine’s day on the cover.”

“What about a special edition? Like
a six-page, Love at Northwestern thing.”

“That needs six pages? We gave
Obama’s reelection six paragraphs,” I said.

“Oh, don’t be such a Grinch. It would
be great for readership,” he said. “Like, we could do an article on LGBT life,
Greek life, and Juliet had this idea to do like a Secret Admirers section for a
week.”

“And where would we put the Secret
Admirers? Before the sports section or after the international section?” I
demanded sarcastically.

“Would you just think about it?”
Andrew said. “It’s not a bad idea. You could write an editorial on why you’re opposed
to Valentine’s Day.”

“I’m not opposed to Valentine’s
Day. I’m just not giving it six pages in my newspaper.”

“Your newspaper?” he repeated.

“You know what I mean. I’m the
first girl to be Editor-in-Chief in nine years. I’m not presiding over the
first Valentine’s Day Special.”

“You should consider it,” he said
seriously. “I think it’s sort of unfair that you’re shooting it down because
you don’t want people to think you’re too girly. If I were the Editor-in-Chief,
I’d do it.”

I sighed. “Can we just focus on
this issue and worry about Valentine’s Day closer to Valentine’s Day?”

“Fine,” he said. “But think about
it. Seriously, think about it. We could get people to write about their love
lives. It could be a mix of opinion pieces and news stories. Look, we always
talk about culture at Northwestern, and love lives are a big part of culture.”

I resisted the urge to roll my
eyes. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow. I just don’t have the energy right now.”

He smiled, albeit frostily. “Okay.”

“I’m in love,” David declared when I got back from the
newspaper around 11 on a Saturday morning.

"I don't have time for your
love," I said. "I was about to report you missing. I haven't seen you
for a week. You missed dinner on a Friday."

He smiled as he poured batter into
a waffle iron. "I've been here."

"When have you been
here?"

"I was here Tuesday
night."

I rolled my eyes.

"And you'd be too busy to
notice otherwise," he said. "I know when you stop making your
bed."

When my schedule felt crazed, I
stopped sleeping underneath the covers so I didn’t have to make my bed in the
morning. I hated making my bed. It was wedged in a corner, and I couldn't get
the bedspread flat unless I yanked the frame all the way out.

"Waffle?"

I nodded, grudgingly. "Please.
So, I guess things are going well with Ben?"

He beamed. "Yes. Plate."

I pulled a plate down from the
cabinet over the sink and handed it to him. "Well, I missed you," I
admitted.

He smiled. "I bet you were
here for five minutes."

"Still," I said. “So tell
me.”

He sighed and fluttered his
eyelashes dramatically. "He's dreamy."

I dumped syrup on my waffles.
"Actually, spare me the details."

David laughed. "I'm kidding. It’s
good though. I really like him, Hadley."

“Are you going to need more polo
shirts?”

“Maybe,” he said. “But who really
cares?”

“You should,” I said. I took a bite
of the waffle.

He shrugged sadly. “You don’t get
it.”

“Sorry,” I muttered. “I just feel
like…I don’t know. I feel like you shouldn’t have to dress differently for the
guy you’re dating. I mean, if I ever started doing that, you’d hit the fucking
roof.”

“Yeah, that’s different.”

“How?” I asked.

“Because, you’re straight and
everyone you date is straight,” he said. “If some guy wanted you to change, it
would be controlling bullshit. Ben has to protect himself.”

“From people finding out who he is?
Who you are?” I shook my head. “David, that doesn't make any sense."

“He’s on the football team.”

“The season is over and he’s a
senior,” I pointed out. "He really thinks people are so homophobic that he
can't be seen with you?"

“He wants to go pro.” David’s mouth
hardened into a thin line. “Look, you don’t understand it because you’re not
gay. He doesn’t want people to know. He’s scared. It’s not about changing me.
It’s about being scared. And I’m willing to deal with it, alright?”

I stared at him.

"Or is that not alright with
you?" David demanded.

"If you're comfortable, then
alright. But you didn't look comfortable last weekend when he was ignoring you.
I don't think it's healthy. I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear
and I know it’s your life and your decision, but, there are a lot of guys out
there who wouldn’t ask you to change—”

“How would you know?” David asked
angrily.

“David,” I said softly. “You’re
like the most lovable person—”

“I like Ben. I want to date Ben.
And if this is what I have to do, I’m going to do it. And I don’t need you to
judge
me for it.”

“Alright. You’re right. I’m sorry,”
I said. I took a deep breath. "Sorry. That's not what I was trying to
do." I shook my head. "I don't know. It just makes me nervous. But, I
shouldn't be judgmental. Sorry."

I took another bite of the waffles.
I'd drowned them in syrup and they were sticky and oversweet. I went to the
refrigerator and poured a glass of milk and took a sip. "The waffles are
good," I said, just to clear the air between us.

“Thanks." He bit his lip.
"Actually, I have a favor to ask."

“Yeah, sure."

“I asked Ben over for dinner
tonight and he won't be comfortable if you're here." He looked worried.
"I was going to cook. Um, do you think you can find something to do?
Somewhere else?”

“Sure," I said, in a falsely
high voice. "That's great. I've got things to do. I'll stay out of your
hair."

He broke into a smile. “Thanks.
Seriously. Thank you.”

“Yeah, no worries.”

Even though I'd apologized and even
though David seemed to be okay, something had exchanged between us that made
sitting quietly in the same room uncomfortable.

My phone vibrated. I had a text
message from Jack:
What are you up to today?

I looked up at David. "What
time is Ben coming over?"

"Well, um, he said he'd help
cook. So, if you'll tell me when's good for you, then..."

"Anytime is fine," I
said.

"Yeah? Well, maybe I'll tell
him five-thirty?”

I nodded. "Cool."
Free
at 5, maybe a little bit before
.

Come over
?

Sure.

“Boom,” Jack said when I walked in. He was lying in the
atrociously messy living room on his back, in yet another plaid flannel shirt
and arching his neck at the television screen while he played Halo with the
dark-haired bartender from the week before.

“Yo, Xander, this is Arrington.”

“You’re calling me Arrington?”

“What? I like that name,” he said.
"Hadley, Xander. Xander, Hadley. You met at the bar, but you were
drunk."

"I remember," I said.

Xander glanced up from the violent
game for a split second. “Hey. Good to see you again."

"You, too."

“She’s the Editor-in-Chief.”

Xander jerked his head up and
paused the game.

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?”
Jack asked Xander, jerking his controller around. "You can't pause."

 Xander looked at me and grinned. “
You’re
the Editor-in-Chief?”

“That’s what I just said,” Jack
said. “Why did you pause the game, you asshole?”

“You didn’t say it was a girl.”

“Fuck you,” Jack said. “Unpause.”

Xander laughed and nodded at me. He
kept looking. “It
all
makes sense now.”

“Shut the fuck up, and finish the
game,” Jack insisted.

“What makes sense?” I asked.

“Make yourself a drink and join
us,” Jack said.  "Kitchen's that way," Jack nodded at it with his
chin. I walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. With the exception
of a carton of orange juice, all they had was alcohol and energy drinks.

Xander's voice carried into the
kitchen and I cocked my head to hear.

“It would have been a lot easier to
get all of that Justin Shelter stuff off the internet if you had just explained
you were trying to impress a hot girl…” I bit my lip.

I shouldn't like that. It was
derogatory and objectifying and it insulted my intellect and my position at the
paper. It was an outrage.

But I liked it. I'd never been the
hot girl. I wasn't the hot girl.

 I grabbed a bottle of vodka and
fished around in their dishwasher for a clean glass.

“Fuck off,” Jack replied. “I’m not
trying to impress her.”

“Well, if you’re not trying to
impress her, maybe I will,” Xander said. The tile floor in the kitchen was
sticky.

“I'd like to see that,” Jack
replied.

"Yeah, I bet you would."

"No, really," Jack said.
"Knock yourself out. Tell me how it goes."

Xander's voice dropped. I couldn't
make anything out after that.

I poured a splash of vodka over
ice, and filled the glass with orange juice.

I walked back into the living room
and sat down next to where Jack was lying on the floor. I leaned against the
couch and held out my hand for a controller.

“You play Halo?”

I nodded gamely. I had no idea how
to play Halo.                

Xander chuckled. “Well, everything
really
makes sense now,” he repeated. "Hot girl plays Halo." He
nodded. "Whole thing makes sense."

“Xander, would you stop
talking?" Jack asked.

“Know what you’re doing next year?”
Xander asked, ignoring him.

“Um, not exactly. No," I said.
"I have an interview with
USA Today
on Thursday." I shrugged.
"Washington bureau."

“Awesome,” Xander said. "So,
policy journalism?"

"Yeah."

"Is that the dream job?"

I shrugged. "It's a good job,
but no. Not exactly. I want to do combat journalism, I think."

“You do?” Jack asked. He tore his
eyes from the screen and gave me a quick searching glance.

“Yep," I said. I rubbed my
chin. "Anyways, I doubt that'll happen before I've been out of school for
a while. They want people with experience."

Xander watched Jack closely. Neither
of them said anything.

"Anyways, yeah.
Newspapers," I said to fill the silence.

"Combat journalism?" Jack
repeated.

"Um, yeah. Eventually. But
that's not what the interview is for," I said.

"Well, that's good."

"Why is that good?" I
asked.

“I don't think it's worth dying for
bad news.”

I shook my head. "I think it's
important. Maybe even worth dying for. If journalists hadn’t gone over to
Vietnam, a lot more people would've died there. You need war correspondents to
enforce accountability."

“Well, if that’s…” he started, his
voice almost harsh. He let out a long breath and didn’t finish the thought.
“Yeah, I guess that’s important,” he said tonelessly. He shrugged.

“What are you doing next year?” I
asked Jack.

"I’m going to try to find a
way not to work,” Jack said. “Which I’m actually pretty good at, so I don’t
foresee any problems.”

“Nice.”

"Good plan,” Xander said
sarcastically.

 “I think it’s a great plan,” Jack
said simply. "They always tell you to do what you love. And I love not
working."

“Eventually, you are going to have
to do something with your life,” Xander said.

Jack shrugged. "We'll see."

“You have to do something,"
Xander repeated.

“Don’t argue with me about the
meaning of life, my friend. You may be a genius engineer, but I took Intro to
Philosophy and got a B+,” Jack said. “And I don’t see the point in getting a
job.”

Xander threw his head back, like
he’d had this same conversation with Jack a dozen times. “Enough. I have things
to do,” he scooped his backpack from the floor and nodded at me. “Nice to meet
you, again, Hadley.”

“You, too,” I said to Xander. I
watched him go. We both heard the door close behind him and then we were on our
own.

It was strangely electrifying to be
alone in a room with him. I could hear the fullness of the room’s silence: the way
the floorboards creaked when Jack moved, the way my sleeves rustled when I
brushed a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

Jack finally sat up and looked at
me. “Sup?”

“Sup yourself?”

He smiled and reached for my drink.
He took a sip. “Who has a screwdriver for dinner?”

“You didn’t have any other mixers,”
I said.

"Yes, we do."

"Well, they all have names
like Heart Attack in a Can and Lethal Dose of Caffeine."

He cocked his head and took another
sip. “You want to eat?”

"That's like rule number
one."

"Ah, you're never available
for dinner," he said. "What about snacks?"

I threw him a look and he laughed.
“Let’s go upstairs.”

“I barely even know you," Jack
said in mock horror.

"That's why I'm not taking
snacks from you."

I raised an eyebrow and he laughed.
I finished the rest of the drink in a long gulp. He pulled me to my feet by the
wrist and nodded at the kitchen.

“So, how’s the newspaper?” he
asked, refilling my drink and making it twice as strong.

“There's talk of a Valentine's Day
issue," I said.

"You look horrified," he
said. He added a few ice cubes to my glass and took a second one out of the
dishwasher for himself. "I don't know how well you'd do in combat if
Valentine's Day makes you nauseous."

I raised my eyebrows.  "I just
don't see the point."

“It’s this holiday where couples
give each other candy and presents and flowers and go to dinner,” he said. “The
colors are pink and red, also white. It’s named after a guy who married a bunch
of people or something. I think he was a Saint. Saint Valentine.” He nodded,
lifting his glass and tipping it towards me, like a half-toast. He took a sip
and swallowed. "Yep. Also it’s a movie with Ashton Kutcher. Probably not
your kind of thing. I'm embarrassed how much I know about this, actually."

"I know about the
massacre."

"What massacre?"

"There was a massacre in
Chicago in 1929." I said. "Some gangster thing."

"Really?"

I nodded. I sipped my orange juice.
"Al Capone versus Bugsy Malone. Five members of the North Side gang shot
and killed."

He chuckled. "Well, that's
fantastic. Thank you for that. I'm talking about Ashton Kutcher and you're
talking about Al Capone."

“No problem,” I said.

He grinned and kissed me. And then
he nipped at my neck, sharply.

“Did you just
bite
me?”

“I don’t know, maybe. I was trying
to kiss you and it got a little weird. I’m starving, but you don’t have time to
have dinner with me.” He said all of this without batting an eyelash.

I laughed all the way up to his
room.

“You’re disturbingly organized,” I
said.

He shrugged. “I just like to know
where things are.”

“So do I but this…”

He smirked at me. “Well, if you’re
that disturbed by it, wartime reporting is really going to knock your socks
off.”

“No, this is unnatural.”

He chuckled. “Okay. And warfare’s
super-organic or something?”

“Or something,” I said. I took a
long sip of my orange juice and vodka.

He took it from my hands and took a
sip himself.