Pressure Point (Point #2) (2 page)

No parents fret around this dorm room. Time to turn on the RA charm.

Tapping the back of my hand on the wide-open door, I peer inside the 150 square foot room. Without a window, it kind of looks like a jail cell, but that’s neither here nor there when it comes to privacy from a roommate.

“Come in, Blake.” Her voice comes out muffled from the depths of the closet.

“I’m not Blake, but I can offer help if you need,” I tell the mass of white blonde hair as I survey the chaos surrounding the room. Half-open suitcases litter the floor and boxes are stacked high. The one thing that looks to be functioning properly is a flat screen television, mounted to the wall and broadcasting the sports channel.

Zoe turns around, slightly startled but a huge friendly smile set in place. “That would be much appreciated. I don’t know where Blake went.” Her brow furrows. I assume that Blake’s the boyfriend. It’s not really my business and I’m not here to get the lowdown on her social life, just provide assistance when necessary.

“What’s happening?”

“The bar thingy in my closet fell and I swear that I didn’t hang anything on it. Poked my head inside and it crashed down.”

“Ah, the unforgiving bar thingy. I’m familiar with that one,” I tell her with a smile of my own. Last year, I had some students from hell living on my floor, snobs who wanted nothing to do with the lowly RA. Zoe being friendly right off the bat is refreshing. “May I?” I point toward the closet rod in her hand.

“By all means.”

I drift around a plastic drawer organizer and meet her at the closet door. She hands me the slippery device and I step in the closet.

It only takes a minute for me to snap the bar back in place. It’s a tension rod and probably got knocked around when the cleaning crew came last week to do a final run through of the dorm. Leaning down, I lift up her velvety hangers (
Fancy
. I have the plastic ones.) from the ground and place them in their new home.

“You’re a lifesaver!” Zoe cheers when it’s in place. She throws her arms around me while we’re still half in the closet and squeezes me.

I can’t help but laugh. “It’s no sweat off my back. I’m here to help.”

“Cupcake?” The voice is gravelly.

“In here, Blake!” Zoe calls, pushing the door open wider so we can walk out.

The second my eyes snap to the aforementioned Blake, I freeze. Locked up tight like the Italian sculptures my mom is always prattling on about.

He’s beautiful. Can you say that about a man? Too bad if it’s emasculating to think that about an Adonis. I’m employing that word in this situation because it is one hundred percent accurate. He looks strangely familiar, but surely, I’d remember coming across a man this gorgeous. I shake off the strange sense of recognition, cataloging his appearance covertly.

Or as covertly as possible.

The first thing that I notice is his smile. God, it’s gleaming. Straight white teeth in a perfect row, their brightness is practically blinding. His hair is the color of Frangelico, the hazelnut-colored Italian liqueur that my mom uses to make martinis. It’s styled off his forehead, longer on top and shorter on the sides, but in an orderly fashion. His eyes are a few shades deeper than his hair and are serious. Not unfriendly or standoffish, but I get an immediate sense not much slips past his all-seeing gaze. There’s a few days’ worth of stubble covering his chin. It does nothing to take away from his appeal. In fact, it makes him more masculine, more alluring.

“Did you find my corkboard?” Zoe asks.

Shoot! Zoe. The girl who lives on my floor. The girl who I am responsible for. How is Blake related to her? Is he a boyfriend? The guy looks to be at least ten years older than her, and a few less than that older than me. Gawking over this guy is not part of my Resident Advisor duties.

“Yes, yes.” He waves the black-framed board at her. “It fell under the seat.” He glances at us curiously. “What’s happening in the closet?”

Zoe gives a self-deprecating but still smiley shrug. “Of course, I busted the bar. But she… Wow, you saved me from a freshman year with clothing piled at the bottom of my closet and I didn’t even get your name.”

“Stella.”

Whoosh.
All the breath in my lungs departs when he says my name. Did he mean to sound that sexy? And how did he figure out my name? Maybe I do know him from somewhere. It’s possible that he’s been in my family’s restaurant in Chicago’s Little Italy neighborhood, but I would have a remembered a man like him.

“Do you know Stella?” Zoe jumps in, and at the same time, I blurt out, “How do you know my name?”

Smooth.

Blake arches an eyebrow that’s slightly darker than his thick hair. “I can tell you two will get along famously.”

I dare to look at Zoe, who’s watching me. When our eyes meet, it takes only half a beat for us to burst out laughing. We must have realized it at the same time.

“My name tag.” I shake my head then extend a hand to Zoe. “Welcome to IU and Stanley Hall. I’m your RA and closet aficionado, Stella Baccino.” Instead of taking my hand, she throws her arms around me in another laughing hug. At first, I’m startled by her affection, but then I go with it. And that’s coming from someone who loves sharing her fondness of friends and family through hugs.

“My brother’s right, this will be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Zoe says. Her enthusiasm is contagious and suddenly I’m looking at the whole RA job differently. Maybe Zoe and I will get close.

Hold that thought. Zoe just called that gorgeous male specimen her brother.
A sense of relief washes over me like I was anxious about him being taken. Wherever these reactions stem from, they’re confusing. One second, I’m drooling, the next, anxious, and now calm because I know that he’s not Zoe’s boyfriend. The chaotic emotions are all kinds of wacky and unlike my normally even demeanor.

Blake hasn’t seemed to notice the war of emotions battling deep within me. In fact, he’s watching Zoe with unchecked confusion.

“I know,” she huffs in exasperation, “but my RA should know my brother in case of an emergency, right?”

Hmm. That reaction is strange. Why wouldn’t he want me to know that they are related?

“Sure,” I chirp, all about not revealing what I’m thinking.

I need to get out of here before I make a fool of myself.

Donning an invisible shield of nonchalance, I retrace my steps around Zoe’s moving materials. “It was a pleasure to meet you both. Zoe, I’m on the opposite end of the hall if you need anything.”

Just a few more steps and I can retreat to my room where I’ll forget this incident ever happened. Mooning over the brother of my resident is clearly a mistake—one to toss in the garbage the moment that I shut my dorm room behind me. I’m too busy imagining ways to pretend this whole meeting never happened to notice the extension cord half a foot from Blake and the only obstacle in my way of making a hasty escape.

The toe of my sneaker catches on the cord, and my body jerks forward, arms flailing as I try to maintain my balance. “Oh!”

Automatically, Blake launches into action. Large, warm hands clasp my shoulders tightly and lock me in place. It’s the simplest of touches, no intimacy at all, but still I swoon.
Crappity, crap, crap!
There’s a flash of heat where his hands rest on me, and then just as quickly, chills cascade down my shoulders. Now, more than ever, I need to escape this room.

“You okay?” he asks; his serious eyes now lit up with humor.

There’s no mirror on her wall yet, but if there was, I’m sure I’d see scarlet cheeks in my reflection. They’re steaming hot and I’m mortified. My gaze jumps to Zoe, who is too busy wrenching open a box to observe the comedy hour going on over here. I step out of his grasp quickly and his hands fall to his sides with no desire to touch me any longer than necessary.

“Fine, just fine.” The words tumble out of my mouth like gibberish. “There’s one more thing that I forgot to mention.” Does Blake actually think that I planned to stick around? By the way he’s fighting a smile, it’s obvious that he can tell that I’m flustered. “Floor meeting at six outside my room. See you then.”

I whirl around, scrambling out of the room without waiting for a response from either of them. If I were the type of person to write in a journal, the entry for today would start out with, “Dear diary, today I embarrassed myself in front of the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. Nice.”

No one on the floor calls out to me as I hurry back toward my safe haven. It takes all the strength that I have not to turn around to see if Blake or Zoe is watching the crazy lady who departed the room. But I don’t feel any eyes on me. They’re probably too busy unpacking to realize how big of a dweeb I am.

Yeah, that’s what I’ll tell myself.

On move-in day, RAs are required to keep their door open until the hall meeting. There’s only one sliver of hope to shut out the world to me when I enter my brightly decorated room. Second to free room and board, a private bathroom is the top perk of being an RA. Inside the windowless room, I click the lock shut behind me.

I brace my hands on either side of the tiny white vanity and stare at my pale blue eyes in the mirror. Something weird happened to me and I have little explanation for it. Normally, I’m pretty reserved. My twin cousins, Max and Dominic, teased me relentlessly while we were growing up to elicit a reaction. What can I say? I’m even keel.

Except for today, apparently, and it’s a little scary to think that some random guy could elicit this physical response from me. There’s only one person who I can tell this charade to, and I think that I need to wait until Blake’s left the premises to call my mom and moan about my gawkiness.

With a sigh, I push off the vanity and head back to my bedroom. Only two more hours until the floor meeting.

Some time later, I wave a green (colored that way to show school spirit) sheet of paper at the thirty students who live on my floor. “There’s a long list of rules here, but basically it boils down to this: you be cool, I’ll be cool.” A smattering of laughter trickles from the students toward me.

I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Oh, well. I’m doing my best to win them over.

“Any more questions?” No one tosses any my way, thankfully, and I adjourn the first and last floor meeting of the school year.

It’s not required that I spend their first night in the dorm, but I feel responsible for these freshmen and decide it best to hang out around Stanley in case any of them are homesick or can’t find the bathroom. Well, if they can’t find the bathroom clearly labeled in the middle of the floor, then they probably have bigger problems than what I can solve.

I leave the door open a couple inches behind me and walk to the collection of DVDs neatly lined up in the entertainment center under my television. I’m thumbing through seasons of
Sex and the City
when there’s a hesitant knock behind me.

“Come in,” I invite without turning around.

“Am I interrupting?”

Without looking, I know that soft voice. Zoe. Embarrassment rears its ugly head again and my cheeks heat. I’m supposed to be somewhat of an authority figure to the freshmen, not a girl in need of a cotillion.

“Not at all.” I select the fourth season of
SATC
, my favorite, and turn to face her. “What’s up, Zoe?”

“You have an awesome room,” she says while her eyes roll around. Not to brag, but I would tend to agree with her. The tiny sky blue polka dots stand out in stark contrast to the white bedspread. I covered the walls with photos of my large Italian family and Marc Chagall prints. Instead of the average college student décor of favorite movie posters, I attempted for a somewhat mature style.

“Thanks.” I accept the compliment then shift awkwardly on my feet as I wonder what brought her to my room. I’m about to ask her again, when her hazel eyes meet mine. She offers a sheepish grin to my surprise.

What could she have to be embarrassed about?

“That was kind of weird in my room earlier with Blake.”

I knew it! The girl caught me acting a fool and now she’s come to call me on it. Geez, could this day get any more bizarre?

Then she adds astonishment to surprise when she continues explaining in a rush. “Blake’s kind of a celebrity around here and can be a tad arrogant at times. I’m sorry he wasn’t super friendly.”

“Celebrity?” I repeat dumbly.

“You don’t know. Wow. Now I’m the arrogant one.” Pink tinges her cheeks as she shakes her head. Meanwhile, I’m silently grateful that she didn’t notice how I practically drooled over her brother.

“Not at all. I’m a little behind. Catch me up?”

Zoe launches into a rapid-fire explanation. “He, um, played football at IU, was the quarterback. I don’t tell many people that he’s my brother, but like I said, I thought you should know since you’re the RA. As I’m saying this, I realize how dumb I sound. Yikes. I’m sorry.”

I smile at her, mostly in realization. Now I place my recognition of Blake. There are photos of the infamous Blake Campbell in the fitness facility, and I vaguely remember spotting him with a pop star in a gossip magazine.

Everything makes sense now! What girl doesn’t fantasize about an attractive man? I imagined a connection between us because I crushed on his handsome good looks once or twice in my day. Phew. Nothing to worry about.

“It looks like you’re putting the pieces together in your mind,” Zoe observes, the insecurity melting off her face.

Equilibrium is back in place and I don’t need to call my mom begging for an explanation for the inexplicable. “Totally. Hey, no worries. I’m here to help and I didn’t notice any arrogance from him or you.”

Zoe smiles tentatively, looking at the DVD in my hand. “I love Aidan,” she admits, referencing one of the characters.

“I’m more of a Mr. Big girl,” I respond. The air between us is comfortable, like I’m hanging out with one of my friends and not some immature freshmen looking to booze and experiment. I like this girl. “Any interest in watching a couple episodes and ordering food? I was planning on sticking around the dorm in case anyone needs anything…like support during a closet crisis.”