Subject to Change (3 page)

Chapter 5

After
sweating through my Orgo homework for three agonizing hours, I’d collapsed in a heap on my bed, not even brushing my teeth, and stayed there until the sun woke me the next morning. Actually, I couldn’t tell whether it was the sun or the smell of the coffee Cat was waving in front of my face while she sat in my desk chair.

I inhaled sharply when I saw her, rubbing my eyes. “What the hell? Did your parents name you ‘Cat’ because you’re just like the Cheshire variety?”

Cat laughed. “No. But I figured if you wanted to make it on time to your Orgo class, I should probably raise you from the dead at some point before nine.”

“It’s nine?” I scrambled to my feet. “How in the hell…?” I stammered, digging for any pants I knew to be remotely clean, panic rising in my chest.
If you’re not early, you’re late
, my mother’s voice repeated in my head.

“
Almost
nine. What happened to you last night?” Cat could be so damn chipper since she met Nate. I was glad, but invading my room with coffee in the morning? It was like I didn’t even know her anymore.

After I’d pulled on a sweatshirt and run a brush through my hair, though, the coffee was certainly welcome. I managed to get half a mug down before I had to hunt for some breakfast in the kitchen — a banana and bagel with peanut butter — corralled Cat into a quick hug, and barreled out the front door to the bus stop.

The day flew by in a blur. I tried not to hyperventilate as my Orgo professor lectured on a whole new set of concepts when I’d only barely figured out the last class’s. My fingers flew across the keyboard, making notes on what to ask my TA for clarification on the next day. When the lecture wound down, I groaned. There were three full pages — in typing, not handwriting — and enough reading to take my brain at least two hours to process.

After grabbing a quick lunch from a food cart and sitting through a statistics recitation, which, thankfully, did not break my head, I trudged to the library. I’d been planning on going home first to change so I could look halfway decent before meeting Hawk at eight — even though I didn’t know why I cared — but I had too much work to do and not an ounce of energy left in my body. The huge Temple sweatshirt, old yoga pants, and sneakers would have to be okay.

Not that Hawk would care what I looked like, anyway.

Not that I cared if he cared.

I gave my head a quick shake as I unloaded my bag onto my favorite table, right in view of the main entrance, and buckled down. It took two more cups of coffee from the cafe in the lobby and until the sun had well set outside, but I finally made it through the answers to six questions with all the right answers.

I checked my watch and saw that it was eight thirty at the same time that a growl ripped through my stomach.

Seriously? This asshole was going to be half an hour late to our first meeting?

I stood up in a huff to throw my books and laptop into my bag. Frickin’ fine. If he didn’t care, neither did I. I’d just get to class a little early tomorrow — even though I cringed at the thought of getting to there even earlier — and talk to Professor Simon about either changing partners or just doing this stupid thing myself. I’d be perfectly fine doing all the work, having the excuse to daydream about my future practice, and being 100 percent responsible for my own grade in an easy-as-pie general education class.

I threw on my puffy winter coat, slung my bag over my shoulder, and headed out. Right when I pushed through the heavy door that led outside, I smacked headfirst into someone else.

“Ow!” I cried. I really had to stop doing that.

I looked up and, once, again, my eyes met a pair of ice blue ones.

“Joey,” Hawk’s gruff voice said through clouds in the frigid air. “I know I’m late. I….”

I held up a hand, and he stopped mid-sentence.

“Whatever,” I said. “Your life is busy. I get it, okay? I’ll talk to Professor Simon tomorrow and get a new partner.”

I shouldered past him, trying to ignore the amazing cologne-of-boy smell that followed me. Why did a guy so infuriating have to smell so good? Not only that, but why did he always smell either really bad or really amazing?

“Hey, hey, hey! Josephine!” he called.

Something about the way he said my full name sent shivers down my spine and stopped me in my tracks.

I stood for a few seconds and let him catch up with me. Snow flurries whirled through the air, and the bitter cold surrounded me. But when Hawk reached me, I felt suddenly warmer. The soft glow of the street lamps cast his face in warm light, and for the first time, I noticed a feature other than that cool blue sparkle of his eyes. Several, actually. There was a hard line to his jaw that, when combined with his high cheekbones, was absolutely statuesque. A day’s worth of scruff stretched out along his face and perfectly matched the wild, dark brown mop on top of his head. His lips were full and warm, the breath coming from them seeming to heat the air an unusual amount, filling the space between us with fleeting white clouds of steam.

“Look, I had to work late, okay? I forgot my watch and I wanted to clean up, and by the time I left the house again… I ran here, basically.” Then he was quiet, staring at me expectantly.

My stomach responded before my mouth could, ripping a growl through the air.

“Well, I guess I don’t have to tell you I’m starving,” I said. “And frickin’ exhausted. My best friend had to drag me out of bed for class, my Orgo homework is kicking my ass, and I haven’t had anything to eat all day.”

“I don’t know what Orgo is, but I can definitely help you with the ‘starving’ thing.” His lips looked like they wanted to curve into a smile, but they sort of trembled and fell again.

Was this some weird kind of pickup line? I narrowed my eyes at him and cocked my head to the side.

“I work at a restaurant, remember? Come on — I’ll get you something to eat, and we’ll have our project meeting or whatever then.”

I took a deep breath. I barely knew this guy, and I was so tired I could collapse in a heap right there in the middle of the sidewalk, but there was no denying how hungry I was. And, I rationalized, I did sort of know this guy. I mean, he was enrolled at the University. How bad could he be?

Stupid, Joey. That’s stupid.

I pulled out my phone and pulled up my text messages, typing in Cat’s name. “Where is it?”

“Right near 39th and Sansom.” He laughed. “Text your friend or whatever, but I promise you it’s cool.”

I clicked
send
on the text.

He leaned his head to the right and said, “This way.”

We headed toward a bright blue motorbike with slim tires, its once-shiny front splattered with white salt scars from the winter city roads.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You’re driving us? On this thing?”

“Unless you want to walk fifteen blocks in this weather,” he said, the left side of his lip quirking up.

I hastily texted Cat the description of the bike — “blue motorbike, God help me” was about the best I could do.

Hawk handed me a helmet, one of those full-head deals with a face shield.

“Where’s yours?” I asked, examining it for a second before realizing I really had no choice but to put it on.

“That’s mine. But I’m cool.”

“No, no. It’s okay. Seriously, I can just walk home. This isn’t safe. You should have a helmet.”

He rolled his eyes and huffed. “Girls don’t ride on my bike without a helmet. Besides, you should never worry about anyone but yourself. You’re covered, and I know what I’m doing. Now, come on.” Hawk blew on his fingers for a few seconds before pulling some leather gloves out of his pocket. As he pulled them on, I couldn’t help but notice his hands — they looked a little weathered, a little chapped, but strong. Rough in the way a guy’s hands should be. He straddled the bike, and my eyes darted to the way his jeans stretched against his thighs and the way his long, strong fingers wrapped around the handlebars.

“Well, come on. We’re not getting warmer out here.” He twisted the key in the ignition, then stared at the street and my jaw flexed.

“Am I just supposed to…get on?”

He raised his eyebrows and gave a short nod then looked forward again. I’d never once in my life considered riding on motorcycle or any gas-powered vehicle without walls. Not even a Jeep. And now I was just supposed jump on the back of a bike with this asshole?

Still, he was an asshole who cared whether I was hungry. Maybe that should count for something. I trudged over to the bike and took a deep breath.

I was so short that I could barely swing my leg over the bike on the first try. Hawk wasn’t a big guy, but there was barely any room on the seat so my crotch ended up pressed right against his butt. Through the thin cotton of my yoga pants, I felt every seam of his jeans on my inner thighs.

“Hold on,” he said with another small smile thrown over his shoulder.

“Uh….” I didn’t know what I was supposed to hang on to, considering he was just wearing a sweater and a t-shirt with jeans. My stomach flipped when I thought about looping my fingers into his belt loops or wrapping them around his waist. Definitely too intimate. So I just put my hands on his sides, hoping the need to “hold on” wasn’t as serious as he made it sound.

When the bike jerked forward, though, I knew it was. My fingers automatically curled into the rib-knit of his sweater and felt the hard muscle underneath.

Whoa.

My cheeks burned hot again as we cruised through the dark University City streets, the orange streetlights and neon bar signs flashing by us like freaky, overgrown fireflies. It was a Wednesday night, and we were in the Penn neighborhood now, so almost no one was out. It only took a few minutes to reach Sansom.

Hawk eased the bike, whose sound died down from “chainsaw” to “buzz saw” when it idled.

I cleared my throat. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Can’t prep for class when you’re starving.”

I would have shot him a smile, but I was too busy noticing what kind of a “little place” Hawk was talking about — one of those small corner bars with glass blocks instead of windows.

“This is the restaurant?” I tried to keep the dismay out of my voice.

“Well, it’s a bar,” he said, yanking the key out of the transmission and rubbing the back of his neck. “But there’s good food.”

I stared at him for a second.

“Look,” he said. “You’re hungry, right? We’re already here. I’m not sure why you think I’m a creep or a serial killer or whatever, but I swear to God, I’m not. Okay? And we have to talk about this project, so you might as well eat something.”

My heart sank into my stomach. Maybe this guy was rude, but he was apparently not a serial killer. Or a creep.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, wrapping my left hand around the strap of my backpack and pushing my way out the door with the other.

“Wait here,” Hawk said. “There’s a door on the side — I stash the bike in there.” A few seconds later he was back, motioning toward the bar’s door.

“After you,” he said in that gruff, dismissive tone.

Once I got inside, the smell of half-stale cigarette smoke consumed me. Some of the pieces of the Hawk-puzzle started to click together in my head. A late night working at the bar would have made his clothes smell gross and smoky for sure.

The low volume of a room full of guys talking over beers surrounded me. There were half a dozen sitting at the bar, and a few other tables of bro’s hanging out and playing pool. I was the only woman in here, but at least I wasn’t the only other person in here. Hawk took my jacket and his and hung them both on hooks next to the door. He cocked his head at a small table against the wall.

“I’ll clear this one up and order you the house specialty,” he said. I dropped my bag next to the wobbly wooden chair and watched those fascinating hands of his pick up a pile of used napkins, an empty fry basket, and a beer pitcher with only the dregs left.

“Hey, boy!” An older man — probably about fifty years old — pushed through the double doors near the back of the small, smoky space. “Well, hell,” he laughed, smiling at me and then glancing back at Hawk. “And you swore I’d never see you with another girl, let alone in here.”

I raised my eyebrow at Hawk, and he rolled his eyes, turning to me. “Don’t listen to him.”

The man clapped Hawk on the back with one hand and pulled out a white towel with the other. “I’ll wipe this down for you, Will. You take those back and get her order up. Sweetheart, you just have a seat. You want a beer? We don’t get too many ladies in here.” As he leaned over me to wipe down the table, the smell of beer on his breath overwhelmed me. Yeesh.

I forced a smile and cleared my throat. “No, thanks…uh… I’m fine.” I smiled at him again, and he seemed satisfied.

Three minutes later, Hawk was back with a pitcher — full of soda, not beer — and a basket lined with grease-catching paper. He settled himself across the table from me, glancing around at the bar’s occupants and pressing his mouth into a line.

“Best potato skins in the city,” he announced, turning his eyes on me.

“You’ll have to talk to Nate about that,” I said under my breath. I was sure Cat’s boyfriend, the foodie, had a recipe for these greasy pockets of awesomeness, but I doubted any of them would taste as good to me at this moment, especially given how hungry I was.

“Who?”

“No one,” I said. “My best friend’s boyfriend. Obsessive cook. Big buff guy. Practically melts into a puddle when he tastes his own cooking. It’s kind of hilarious. And kind of pathetic.”

It wasn’t exactly ideal conditions for snacking — in a smoky bar, sitting across from a totally hot guy — but I was starving. I reached for a potato skin and shoved it into my mouth.

Oh. My. God. My eyes rolled back in my head, and I was pretty sure I moaned.

For the first time ever, I heard Hawk laugh out loud. It was a deep, throaty, satisfied sound. It was actually pretty damn sexy. Which was the only thing that could sort of distract me from this frickin’ amazing potato-cheese-and-bacon explosion in my mouth.

Okay, maybe I was doing exactly the same thing I’d just made fun of Nate for.