The Locker Room(11)

“And Dottie and Lindsay, they’re showing you around?”

“Yes,” I say in exasperation. “They’re my best friends, who changed dorms to make room for me, do you really think they were going to throw me in a frat party and say good luck?”

“Maybe,” my mom answers.

“We worked through everything with Neil. They’re happy I’m here, trust me; if anything, they’re helping me have more fun.” Like going to baseball parties where there are hot baseball players I should stay away from, one “horny” one in particular.

“Oh? What kind of fun?”

“You know, getting me to crawl out of my shell. Experience life.”

I don’t need to mention the whole boob in the hand, passing out with a stranger kind of fun. Nor do I mention the party we went to this past weekend, because there are things parents need to know and things parents don’t need to know. Partying with a bunch of jocks with healthy libidos is not something a mother needs to know about her daughter.

Even if nothing happened.

I don’t need the pregnancy lectures, or the packages sent from home full of contraceptives and pamphlets on being a young, single mother.

Or a letter stating my mom is not ready to be a grandmother yet.

Yup, all things I’ve received in the mail before, even when I was living at home. I love my mom, but she likes to make a point with a flair for dramatics.

“As long as you’re being safe then, have fun.”

“Of course I’m being safe,” I sigh just as I spot a familiar sweatshirt out of the corner of my eye. I glance to the right and make eye contact with Knox Gentry. A smile graces his handsome face, his hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he’s making a beeline for me. Oh hell. “Hey Mom, I have to go. I’m heading into class.”

“Okay, sweetie. Give me a call later this week so we can catch up some more.”

“Sure. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hang up just as Knox reaches me and slings his arm around my shoulder for a brief side hug. “How’s my favorite panther?”

What’s that heavenly scent?

Man . . . that’s what it is, just pure man.

Or Ralph Lauren.

Because I’m not an ice queen, I return the hug and then pull away while subtly taking in a long whiff of his fresh scent. “Favorite panther? Really? I thought that was the girl you were making out with on Saturday.”

Yup, after he was all buddy-buddy with me, I saw his lips doing work elsewhere. Not that it matters, we are by no means dating, but it’s nice to know that although he put himself front and center as my welcoming party, he’s not actually caught up in me. I can see now that I lost sight of who I was when I dated Neil. Our worlds revolved around each other a lot. But here, I’m me. I’m not part of Neil and Emory, and I like that freedom. I refuse to believe I caused Neil’s cheating. Sex with him was mediocre at best, and I’ve been released from pretending now. Kind of liberating. So, Mr. Gentry can lip lock with whoever he chooses.

Not even showing an ounce of shame, he says, “She was a jaguar, huge difference, and we weren’t making out. She kissed me once and I returned it because, why not?” He tugs on my jacket. “Why? Jealous?”

“Not even in the slightest,” I answer, turning around so I can talk to him while walking backward. “Was interesting seeing your type.”

“Yeah, and what do you think my type is?” he asks, chin lifted.

“Really short skirts.”

He chuckles and then eyes the plaid skirt I have on today—with stockings. “They don’t have to be really short necessarily. I’m good with mid-thigh.”

Without even thinking about it, I tug on my skirt that lands perfectly at mid-thigh. “Don’t you think you should get to know a girl before you start mentioning skirt length?” I ask, just before I trip over someone behind me.

Knox reaches out and grabs my hand, steadying me before I take a tumble. He waves to the person I ran into, points at me and says, “Still hungover from Sunday Funday.”

The guy I ran into doesn’t say anything but instead makes a snotty face and takes off in the other direction.

“Man, he’s rude,” Knox says before draping his arm over my shoulder again as we continue to walk to the class we share. “When are you going to give me a chance to get to know you, Em?”

His addicting cologne entices me to stay under his embrace, instead of shrugging him off like I should. But, God, it’s like bathing in a bag of pheromones over here. “You have now.”

“We are five minutes from class.”

“Well then, you better start asking questions.”

“Brutal.” He chuckles but then doesn’t waste any time in getting down to business. “Where did you transfer from?”

“California.”

“Cali girl? Explains the skirts. It gets cold here, so I hope you’re ready to pull on some pants.”

“I gathered that.” Our steps fall in line with each other, and it seems so easy to be walking side by side with him. Strangely, it doesn’t feel as weird as I’d expect. For the last six years, there’s only been one man’s arm that’s hung over my shoulder, and it certainly wasn’t as muscular and solid as Knox’s arm. Neil was barely two inches taller than I am, so I never felt so . . . cradled, for want of a different term. And it’s nice. Freeing somehow. Whereas Neil wasn’t openly warm and tactile, Knox is, and we’re barely friends.