Precious Consequences(8)

“You,” he says emphatically. “I can almost hear what you’re thinking and I know it’s not virtuous. Your body betrays you too easily, especially that gorgeous face.”

“Oh, really? And pray tell, what is my traitorous body telling you?”

His eyes grow a little darker. “You’re thinking about what my ink looks like under my shirt. And you’re wondering just how ‘cocky’ I am.”

I stare at him, my mouth dropping open and then closing again like a fish. How the hell did he do that?

“No, I’m not,” I lie. “You couldn’t be more wrong.” My shaky voice exposes my omission and even I don’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.

Cameron parks his truck, turns off the ignition and faces me. I notice then that his eyes are a mixture of blue and gray, giving them a mercurial glint, like they could possibly change with his moods. “Ya know, I really hope you’re not studying Law.”

I frown, caught off guard by his statement. “Why’s that?”

“Because you suck at lying.”

A bubble of laughter bursts free from my chest and I cup my mouth to silence my snort. I reach for the door and climb out, catching my breath. Cameron meets me in front of his truck. “I need your number, and your address,” he says.

“A serial killer and a stalker?” I tease, reaching into my bag for a pen. I write down my number and my address before handing the piece of paper over. He takes out his phone, punches my number in and I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. He cuts the call.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say. “And for having my car towed.”

“No problem. I’ll have to think of an appropriate way for you to return the favor.” He winks.

“Yeah, whatever you’re thinking, it’s not going to happen. So why don’t we say our goodbyes and go our separate ways?”

Cameron shakes his head. “No, that just won’t work.”

He reaches into my bag and pulls out another piece of paper, scribbling something before handing it back to me. I read the messy script.

U.O.ME.

Signed: Cameron Argent.

When I look up, Cameron is already walking away. He turns back to look at me, his shoulders shaking with his silent laughter. Bastard. I can’t fight the smile that breaks across my face. After an emotional start at the daycare center, I feel better. And it’s all thanks to Cameron Argent.

** ** **

I make it to class with fifteen minutes to spare. The professor hasn’t arrived yet, so I walk in and choose a seat in the middle. A few more students huddle together in the back row of desks, but other than that, there aren’t many of us. I had no idea what to expect from my first ‘Journalism Fundamentals’ class but I’m excited nonetheless. I take a seat and bend down to pull out my notebook when a commotion at the door stops me.

A girl walks in, fury written all over her face, and spins around to glare at the guy behind her. Her black hair is tied in a messy bun on top of her head and she’s wearing gray yoga pants with a black tank top. The other students grow silent, engrossed with the scene in the front of the classroom.

“Fuck you, Marcus!” the girl yells. “Don’t call me ever again!”

She turns away from him but he grabs her arm and spins her around. “Baby, please,” he pleads. “Don’t do this. We can work this out. It’s just a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?” she spits back. “Please, tell me how I can misunderstand catching you and my roommate doing it doggie style in my dorm room! I’d love to see you explain yourself out of this one!”

My eyes grow wide. This looks like an episode out of ‘Jersey Shore’, minus the fake tans.

“I’m sorry, baby,” the guy whines. “It won’t happen again.”

The girl looks at him like he’s completely crazy. “Oh, yes it will. Only this time, you’ll be single to f*ck whoever you want, you lying piece of shit!” Her hand lifts and a loud ‘smack’ echoes through the classroom as it makes contact with the guy's cheek. There’s a collective gasp followed by a round of applause and the guy has no choice but to leave, his wounded pride tucked away in is back pocket. The door closes and the girl takes a dramatic bow. She makes her way towards me and falls into the seat next to mine.

“Can you believe that f*cker?” she asks rhetorically. “Sticks his dick into someone else’s hoo-ha and thinks I’ll take him back.” Her chest heaves slightly as she tries to reign in her anger. “And you know what the worst part is?” She looks at me but doesn’t wait for me to answer. “He’s got Limp Dick Syndrome!”

The other students, still listening to her outburst, break into another round of hysterics and soon we’re all laughing. The girl sticks out her hand. “I’m Hannah,” she says. “And we’re going to be the best of friends.”

I smile back, liking her immediately. “Hayley.”

The professor walks in and the noise dies down. Since it is our first class, the professor just goes over the syllabus and class doesn’t last the full hour. I walk out and Hannah steps up to my side, threading her arm through mine. “C’mon, Hayley, let’s go grab coffee. We have an hour off before our photojournalism class,” she says.