Ruin(9)

Lisa grinned. “Well, my work here is done. I just saw one of the guys I met at registration. He walked in, our eyes met. Now I’m going to meet him in the middle of the dance floor.”
When she left, Gabe murmured, “She likes to narrate her own life.”
“Cool.” I laughed. “She needs her own soundtrack.”
“Don’t tell her that.” Gabe shook his head. “I wouldn’t put it past her to start singing rather than talking. And I’m already losing IQ points by hanging out with her.”
The conversation slid into a lull. Weston was still staring. Gabe’s grin grew wider by the minute. Finally, he mumbled something about spiking the punch and walked off. Which really just meant that Weston was the worst RA in the history of RA’s. Especially if he was okay with Gabe spiking things.
“Let’s take a walk.” He offered his arm.
I paused, staring at the outstretched arm and then back at his eyes. “I don’t know if I should.”
“I didn’t do it.” He swallowed, his eyes closing for a brief second before meeting mine again. “The rape? I’m sure you’ve heard about it by now. You can trust me. In fact, I’ll even let you have one of the rape whistles.”
“You carry them?” My eyes widened.
“Hey, guys get raped too.” His smile fell, and then he reached into his pocket and handed me a whistle. “Don’t forget the most important part about owning one of these babies.”
“What?” I took the red whistle in my hands and examined it.
Weston’s breath fanned my face. “Blow.”
“Huh?” Okay, I was going to pass out. His lips were inches from mine.
“You have to blow…” His full lips expanded into a bold grin. “The whistle. You know, in order to get help.”
“Oh,” I said, breathless. “Right.”
He led me out of the lobby. I was lucky to be walking in straight lines after that little exchange. I had no idea why I’d captured his attention, but I still had that sinking feeling in the back of my mind that it wasn’t a good thing. Being his friend would never work and being more scared me half to death.



Chapter Seven

Note to self, when a girl’s smile makes you forget your own name — you’re in some deep shit.

Weston
“This way.” I grabbed her hand and led her down the street. “So, tell me about yourself, Kiersten.” Lame. My first question was so unoriginal I wanted to punch myself. That was what freshman orientation did to a person.
“I’m eighteen.”
“No, I didn’t—” I turned and found myself under the full force of her green eyes penetrating mine. “That is, yes, I’m glad you’re over eighteen, I don’t want to get in trouble for holding your hand or anything.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t strike me as the type of guy who just holds hands.”
“You’re right.” I exhaled. “But I’m a fan of hands, or maybe it’s just yours, Lamb.” It was true. I liked her hands. Everything about her screamed innocence. I almost felt bad for corrupting her, for wanting her. Almost being the key word.
“And there’s the nickname.”
”There it is,” I agreed, then squeezed her hand more. We walked across the lawn and down to the sidewalk in silence. As we passed a few cars, the silence stretched out even further, then finally, beneath the second street lamp, she stopped, tugging her hand back.
“Look…” She shifted nervously from foot to foot, her innocent eyes darted from the ground to my face. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do here. I appreciate your help and stuff today, but…”
Amused, I raised my eyebrows. “But?”
“I’m not like that,” she whispered.
“Like what?”
“That.” Her cheeks were stained pink. “I don’t hook up with guys.”
“Oh, that.” I grinned at her embarrassment. “I don’t either.”
“Huh?”
“Hook up with guys. I’m not like that. So now that we’ve had that particular conversation, we can be friends.” I reached for her hand again.
“I, uh—” She wasn’t able to finish her sentence, because one of my teammates had the worst timing in the universe and just happened to drive by.
“Michels!” he shouted out his window. “Party at Kappa tonight!” He honked his horn and peeled out.
“Friends?” she asked.
“Worse.” I chuckled. “Teammates.” I stopped walking and touched her arm lightly. “You want to go to a different party?”
“I should probably get back—”
“Come.” I pulled her closer to me. “Just for a few minutes. I’ll introduce you to some upperclassmen, get you some milk, and have you tucked into your bed safely by midnight.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Fine, I’ll have you tucked in alone. As in, without me.”
Kiersten looked down the street. “Fine. Thirty minutes and don’t think I won’t use the rape whistle!”
“Please,” I whispered. “Then when you return it I’ll know exactly what it feels to have your lips blowing across mine.”
She flinched. “You can’t say things like that to me.”
“Why?” I tilted her chin toward my face. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Fine.” I sighed.“I’ll just think them and look longingly in your direction every few minutes, sound good?”