"And remember, those essays are due tomorrow," our professor calls out as we leave the class. The campus is bustling with noise and students right now, the momentary sun beckoning everyone to come out onto the lawns of the college. There was a couple of guys tossing a frisbee and girls giggling on the picnic tables nearby, all embracing the nice weather that had been offered up to Washington these past few days.
And then something collided with my chest. It was hard and a little sharp, and knocked the air out of me efficiently. In a flurry of movements, I saw a girl — brunette — pick up her psychology textbook that had landed near my feet, and stand up with an aggravated huff. As she stood, her green eyes met mine, they flashed with annoyance and then brief recognition, before reaching back to a feigned sense of submission. She lowered her gaze to her feet and then shifted on one foot, adjusting her glasses and letting her hair fall to cover her face. Her eyes seemed so familiar, but I couldn't exactly accept the idea that she was the girl from last night. I followed the lines of her nose down to her lips, and they looked so damn similar to the girl in the red dress, but how? They had different hair colors for one thing and -
"I'm really sorry for bumping into you," she mumbles, ending the ramble in my thoughts, but fuck, that voice...
"You're the girl from last night," I conclude, leaving no hesitancy in my findings.
"What?" she asks, her eyes snapping up to mine.
"You're the girl in the red dress. You were at that party. The frat party?" I say, giving her more details. Confusion creeps into my tone— maybe she's not the girl? Maybe I'm imagining things because I want it to be her?
"Look, I really don't know who you're talking about right now-" she continues, dismissing my description, and I'm about to believe her, but her voice. It's the same melody from last night that I can't seem to get out of my head no matter how much I try.
"I think you do. I think you're her. I don't know why you're brunette now or why you have glasses, but maybe you're wearing a wig, or maybe you had contacts in the other night but-" I mutter, my explanation becoming longer and more winding, until she cuts me off by placing a firm hand on my mouth. Her green eyes are angry now, as she takes my arm tightly, and drags me into one of the campus buildings.
"I should've listened to Mark when he told me to stay away from college boys," she whispers to herself, and my blood ran cold. Was Mark her boyfriend? And more importantly, why was I jealous?
"Who's Mark?" I question, earning another glare from her, as she leads us further into a building. She stops in front of an empty classroom, opening the door for me to enter.
"He's a friend," she answers shortly, closing the door after she comes into the room herself. "Anyways, about what you think-"
"You mean, about what I know," I interrupt, feeling my lips curl into a smirk.
"I'm not giving you an explanation," she deadpans, dropping her psychology textbook on the professor's desk. "We had a good time last night. That's it. You don't need or deserve an explanation."
"Okay," I shrug lazily. "I'll come up with my own. Are you on the run from the mafia? Are you a hardened criminal that the FBI is looking for? Are you-"
"You're an idiot," she states, cutting off my creative reasons for why she's in disguise. "Everett, I can't tell you anything. It'll get me in trouble. And you're probably never going to see me again after today, so it won't even matter."
"Why won't I see you again? Are you leaving?" I ask her, panic setting in as I realize that this might be my last few moments with her.
"No," she chuckles. "I just mean that this campus is huge and I'm sure we can avoid each other."
"But I don't want to avoid you?" I retort, my statement coming out more like a question.
"You're Everett Powers. The campus hotshot who's super fucking rich. Why would you want anything more to do with me? You got in my pants, isn't that all you need?" she questions, her words sounding more desperate as she continues.
"I like you?"
"You like me because I'm good in bed," she declares, scoffing at me attempting to voice my feelings.
"Well, that's true... but I do want to get to know you more. No girl's made me feel the way you have," I tell her.
"Wow, such high praise," she murmurs, still unimpressed. I don't know what else I can say to convince her, so I decide to take a step closer to her and use the expression I'm more comfortable with. I reach out to touch her cheek, and she looks at my hand as if it was a blue alien giving her a strawberry cake.
"Are you telling me, that when I do this," I whisper, brushing her hair back and looking into her eyes, "that you don't feel anything?"
Her breathing elevates and I swear I can see her eyes flickering down and settling on my lips as I inch closer to her. She gasps as I consume the little space between us and press my lips against hers. At first, she doesn't react, and I rethink my actions as the seconds pass, but just as I begin to move away from her, she reaches up to tangle her hands into my hair. She moans into my mouth as I swipe my tongue across her lips, my hands slipping from the side of her face to her waist. Her body presses closer to mine as we stumble back and lean against the desk, knocking her psychology textbook to the ground.
The loud sound of her textbook hitting the concrete floor startles her, and she pulls away from me quickly. She looks at me guiltily, as she pushes herself away from the desk and me, reaching for her textbook. "It doesn't matter how I feel," she divulges, turning for the door.
"Wait," I call out to her, my heart tearing itself apart as I realize I didn't change her mind. She looks back at me expectantly, and I can see her struggling to keep the lust from her expression. "Can I at least know your name? It's only fair. You know mine."
I can see the debate in her eyes, but she finally settles on an answer as she reaches for the doorknob. I almost don't catch it because her voice is so soft, and the noises of the outside are unearthed as she opens the door, but somehow it drifts over to me.
Carmen.
