Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 7
I cringe as Emma continues, “invited you to a party last Friday, blew you off, left a signed first edition of a book you like at your door, and then asked you to go to the library on a Friday night, to work on a paper?”
“Yeah,” I shrug, not knowing what else to say.
Emma taps the air with her index finger, “There’s something real sketch about this.”
I frown, feeling slightly offended, “Why?”
She squints at me skeptically, “Doesn’t it seem odd to you?”
I crossed my arms with indignance, “Yeah, it’s real sketch that some guy wants to spend time with me!”
Emma thrusts her arm out in desperation, “But it’s the library! And after what he did?”
Katie’s eyebrows shoot up and she smacks her knee, “Exactly! That’s the last place something sketch would happen!”
“That’s not true!” Barrett bursts out of the bedroom, “Have you ever been back in the stacks late at night? Some people are freaks.”
Katie’s eyes light up, “Maybe that’s why he wants to go to the library!”
“Oh my god!” I shout in exasperation, slamming my palm down on the sofa cushion.
Suddenly, I feel my phone vibrate.
COLSON (6:09PM): Be on campus in 15
Ten minutes later, after practically fleeing my apartment, I’m in my blue Impreza speeding toward campus to meet Colson at the glass doors in front of Thompson. I’m not a complete fool, I make sure to look halfway decent by scrunching my hair and putting on some makeup before I leave, even if I have to deal with Katie and Barrett’s jeers and Emma’s disapproving looks as I go.
I park on an empty side street next to the classroom buildings, where I can already hear the familiar Friday night sounds in the distance; disembodied shouts and laughs preparing to guzzle too much alcohol in too short of a time.
I stroll into the oval, meandering along the spiderweb paths and breathing aromas of cut grass and wood fire smoke. As I approach the cut stone arches framing the entrance, I see Colson standing against the wall next to the glass doors, his hands tucked in the pockets of his hunter green Patagonia jacket. He’s wearing charcoal grey joggers with a black T-shirt and the same grey and neon yellow sneakers he wears every single day. As soon as we make eye contact, I wave and he comes to the edge of the brick path to wait for me.
“You made it.” His deep voice sounds louder without the dull roar of a crowded campus.
“Barely,” I say as I follow him to the glass doors, “I didn’t realize how everyone would lose their minds after they found out I was going to the library and not out to the bar.”
“Which ones do you go to?” he asks, holding the door open for me.
“Either Tank’s or Four North.”
“I’ve never seen you at Four North.”
I glance over my shoulder at him with a smirk, “I guess that depends how drunk you are.”
Or how many girls are hanging on you at one time.
“Brett’s got jokes,” he drawls as he follows me through the doors.
We make our way across the marble floor to the stairs and up the staircase to the third floor, emerging into a long room lined with thick, oak tables. The entire floor looks empty, unsurprising for a Friday night. I choose one across the room beneath one of the giant windows.
“Hey, um…” I hesitate as I pull out my chair, trying to decide how to broach the subject, “thank you—for the book.” It shouldn’t be this difficult, but it is.
“You’re welcome,” Colson cracks a smile and sits down next to me.
“It must’ve been hard to find,” I say as I take my laptop out of my bag, “and expensive. Where did you get it?”
He gives a shrug and drops his backpack next to his chair, “You can find anything if you know the right people.”
I respond with a massive side-eye, “And you know people who conveniently have signed first editions of a book we were randomly talking about in a random elective course?”
“Just enjoy it,” he smiles, “I meet a lot of different people at work.”
“Where do you work?”
Colson shakes off his jacket and lets it fall over the back of his chair, “The Metro Parks. I didn’t think it would be as cool as interning with the rangers at a national park, but it’s not bad.”
“Is that what you want to do—be a park ranger?”
“That’s the plan,” he leans back and stretches, clasping his hands behind his head, “be outside all day, with the trees and animals, maybe eventually make it out west,” he grins, “I guess we’ll see what happens.”
“That’s a good attitude to have.”
He glances at the home screen on his laptop and then at me, “What about you?”
I gaze across the room at the walls decorated with intricate wood carvings and elegant crown molding painted a warm white. I don’t have a clue what I want to do as a Biomedical Engineering major with a minor in English.
“Probably research,” I scrunch up my nose, “there’s a lot of contract and academic research around here, so I’ll probably end up doing something like that.”
Colson tosses his camo Mossy Oak cap onto the table and runs his fingers through his dark auburn hair, returning it to its usual chaotic mess, “Where are you from?”
“North Bay,” I prop my elbow on the table and rest my chin in my hand, “up on the lake. Where are you from?”
“I was born in Colorado, outside Gunnison. My dad still lives there, but I moved to Dire Ridge with my mom in elementary school. That’s how I ended up here.”
“OK,” I nod, “so out west is kind of home for you.”
For a moment, Colson’s eyes suddenly take on a far-off look, “Not really,” he shakes his head, “it’s beautiful out there, but this is where my home is.” He changes the subject and motions to my shirt, “You like baseball?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I glance down at my shirt with its Navy blue and white C wrapped around an anchor, “I played softball in high school, but I’ve only been to a couple games here. Now, I just bike.”
“Really?”
There’s subtle change in Colson’s tone and when I look up, he’s staring at me with his mouth slightly ajar. His eyes are laser focused on me, like I just said something surprising.
I squint back at him, “Yeah?”
His expression immediately returns to normal when he realizes he’s looking at me like a total weirdo, “What position did you play?”
“Second base.”
This time, I watch his face, and when I respond, he looks down at the floor and presses his mouth together like he’s either trying not to smile or trying not to say what he’s really thinking.
Maybe he just really likes baseball…
He changes the subject—again, “Have you been here since freshman year?”
“Yes,” I give a laugh, making it obvious that I’ve noticed his weird responses.
“I’ve never seen you around until this year.”
“It’s a big place—you probably have and didn’t notice.”
“I would’ve noticed.”
I cast him a skeptical look, “Why?”
Colson cracks a smile, “Because you always have this fuck around and find out look on your face.” To which I let out an unexpectedly loud laugh, my voice echoing through the empty room. “Fiery redhead over here,” he adds with a smirk.
“I am not!” I shoot back, “And even if I do look like that, it goes well with this unbothered vibe you have going on.”
He furrows his brow, “What’s that?”
I eye him for a moment and then sit back in my chair, cross my arms, stretch my legs out under the table, cross my ankles, relax my face into a stolid expression, and then slowly tilt my head to the side.
“Do I really look like that?”
“All the time,” I say with a nod.
Colson bites his lip, “Fine,” then he scoots his chair closer to the table and motions to my laptop, “so, what the fuck are we supposed to be writing about?”
I click on my bookmark to Carmen in my browser’s toolbar, where my classes and all their assignments are listed, “Don’t feel bad,” I click the link to the PDF of our paper guidelines, chuckling to myself as I drag the cursor back and forth, “I swear that I’ve seen you somewhere before, but I don’t know where. It’s been driving me crazy all semester.”
“Really?” Colson glances at me with intrigue.
“Yeah,” I knit my brow in frustration as I stare at him, trying for the millionth time, to place his face.
I don’t know why this bothers me so much. It’s more annoying than anything. But, this time, when I look at him, my heart stops. His shoulders are slumped forward so his head is bowed ever so slightly, making his face look exactly like it does in my mind when I try to remember where I’ve seen him. His mouth is relaxed, but not quite smiling, and his aquamarine eyes are studying me, like he’s waiting for me to do or say something.
I feel a jolt of adrenaline and my skin starts to tingle. It’s right there—his face is right there—but nothing comes to mind. It’s just a void, a vacant gap in time.
“Just like this,” I nod at him and sit up straight, trying to shake the eerie feeling scurrying up my back.
Colson cracks a smile, “Like what?”
“I have this really weird memory of seeing your face exactly like this—” I motion to him, “same angle, same distance away, same everything. But I know I haven’t, because I only met you this semester.”
“Wow,” Colson holds my gaze for a moment, then shrugs, “maybe you have seen me before.”
“I don’t know,” I shake my head, “it’s weird.” And then I dismiss the thought, yet again, before I rotate my laptop toward him and begin scanning the assignment.
When Colson leans forward to read it, I suddenly feel something just above my knee. My eyes fall to my leg, where Colson’s left hand is now resting on my thigh. His thumb taps the top of my leg and the rest of his fingers curve around the inside. When I slowly shift my eyes back up, he’s still staring at the screen reading the document.
Unbothered.
My heart starts pounding in my ears because Colson Lutz is touching me.
At first, it seems like he’s totally unaware, his head tilted in his usual bored demeanor as though his hands are operating independently from his body. His fingers contract along the inside of my thigh, like someone busying their hands absentmindedly. Meanwhile, my eyes dart in and out of my periphery, unsure of what to do or how to respond.
Finally, he leans back in his chair and looks at me, “I’m going to be honest. I really don’t want to be here right now.”
I look at his hand, which hasn’t moved, “OK?”
Colson furrows his brow, “Do you?”
“You really think I want to spend a Friday night at the fucking library writing a paper?”
A smile spreads across his face, “I didn’t know what you like to do, so I decided to start here.”
I press my mouth together with irritation, “You could’ve just asked,” I snip. “A party sounds like a lot more fun, doesn’t it?”
I don’t care if he’s touching me, that was still dirty.
Colson straightens up and lets his head fall back, then closes his eyes and runs his hands up his face, rubbing his eyes in exasperation. He leans forward and grabs both sides of my chair, rotating the whole thing until I’m facing him, and then grasps the sides of my thighs.
“Hey,” he lowers his voice and speaks slowly with intention, “I’m really sorry I treated you like that. I’ll never do it again. And the only place I want to be right now is here with you.”
I can’t get over Colson’s blue lagoon eyes. They’re too distracting. The longer I stare at them, the more I start to believe him. That, and I also want him to keep touching me. I’ll stay here at the library doing nothing and waste an entire Friday night if it means he won’t take his hands off my legs.
“It’s probably better that happened, though,” he runs his thumbs back and forth over my leggings as he speaks.
I squint at him suspiciously, “Why?”
“Because now it’s just you and me, with no noise, no drunk idiots, and no distractions.”
I shift my jaw back and forth, trying in vain to tamp down the smile tugging at my muscles. Maybe it’s childish, but I still want him to think I’m angry. And I still am, to some extent. But I still wonder if he’s being authentic or if he’s just another asshole with nothing better to do. I’m failing, though. He sees right through it.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
“And do what?”
Colson gazes around the room at the medieval tapestries lining the third floor from one side to the other, “I don’t know,” he muses, “want to just drive and figure it out on the way?”
Without a word, I reach up and slowly push my laptop closed, clicking it shut with a smile.
The sun has already disappeared behind the maples lining the far side of the oval, casting a splash of pink through the clouds that fades into a deep purple. I closely follow Colson around the side of the building toward a line of parallel parked cars.
He motions further up the sidewalk, “I’m just up here.”
I slow to a halt when I reach the back bumper of a red SUV. My eyes run along the sides, up the front, and back to the bumper again, eyeing the white FORD painted across the raised metal of the hatch.
“Do you seriously drive an old Bronco?”
Colson looks over his shoulder at me, his hand on the driver’s side door, “It’s not old, it’s a classic,” he responds with a grin, “Eddie Bauer edition, even.”
I make my way to the passenger side and tug open the door. The interior looks like it’s either never been driven or been totally restored to its original state. I hoist myself into the beige leather seat and lift my bag over the center console to the back. The back of the Bronco is devoid of seats and now serves as one large cargo area with a tool box and duffel bag pushed against the wall. Laying on the black floorboards are a couple of green, metal T-posts and two large, yellow rolls of measuring tape. Colson sets his backpack down in his lap and unzips the main compartment.
He lifts a bottle from his backpack and hands it to me, “This is for you.”
I recognize the familiar shape and turn it around to read the label. A Naked Mango Madness smoothie—with protein.
I break into a laugh, “It’s like we’re back in class!” I exclaim sarcastically.
“God,” Colson backs the Bronco into the empty space behind him and shifts into drive, “I hope I’m more interesting than that.”
He spins the steering wheel and pulls away from the curb, leaving the library and any thoughts of academic rigor behind. I take a sip of the mango smoothie, eyeing him from the passenger seat.
“What?” he demands as we speed through campus.
“Friday night at the library writing a paper?” I shake my head with a tsk, “So lame.”
“Whatever,” Colson chuckles and flips his turn signal, “you did say yes.”
He has me there.
“OK,” Colson looks at me out of the corner of his eye, “where to?”
“Get on 315,” I reply, pondering the variety of options along this thoroughfare.
A few minutes later, Colson hits the accelerator and merges onto the freeway, going south, away from campus. Following the river, we pass the downtown skyline illuminated by the setting sun, continue beyond the soccer stadium, and approach the southwest side of the city.
“Alright,” Colson scans the highway signage along the road, “now where are we going?”
I empty the rest of the smoothie into my mouth and twist the cap back on the bottle, “It’s your turn,” I chirp as I reach behind me and drop the spent bottle into my bag.
Colson flips his turn signal and veers onto the interstate ramp, “How about Cincinnati?” He reaches for the volume knob and turns up the stereo, filling the Bronco with Satellite by Starset.
“Sounds good,” I nod as I begin to peel off my fleece jacket.
“You’re really OK with this?”
Once my arms are free, I settle back into my seat and brush my hair out of my eyes, “Why not?”
●●●
I feel a tap on my arm and look up from my plate of bougie nachos to see Colson’s arm extended out in front of us. He’s holding his phone in selfie-mode and I, instinctively, tilt my head toward him and smile.
“What’s that?” I ask as he retracts his arm.
“It’s so people know that I do like hanging out with you outside of class.”
“Ah,” I nod, “an hour and a half away on the riverfront, no less.”
A moment later, I feel my phone buzz with the notification that I’m tagged in the photo.
“No riverfront, yet,” Colson slides his phone back into his pocket, “I can take another one outside.”
“You’re nothing if not thorough,” I say, wiping my fingers on a napkin and drop it next to my plate, “but I have to ask…”
“Mm-hm?” Colson rests his elbows on the edge of the bar and looks at me expectantly.
“Were you attacked by a bear in Alaska?”
He stares at me with amusement, “What?”
His response doesn’t surprise me. It was a vague story, if you could call it that, and the accuracy was questionable, just like most of the conversation that took place in the apartment before I left.
“My friend, Katie Van Outer, said her boyfriend, Dominic, knows you and that you used to street race and you went to Alaska and were attacked by a bear.”
Colson picks up his glass and gulps down the rest of his beer. Eyeing me, he retrieves his wallet from the pocket of his joggers and pulls out a credit card, dropping it on top of the check behind the plate of nachos.
“Yeah, I know Dominic,” he takes his time responding, knowing that I don’t actually care whether he knows Dominic or not, “and I can neither confirm nor deny my street racing experience,” he smirks, “but I did work in Alaska last summer. I saw a lot of bears, but I didn’t get attacked by any.”
“Not as exciting,” I concede, “but I’m glad that part wasn’t true.”
Once the bartender slides his card and a receipt back over the counter, Colson slides off his stool and pushes it back under the bar with his foot, “Anything else you want to know?”
