Baumgartner Generations: Henry, page 3
part #5 of The Baumgartners Series
Henry actually considered it. Could he really do something, or have something done? Dean’s family carried a lot of clout at the university. His dad was on the Board of Regents. Maybe…
“Nah.” Henry stiffened, deciding that if Dean’s influence came with the kind of attitude he was now seeing in his roommate, he didn’t want to take anything from him. Henry kicked off his shoes and leaned back on his bed, hands behind his head, to stare up at the ceiling. “It’s just my English class. I’ll pull my grade up.”
“He’s got Franklin,” Dean explained to Libby.
“Ohhhh, not the dragon-lady.” The soft sound of her voice made Henry’s whole body respond. He’d been thinking about nothing but her since they’d met—her voice, her touch, her smile. Now to have her here in his dorm room, just a few feet away and untouchable, was the worst torture he could imagine. “I hear she eats freshmen for breakfast.”
“I transferred out first week.” Dean snorted and shook his head. “See if you can get into Parker’s class with me. She’s a pushover. Total cake-walk.”
“Too late. Tried that.” Henry sighed. “They won’t let me transfer this late.”
“Franklin’s tough, but she’s fair,” Libby countered. “And you know what? We have a great tutoring program. You can sign up at the library.”
He didn’t turn toward her, but he mumbled a, “Maybe,” in her general direction.
“Well, dude, I’m sorry.” Dean stood, stretching, and headed to their bathroom. “It sucks you aren’t gonna get any ice time just because Franklin’s a bitch.”
“She’s a pain in my ass,” Henry muttered. Just thinking about his English teacher made him borderline homicidal.
Libby giggled and Henry rolled onto his side to gaze at her, realizing Dean had just left him and Libby alone, even if just for a moment. She was cross-legged on Dean’s bed, leaning her elbows on her knees and studying at him, her hair falling over her arms and thighs like a river of lava.
“So do you do tutoring?” Henry asked, hopeful. That would be a great excuse to see her, he thought, watching as she stood, wandering around the room.
“Professor Franklin runs the Literacy Tutor Foundation. I volunteered through them last year.” Libby was exploring the surface of Dean’s desk. “Oh my god, are these real?” She held up a pair of handcuffs.
“Ask Dean.” Henry snorted. “He’s got a whole story about a cop and a prostitute he could tell you.”
“Nice.” She rolled her eyes, dropping them on the desk as if they were on fire. “Anyway, yeah, I could tutor you. If you want.”
He considered her offer. He really, really considered it.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a tutor. His particular handicap had forced him to become very resourceful over the years. He couldn’t count the number of tests he’d cheated on, the girls and friends who had written the essays and papers he’d turned in, and the tutors he had manipulated into doing most of his work. But for some reason, he didn’t want to lie to Libby.
Of course, he didn’t want her to know the truth, either. That would be awful.
“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll manage.” He always had. By high school, it was really athletics—hockey specifically—that had saved him. He’d found something he was incredibly good at, something that wasn’t just valuable to him, but something other people valued, too. His high school hockey coach had taken him under his wing, making exceptions for him and talking to all of his teachers. He went from skating by, barely passing, to getting A’s and playing great hockey. He’d even gotten a scholarship to U of M—something he was now in danger of losing.
“Well, the offer’s open.” Libby sat on the bed again as Dean came back into the room, still zipping up his jeans.
“I gotta get going,” Dean informed them, grabbing his jacket and regarding Henry. “You’ll keep Libby company during the game?”
Henry stood, walking toward the door and opening it. “Can I talk to you? In the hallway?”
Dean followed him.
Henry shut the door. His hands were shaking. “What the fuck is going on?”
“You mean Libby?” Dean took a step back when he saw Henry’s face. “Hey! Hey! It’s not serious or anything. I asked her if she wanted to go to the game and she said yes. I was as surprised as you! Besides, I thought it would give you time to get to know her, since I’ll be playing football the whole while.”
Henry frowned, hesitated. His hand was already clenched into a tight fist, cocked and ready to go. But part of him wanted to believe. Was Dean really just trying to help him? “It looked pretty serious to me.”
Dean grinned sheepishly. “Well, I wasn’t gonna turn the girl down. Would you?”
“So what is this now, a competition?”
“May the best man win?” Dean took another step back, holding up his hands and laughing. “Dude, I don’t wanna fight. We both got an equal shot. If she likes you, she’ll end up with you. If she likes me, well…” He shrugged, still smiling.
What else could he do? “Fine.”
“Still friends?”
Henry ignored Dean’s outstretched hand. How in the hell was he supposed to compete with Dean Mosher? The dorm they lived in was named after his great-great-something or other, for god’s sake! The guy had everything and he walked around like he knew it.
“Hey, will you bring Libby back here after the game? I’ve got to head over to the frat house for some setup afterward. Next week’s Greek Week, buddy!” Dean waggled his eyebrows, grinning with perfectly straight teeth, and Henry relented.
“Okay, but if the sock’s on the door, you’re sleeping on Bel’s floor—and I saw him eating baked beans at lunch today.” Henry gave him the finger as Dean laughed and walked away.
Chapter Two
“I hate football.” Libby was shivering, even in her oversized matching gold and blue scarf and knit hat and mittens, all with the U of M logo on them. She seemed so small sitting next to him.
“You’re cold.” Henry started taking off his jacket for her, but she stopped him, shaking her head and sliding her body closer, as close as she could with the armrest in the way.
“Just put your arm around me,” she urged, teeth chattering. The wind was wicked and Henry happily did as she asked.
“Better?” He smiled when she tucked her head under his chin. He could feel her body already beginning to relax.
“Much.” Her voice was muffled in his jacket. Down below, the band looked like little toy soldiers marching across the field. It was all a big show, the first game of the season.
“So if you hate football…” Henry’s arm tightened around her as they both tried to make themselves as small as possible while a man and his son squeezed by.”Why did you come?”
Libby didn’t say anything for a minute and he wondered if she was going to answer at all when she finally changed the subject and asked, “So, you play hockey?”
“Uh-huh.” In his pocket, Henry’s phone went off for the third time. He’d put it on vibrate, but it still startled them. He ignored it anyway.
She lifted her head and he liked how close she was, how her breath smelled like the cinnamon Trident gum she had been chewing on their walk to the stadium. “Think I could come watch a practice?”
“You like hockey?” She hated football and liked hockey. It had to be a sign.
“Oh I love hockey,” she agreed, snuggling closer again. “I just wish I could afford season tickets.”
“I get two free tickets for every home game. You can have them if you want. Unless my parents are coming or something. Mostly they can’t make the games. It’s too far.”
“I’d like that.” He thought he heard a smile in her voice. The stadium was on its feet now, ready to welcome the home team, but they both stayed put. “So what’s your major, Henry?”
He snorted. “Hockey.”
“Are you good enough to play pro?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. The dream of becoming a professional hockey player was so enormous for him, it was unspeakable. “Maybe.” Now he was desperate to change the subject. “So you didn’t always want to be a librarian?”
“No, I wanted to be an investigative journalist.” Libby clapped her mittened hands as the team burst out onto the field, but Henry didn’t take his arm from around her to do the same.
“What happened to that plan?” He was far more interested in their conversation than the upcoming game. Damn, there went his phone again. He jammed his hand into his pocket to silence the vibration.
She shrugged, leaning forward in her seat now to see, and he didn’t like it when she moved too far away. “Well, for one thing, newspapers are disappearing.”
“There’s always TV.”
She mock-shuddered. “I couldn’t do TV news.”
“Why not? You’re gorgeous. You’d make a great news anchor.” It was true. Of course, she could have made a great anything in that regard—model, actress, whatever. Although Henry thought it would be a waste of her real talents, he also believed someone should bask in her beauty. He selfishly thought it should be him.
“Well thanks for the compliment, but I get tongue tied.” Libby pulled out her cell phone and clicked the camera on, taking a picture of the field. “There, now we can show Dean proof we were here.”
“I bet you could overcome it,” Henry encouraged.
She made a goofy face at him, sticking out her tongue and crossing her eyes. It made him laugh. “You haven’t seen me. I freeze up. I stutter. It isn’t pretty.”
“Well, librarians are cool.” He thought whatever she did would be cool.
“So are hockey players.” She turned her attention fully to him, pressing close, her thigh brushing against his. He insanely wished, even though it was only forty-something degrees outside, that they were wearing shorts so he could feel her skin. His phone buzzed again and he swore, taking it out of his pocket.
“Who keeps calling you? Is it your girlfriend?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Henry made sure to say that first. “It’s my mother.”
“Shouldn’t you answer it?”
He clicked silence all with one hand and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. “She just wants to yell at me about my grades.”
“Oh, you have those kinds of parents too.” She had a sad sort of knowing expression in her eyes.
“Actually no.” Henry couldn’t help being fair to his mom. She hardly ever yelled at him about anything, except maybe the time when he was seven and he’d taken his dad’s spray paint from the garage so he could paint the entire lawn blue. He just wanted to play “shark,” he’d told her—and it didn’t look enough like an ocean. Mostly, she was kind and sympathetic and understanding. It drove him crazy. “She’s just worried. She wants to help.”
“Are you going to let her help?” Libby gave him a sly glance.
He shrugged. “She wants to get me a tutor.”
“Hey, that was my suggestion.”
“I know.”
“So what do you have against tutors?” She nudged him in the ribs and he grunted. “Is it a pride thing?”
“I guess.” He pretended to be interested in what was going on down on the field.
“Everybody needs help sometimes.” Libby leaned in to say this, almost whispering. “It doesn’t mean you’re stupid or anything.”
“Gee thanks.” The wind had picked up and he hoped it explained away the redness in his cheeks.
“I’m freezing.” She was shivering again and he pulled her closer, wishing the armrest between them would disappear. The band had started again, the fight song this time, and people were on their feet. At least it blocked the wind.
“Hey, do you think Dean would know if we went back to your room?”
Her words made him stiffen. In more ways than one.
“Probably not.” He tried to sound casual. “He wanted me to take you back there afterwards anyway. He’s got some frat stuff to do first.”
Libby rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Alpha Pi Alpha?”
“That’s the one.”
She made a face. “The worst of them all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He didn’t mean to sound so defensive, but Dean had convinced him it was a great group of guys, that if he pledged, he would have friends for life. “Brothers, “Dean said. That was what convinced Henry. He had an older sister, but he’d always wanted brothers.
“You’re not pledging, are you?” Libby gave him a funny look, frowning.
He loved the way her brow crinkled. Those lines would probably develop into something permanent when she was older. She’d probably hate them and curse them and want to get Botox injections or something. And he thought, if he were lucky enough to still be alive and around when Libby hated those lines, he would love them just as much then as he did right now.
Henry deflected the question. “Why?”
“I did a story for The Michigan Daily about hazing last year,” she told him. “They do some awful stuff to their pledges.”
“Ah hah!” Henry exclaimed, still deflecting. “So you were a reporter!”
“Were is the optimum word there.” Libby stood and Henry lamented this, scanning her pretty, round face. She held a gold and blue mittened hand out to him and he couldn’t resist. He would have said yes to anything she asked. “Come on, let’s go get warm.”
Libby kept close the whole walk back to the dorm, her arm linked through Henry’s—and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just because she was cold. Bel’s door was open as they went by and he waved from his bed, the TV loud. The game was on, and the cheers of the crowd sounded both on the television and far in the distance, an echo.
“This is better than shivering in the stands!” Libby pulled off her mittens, hat and scarf, shaking her hair out as she left her coat on his bed, already wandering around the room. He threw his coat next to hers, shoving them both over to sit cross-legged on the bed, watching her touch things, pick them up, put them down again.
She explored Henry’s desk this time, marveling at the volume of mini cassette tapes he had there. “Why so many?”
“I record all my lectures.” He grabbed his iPod out of habit, flipping through for something to listen to.
“Whatcha got?” Libby crawled onto the bed and he welcomed her warm weight as she settled herself beside him. “Anything good?”
Without a word, he reached over and opened his desk drawer, pulling out two pairs of headphones. He had a splitter that allowed them both to listen at the same time, and he handed her a pair. She slipped them on just as he hit play.
“The Runaways?” Libby listened, a smile curling the corners of her mouth.
He found it hard to not lean over and kiss her, both because she was so irresistible and because she’d instantly recognized the band. He held his breath as she situated herself with her head in his lap, her long legs stretched out, settling her yellow-and-blue stockinged feet halfway up his wall.
“Awesome,” she murmured, her eyes tilting back to him, and he noticed they were a shade of blue so incredible he was sure the color couldn’t have occurred anywhere in nature. “Spin me some tunes, Mr. DJ.”
He did, and although he had his own set of headphones on, he wasn’t sure he really heard any of the music he played for her. His senses were otherwise engaged, feeling the silky brush of her hair against his arm, her neck arched over the swell of his thigh, her pulse beating time at the hollow of her soft, pale throat.
He stared at her like a starving man in a prison cell watching a buffet parade by. The way her sweater pulled up when she stretched gave him an astonishing and intoxicating glimpse at the dip of her navel. To Henry, she smelled like rain and sweet corn and fields of poppies, like every good thing he could imagine, and he wanted to lose himself in the experience of her completely.
And that’s just what happened. He forgot everything but Libby. They’d been listening to music and talking for hours when Dean showed up. Libby had her own iPod with her, and they went through each other’s song lists, him poking fun of her Dave Matthews collection and Libby teasing him about owning anything by John Mayer. They’d been so engaged, Henry had almost forgotten he had a roommate.
“Did you see that touchdown?” Dean burst through the door, tossing his jacket at his desk chair. Libby was now sitting next to Henry on his bed, both of them wearing headphones, and they viewed each other guiltily. Neither of them had thought to check the football scores.
“We creamed them! Twenty-eight to nine! Boo-yah!” Dean pumped his fist in the air. “I had four guys on me, and I’m running like this…” Dean squatted low and ran in place, head down. “And this jackhole comes around this side like he’s superman or something, ready to tackle me.” Dean weaved, first left, then right. “And I’m like, I don’t think so!” Dean slammed an invisible football down onto the floor. “Touchdown!”
“Good game.” Henry flipped through his iPod, hitting play.
Libby covered her mouth, stifling a giggle. The song was Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain.”
“You guys saw it, right?”
“Sure,” Libby agreed, sliding her headphones down around her neck. “Great job.”
“Thanks.” Dean flopped down on his bed. Henry saw his eyes narrow when he realized how close the two of them were sitting on the bed. “So uh…you two look cozy.”
“We’ve just been listening to music, waiting for you.” Libby took her headphones off, handing them to Henry.
“Everything go okay at the frat?” Henry turned his iPod off, tossing it aside.
“All set.” Dean’s grin widened. “Pledge week is gonna be a blast.”
“For everyone but the pledges,” Libby muttered, picking invisible fuzz off her sweater.
“Well, I’m glad you like the roommate.” Dean leaned back against the wall, real casual, but Henry heard the edge in his voice. “It’s always good when everyone gets along.”
“Speaking of roommates.” Libby swung her legs off the edge of the bed. “What do you guys say we double with mine? She’s really sweet, very pretty, and she just broke up with her boyfriend.”
