I’ve also made some friends on campus. Other students have approached me, like Carly. The deans have complimented my ingenuity for fundraising—though that last one I make sure I’m not taking credit for the ideas. I wasn’t lying to Lemon when I told him I hadn’t thought up a single one of them.
Dean Devaroe even commented about how I’ve brought the athletic department together. The coaches of different sports mostly got along (he didn’t have to voice that the exception to that was Lemon Frost), but I’ve somehow facilitated them forming camaraderie.
There’s a new level of excitement around our fundraisers. The town is even excited to get involved.
I’m not a bad person. There’s all this evidence to support that.
But then there’s this weird hate-kissing thing with Lemon. This new me is apparently attracted to men. I mean, it’s fine, but it’s not a convenient time to figure that shit out.
The thing is, I’m not just attracted to him. I think about him all the time. The line of his jaw, the shape of his lips, the smooth expanse of his neck, the curls on his head. He’s petite, loud, brash. Yet somehow, everything about him screams loudly inside me; forcing me to pay attention.
I want to pay attention. That’s the problem.
No matter how much the guilt starts weighing on me, especially when I get home and Jessica is standing at the door waiting for me with a pretty smile, something poisonous inside me wonders what Lemon is doing. Is he thinking of me? What is his hate covering up?
I leave really earlythe following morning before Jessica’s out of bed. Part of the reason is I’m not going straight to school but to Sun Haven first, which is north of Glensdale, and we live in the suburbs on the southwest side of the city. Also, I’m concerned about finding his house again. That shit kept me up last night as I mentally drove through the streets in my head so I wouldn’t forget.
The last thing I need, him hating me more because I couldn’t find his house. He’d definitely say I did that on purpose to make him late for school.
Besides, yesterday evening was the first time we spoke without him yelling at me or accusing me of stealing something preposterous. Next it’ll be the knocker on his door or… one of the bright pink flowers in his yard.
I pull in at seven-eighteen and park my bike, setting the helmet on the seat but taking the key. At first look, this appears like a relatively safe neighborhood. I see a bicycle in a yard undisturbed and a go-kart in the driveway a few houses down.
When Lemon doesn’t come out right away, I knock on his door. I’m startled when he swings it open with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. He’s looking at me with wild, frazzled eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out as he grabs my arm and drags me inside. “I woke up just a minute ago. My alarm didn’t go off. I was talking to my sister last night and I guess I didn’t get my phone on my charger.”
He’s moving down the hall as he talks. I’m not entirely sure if I’m supposed to follow him, but since he’s still talking to me, I do. Slowly.
“There was an app running in the background and my phone is already old, so the battery kind of sucks and I just haven’t had a chance to get a new phone. That’s your fault, by the way. I have to spend all my time concentrating on fundraising instead of doing other things!”
Lemon moved into the bathroom attached to what I presume is his bedroom. I stand outside the door, leaning on the frame, and listen to him ramble. He doesn’t pause, so there’s no need for me to participate in this conversation.
“And then I stayed up super late worrying about my car. The internet says it could be the alternator. Or the starter. I don’t have time for that! It was fine yesterday morning. There was no hesitation in starting or any weird feelings as I drove to work. Do you think someone messed with my car? Who would do that?”
I chuckle quietly as I listen to him move through the water while rambling. I had a glimpse of someone other than the hateful man last night. And now… there’s this Lemon. Nervous. Rushing. Slightly frantic because he’s late. He’s adorable.
“It’s a safe campus. No one has ever reported something happening to their vehicle. Although, I don’t read emails, so maybe there’s a serial car killer on the loose and I just don’t know about it. But I have a work-study student whose sole job is to organize my emails and report if there’s anything important. I think a serial car killer would be important. Wouldn’t it?”
The water shuts off and I imagine this man dripping wet. Running a towel over himself to dry. He’s still talking, so I’msurprised again when he steps in front of me. Once again, the towel is wrapped around his waist. His hair is dripping. I follow a droplet that falls onto his shoulder and runs down his chest, his abdomen, and sinks into the towel.
Swallowing, I meet Lemon’s eyes.
“Do you think someone hurt my car?” he asks, his eyebrows knitted together.
This man is beautiful with makeup, but there’s something almost ethereal about him without it. For a minute, I can’t answer as I stare at him.
Eventually, I shake my head. “No.”
“Even though it was fine yesterday morning?”
I nod. “Some things give no warning before they quit. Cars have a lot of bells and whistles to warn you about something being wrong. But still, more often than not, you get a vague light that could mean a bunch of things. It’s a clue of where to begin looking—not the answer to the bigger question of what’s wrong.”
“There wasn’t a light,” he insists, shaking his head. “I would have remembered that.”
“I’ll take a look when we get there,” I tell him.
Lemon nods. He stares at me. Silence moves between us, but I think we’re both more and more aware that he’s naked in front of me. I can fight and argue and deny that I’m attracted to this man all I want, but it’s all a lie. I am. I’m not exactly sure why. But there’s no one like Lemon.
