“Why would I think badly of you?”
“I don’t know.” Renee shrugged and cleared her throat, but I could tell something was bothering her. I nudged her softly, hoping she knew she could openly talk to me about anything she wanted. She sighed and continued. “Please don’t think I’m some slut, or something. I am not known for sleeping with guys on the first date. I swear.”
I laughed, relieved it was not something heavier. For some reason, I didn’t want her to feel bad. Not even a little bit. I like her confidence, her happiness.
“Didn’t be silly. It took two to tango.”
“Sure,” said Renee with a slight shrug. “But nobody calls a man a slut when he gets laid on the first date. Only the woman is blamed like the guy has absolutely nothing to do with it. He practically gets a pat on the back, doesn't he?”
I couldn't even say much to this because I knew she was right.
“Listen.” I pull Renee to a stop and put my hands on either side of her arms, smiling. Renee meets my eyes, a slight smirk sneaking onto her lips. “I don’t blame you for anything. I enjoyed tonight, and I hope you did too. If possible, I’m crazier about you now than I thought I was before.”
Renee flushed red at this, and after a moment, she pulled herself into me, her head against my chest, arms wrapped tightly around me. With one hand, I stroke her hair, resting my chin on the top of her head. After a few more blissful seconds like this, we continued to walk, still hand-in-hand.
“I feel like I don’t know enough about you,” said Renee as we walked. “What’s your major? What do you like to do for fun?”
“I am an art major,” I told her, and I was surprised to feel an itch of embarrassment under my shirt collar, but when I glanced at Renee, her eyes seemed to glow even brighter.
“I should have known,” she said with a giggle. “You’re damn good at it, too.”
“Yeah, well, lots of people hate it.”
“Why?”
“Because it was art,” I said with a shrug. “It probably won’t pay me the way a different career choice would have. Everyone told me that growing up; friends, teachers, and school counselors. They told me I should focus on something important, like law. But I just ... I didn’t know, I just couldn’t do it. Not for them, and especially not for me.”
“Good for you,” Renee said, and I was caught off guard by her words.
“You think so?”
“I know so.” She slows down and pulls me to a stop at a bench that borders the campus quad. We sat down together, and one of Renee’s legs flipped carefree over my own. “What is life if we can't do what makes us happy?” she asked. “We weren’t born to live for someone else. We were born to live for ourselves.”
Her words are profound, and for a few minutes, we sit in silence, pondering this.
“What about you?” I asked her. “What’s your major?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Nursing.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
“I’m working part-time as a paramedic at the firehouse. I actually enjoy the work.”
“Really?” Renee sounds truly surprised. “You’re a paramedic?”
“Yeah. Took the classes and everything before I decided that art was my true passion. But I stuck with the job because I liked it. It keeps me on my toes.”
“Tell me about it.” Renee grinned, and at once, I could see the passion behind her eyes, the excitement she had for healing people in the same way I had excitement for art. “If I were smart enough, I’d study neuroscience,” she said with a giggle. “Become a neurosurgeon or something. I love it. The human brain fascinates me. Human behavior, emotion, personalities...” she leaned back and took a deep breath of cold air, her eyes glowing with excitement. “It was crazy that the human brain could control everything about us ... who we are, how we act, what we love and hate.” She sat up and came closer to me until her lips nearly brushed mine. Then, her tone dropped, so she was barely whispering. “Who we’re attracted to, our primal desires.”
Renee kissed me then, teasing my lips with her tongue, and I placed my hand on her head to hold her there, desperately wanting every inch of her until she was mine. I feel like no matter how close I get to her physically, it wouldn't touch the emotional side of things.
“Tell me about your family,” I said, stroking her hair with my fingers. “Do you have any brothers or sisters? Do your parents live around here?”
Renee sighed, but it was with contentment. “Honestly, my parents are probably the most boring thing about me, but only in the best ways.” She closes her eyes, and the streetlight basks her face in a warm, almost eerie glow.
“Are you close with them?”
