Page 17 of Dirty Sweet Valentine
“Speech pathology.”
“Nice.” Really, I know nothing about speech pathology. I rack my mind to come up with a suitable comment without sounding like a moron. So much for my stellar conversation skills. “UNC has a good program for that, don’t they?”
“Yep. Nationally renowned.” She seems impressed that I know that. The only reason I do, of course, is because of the time I spent scanning the school’s website earlier, trying to come up with an article topic. “Your turn.”
“I just transferred in as a junior. I got my Associate’s Degree last spring in English at SDCC.”
“SDCC?”
I keep forgetting I’m in a place where the acronym isn’t familiar. “San Diego City College. Now I’m going for an education degree.”
She nods, her hair catching the light as it bounces on her shoulder. “UNC’s also known for their education program.”
“That’s why I’m here.” And at the moment, I couldn’t be happier about it.
Reluctantly, I let go of Kira’s hand to hold the door open for her at The Blue Mug. Inside was less crowded than it had been on the last weeknight that I’d come. Then, study groups had dominated the scene and it was hard to find an empty table. Now, there are still a few books cracked open, but there are several places to sit.
After we order steaming hot drinks and a couple items from the bakery, we settle in at a table on the patio to enjoy both the privacy and the sunshine.
This time it’s easy to pick the conversation back up. “Do you like it here?” I ask. As a transplant, I’m always curious about other people’s experiences.
“At The Blue Mug or UNC?”
I shrug. She can tell me anything she wants in that musical voice of hers. “Either.”
“I love The Blue Mug. Best place ever. Especially on Open Mic Night.”
My mind wanders momentarily as I imagine going to an Open Mic Night with Kira. We’d hold hands across the table, sharing a plate of scones like we are now. Maybe I’d even get up and recite some poetry for her. Not an original, that would be too private, but she’d probably love Neruda...
I catch myself mid-fantasy. What the fuck is this about? I barely know the woman. Sure, I’m enamored with her gaze and her laugh and the way her tits look under that shirt, but I’m also very seriously considering ruining her life. So why am I creating some make-believe future for us? I have to cut it out.
Don’t I?
If I’m serious about this article, then yeah, I definitely do. I slide my finger absentmindedly down the spiral of my notebook, letting the metal remind me why I came.
“What’s with the notebook?”
I freeze, feeling like a kid caught with my hand in the cookie jar. It’s silly, too, since I haven’t even written anything about Kira yet. Just planning to.
And it’s that feeling, the mixture of guilt and shame, that make up my mind for me.
I’ve been going back and forth in my mind for the last hour about this exposé, which right there should be telling me it’s a bad idea. I’m so into her right now. The thought of writing about her is one thing, but the idea of her seeing it—of how she would then see me—no.
I’ll write a recap of the Cherry Savers rally like I originally intended. It can be wry, it can be snarky, but it can’t out her. And if it isn’t enough to get me on the paper, then fuck it. I’d rather miss out on being a reporter than miss out on her.
A weight I didn’t realize I was carrying lifts as I make my choice.
“It’s nothing,” I tell her, tossing the notebook to the chair next to me. “I had this dumb idea that I was going to get an assignment done today.”
Her brows crease. “Do you need to work on it?”
“Nah.” I don’t want to say much about it, still feeling guilty at what I had nearly talked myself into doing, but at the same time I do want to tell her about myself. Especially when she’s looking up at me with such interest in her expression. Like I’m as fascinating as I like to think I am in my best articles.
“I was thinking about trying out for the school paper and the editor needs an audition article. So I was messing around with some ideas. I didn’t get anywhere though.”
“Do you want me to help you brainstorm?”
It’s adorable the way she focuses this concern on me. Exactly the opposite of how I’d focused on her. Chase Matthews Is a Super-Douche. “No way. Homework on a Saturday? I’d much rather take in the sights with you.”
“That’s a laugh.” Kira nibbles on the corner of a scone. “Besides this place, there is not a single sight in this town worth seeing.”
I meet her eyes as she licks honey off her thumb. She’s so beautiful to look at—sensual and intriguing and just plain cute. I could stare at her for hours, I’m sure of it. “I don’t know. I’m looking at one right now.”
“What?” She flushes when she gets it, and I’m charmed.
But I play it cool and change the subject. “I was just wondering—”
She cuts me off. “Why am I part of Cherry Savers?”
Again with getting straight to the point. That actually is the question I want to ask most. But even more than that, I want to get to know more about Kira Larson. And if I move too quickly to the Cherry Savers subject, she’ll think that’s all I care about. And even though I’m still wildly curious, and prepared to spend hours discussing that perfect pussy, I’ll start out slowly.
“Actually, I was wondering how you ended up here. You don’t seem to be particularly fond of the town. Is it because of the speech program?”
“Not really. It was sort of a given I’d go to UNC. I’m from here.”
“From Greeley?” That surprises me. I hadn’t met anyone in my classes actually from the town yet and just assumed most of the students came from elsewhere. Apparently not.
“Born and raised.”
I lean into the table and lower my voice. “Do you ever get used to the smell?” Besides being a college town, Greeley is a ranching community and the smell of slaughter always seems to lay in the air. On warm nights especially, the breeze heightens the stench. It’s a far cry from the salty ocean air I’m used to.
Kira laughs. “I suppose you do get used to it. I rarely notice it until someone points it out.”
“Then there’s hope I might survive this place yet.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Damn, I want to kiss that cute little smile of hers away. But I’m trying to move slow. Which I am fully aware is a contradiction since we’ve already banged. Whatever. This is how I get to know what’s inside the straight-shooting little angel in front of me.
“Then why did you stay? You could go elsewhere. Or are you a Momma’s girl?”
“Shut up.” She punches my shoulder. And, despite the fact that she has a fairly good right hook, I might tease her again just to feel more of her touch. “I couldn’t pass up the tuition. My father’s on the staff. It gives me a pretty hefty discount.”
“Daddy’s girl, then.”
“Please. No.”
I’m a tad disappointed when she doesn’t slug me again.
She takes a swallow of her latte. “Trust me. I’d r
ather be somewhere where I’m not under his eye all the time. I could be more myself. Or figure out who that is, exactly. You know?”
“Are you taking classes in his department or something? Because you could always just transfer.”
She sighs. “Kinda hard when the entire school is his department.” Kira scrunches up her little nose as if hesitant to go on. “He’s the school president.”
“Oh, fuck!” Dammit, that was crass. “I mean, shit.” Is that even any better? “I mean…” I take a deep breath before I can say anything else equally stupid. “President Satchell is your father?” That can’t be what she means. “You don’t have the same last name.”
“He’s my stepdad. But he married my mom when I was a baby so he’s the only dad I’ve ever known.”
“Damn.” I scratch the back of my neck, taking in that information. “Yeah, I guess that puts you under a lot of pressure then.” And me, perhaps. President Satchell has been touted as the most conservative president this liberal school has had in years. I cringe at what Satchell would think if he knew his daughter had gotten it on with me in a storage room.
Kira shares the cringe. “Tell me about it. He’s everywhere. And you think he has a conservative rep as a president? You should see him as a dad.”
Everything suddenly falls into place. “You mean, he’s the type of father who encourages his daughter to get involved with dad-approved on-campus groups. Like basket-weaving. Or Cherry Savers.”
“There’s no basket-weaving at UNC,” she giggles. “Wait, maybe there is. Anyway, it wasn’t entirely his decision that I join Cherry Savers. I did youth group with some of those girls in high school when my sister was acting out, and it seemed like a good idea to do this with them as a freshman. I’m just...not a freshman anymore.”
Was freshman a euphemism? I shift in my seat. Talking about her virginity seems a little out of place considering this conversation is mostly about her dad. But I’m still curious. “What happened with your sister?”
Kira sits back in her chair. “She was a bit adventurous in high school. Slept with everyone. Now she’s twenty-one with no degree, no husband, and two kids under three.”
