Page 16 of Turning the Tide

HANNA

18 Years Old

At five till seven, I hear whispering outside my dorm door. I yank it open to find Jameson standing on the other side with Jack.

Damn it.

When I say Jack is annoying, imagine Steve Stifler trying to run his game on you, obnoxiously catcalling every day on the quad for a month. I could kill Jameson for bringing him here. Jack brushes by me, and I give Jameson the dirtiest look I can create.

"Hey babe, so glad you texted me. Too bad I live in the dorms, or you could've crashed at my place." Jack swags into my room, pushing his Raybans up on top of his head.

The offer makes me a little queasy.

"I'd rather chew both of my arms off and slowly bleed to death than to be in the same room as you, Jack."

Jameson grunts out a laugh as he picks up a box off of my desk, "Is this really all you have?"

"Yeah, just those two boxes and my clothes. I didn't bring much from home."

Truth is, I didn't bring hardly anything from home. I bought new clothes once I got here. My mom would never approve of some of these outfits. Not because they're slutty, just because she thinks I constantly need to dress like a Sunday school teacher. Coming here was supposed to be a new start, free from her constant judgment. Overprotective isn't even the correct word to describe her and daddy. They are full-blown helicopter parents.

My brother, Adam, is the same way. No guy would even consider coming near me in high school solely because my brother was Adam Mason.

Jameson and Jack load the boxes and two arm fulls of clothes still perfectly on hangers into my Honda Pilot, and luckily, Jameson manages to ditch Jack. I don't think he wants Jack to know where he lives. Thank God.

I follow him right outside of campus to his apartment and swing into the parking spot next to him. I realize that this idea is crazy, and trust me, my family would have a stroke if they knew. It's only temporary, though, I tell myself as I hear my car door open.

"Come on," he demands, grabbing a load of my things.

We trudge up the stairs, and I try not to step on any of my clothes along the way. A few of my dresses are dragging the ground, and I can just see myself tripping in front of him and making a complete fool of myself. Not that it matters, I'm not here to impress him. Plus, I'm here to study and graduate, not mingle with football players.

He pushes his key into the door, fumbling the box in his hand. As we walk inside, I instantly don't receive the vibe I expected. The place barely looks lived in. The furniture is pristine, and everything is in its exact spot. The apartment is massive and makes me wonder how some college kid can afford this. Well, I'm sure this is where mom and dad would've preferred that I lived rather than the coed dorm life. His parents probably paid for it, I think to myself. He takes me into an extra bedroom, flipping the light on.

"You can sleep here," He explains, setting the box down near the closet door. Honestly, I still can't believe he agreed to let me crash here.

"If you need this room for something, I can sleep on the couch," I laugh, jumping down on the bed, immediately melting into the mattress, "Nevermind, this mattress is like a cloud."

"My brother is a Tempur-Pedic enthusiast," He laughs a little shaking his head at the thought.

"Well, I'll have to remember to tell him thanks."

"Uh, I may need to hide you for a while," he cringes, making me wonder why his brother would care.

"Why?" I ask, feeling a ping of guilt for barging in on his life like this.

"Let's just say my brother thinks I'm reckless."

"Are you?" I ask, rolling over on the bed to face him, "reckless?"

"You're here, aren't you?" He sighs, turning to walk back through the apartment. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm quick on his heels.

"Thank you," I whisper, pulling his shoulder to turn him around. Just as he turns to me, his lips capture mine, not in a forceful frantic type of way, like someone ready to start dry humping. He is gentle, his lips are soft, and I can feel myself melting into him. I even surprise myself by kissing him back. His tongue glides against mine as his hand falls to the small of my back, pulling me closer. He jerks away, breaking up the moment, "Shit, I'm sorry. I wanted to do that since you flipped me off yesterday."

I can't hide the grin that is spreading across my face, "I'm not gonna sleep with you."

He roars in laughter, "It's okay. You're not my type."

I playfully smack his arm, and he pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, "I'm just kidding. You are exactly my type, and that is problematic."