“Good to know. I’ll have to check it out.”
I can’t tell if she’s just saying that or if she’s really interested. Hell, why am I so unsure of her reactions to me? This is, like, basic shit. But with Ivy, it’s like I’m walking in uncharted territory. Everything is new, different.
“So what do you want to do with your Applied Chem degree?” she asks.
Should I give her my standard answer or tell her what I’d really like to do with it? Since she opened up about what happened to her, I decide to tell her the truth. “I thought about going to medical school, but I’ll probably end up working in a lab. Several biomedical companies recruit here, so hopefully I’ll land a job with one of them after graduation.”
“Medical school? You were considering becoming a doctor?”
I instantly regret saying anything. Does she think I’m joking? That I’m not good enough?
“Can’t picture me as a doctor, huh?” I try to sound casual, but I can’t hide the edge creeping into my tone. Although I’m used to people having low expectations of me, I wasn’t expecting that reaction from her, too. I’m not sure what the fuck I was thinking. Turning my attention back to the food on my plate, I stab a forkful of hash browns.
Ivy reaches across the table, her hand closing around mine, making the shredded potatoes fall off my fork. I jerk my head up, thinking I’ll see amusement or ridicule in her expression. But I don’t. Her head is tilted slightly, and she looks…interested.
“Well, that depends,” she says.
“On what?” I ask cautiously.
“First of all, you seem like a really caring person. For a guy who’s on the radio and used to talking, you’re a surprisingly good listener. Since you’re a chemistry tutor, you’re obviously smart and good at explaining things to people who don’t understand something.”
The air around me goes thick all of a sudden and the lump in my throat turns into an elephant. Except for my mom, no one’s ever thought I was caring before, and that was a long time ago. I flex my fingers, recalling how she held my hand that day, squeezing until the bones felt like they were about to crack.
“Mom, you don’t have to do this,” I kept my head turned away from where the tattoo artist was leaning over her chest. “You’re fine just the way you are. Who cares about scars?”
“You’re so compassionate, Jonny. So caring.” She grabbed my hand and held on as if it were a lifeline as the tattoo needle buzzed. “How did someone like me become the mother of someone like you?”
I swallow hard at the memory. “What else does it depend on?” I ask Ivy.
“On how accurate my first impression of you is.”
I’m confused. “The night we met, I helped you off the roof. I thought I was being a nice guy.”
“No, before that. The first time I saw you was when you were beating the crap out of some dude. Remember?”
Oh.
“So, yeah, doctor isn’t the first profession that comes to mind. Now, if you’d told me you were training to be an MMA fighter or hit man, I’d go, hmmm, I can totally see it.”
A huge weight falls from my shoulders and we both laugh.
As we finish breakfast, I hear all about her little sister’s obsession with One Direction, her rescue dog Torque (at first I thought she said his name was Dork), and her friend Deena in LA who is studying to become a voice actress.
When we get back to my bike, Ivy takes the helmet but doesn’t put it on. “About the doctor thing.”
I start to tell her that there is no doctor thing, but she keeps going.
“I do have a slight problem with it.”
This should be interesting. Instead of putting on my helmet, I tuck it under my arm. “You do?”
“If you showed up in my hospital room and said you were going to operate on me, I wouldn’t be able to think straight. For one thing, I’ve never seen a doctor who looks like you.” A mischievous glint sparkles in her eye as she puts on the helmet. “But then, maybe all big-city docs are hot and tatted up, and I’m just some clueless girl from a small town.”
Without waiting for my reaction, she climbs on the back of the bike, all confident and shit, like she’s done it a million times. Meanwhile, I’m standing here, my mouth open wide, not sure what just happened.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.
I laugh and shake my head. “I’m not sure if that was supposed to be a compliment or an insult.”
“What? I’m serious. I’d be embarrassed if a gorgeous young doctor was about to see me naked. As in, freaking mortified. I’d clutch my robe and tell you to take a hike.”
Pediatric medicine is what I’d been thinking about, not surgery, but whatever. God, I want to kiss the hell out of her right now. It’s not helping matters that she looks so damn hot straddling my bike.
I start to make a move. Fortunately, I catch myself just in time. Without the backdrop of a pub or party, a kiss in the middle of the day is way more meaningful. I’d be moving into dangerous territory, and I’m not sure I can afford to let that happen. She stirs me up inside like no one else does, which honestly scares the shit out of me. She’s too perfect, too sweet, too fun. And I’m too fucking fucked up. I’ve done bad things. Things I want to forget. She’s responding to Jon, the ‘church is now in session’ guy. The guy with all the friends. The guy who says what a girl wants to hear in order to sleep with her.
Not Jon, the foster kid who barely finished high school because he was sent to juvie. Or the guy whose own father doesn’t think he’s good enough.
No, I don’t want her to know the real me, because if she does, she’ll only be disappointed. Plus, I have a knack for fucking up people’s lives. My mere existence fucked up my mom’s.
The ride back to her dorm takes about five minutes. When we get there, she climbs off and hands me the helmet.
“Thanks for breakfast. That was fun.” Her eyes flicker up to mine but don’t linger. I know she was expecting me to kiss her back there. Or maybe she’s thinking I’ll kiss her now.
“Sure, no problem.”
The silence stretches awkwardly between us.
She takes a step backward. “See you in class on Monday?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Still wearing my coat, she turns and walks away.
Don’t go, I want to tell her. It’s early and the day is long.
Why didn’t I ask her to come to Stella’s with me? We could’ve picked up her coat and…
Just before she gets to the bottom step, she hesitates and slowly turns around. Her eyes are narrowed, as if she’s surprised I’m still here. “Have you started on that photography project yet?”
“What photography project?”
“The one with the themes.”
It sounds vaguely familiar. “When is it due?”
“Um, Monday.”
Damn. “No, not yet.”
“Do you…uh…want to work on it together?”
“Together?” My chest constricts. “When?”
She squints at the gray sky. “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. If you’re not busy, we could do it right now.”
Every part of me wants to say yes. “I’m meeting someone soon, but I should be back around four. Would that work?”
“That might be too late. It gets dark around four-thirty. We could try tomorrow. Maybe it won’t be as rainy as they’re saying it will be.”
“Unless…”
Her eyes meet mine. Waiting. Hopeful?
“Unless you want to come with me.”
“To your friend’s?” She looks skeptical.
“Not a friend from here. A family friend. She lives half an hour away, down the coast. If you want, we can bring our cameras and stop on the way to take pictures.”