After a minute or so, he tips my head forward slightly and kneels down in front of me. Gazing into his deep brown eyes, my insides go soft and I feel it. There’s definitely something going on here.
He pulls my hand away from my nose. “Let me take a look.” His words are so tender and concerned that I can’t help but lean into his soft touch. When he’s satisfied that the bleeding has stopped and that I’ll be fine, he lightly kisses the tip of my nose and says, “There. All better.”
In the past week, I can recall every single time that he’s touched me – his thumb across my lip, his arms against mine, our legs bumping into one another. But now this - his lips on my skin, even if it was just an innocent peck on a banged up nose, is pure heaven.
“Thanks,” I say as I grab one last tissue. As I try to stand, my legs wobble a bit and I know that it has more to do with his proximity than the injury I’ve just sustained. Bryan wraps a strong arm around me to keep me from falling over. His fingers flex at the soft curve of my waist and I instantly feel self-conscious.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, genuinely concerned about my well-being.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for helping me.” I try to move away from his touch, but he leaves his hand on me, gripping at my waist. “Let me walk you to your next class, please. I would hate myself if you left here and fainted on me or something like that.” His eyes are pleading with me.
I decide to give in. I have to when he’s looking at me like that. “Okay, but don’t you have to stay here and work?” And, as if the Gods are listening in on us, Simon, our co-worker walks into the lab and plops down his stuff at the desk beside us.
“Hey, Bry. Hi, Melanie.” Simon The Desk Plopper says as he starts unloading some books and an iPad from his bag.
“Hey, Simon. I’m off to class now. See you at noon?” Bryan says.
Simon tips his chin at us. “Sure thing. See you later.”
Bryan returns his attention to me, though I have to admit, with his arm banded around my waist through his short exchange with Simon, I felt like his attention was never off me. “See. We can go now.” His tone is amused and his face beams with pride that he’s just won himself a few more minutes of my time.
On the other hand, I don’t know if I can take much more of being around him. My senses are in overdrive and my mind is scrambled a million different ways. Our little exchanges over this past week have me so confused. And then today, between picking me up and flirting all over again, I’m trying so hard to wrap my head around it all. He actually seems interested in me and I just don’t get it.
Shaking away those thoughts of uncertainty, I bend to pick up my bag, but Bryan beats me to it. “So what’s your next class?” he asks as he slides both my bag and his over his shoulder. He still refuses to break contact with me even as he holds the door open for me.
Rather than look at him as I respond, I stare blankly out on to the quad, which is visible through the wall of windows to our side. I’m afraid that if I look directly into his sparkling caramel-colored eyes, that I’ll get lost there and never find my way out. “21st Century Technology. Room 235,” I mutter. I didn’t want to take this class, but being a freshman, my choices were limited and I figured it would come in useful somewhere along the line.
Bryan’s deep chuckle is one of amusement. “You’re kidding, right?” he asks as we make our way down the hallway, which is now starting to fill with students making their way to their next class.
Turning my attention from the quad back to his laughing face, I give him the side-eye. “And why would I do that?” I quip sarcastically.
“I’m the TA in that class. It looks like we’re going to be spending lots of time together, Melanie.” His words are laced with amusement, but there also seems to be a hint of a promise in them. My stomach drops, but excitement rushes through me. More time with Bryan? Yes, please.
“TA? Really? Are you a grad student or something?” I can’t hide the shock in my voice. I guess when I saw him in the lab, I just assumed that he was a regular student like me. It never crossed my mind to ask him how old he was.
He shakes his head while softly laughing at my apparent misunderstanding. “No, Melanie. I am definitely not a grad student. I’m just a lowly senior.” He smirks at me playfully.
My brows knit together in confusion. “Huh? Then how are you a TA?”
“I’ve just always had a knack for techie stuff, I guess.” He shrugs his rugged shoulders. “I started at the computer lab when I was a freshman, and my boss – I mean, our boss,” he smiles down at me brightly. And, oh yeah, he still hasn’t let go of his death grip around my waist. “Well, when Professor O’Neil saw how much I knew, he promoted me to shift manager. Then, in my sophomore year, he asked me to help out a little more. At the end of my junior year, he asked me if I wanted to be his TA this fall. It’s a pretty sweet gig if you ask me.” He winks at me and I’m pretty sure he’s adding our recent encounters to the sweetness of his job history.
We stop outside of our classroom and he opens the door for me. Such a gentleman. I’m pretty sure that no one has ever held a door for me, ever. I slide past him, conscious of the heat radiating from his body, but cautious not to actually touch him. My ass gets in the way all the damn time and that’s the last thing I need him to realize.
Bryan not only walks me to class, but he actually escorts me to a seat in the aisle. Before he walks away from me, he leans down and whispers in my ear. “Now, don’t leave without me.” His warm breath sends shivers down my spine and causes goose bumps to spread like wild fire across my neck. I can’t form words, so I just smile and nod dumbly as he turns to walk toward the front of the room.
After the rest of the class settles in, the lecture begins. It doesn’t take me long to figure why he put me in an aisle seat. Every time he walks past me, which seems to be fairly frequently, he brushes up against my arm with his. When he hands me a stack of papers to pass down to the rest of the row, his long fingers graze over mine and he winks at me while leaving his hand on mine for longer than he really needs to. He was openly flirting with me before and I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. But now, it’s clear. He’s into me.
Well, color me surprised. In all my life, no one has ever been interested in me. I have always been the curvy wallflower of the group and I have hated every minute of it. His flirting makes me feel beautiful and important. And it’s not just because he’s gorgeous – though that doesn’t hurt. It’s more about the way that he talks to me, with passion and energy; it’s in the way he touched my nose earlier, with kind tenderness; it’s in the way he looks at me, as if he’s actually seeing the real me.
As Professor O’Neil, drones on and on about binary code and HTMLs, I get lost thinking about what the hell Bryan sees in me. The only answer I can come up with is that he must have trouble with his vision. I mean, doesn’t he see that I’m not perfect like the stick-thin Barbie girl sitting behind me? Back in the lab, he touched my hair so he had to notice that it was an unruly mess of red waves – not the perfectly, pin-straight blonde locks that all men seem to love and all women long to possess. Walking to class, he had his hand on my waist. He felt the soft give of my flesh – no skin and bones here. Yet, he is still actively making eye contact with me and smiling at me across the room.
Part of me can’t help but wonder if this is some kind of cruel joke on the chubby chick. God knows that I’ve been there before. I wonder what his motives are. What’s he getting at? Because no matter how much I feel that spark between us, I refuse to believe that he doesn’t have an ulterior motive.