John Boy shook his head with a small smile on his face. “No, just thought I’d see if I could get a donut.”
“I hope you’re talking about the kind in the pastry case,” Monica said.
He shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe not.” He shot a wink in my direction. “I guess I’ll just take a rain check on that donut, Red.”
With that, he pushed off the counter and walked out the side door. Monica followed him with her eyes until he was out of sight.
Monica blinked, looking at me like I had something weird on my face. “Um, what was that about?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. He just came in all flirty. He’d never actually done that before the party. I wonder if he even knew I existed.”
Monica smiled, adjusting her baseball cap with ‘Student Dining Services’ embroidered across it. “Maybe that Hermione costume really does have some magic on it.”
“You leave my costume out of this.” Monica didn’t understand my Harry Potter obsession. Okay, maybe not an obsession. It was something I tried to hide from the other English majors, but really there was nothing better than a good book with action and magic.
“Wasn’t there some guy in one of your Lit classes you were interested in, anyway?” She asked, quickly changing the subject off John Boy and my costume.
“You mean Walt?”
“Yeah. Was he the one that was really into Kerouac and smoked those black cigarettes?”
Walt Hines was the epitome of an English major. He always carried around a worn out copy of Slaughterhouse-Five and wore hipster glasses with his girl jeans. I thought he was the type of guy I wanted to be with, until I actually hung out with him. He spent the night scrutinizing every book I’d ever read and told me Harry Potter wasn’t real literature. Once a guy slams down the Weasleys, it’s over.
“That would be Walt, but nothing ever happened there and nothing is happening with John Boy. He just came in to say hi.”
Monica leaned on the counter. “John Boy never just says ‘hi’ to girls unless it’s followed by ‘wanna screw?’”
I said a silent prayer of thanks when a group of students came in and lined up for coffee. That got Monica to stop talking John Boy and get back to work, but that didn’t mean it got me to stop thinking about him or his biceps.
Chapter 3
Midterms were approaching, which meant a lot more homework and a lot more people showing up for classes.
On Mondays I worked in the morning and then headed to American Religious History. It was across the quad from the student center where Brewster’s was located, in the art building that looked like a giant juicer.
It was a decent sized lecture hall, shaped in a half-circle with five rows of desks descending to a lower level where the professor’s podium was located. There was a giant screen behind that where he put up all the lecture slides.
I slumped down in an open desk near the back and searched through my bag for a notebook. Most everyone on campus just carried their laptops or iPads so they could play games while the professor lectured, but I still preferred the old pen and paper way. There was something about the feeling of putting pen to paper that I found invigorating. It was probably why I was an English major. I loved writing long hand. I had old journals full of half ass story ideas and notes from classes sitting in boxes back at my mom’s house.
Digging through my bag, I finally found a pen, but just as I grabbed it and put it on my desk it promptly rolled onto the floor.
“Shit,” I mumbled.
I scrambled out of my desk when the pen stopped at a pair of Pumas. “Sorry!” I yelped and reached for the pen.
“No prob, Red.”
I grabbed my pen and when I stood up I met the endless blue pools of John Boy’s eyes. I’d never noticed him in my class before, but then again usually I was busy staring down at my notebook trying to take down notes.
“Hey, John.” I tried to regain my composure and sat in my seat. He took the one next to me, a small smile on his face. He pulled a slim Mac book out of his bag and sat it on the desk in front of him.
Out of all my classes, why did he have to be in the one I looked like crap for? There he was, looking gorgeous in a gray knit sweater and faded jeans that fit every bit of his form perfectly. The guy had to be literally all muscle. And I had seen a lot of him when he was wearing just the loincloth. I found myself thinking about what was under his clothes and my face heated up from the thought.
“So you’re going to call me John now?” He arched an eyebrow and tilted his head down, which just brought out the slight dimple on his chin. God he was too damn attractive.
“Um, well that’s your name, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but most people call me John Boy.”
“And why is that?” I tapped my pen on my notebook, trying to figure out something to do with my hands.
He let out a single laugh. “Just a nickname my pledge brothers gave me freshman year. When your name is John Walden, and it sounds similar enough to Walton, it just sort of happens.”
“As in John Boy from the Waltons? The TV show?” I didn’t think anyone under the age of seventy actually knew about that show. I only knew about it because my grandma was obsessed with it.
“It’s basic pop culture. I know you probably think we’re a bunch of dumb jocks who run around with paddles, but we at least know about Walton mountain.”
I swallowed, trying to figure out the right words so I wouldn’t make a fool of myself, again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
He nudged my arm with his. “I’m just shitting you. Don’t take life so seriously. You could really stand to loosen up.”
“Sorry. I’m not brave enough to walk around a party in a loincloth.”
He leaned in closer, his breath warm on my ear. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t mind it if you did. Or just my bedroom”
Every hair stood on end and my body heated up like I took a hair dryer to my skin. The guy certainly knew the right spot to hit. He was definitely trouble. But maybe a good kind of trouble.
“So, um, I’ve never seen you in this class before.” I tried to regain my composure and sat up straighter.
“Been here all year, but usually I sit in the back. I couldn’t help but notice this head of gorgeous curly hair that’s always near the front taking notes.” His fingers coiled around a strand of my hair that had fallen out of my ponytail and he pushed it behind my ear. “I’m just usually too late to get the seat next to you.”
“Oh, um, heh...” I couldn’t think of anything to say and just felt like a blubbering idiot.
Thank God I was saved by Professor Marks stumbling into class with two of his grad students behind him. He dusted off his sweater vest and raked his fingers through his mop of gray hair. Our professor may have been one of the goofiest guys, but I liked him. He sounded like Woody Allen when he talked and made the Mennonite migration actually interesting.
“Sorry fellow historians, I know I’m late again and you’re all just dying to get on to the next American religious movement.” He stepped up to his desk and logged onto the computer, his desktop background popping up on the giant screen behind him.
“Have you started your paper yet?” John whispered.
“Yeah, I’ve done a little bit of research. What about you?” I kept my eyes on the professor as he pulled up the power point presentation for fear if I moved I would just end up staring at John. Or end up with my lips on his. Which wouldn’t have been so bad if we weren’t in class.
