Looking down at her high-heeled boots, her nose crinkles. “I guess I should change my shoes. We got a dusting of snow last night and I don’t want to fall on my ass,” she says, grabbing her furry, flat soled boots instead, then slipping on her coat, hat and gloves, “Let’s go.”
Slipping on my coat, gloves and slinging my backpack on my shoulder we journey outside the dorm. She was right, the ground is covered in white and the air that was a warm temperature the day before is now a chilly 34 degrees.
The campus is a winter wonderland. The trees coated in snow, buildings with white powdered sitting on their roofs. A blustery cold wind nipping at my exposed skin. Got to love Indiana weather. If you don’t, just wait a minute, it’ll change.
The Quad is fairly empty this morning. Students rushing in a controlled slide, on the slick sidewalks, to get to their destinations. Hurrying to get inside out of the cold. Meaning they have no time to notice me.
I’m out of breath and slightly sweaty by the time we reach The Brew Station, the campus coffee shop. The burn in my lungs feels good, the tightness in my calves is rejuvenating, making me feel I’ve accomplished something. Smiling to myself, the warmth from inside hits my face when we pull open the door. The smell of coffee permeates the air, breathing deep I can almost taste decadent the air.
“You want your usual? White Chocolate, full fat, full whip with chocolate sprinkles and a slice of banana bread?” Ronnie asks.
“No, I want a skinny white chocolate mocha, no whip, no sprinkles, no bread.”
“Are you serious? Are you sure you’re feeling ok?” she asks, again checking me for a fever.
“Yes, I’m fine. I just want to be a little healthier today,” I reply swatting her hand away. I’m unsure of what brought on the urge to cut out some calories but it sounds good so I’m going to go with it.
“Ok, go grab us a table and I’ll get our drinks,” she says, stepping to the barista waiting to take our order.
Scanning my eyes around the small area, bustling with people looking to get warm, I see one empty table for two by the window. Moving quickly to grab it, I set my backpack on the table as skinny red headed woman slips into one of the chairs. “Oops, sorry I was here first,” I say to her with a smile.
“Tough shit, fatty. Find somewhere else to plant your fat ass,” she snarls, her face crinkling in disgust.
Turning to seek help from Ronnie, feeling heat crawl up my neck, I slam right into a steaming cup of coffee. The contents of the cup dumping down the front of my shirt covering Pooh Bear in scalding coffee, burning my skin as it soaks through the soft fleece.
“Oh, shit. Oh, shit,” a deep voice rumbles while a large hand grabs mine pulling me toward the restrooms.
Pulling my sweatshirt away from my skin to stop the burn, “Ouch, that’s hot,” I mumble. I don’t notice who has my hand pulling me, too focused on my burning skin. All of sudden, my sweatshirt is pulled up over my head and a very small something is pushed on, the person trying to squeeze it over my chest. My glasses were skewed when my shirt was removed making the offending person a blurry mess of dark hair. My arms are pinned at my sides from this person still trying to cram me into this, whatever they are trying to cover me with, I manage to move my hand enough to right my glasses. The blurry becoming clear, the person comes into view; Kohl Black is standing in front of me, his tongue curling up over his top lip, a bead a sweat forming on his forehead from him trying to cram me into what I am assuming is his practice jersey.
“Kohl, stop. What are you doing?” I ask, trying to push him away but my arms are constricted by the shirt.
“I didn’t want you burnt, I got your sweatshirt off then I realized I didn’t have anything to cover you with. I took off my practice jersey and I’m trying to get it to cover your chest but it’s not working,” he answers, grunting and pulling on the shirt. “I’m sorry,” tug, “I’m such a klutz,” he rambles.
“It. Doesn’t. Fit. Kohl,” I say each word ending on a pull as he is trying to get this thing past my boobs. “STOP,” I shout, finally getting his attention. “It’s not going to fit. I feel like a sausage inside a casing right now. Grab my sweatshirt, it should be cool now,” I order, holding out my hand for my shirt. “Shit, I don’t have time to go back to the dorm, I’ll have to go to the student union and grab a shirt,” I mumble.
A cold draft hits my skin, my bare skin. Looking down at my bra clad chest, I gasp attempting to cover myself with my hands. I’m standing in the hall, at The Brew Station, in my bra and he’s standing right in front of me. Ripping his jersey off my head sends my glasses flying but I’m able to cover myself with my hoodie. I’m blind without my glasses, I don’t know how I will find them now. Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I wonder if any pictures were taken of me as I stood there. Damn it, I was just getting over the last picture that was out there, I think as tears brim in my eyes.
Warm hands gently set my glasses on my face. When he comes into focus, I see his bright smile. “No one saw you. I made sure to keep you blocked with my body. I was trying to save the day by telling off that bitch at your table, but I just made it worse by spilling my coffee on you,” he confesses with
