Up For Debate (Love and Desire Book 1) Page 2

  I take my pointer and middle finger of my hand and slowly press them against the middle of his forehead to lift his gaze off my ass and thighs pressed against the seat.

  “That’s because I’m not. I’m a transfer. Now sign me up for some classes.”

  He abides. At least he has that going for him.

  “First and last name?”

  I hand him the paper filled with my basic identifying information.

  “Farah Taylor,” he reads off the list and types it into the computer.

  “Hey, look at that, we have the same birthday. September third.”

  “I didn’t pin you for a Virgo,” I remark.

  “Yes, well, Virgo, not virgin.” He winks at me and I roll my eyes. “Happy early birthday next week. Looks like you’ll be the big two-one.”

  He’s not totally disgusting, but I don’t let him know that. He already knows. He has sand-colored hair that is longer on top and wavy, male supermodel hair. He could do those ads for men’s hair products. His shoulders are broad and his torso lean and long. His eyes though, are crystal. The color of glacial lakes. I assume that’s what homegirl that went before me was so swoony-eyed over. He exudes confidence and has a great poker face, naturally without any emotion—in women it’s called RBF, resting bitch face. Society wasn’t so kind to our lack of facial expression. His will make him a great lawyer.

  “Alright, let’s get you signed up with some of the better professors this first year. That puts you in political theory, US foreign policy, judicial processes, policymaking, and it looks like you still need one more elective. Any preferences?”

  “Yeah, is nap time one of them?” He laughs half-heartedly at that. “Ah, you can sleep when you’re dead.”

  “Funny, I thought you’d go more with No rest for the wicked line.”

  “I’ll keep that one for next time–ooh looks like all the poli sci electives are full this semester. You can probably just fill it with a burner class though… looks like bowling is open.” I stared at him with what I can only assume is a look of utter confusion mixed with a death stare. “Right, no bowling.” He continues to scroll through the open courses. “Anthropology, theater in diverse cultures, American art, computer programming, hospital administration…”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just do that one. All of those sound awful.”

  “Hospital administration it is.” He clicks a few buttons and I watch him as he intently focuses on the screen. I’m sure as an undergrad he ran this place. I hear the printer turn on next to us and notice he’s just printed my schedule. I pull it from the machine before its even cooled.

  “Review it before I confirm everything. It’s a lot harder to change things once that’s done.”

  I’m not even listening. I’m too excited about this schedule. My junior college back in Georgia only offered a few electives, and they rarely had anything to do with my interests, but this schedule feels life-changing. I squeal internally, but never aloud. Again, etiquette classes don’t allow for female freak outs.

  “Looks great!” I exclaim, looking up at him.

  “Are you talking about the schedule, or me?” he asks playfully.

  “Please, I already know your type. There were plenty of pretty boy players at my private school back in Georgia. You’re a dime a dozen.”

  He looks me square in the eyes and has the audacity to look offended. He’s not offended. Guys like him love to play the game.

  “Alright, new girl. You think you know so much, I hope it pays off in all your classes.” He prints the detailed report of my classes and hands it over to me. He stands up and eyes the never-ending line at the door and yells, “I can take who’s next.”

  I’m still eyeing him, half hatred, and half intrigue.

  “It was good to meet you, Newbie,” he says uninterested as if it wasn’t good at all. I gather my crap and head off.

  ~

  I’m full throttle into the school year. The professors haven’t taken it easy on us and have handed out plenty of semester projects our first week. I met my roommate and things seem to be going okay there. Her name is Cher, and she’s crazy smart and in some biology program. She tried to explain it to me, but I got a little lost on what exactly it was she was doing but I know the ultimate plan was med school. She has a royal blue highlighted section of her hair that makes me feel at ease with her despite her intensity. Other than that I’ve mostly just met a person or two in my classes this week but no one I know well just yet. I even saw the same student advisor on campus one day, chatting up another girl outside the building my hospital administration class was in. It surprisingly isn’t as painful as I expected and may come in handy to have some basic medical business understanding when working with immigrants. He held my gaze, as I struggled a little bit to look away. The contact was awkward and eventually I rushed off to my next class. He was very intense looking, and I didn’t blame all the other girls for being a little crazy about him. There was definitely something about him that drew you in.

  I’ve been sitting at one of the picnic tables outside the library for an hour and a half getting ahead on some of the homework assigned, and I’m growing weary of jamming facts into my brain, so I head inside the library to the coffee shop. I order a chai tea, because I don’t like coffee, and head back to my station outside, hoping to renew my focus. I hear some of the classes begin to let out and rather than rushing back into my work with all the hustle and bustle of people getting to their next class, I decide to wait out the transition and sip on my tea. I people watch throughout it all. The guy that looks hungover and like he might hurl any minute, the kid who’s trying to carry all his textbooks in one backpack and looks eerily like the hunchback of Notre Dame, the exchange students who have gathered together, the girl that spent two hours getting ready for today. They are all here. All kinds of kinds. America is beautiful in that way, a melting pot of diverse people, backgrounds, and beliefs.

  “Hey new girl,” a shout across the quad rings out.

  I turn to see who’s yelling and my face heats when I realize it was my student advisor from last week and he’s staring in my direction. His friends, other affluent looking white males surround him. I accidentally make eye contact for a mere half a second. I immediately look around as if not spotting him and then return to opening my book back up and restarting my homework. I pretend to work diligently but I can’t refocus until I know he’s gone. Clearly, the pretend to ignore tactic doesn’t ring clear to him, because I see his shoes approach my table and alas, I’m forced to look up at him.

  “Hey how’s your first week?” he asks. “You love Dr. Scott, right? He’s amazing.”

  He is amazing so I tell him so. “Uh, yeah. He’s pretty great. He’s so smart. I wish I could just follow him around and soak up everything he says.”

  He must take my reciprocation to the conversation as an invite to sit down at the table across from me.

  “Yeah, I remember that feeling. He only teaches a handful of the law school classes so I don’t see him as much now…” There’s an awkward pause before he continues… “So everything else going okay?”

  “Yep,” I assure equally as awkwardly with another pause to follow as we both look around.

  “You’ve got a birthday tomorrow, right? What are your big plans? Twenty-one is a big year.”

  “I guess technically, we both have a birthday tomorrow.” He nods at me. “I don’t have plans, really. My roommate, Cher, is cool, we were going to go out to dinner, but she has a quiz on Friday and not to mention I have a ton to do as well.”

  “You’re kidding. I’m going to skip right past the part where you said your roommate’s name is Cher and skip to the ‘not going out on your birthday part.’ You can’t stay in on the biggest birthday of your life.”

  “I’m sure there will be others,” I sarcastically offer, lifting my brows at him to lighten his intensity.

  “No. Unacceptable. You’re going out with us. We’re just heading to a bar like two blocks ove
r. Joint birthday celebration. You’re close enough to walk back or call one of those school safe drivers.”

  He’s kidding, right? This is a joke? I look back at his friends still hanging back and feel immediately intimidated. They are all older and law students already.

  “Yeah, thanks, but no. I’m super swamped with homework already,” I offer, gesturing to the packet of papers in front of me.

  He reaches across and pulls my textbook and papers over to where he can see it. He peruses through the work, reading over it and then he looks up, snatches the pencil from my hand and begins filling in the answers. He speeds through it and it takes him only minutes. I’m astounded and my brain stops functioning for a minute.

  “What, what are you doing?” I finally ask. He slides all the paperwork over to me.

  “There, now you’re free. What dorm are you in? We’ll swing by to get you tomorrow around ten-thirty.” Ten-thirty at night? Are they fucking vampires or some shit? I’m mute. I merely point across the campus to my dorm building.

  “Patterson Hall?” he questions, not exactly sure which building I’m pointing to. I nod.

  He reaches across the table again, but this time picks up my phone, he punches a number into it and I’m sure he’s putting his number in, but seconds later his own phone buzzes and I know he just called himself from it.

  “I don’t even know your name,” I tell him although it seems odd that I don’t.

  “Lawson. Lawson Calhoun.” He smiles and returns to his friends, but not before looking over his shoulder and yelling that he will see me tomorrow.

  I roll my eyes again. Great. Just perfect. South Carolina royalty. I’ve been here two whole weeks, but I know the Calhoun lineage runs deep in these parts. There are buildings all over town named after them and a line of U.S. senators, congressmen, and affluent members of society’s past. I go to plug his name into the last number dialed on my phone. I let Cher know about the exchange with Lawson outside the library. I’ve never really done the girly gossip thing before. There was plenty of it back in Georgia, but the gossip was dirtier, and you didn’t want to be involved. This feels mutual, like she enjoys hearing about it and the fact that I’m letting her in. She’s refusing to date anyone seriously while she’s premed and she insists on living vicariously through me.

  CHAPTER 3 – PAST

  My birthday feels like any other day. Mom and Dad FaceTime me in between classes and a few friends from high school that I’ve largely lost touch with comment on my Facebook. Getting ready for my night out has me more nervous than I’d admit out loud. Cher takes me under her wing and helps to dress me and does my hair and makeup. My hair is higher and my makeup heavier, than I would ever do myself, but my nerves have me unable to focus on it for long. I’m worried about Lawson’s friends and also have to mentally prepare for an escape plan should I become too uncomfortable. Being a girl sucks in that way.

  I grab my ID, phone, and wallet and shove it in a small crossbody bag when my phone goes off and Lawson’s name lights up the screen. He’s out in front of the building. I look out my window and look down to see a small dark sports car. Of course he drives a car like that. I pull my purse over my body and shout out to Cher a thank you for her help as I leave.

  When I push through the front glass doors, I see the passenger door swing open and Lawson can be seen bent over pushing it open from the driver side. I slide in and in the small back seat are two guys I saw standing across the quad the day before, scrunched up, clearly looking unhappy with Lawson.

  “I don’t know why we couldn’t have taken my Subaru,” the dark-haired one offers. He’s tall and lean and only slightly nerdy looking in a handsome way.

  “Because it’s a Subaru, Finn. You’ve answered your own question. Grant agrees with me, don’t you Grant?” Lawson gestures to the other guy in the back with blonde brushed back hair.

  “He has a solid point. This is a much sexier car.”

  The one I have now identified as Finn looks exacerbated and I have a feeling that this is the status quo for this group of guys. “NOTHING IS SEXY ABOUT US PILING OUT OF THIS THING LIKE A CLOWN CAR.” He’s yelling and flailing his arms around as much as he can move them.

  Lawson finally looks over to me. “Guys, this is Farah.”

  “Hey Farah, Happy Birthday. Lawson says you’re twenty-one?”

  I nod at Grant who asked.

  “Perfect. We will have to do shots in your honor.”

  This earns another eye roll from Finn and Lawson is grinning slyly.

  “Happy Birthday, Farah. Glad to have another sane person aboard this crazy train,” Finn says to me, and I smile at him and thank him.

  “Ready? Things might get a little wild,” Lawson asks.

  “Wild, how?” I ask, sounding a little more scared than I would like to.

  “That’s a surprise, birthday girl.”

  He drives off and moments later we pull into a bar parking lot. Lawson parks in an open area in the back that’s well lit, and we all pile out just like clowns as Finn had previously mentioned. My nerves still unsettled, and I fidget with my hands as we all walk in. I watch the three boys interact with each other and begin to think that these three have been friends far longer than just their college run.

  “IDs please,” the lady at the door announces as we walk up. I rummage in my bag for it in my wallet and produce it for her.

  “Ah, Happy Birthday, little one.” She hands the ID back. “Have a good time in there tonight.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that, Linda. She’s with us.” Linda. They’re on a first-name basis with the lady checking IDs. Go figure.

  We head in and I take in my first bar in Columbia.

  “Let’s grab a drink.” Lawson leans into me and shouts over the music, I nod back at him.

  When we approach the bar, our male bartender is busy with a crowd at the other end. I peruse the drink list, not even sure what I want. When I look up from the list, I see Lawson on the other side of Finn, grinning down at some girl and chatting her up. He is such a lady’s man. Finn takes the opportunity to chat with me.

  “So, Lawson says you’re a poli sci major. Want to be a lawyer?”

  “Yeah,” I yell back at him. “Or a judge. I transferred from Georgia this year.”

  “Ah, a judge. There is always one in every group. What made you choose it? Everyone has a story.” He seems genuinely interested and I appreciate his attempt to bridge my distraction from Lawson’s extra friendly conversation.

  “When I was nine, we moved here from Turkey. I just remember it being a mess and really difficult despite the fact that my dad’s an American. I could see how difficult it was for others coming in who weren’t citizens, how little support they had. I remember thinking I always wanted to help those people, so I kind of settled on immigration law.” He nods his head, reflecting on my statement and a tense look crosses his face. I’m not sure what it means. “I assume you are also in law school here too?” I ask, gesturing to Lawson, who was still preoccupied with the blonde to his right.

  “Yeah, tax law.”

  “That sounds dreadfully boring,” I blurt and then realize how rude that must have come off. “I’m so sorry. That was terribly impolite of me. I’m sure it’s fascinating.”

  Finn only laughs silently. “No, you’re right. It is boring. Family business, though, so I guess it is what it is.”

  I nod my head in understanding. It seems like that is a big thing here.

  About that time the bartender finally made it around to us. He leans into me asking our order with a grin on his face that seems flirtatious and I debated if that was just to get a better tip. I’m about to give my order when Lawson finally comes out of his lady-summoned trance and interrupts me.

  “Hey big guy, we will take four shots of tequila, a cherry vodka for the lady and I’ll have a gin and tonic. These guys can have whatever they want as well,” Lawson says, pointing to Grant and Finn while handing his card over the counter.
/>
  They give their own orders - both are drinking Crown and Sprite. I don’t think I would like whiskey much. I looked over at Lawson with a “what was that about?” look on my face.

  “It’s your birthday. You shouldn’t pay for your drinks.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s your birthday too,” I remind him. “And what if I don’t like cherry vodka?”

  He looks back at me like I’m lying. Truth is, I don’t know if I do or not because I haven’t had one before. I was going to order a pina colada because it sounded fruity and safe.

  “Please,” he hollers over the music. “Every chick loves cherry vodkas. It’s basically an alcoholic Shirley Temple. A dirty Shirley, if you will.” He raises his eyebrows at me with insinuation.

  I roll my eyes back at him. I watch the bartender pour vodka, Sprite, and some thick red syrup into my glass and hand it over to me with a straw. I swirl it around and put my lips to the straw, all while Lawson eyes me closely. A piece of his hair has fallen in front of his eyes, looking disheveled and I notice this same piece fell there often when I had seen him before. I suck in a small drink, testing the waters. Damnit. It was good.

  A smile broke across his face. “See? It’s delicious.”

  “Fine, you’re right,” I agree hesitantly.

  “Glad you agree. Now save some of that because I can’t make the same promise about tequila.” He lined up two shots in front of each of us. “Birthday shots!” he exclaims, happily. I hadn’t had tequila, but I knew people called it “to-kill-ya” and was immediately more hesitant.

  Lawson clearly read the look on my face. “Never had tequila?” he queried.

  “Never had much of anything. Just some champagne and wine.”

  “Ah, this’ll burn a little then.” He said it as if he was bandaging a wound with peroxide.

  “Bottoms up!” He holds his first shot out toward me, in an attempt to cheers. I grab the small glass of clear liquid and raised it to his own, pausing before we clink glasses. Lawson clears his throat and before I know it Finn and Grant have brought their own drinks into the toast.