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“I think the worst one, though, was this girl my senior year of high school. I was asking her to prom. I thought she’d say yes because, well, I was a varsity football player and she was one of the most popular girls in school. She was my lab partner and I’d always thought she’d been pretty flirty with me. But, when I asked her to go to the dance with me – I had set up some big elaborate sign at her parent’s house – she told me she couldn’t take prom pictures with a guy who looked like he’d been shit on. That one hurt.”
“Jesus,” I gasp, “what the fuck is her problem? That’s awful.”
“I know,” he responds, his jaw clenching. “I think the worst part was it happened while my dad was in hospice.” He runs a hand through his hair, a look of frustration on his face. “He died the next day. So, no matter how hard I try, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget it.”
“I’m so sorry, Henry. I-I don’t even know what to say... I’m just so sorry.”
“It’s alright,” he assures, a sheepish grin forming across his lips. “I took her best friend to prom instead – who was even hotter.”
I scrunch my face at him and push the ice pack gently into his bruise. “God, you can be such a jock.”
“Ow, fuck,” he laughs, exaggerating a painful grimace. “This is abuse!”
He swings his leg over suddenly, pushing into my knees and knocking me into his lap.
“THIS is abuse!” I screech, choking back laughter as I attempt to wrestle myself away. His grip is too strong, even with one arm, and I can’t rise back to my feet.
“No, it’s revenge,” he retorts, a lazy smirk across his lips – as if holding me back doesn’t even take 1% of his strength.
“Let go, Anderson!” I squeal, jokingly thrashing my body to break his vice grip.
“Never, Campbell.” He rests his head against the back of his couch. “If you’re done, we can start the interview.”
His good arm is still wrapped around me, pressing me against his athletic frame. If his muscles are straining by holding me back, he doesn’t show it.
“We can start the interview when I’m freed.” I wrap my fingers around the top of his forearm and push – to no avail.
“I don’t think you’re in any rush to get up. Even if you pretend to be.” He smirks at me mischievously, his eyes shimmering in the warm light.
“God, you’re so cocky.” I rest for just a moment, but don’t allow myself to sink into him.
“That’s good – write that in the journal. ‘Henry Anderson, dashingly handsome captain of the TU Titans, is cocky.’”
“Case in point. And how am I supposed to write when you’re holding my arms?”
“Make a mental note.”
He shrugs and rests his head on my shoulder, the rhythm of his breath rising and falling against me as our bodies press together.
What are we doing? I’m here for an interview!
“Henry, I–” I start, unsure how I’ll finish the sentence once I’ve begun it.
Henry lifts his head at the sound of my voice, his chiseled cheek reddened from the contact with my shoulder. His eyes shimmer warmly as he suddenly notices a stray hair falling across my face and softly tucks it behind my ear, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. His fingertips linger on my skin, tracing a delicate path along my cheek, his gaze locked with mine.
God, he’s so pretty. No, wait. Georgia, you need to focus. If you don’t get this column written, the TU Tribune – the same one you’ve worked for years to help build – won’t exist anymore. All those years wasted. Dr. Randie would be devastated. Eleanor would be devastated. You would be devastated. You can’t let that happen.
“I–” I stutter, hesitating as I notice his scarlet lips pouted in that perfectly boyish way.
Damnit, I want to kiss him again.
“What is it?” Henry mutters, his palm tracing from my cheek down to my upper arm as he awaits my response.
“I-I just think we really need to focus on this interview.”
He smiles at me softly and leans back against the couch, releasing me from his grip entirely.
“Ask away, princess.”
