Page 44 of Solo

“I, uh, well, no. I mean…”

I try not to giggle as he struggles to find an appropriate response.

“It’s none of my business either way,” he says, finally, pulling the cork and filling each glass.

“You’re not the only one. I know I look like crap when I’m tired. And since your classes always seem to be first thing in the morning, you’re not exactly seeing me at my best.”

He doesn’t comment as he hands me a glass with just a splash in the bottom.

“Oh, you know what? I’ve had wine before. Wine coolers,” I offer, suddenly remembering my wayward high school years.

“Wine coolers?” he repeats, looking as if he’s just smelled something bad.

I nod and he shakes his head.

“Yeah, well wine coolers are a little…” He pauses, seeming to search for the right word. I decide to help him out and spare him the embarrassment.

“Juvenile? Cheap? Tacky?” I offer with a grin.

“Sweet,” he says as if the other adjectives had never even crossed his mind. “Sweet. But, if you like that, then I think you’ll like this. It’s sweet, by wine standards.”

I take a tentative sip of the straw-colored liquid.

“Mmmm,” I say after I sample it. I can’t help licking my lips and nodding. “It’s kind of appley. Crisp. I like it.”

When he’s topped my glass, I take a longer gulp.

“Whoa, hey, slow down a little,” he warns with a laugh. “That’s not a wine cooler, you know. It’ll knock you flat on your ass if you’re not careful.”

I shrug and watch as he settles onto the opposite end of the couch from where I’m sitting with my legs tucked up under me. I had changed out of my sweats and into another one of his shirts that he left out on the bed for me to sleep in. We sip in companionable silence for a minute or two.

“So, you don’t drink much. Does that mean you’re not a frat party kegger kind of girl?” he asks out of nowhere. There’s something about his tone that makes me think he’s only half teasing.

“Not so much.” I smile. Two can play this game. The “fishing for info” game. “Is that what they all think? The faculty, I mean? That I’m some party girl coed?”

“Oh…” He seems to give this some thought. “No, I don’t think so. There’s speculation of course, because you’re very high profile, but you keep to yourself. And that kind of exposure paired with that kind of secrecy is always going to pique people’s curiosity. And that curiosity is going to breed rumors.” He shifts his gaze forward so he’s looking at the fire.

“May I have some more wine?” I ask, realizing my glass is empty. Did I drink all of it already? God, I don’t even remember doing that.

He takes my glass and gives me half a pour. “I wasn’t kidding before,” he says, catching my eye when he hands it back to me. “This stuff goes down easy, but it’ll hit you like a freight train later.”

I nod my understanding and take the glass from him as he pours some more for himself, too.

“I don’t—” I begin and then stop. He waits. I continue. “I don’t know what I ever did to give anyone a bad impression of me.”

He doesn’t miss my hesitation over which pronoun to use. I don’t want to point the finger at him. Or at his friend Tessa, Town Crier and President of the Shepherd University Gossip Coalition.

I watch him take a deep sigh and he turns back to lock his eyes on mine over the rim of his wineglass. I can see the licking flames of the fire reflected in them, giving him a little hint of the satanic. A chill runs down my spine.

“Katherine, from my end, it’s you being late all the time and coming in with bloodshot eyes. Some days you reek of smoke, like you’ve been in a bar all night and just stumbled into class. It feels disrespectful to me and it’s that kind of thing that makes people think the worst of you.”

Despite my best efforts, I blink hard at his honesty. It’s not exactly mean, but it’s certainly not kind. I pick up my glass of wine and drain it. I can see he wants to say something about it, but he’s holding his tongue. Yeah, well, I’m not going to hold mine.

“So, those things made you think what? That I’m some party girl? Or lazy, entitled, rich kid, or…or worse?” I demand.

He shrugs and considers the fire again.

“Well, they don’t exactly make me think you’re an honors student,” he mumbles.