The Studying Hours

I nab another fry and pop it in my mouth. “Seriously.” I swallow. “Conservative Mary and Malibu Barbie? How’d the two of you end up living together?”

Another poke at the mozzie sticks. “Conservative? Who on earth are you talking about?”

In a move I’m going to later blame on Jameson, I roll my eyes. “James.”

How can she not know who I’m talking about?

“You’re talking about James?” she asks, baffled.

I gotta give the girl props: Sydney has the good sense to look affronted. I give her another few points for loyalty, and one for the irritated expression she’s trying to mask behind her faltering smile. “Jameson Clark? Conservative?”

She says it so incredulously I begin to wonder if I’m starting to piss her off.

Nonetheless…

“Do you know more than one Jameson?” I recline back in my chair and cross my arms. Sydney’s eyes, lined in heavy black liner, rake my tattoo-covered biceps, flaring with obvious interest.

Palming my beer bottle, I take a quick pull. “Yeah. Prim and proper. Smart mouth. What’s up with that?”

I’m kind of being an asshole, but she doesn’t seem to care. Well, she cares, but I don’t.

Sydney blushes out a stiff, “James is not boring.”

I scoff. “I didn’t say she was boring—I know why she’s always studying, but what other stuff is she into? She does do other stuff, yeah?”

“I think she’s just serious about school. She doesn’t like to be bothered when she’s studying.”

I suppress an eye roll. “I know. Has it occurred to her that she doesn’t need to wear cardigans and shit to be serious about school or to be left alone?” I ask more to myself than to Sydney. “Does she ever go out and have fun? Let loose? Dress slutty?”

Inquiring minds want to know.

“Yes?”

Yeah, right. My brows rise dubiously. “Really? What kind of fun?”

Sydney’s arms flail helplessly on her side of the booth. “I don’t know! You just saw us at a party—that kind of fun. She likes snowboarding and swimming in the summer, so she does that a lot.”

“Snowboarding?” I ask incredulously.

Sydney nods. “She’s really good, too. I think she’s in the snowboarding club; they’re leaving for Utah for spring break soon.”

No fucking way. “Snowboarding?” I parrot, sounding like an idiot. “There’s no fucking way.”

Sydney stares at me then, across the table, the most perplexed look on her face. Brows creased into deep lines, her mouth is downturned in an arch. “Sorry? I’m getting really confused.”

Her ditzy laugh doesn’t reach her eyes, and the air between us gets awkward.

Shit. This isn’t cool. I’m a dick, but if I keep overtly acting like one, there’s no chance in hell Sydney’s going to blow me in the bathroom at the end of this quasi date.

I switch gears and turn on the charm. “You know what? Forget I said anything; I was just curious. So tell me more about yourself.”

Now her whole face changes, goes from guarded to animated when she gasps an excited breath. “I’m a senior nursing major originally from Tennessee, I’m on the dance team, and I just love wrestling. I’m a huge, huge fan.”

A huge fan for someone who thought I was on the football team, I think sarcastically.

“Uh huh.” I nod, half listening, and eat another limp fry, chasing it down with a swig of beer while trying to visualize Jameson Clark snowboarding.

I’m fucking sorry, but I cannot for the life of me reconcile the image in my mind. Tiny Jameson, bearer of buttoned up cardigans and pearl necklaces, snowboarding? Terrain parks and half-pipes. Boxy jackets and bib overalls.

There’s no freaking way.

Sydney’s voice drones in and out.

“…and then I transferred last year when I toured the campus with my cousin. That’s how I met Allison, who was already living with Jameson. I have to make up a few classes at the end of this year that weren’t accredited at my previous school, which will set me back a semester. That’s gonna suck.”

Absentmindedly, I reply, “That does suck.”

“Right? My parents are going to kill me.” Suddenly, Sydney’s mouth broadens into a huge smile. “So, enough about me. Tell me more about you. What’s the famous Oz Osborne’s story? I can hardly believe I’m sitting here with you. I feel like we have a lot in common.”

Her teeth flash bright white in her spray-tanned face and she gives a tiny squeak of delight.

Great. Just great. Jameson tricked me into going out with a sports groupie. I’m going to kill her the next time I see her; maybe she’ll let me stick my tongue down her throat as punishment.

I lean forward in the booth, resting my elbows on the sticky tabletop. “I don’t know what there is to tell. I’m here on a wrestling scholarship, but everyone knows that. My major is HR, my—”

“HR…like, as in human resources?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” Her response is one I’ve seen a million times before. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a guy majoring in HR. What made you decide to do that?”

I have my reasons, but they’re no one’s business. I don’t know Sydney, don’t care to get to know Sydney—so I don’t tell her the reason I majored in HR when there were a million other career paths I could have chosen.