Talons

Chapter 49: The Shirt

Rhea’s POV

I lost three points due to ‘untidiness’ and five because I kept looking down, which put my grade at an A minus. I have never gotten below an A and to know that those three points could have helped keep my streak is not helping. 

I'm scheduled to tutor the guys today and I storm into the study hall looking to punch Mike in the face. I'm angry enough to break his jaw but Sylvia reminds me that hitting him is also considered attacking a human. That works to calm me, but not all the way.

I stand in front of his desk and he, like everyone else, is asking what happened because it’s clear by my top that something went wrong somewhere. I quickly recap the situation, and Mike stands up with a concerned expression on his face before I demand for him to remove his shirt.

“What?” he asks, clearly confused by my request.

“I said: TAKE. OFF. YOUR. SHIRT.” He must have realized that I was serious because he quietly takes off his shirt and hands it to me. 

I’ve never seen Mike’s bare chest, and both Sylvia and I are impressed by it. His body is extremely well built with chiseled muscle that looks almost perfect to me. I can’t help but to scan his abs with my eyes before snatching his shirt and stepping out of the room.

I come back with my shirt in my hands, and I hand it to Mike, ordering him to put it on. He looks at me like I’m crazy, so I slip it over his head, much to the enjoyment of the guys around us. 

Once Mike’s arms are through; I laugh. He looks ridiculous, and the large brown stain doesn’t help.

“I've had a relatively peaceful time in this school. Don’t mess that up for me,” I say through gritted teeth. 

“This is humiliating,” Mike says, and I remind him that I walked through the campus and took an oral exam in that state. Although to be fair the shirt fit me; Mike's entire lower half is uncovered, and the sleeves have pretty much disappeared.

“Just humiliating?” I ask incredulously. “I lost points on an important presentation which might lower my overall grade because of your high school girlfriend.” Mike’s eyes go wide before he recovers.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“That's not what she thinks.” 

"Pretty sure fondling her while she sits on your lap doesn't help," Sylvia quips. Mike can't hear her, but I can tell she needed to add her two cents. 

I attempt to start the lesson, but after the guys stop snickering, I’m bombarded by questions about possible contract deals. 

I want to ignore them, but I know that if I do, they will start showing up at my room again. To make use of the time, I use the numbers in the contracts as example problems, and we are all taken aback with how little some of the guys are being offered.

I too am offended on their behalf; football is a high contact sport and the money that has been put forward is equivalent to the yearly amount they would make if they got a decent paying job. They are better off taking their education more seriously or waiting to enter the football draft.

I try to offer them a shred of hope in the now quiet room by mentioning my ‘future business,’ while simultaneously reminding the guys that they have another year to improve their stats; some of them longer.

“Okay guys; you heard her. Unless you are like Mike and want to work with dirt and sh*t, now's the time to put in work,” Brent says, making some of the guys hoot.

I noticed that Mike wasn’t among the people who showed me a contract, but I also know he has been offered a lot more than many of his teammates. 

Very slowly, I start to pick up my things but Mike notices.

“B…” he says in a playful yet warning tone. “What are you doing?” I cast a glance at Brent and Brice, the funniest brothers I’ve met, and they each grab hold of one of Mike's arms. 

I run, knowing that they will hold him until I’m out of sight, which is all the headway I need.

I hear Mike shouting that he has a class and can't be late again, but I don't care. Sylvia is chuckling maniacally in my mind, and I know she needed the little slice of revenge.

I get to my class and hide inside. I'm not late, in fact, I'm early but I change into my lab gear and start checking on my mold cultures. 

I'm now trying to figure out a way to organically produce a compound that prevents grey mold on plants with less application. 

I can't speak for every farmer in the world, but I know my parents hate the stuff, and take extra care making sure trees do not shift and grow too close together to prevent its spread.

They have seen two seasons of significant losses in their organic orchards and fields because they can't use a mold killer, and the current organic stuff on the market isn't actually all that great.

I know that I’m not a member of their pack, and I know I won't be unless my brother puts in an appeal, but I still want to help my family prosper and I want excuses to visit my nephew.

I don't even notice when the lecturer enters the class. He knows all of us because this class is block two of the same subject, so he isn’t wasting time with formalities. It’s an advanced subject and we have free range of the lab. 

The only thing us students have to worry about is keeping good notes on our cultures. Whether our experiments fail, succeed, or fall somewhere in between doesn't matter. It's our written papers that will determine our grade in the class.

My phone buzzes and I know it's the alarm I set to begin clearing my station. In fact, the entire class starts doing the same thing. Within my peer group, I’m known as ‘the keeper of time,’ or ‘The One.’ Both are movie references I don’t understand, but I’m sure they aren’t bad.

I’m quite popular among the male students, not because they find me pretty, but because they think I’m the secret cure to their social awkwardness. I too have my share of troubles, but once I get to know a person I’m fine. For a lot of my classmates, they can’t even get past the level of hello.

The notion they have has been made even worse because I introduced one of the guys in my class to Jamie’s pack friend and whatever that girl did to him changed him spiritually. He walks differently, talks differently, and his group of friends are jealous. Several of them have come asking me to play matchmaker, but I’m not Jamie.

After removing my lab gear, I noticed that I was getting strange looks from my classmates, but I didn't pay too much attention to them. People like us always look kind of strange when we have a lot on our mind; especially when we can tell that whatever experiment we chose is going to fail. 

It wasn’t until I was walking toward the elevators on the floor, that I realized that everyone was staring at me. I scanned my body, looking for signs, gum, food, you name it. When Colton was still discovering his sadistic nature, he first started with petty pranks that became physical as we grew older.

I look down at my shirt and realize too late that it says Mike’s name and number on it. I feel my heart start to race as I consider the implications of my clothing, and instinctively my eyes shoot up wanting to explain, but no one is paying attention to me anymore.

I tell myself that it was all in my mind as I make my way toward the stairwell, but I am roughly pulled back by someone. I turn around in panic, because for one split second, I thought Colton had shown up on campus.

“Sh*t B, I didn’t mean to scare you.” I sigh a heavy sigh of relief, when it is Mike, and I involuntarily chuckle when I see he is still wearing the coffee soiled shirt.

“Why haven't you changed?” I ask, curious because I know that none of his classes are the full three hours that my labs are. He has had more than enough time to change his clothing or to have a teammate bring him a change of clothing.

“Coach Jim thinks you have a good eye for punishments. He heard about the coffee fiasco from your professor, and after this, I have laps after practice.” I cover my mouth trying to stifle my laugh, and Mike pulls me into the stairwell, blocking the door with his body.

“Mike,” I say, not wanting to repeat the words I had only just given him weeks before. 

“Baby… Just… Please listen to me.” Once again, Sylvia does that purring thing in my mind, and I’m not mad at her. Jack had that same effect on me, even after he made me angry by flirting with my sister, and I can’t confidently say I won’t stay drooling over the man. “I f*cked up, but I had been drinking, and it had been a painfully long time since I-” I cut Mike off by putting my fingers over his mouth.

“I already told you that it was selfish of me to ask you to wait. Explaining this to me does nothing. You want something I can’t give you.”

“But you can,” Mike says. “The age of consent in this state is seventeen; I checked.”

“I also checked, and that only applies to those who are under twenty-one years of age.”

“Why were you looking it up?” Mike asks in a husky voice, which has my wolf melting.

“Because I was stupid.” I try to walk around Mike, but he pulls me close to him again. I’ve been getting used to him hugging me, but not in public.

“Was it for me?” he asks, and I immediately deny it.

The truth is that it wasn’t for Mike; it was for me. I wanted to experience the intimacy between men and women, but I’m not sure I am ready for that sort of commitment yet. I cannot imagine how angry and hurt I would have been if I had given myself away only to catch Mike with his ex-sweetheart.

I’m curious but not desperate, so I can wait for the right person and the right time.