I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the bottom of my
tank top, showing off my toned stomach.
I loved playing tennis indoors. I
grinned across the net at my hitting partner, James. He and I both worked at the Racquet
Club. It was 9:30 p.m., Sunday
night. I had closed the Club already,
and sometimes he would come and meet me and we would hit afterwards, for fun,
and a workout. We had known each other
for a couple years. He was 9 years older
than me, and something about him was so appealing. He’s also probably the biggest flirt I knew. On the court he was always dressed tennis
appropriate, but off, he had the fashion sense of a Top Model. There had always been this mutual attraction,
a sexual tension between us, but anytime one of us was single, the other
wasn’t. When Derek and I were together,
that attraction was always suppressed and ignored. But today I felt ignited. Derek and I hadn’t spoken since I hung up on
him Friday night. He had tried calling
me and texting me, and I had ignored his attempts at contact. I knew he wouldn’t drive to campus and hunt
me down, and with the pressure of a potential pregnancy guilting me into
staying with him now over, the pendulum of our relationship was swinging
towards “break up.” But who knows, that
could change tomorrow. Selfish? Yes.
Unfair to Derek? Most
definitely. But at this moment, I didn’t
care.
“You keep tempting me with pulling that shirt up, and we may
have to place some wagers on this game.”
James was smiling. Currently, we
were both in relationships. James has a
thing for younger females. As in, a lot
younger. I don’t even think his current
girlfriend could get into a bar with him.
“James. If you keep
talkin’ dirty, I’m going to have to stop taking it easy on you; and in that case, wagering may not be in your
best interest!” I was fully aware that
prancing around in my skin tight top and tiny tennis skirt was tempting to
him. But nothing would happen. That’s what I was telling myself. Anyhow,
we were just hitting,
not even playing games. Just a friendly
work out.
We
had packed up our racquets and were standing at the door before walking
out. We both had pulled on sweats over
our tennis wear. Chatting before setting
the alarm to walk out, we were standing close.
I was venting about my frustrations with Derek. “You know, if you would’ve just waited for me
this last time, you wouldn’t be dealing with this now.”
James’ stated. Sometimes, I
couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
“James, I would never trust you.
Look at how you are. You have a
girlfriend.” He faced me and took a step
towards me. I went to back up (because
maybe I didn’t trust myself), and backed into the wall. He put his hand on the wall next to my head,
and leaned in to me. I searched his
eyes. His eyes drifted between intently
looking into mine, down to my lips, and then back. He leaned a little closer, moved his head
just to the side and whispered into my ear, “You, I would never hurt.” He then pushed away and walked out the
door. I realized I was holding my
breath.
This morning, I had class.
I didn’t go. It was
weightlifting. I hadn’t wanted to go to
college right after high school, but it was expected of me, and I got a full
ride for tennis. So, I chose a major
that would require little of me (or so I thought), and that would allow me to
graduate in 4 years, because I was so tired of school. My major: Psychology. My minor:
Sociology. My life goal: No clue. I wish I had that automatic “knowing” of what
I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
But I don’t. My little brother,
Tom, does. He’s a senior in high school
and already knows he’s going to something with computer software development. He may or may not be a borderline genius. Time will tell.
As long as attendance wasn’t part of the grade, I didn’t
have much motivation to go. Being a
great test taker was a gift of mine, along with generally just being
smart. Genes, I guess. However, college had turned out to be more
difficult than I was expecting. I was
passing all my classes, but just with B’s and C’s. I’m sure if I applied myself, I would do
great. I was just missing the motivation
factor. I sound like my mom. Ugh. I
always tried to take easier classes in the spring semester, anyway, because
that’s tournament season for tennis. As for my roommates, I
knew that Elena was at college to further her education, Sarah was at college
to get a real degree, Maddie was at college to get her Mrs. Degree, and I was
at college to play tennis. To each their
own, I guess. However, I could always
justify not going to a class. I always had a reason, whether it was legitimate
or not. Maddie and I had a lot of
classes together, because her major was psychology, too. Sometimes I could convince her not to go to
class, and we would have girl time, other times, she would go, and I would just
bum her notes, and the rest of the time, she would convince me to go to class,
more for moral support than anything else.
However, this semester I was taking a lot of electives on Mondays,
Wednesdays, and Fridays, and major/minor specific classes on Tuesdays and
Thursdays. So MWF were my skipping
days this semester. Today, my reasoning
was tired in the morning, and confused in the afternoon. James was consuming a lot of my
thoughts.
I had tennis practice from
4-6, and I did make that. I stopped by
the cafeteria on my way back to the apartment with a couple of my teammates,
Emily and Cara. Emily started at UNL the
same time I did, and Cara is a year younger and my doubles partner, so we’ve
bonded quite quickly. We started talking
about our coach, Matt. He had been in a
bad mood that day, which equaled a lot of running. Cara and I both hate running. Emily doesn’t mind it. She had actually lost quite a bit of weight
since our freshman year. Freshman
negative fifteen. I attribute it to her
running. Running to me is not
enjoyable. I don’t understand people
like Maddie. That’s what she’s here
for. Cross County and Track. Gross.
Anyhow, we chatted over our plates of food. Emily, of course, eating a salad. Cara eating what I refer to as “vegetarian
delight.” And me, with my horrible eating habits, a sautéed mixture of spinach,
and other vegetables, a hamburger, and a waffle. There are no words for my odd cravings and
mixtures. I was almost done when Emily
looked at me and said “Aleah.” I heard the tone of her voice, and saw the look
on her face and didn’t want to turn around to face what I’m sure I didn’t want to
see.
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