Four
CLAUDIA
My ride back to campus the next day was filled with conflicting thoughts. As was my half-night’s sleep, during which I kept tossing and turning and hoping I’d made the right decision.
On one hand I’d done the right thing. I’d helped the guys out, and given them a place to stay on campus. And being that I was a professor on that campus, wasn’t helping students what teaching was all about?
Yes, I’d convinced myself. It certainly was.
On the other hand, I also felt like I’d taken advantage. The University had already given me a healthy stipend to repair, replace, and re-decorate the ancient frat house. Rather than use that money to hire a cleaning crew, I was now sort of getting the proverbial milk for free.
Hey, the little voice in my head reasoned. They offered first.
Besides, I didn’t even know they’d follow through on their promise to do anything at all. They could move in all their stuff, laugh in my face, and refuse to do jack shit. In all likelihood, I couldn’t even evict them. I’d be stuck.
“Damn,” I grunted, clenching the steering wheel. “That had better not happen.”
Talking to myself during my commute was my favorite time of the day. I got to speak my mind without being shot down by Garrett, or questioned by any one of a hundred students. It was the purest form of free thought.
I finished breakfast — a dry, crunchy granola bar — and turned through the University’s entrance. Two huge rows of elms lined the main avenue. Students milled back and forth, moving like colorful ants from quad to quad. Classes were in full swing. The chill of fall was a crisp snap in the October air.
“You? Fix up a house?”
I could still hear Garrett’s hollow laugher. Taste the cynicism dripping from his smarmy, know-it-all voice.
“What the hell do you know about repairing anything?”
It was stupid of me to even tell him. Nearly as stupid as living with your ex-husband, almost a year after getting divorced.
Just thinking about the whole situation made me grip the steering wheel even tighter. We’d separated, split up, divorced… and yet there I was, still in the home we’d made together. Only it wasn’t a home anymore. It was more like a prison. Just one of the many reasons I’d taken this side project, so I could spend as much time as possible not getting into it with him.
“You barely fix anything around here,” he’d laughed. “Look at this place. It’s going to hell in a handbasket.”
Hell in a handbasket. Of all the overused phrases he regurgitated several times each week, this had to be one of the worst.
“That’s probably because I hate this place,” I’d told him.
He’d scoffed at me for that. “You used to love it.”
“Not anymore.”
We’d been together five years, married for three. As far as I knew, everything had been going great. We’d bought a house, adopted a dog, even talked about having kids. Then, over dinner one night, Garrett simply announced he wasn’t in love with me anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s just how I feel.”
It was like getting punched in the gut. Hard.
The best part was that in the very next breath, my not-so-loving husband also told me he wanted to see other people. Effective immediately, apparently upon completion of dessert.
“So you’re fucking someone else,” I remember snarling. “Obviously.”
He denied it of course, but I knew he was. And the more I pressed, the less he tried to hide it. First there was Debbie, the girl he worked with. After that came Melissa, followed by some other tramp I never got a name for, and then finally his current girlfriend, Chastity.
Yes, that’s right. Chastity.
You really couldn’t make this shit up.
At first I tried throwing him out, but he flat out refused. He wasn’t leaving “his house,” no matter how much we didn’t get along anymore. We slept in separate bedrooms while the details were worked out, and the details went quickly since we had no assets, no children. But the more we lived together while being apart? The more furious I became. And the more I hated being around him.
“You can always leave,” he’d tell me with a shrug. “You don’t really like this place anyway.”
I was immediately defiant whenever he made the suggestion. As if in leaving, I was somehow surrendering something. Losing, even though there was nothing left to lose.
Besides, I just couldn’t afford a place of my own. Not as an adjunct. Not until I got hired full time.
But maybe, after saving all the extra money I was getting paid for renovations…
I turned into the driveway of the old frat house and instantly stopped short. A huge metal container took up most of the driveway. It was already half-filled with garbage.
I was totally speechless as I parked my car along the curb and made my way across the overgrown front lawn.
“Who ordered the dumpster?” I asked incredulously.
“I did.”
I turned to my left and there was Hunter. He was dressed in pair of torn jeans and a tight white T-shirt. Or at least it used to be white. Right now it was covered — along with his face and arms — in a powdery layer of what looked to be sheetrock dust.
“Ummm… well, thanks.”
“No need to thank me,” he said. “The house needed it. Besides, my uncle’s still billing you for it. He runs a construction company not far from here.”
“Oh.”
“I got you a discount though,” he added. “Friends and family. That sort of thing.”
I nodded appreciatively. “Very cool of you.”
“Like I said, the house needed it.”
We both turned as Colin and Brandon walked out of the open front door. Colin had a bag of garbage dangling from each hand. Brandon however, was carrying something much, much bigger.
“What the hell is this thing anyway?” he asked.
“Looks like the bigger half of an entertainment center?” I offered.
It was enormous, much like him. As we watched, Brandon walked straight to the edge of the metal dumpster and heaved the thing over the side. It hit the bottom with a resounding CLANG, shattering like driftwood and sending up a big cloud of swirling dust.
“Uh, should you really be carrying that on your shoulder?” I asked hesitantly.
“No,” Hunter jumped in. “No, he really shouldn’t.”
“But—”
“Dude, no buts!” cried Hunter. “You’re on a football scholarship, remember? Imagine you tore your shoulder just now. Over some stupid entertainment center, three decades old!”
Now that he wasn’t carrying anything, I could see Brandon more clearly. And the first thing I couldn’t help but notice about him was that he was shirtless.
Oh my God…
The kid — no, the man standing next to the dumpster was the perfect picture of an Adonis. His chest was so big and well-defined he looked like an action hero. His arms so ripped with muscle, they seemed almost fake. Brandon stood there for a moment, his body barely heaving with the exertion of what he’d just done. He reminded me of the statue of some Greek God. Like he was sculpted out of marble.
“You’re right,” he said. “That was stupid.”
“Damn right it was stupid,” Hunter chastised him. “And another thing—”
“You’re bleeding,” I jumped in.
I approached him without even thinking. Reaching into my pocket I pulled out a napkin from lunch and dabbed it against the upper part of one perfectly formed pectoral.
“It’s just a scratch,” he said, looking down. “No big deal.”
His hand closed over my own, swiping the blood away with the napkin. As his skin made contact with mine, I shivered involuntarily.
“From now on ask for help,” Colin said from behind us. “No more of this hero bullshit. If you get hurt and have to leave campus, Hunter and I are screwed. We’ll have to split the expenses two ways instead of three.”
Hunter scratched at his goatee. “Speaking of which,” he squinted my way, “how much do we owe you for renting this place?”
The question took me off guard. Especially since I was still savoring the masculine feel of Brandon’s big, calloused hand on mine.
“N—Nothing,” I finally stammered. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Bullshit,” said Hunter. “We have to pay you something.”
“Not a chance,” I said firmly. “You guys are helping me renovate, remember? That’s payment enough. The campus is covering the electric, and you guys can split up whatever other utilities you need. Do that, and we’re all square.”
Brandon smiled, his teeth looking impossibly straight and white. Colin, his shirt soaked to his flat stomach by sweat, put his hands on his hips.
“Well shit,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling. “I’m pretty sure we’re gonna like you.”