5

Kassie

Half-Baked Apology

One of those long-lasting, vengeful headaches throbbed right behind my temple. The consequence of a lack of sleep if I ever had one. My roommate—Zariah—kept throwing suspicious looks my way as we took our places in Mr. Ishisaka's nine-in-the-morning Animation And Its Form course.

"Kass. You have to get eight hours in."

I set up my drawing pad, pencils, and the rest of my orchestra. "How's your RA application going?"

"Don't put the spotlight on me."

"That good, huh?"

She sighed deeply, and I couldn't help the laugh. Zariah was starting up her sophomore year with a big vision board, to become a resident assistant, one of the people on campus who kept dorms from burning to the ground. Did I understand it?

No.

Best case scenario, she'd get free housing. Worst case scenario? A whole semester of babysitting freshmen or— yikes —student-athletes.

"We're not focusing on me." Zariah crossed her arms over her chest. "We're focusing on you getting more sleep . Tell me it was something good. Tell me it was some Dirty Dancing montage out in the pouring rain with a gorgeous man who you couldn't let go of if you tried."

"That's me. All the time in the world for dancing montages."

"Tell me you weren't working again."

With a grimace, I continued setting up my workstation.

"Damn you!" Zariah cursed. "I told you if they don't listen, I can get you a spot at the hotel. You said you'd talk to them—"

"How about this?" I pulled a packet of caramel chocolates from my bag, courtesy of the two-in-the-morning burlesque show I'd made too many rum and cokes for. "History quiz on Friday. Each right answer gets a chocolate. I've got notecards here somewhere."

Stifling a yawn, I dug out my stack. The unmistakable stain of someone's drink curled the cards' edges.

"I'm not forgetting this. You need sleep." Zariah sniffed.

"Uh-huh. Lotte Reiniger, two things about her, feature film fact and something she's known for."

"Oldest surviving animated film and…rotoscoping?"

"Silhouette animation." I flashed the card but tossed her a chocolate anyway. "Some of her work led to the development of the modern multiplane camera, but the quiz will probably be looking for just silhouette animation. Alright, Segundo de Chomón." I held up the card.

"Spanish…hey…that dinner you had with the football guy…team captain, right?"

That wasn't the answer I was looking for. Sketching out some of the beginning bases on my drawing pad, I tried avoiding another frustrated spiel about the dinner. My roommates had suffered through enough of me griping about it. And Ryan Cross .

"Segundo de Chomón, Zariah."

"Brown hair?" Zariah cocked her head to the side. "Family-sized?"

"Chomón?"

"The football guy."

"Oh. I guess."

She took a short pause. "Sex on a stick?"

"What are you—?" One look up and the question took a short walk off a long cliff.

I must've crossed from exhausted to hallucinatory because standing at the door frame, in jeans and a dark t-shirt that barely covered his muscles, was him . With a freshly-showered curl to his hair and a rugged, five o'clock shadow that didn't deserve to look as good as it did. The golden boy of the university himself.

What? Why?

I struggled with an explanation. Why the hell would the football team captain be in the art building?

Ryan scanned beyond the little crowd starting to congregate around him. Those dark honey eyes locked on mine, and he gestured to the front of the class.

Not good.

"Where're you going?" Zariah called after me.

The closer I got to Ryan, the more the other ladies in the class got the same idea. Even worse than that were the guys, gaping like fish. Ryan barely made it five steps into the classroom and slack-jawed students were already trying to shake his hand. Pictures flashed.

Goddamn, this is a circus.

I was beyond mystified. I was a bird rustling her feathers, wary of whatever tomfoolery was happening below the tree.

"Good. You're here." Ryan offered a grim smile and I honestly couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. "I need to talk to you."

Nobody in this life or the next one, ever says I need to talk to you when it's about something good. No free puppies are ever whipped out after that sentence.

"Mr. Cross has generously volunteered." Mr. Ishisaka beamed behind him. "At last, new organic matter—"

My confusion was a bottomless trench. "Wait, you're modeling?"

"I said we'd consider it." Ryan gave a quick shake of his head. "I'll talk to our PR team about it. We can send videos."

Mr. Ishisaka hesitated. "But…you said—?"

"I said we'd consider it."

"I…" My professor faltered and returned to his desk. "I have the emails…"

"So, you're not modeling?" I pressed.

"No."

"Hold on." I held up a hand. "You told my professor that you're down and the moment you arrive, you get cold feet?" Every word dripped with irritation. "Am I missing something here? Do I got all my ducks pretty in a row?"

"I came to talk to you ." Ryan took one step forward, and as much as I wanted to step back, I held my ground. I wasn't about to get bullied by one of the university's GI Joe dolls. "I wanted to apologize."

"By being shitty to my teacher?"

"That's not what—"

"That's sure as shit what's happening." I gestured to Mr. Ishisaka, scrolling through his emails like Ryan would've admitted his wrongs. Like that would've convinced the football player to hit our little stage.

"I apologized. Now I have to talk to you."

"You didn't even goddamn apologize." I couldn't believe the guy. "I'm sorry, ball dribbler. You can't do that to him. Who do you think you are?"

No compromise laid in his dark honey eyes. "You're not listening to me, Kassie. I need to talk to you. There's a private location at the training center—"

"Uninterested."

Nothing in his life could've surprised him so badly. For a moment, he opened his mouth to reply, and nothing came to him. With a single word, I shocked him senseless. A person saying no to Ryan must've been a new experience.

His jaw tightened. "It's not just me. It's with our public relations department, the football alumni association—"

"Do I look like I care about some ball-throwing club?"

"You've been ignoring our emails—"

" Un interested." I shook my head and walked back to my desk, trying to figure out who I could convince to come in and model. I still had some of those librarian kids in my contacts, but who'd be available on such short notice?

An arm that belonged in a nationwide gym commercial cut across and rested on my desk, stopping me in my tracks. "This is important."

"So is this." I plucked my phone just beyond my new cage. "I don't know why I'm wasting my breath. You wouldn't have done it anyway."

For real—Ryan Cross, enormous, bulky football player, taut lines that snaked up his body, a hard light to his eyes, with the most muscular arms known to man—on our wooden stage? Hilarious.

"Scamper off." I jutted my chin and waited for a cool reply.

Ryan paused. "Want a bet?"

"What?"

"A bet. I'll come next Wednesday. We'll do a sweep and make sure phones are confiscated. This class— your class—gets ten minutes. And you come to the meeting today. No argument."

That's the offer?

The more I stared back at him, the more I thought over our little predicament. He clearly wasn't thrilled with the modeling prospect, and I wasn't jazzed about whatever trap he and his football jockheads had set for me.

But Mr. Ishisaka needed a model. My professor was one of my favorite people in the world. He'd even landed me a few limited-time storyboard gigs last semester. I couldn't imagine how bummed he'd be if Ryan skipped out of the session.

I have to do this real careful.

"Tell you what, big football man." I pretended to scroll across my phone's black screen. "You skedaddle back to that artificial turf crap, unless—"

His jaw set. "Unless?"

"—you model, right here, right now." I made a show of shrugging like I couldn't believe my terms either. "Then, I'll go to your meeting."

"No."

"That's what I thought. It's been fun. It's been a blast."

He held up a hand. " Any other day."

"Knew you wouldn't."

"There are preparations to take."

"If you're scared, no shame in—"

"Dammit. I'm not fucking— fuck ." He rubbed the back of his neck, anger crackling off him like the tension between us. "I knew it was going to be like this. It could be so easy but you make everything so damn difficult. All I wanted was to come here and apologize."

"Yeah, but…you could apologize from the stage."

Boy, when Ryan Cross wanted to intimidate somebody, he absolutely could. It was just the two of us in a good, old-fashioned standoff. The background noise didn't matter. The guys asking Ryan about his team's plan with the KYU game didn't matter. The students gawking at him as they stumbled in didn't matter. The only thing that barely punctured through was Zariah, a broken record of questions besides me.

I pretended to be busy with my phone again. "Like I said, it's been a blast. Feel free to take your exit."