Baumgartner Generations: Henry

Chapter One

Henry hated libraries. He couldn’t think of a place he felt more uncomfortable than standing in the shadows of thousands of books. He was in the basement of the UGLi-the University of Michigan Undergraduate Library-and he couldn’t have come up with a more apt name for the place than the one his fellow students had coined, the stacks looming, the florescent lights casting a dull, eerie glow.

“Four seventy-five.” His whisper was barely an exhale but it felt loud in the silence as he ran his finger along the spines of books, their plastic covers crinkling. He repeated his excuse for checking this particular book out in his head. It’s for my nephew. He’s in kindergarten.

Of course, he didn’t have a nephew. His older sister, as far as he knew, was far from hooked-up, let alone ready to get married and have a baby. But what were the odds he would run into anyone who knew his family here on campus? It’s for my little cousin. He changed his head-story, just to be safe. He’s having trouble.

Trouble. Yeah. He was in big trouble all right.

“Can I help you find something?”

Henry gave a strangled, smothered cry, taking a step back when a pretty redhead popped her head around the corner of the stacks.

“It’s okay, I work here.” The redhead stepped around to his side of the shelves, smiling, and he felt his heart pounding again, but for a different reason this time. “You sounded a little lost.”

“I need a book.”

Smooth, Henry.

He held out the paper scrap he’d copied the call number on to avoid any further talking and possible embarrassment.

She took it from him, studying it, and he studied her-gray skirt and black sweater, making her long red hair, straight and almost to the middle of her back, seem even more like fire, even in the dim light. She had to be a student, he thought, as she turned to the stacks, running her fingernail over spines the same way he had. She was young, about his age. He watched her fingers caressing the books, long and delicate compared to his big old paws, the nails neatly manicured.

“You’re in the right place,” she murmured, moving her finger up to the next shelf. “Would you get me that stool?”

He went to the end of the aisle where she pointed, dragging the rolling stool over toward her in response, not daring any more words. They’d just get him in trouble.

“Thanks.” She gave him a grateful smile, stepping up onto the stool and reaching for the top shelf. Her legs were long, too, her skin pale and creamy. He realized, watching her stretch, one of her feet slipping loose of her heels, that she wasn’t wearing any nylons. Seeing the intimate pink flesh of her instep as she went up onto her toes made his breath catch and he swallowed his immediate response, trying to look anywhere else.

She glanced down at him, still smiling. “Would you hold me?”

He gaped up at her, dumbfounded. Hold her? That wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do to her-but hell, it was a start.

“Hold…you?” He faltered.

“I don’t want to fall,” she explained. “Just hold me. Here.” She reached for his hand, guiding, placing his palm flat against the curve of her hip. He matched the gesture on her other side, squeezing gently, feeling her skirt shift over her skin underneath as she stretched up again. He steadied her, his eyes level with her back, her hair tickling his nose. Not that he was complaining.

“Ah, got it!” she announced, triumphant, turning around on the stool so quickly it startled him and he grabbed her waist, finding himself eye-level now with the tiny buds of her breasts in her black v-neck sweater. He realized, too late, that he should have offered to retrieve the book, but he was too distracted by his current view to lament his lack of chivalry. “Oh. Wow. This is the book you wanted?”

He flushed, glad for the dark shadows now, his story all ready in his head. “It’s for my little cousin. He’s having trouble in kindergarten.”

He waited for the anticipated response. Hell, it might even earn him some points.

Oh how sweet you are to help him. You must like little kids.

The redhead was silent. She stepped off the stool, out of Henry’s arms, and held the book out to him. Glancing down at the cover, his eyes widened, mouth dropping. If he’d been red before, he was positively purple now.

“That’s-” He couldn’t get the words out, staring at the picture of the completely nude, entwined couple on the front. The Complete Idiot’s Guide to the Kama Sutra. “That’s not-”

“Not what?” She blinked at him, trying not to smile. “Not appropriate for kindergarteners?”

“No,” he croaked, desperate to correct the mistake. “That’s not the book I was looking for.”

“You sure?” She smirked. “It’s the number you wrote down.” She showed him the slip of paper, and sure enough, the Dewey decimal matched perfectly-375.4 W.

“But I looked it up on the computer!” He pointed desperately to the end of the aisle.

She hesitated, looking like she wasn’t sure she was ready to believe him.

“Come look!” He stalked down to the end of the stacks and around the corner. There was a row of computers near the elevators and he went straight to the one he’d used to look up the book. He turned to find her behind him, curious, and he pointed to the screen. No one had touched it since and it was still up there, plain as day. “See!”

She leaned in, glancing from the title to the slip of paper she held. “Well, I found your problem.” Sitting down at the computer, she began to type. Another title came up on the screen, the one Henry still had in his hand. He dropped it on a chair face down when he realized, glad it was out of sight. Not that he hadn’t appreciated the subject-or the picture on the front, for that matter. If he’d been alone, he probably would have flipped through it, just out of curiosity. But with the redhead there, it was all too embarrassing to be contemplated.

“The call number for the Kama Sutra book is 375.4 W.” She pointed to the scrap of paper. “That’s what you wrote down.” She hit the back button on the screen to the book Henry had originally looked up. “The call number for the book you wanted is 372.4 W. You transposed the five and the two.”

“Brilliant, Henry,” he muttered.

She used one of the stubby pencils to correct the number on the scrap of paper, trying to hide a smile. “Well, the good news is this book should be on the same shelf. And it’s much more age-appropriate.”

“Pretty diverse subject matter to be on the same damned shelf,” he growled as he followed her. She had picked up the other book to re-shelve it.

“They’re both guides,” she explained, getting back up on the stool. Henry reached out to hold her hips again without thinking and she smiled a thanks down at him. “You know, those Idiot Guides and the books For Dummies, they’re all shelved in the same place, by last name. Just so happens both are written by an author with a last name starting with W.”

“Oh damn.” Her shoulders slumped. “ Teaching Kids to Read for Dummies isn’t here.”

“Is it checked out?”

“I don’t think so.” She slipped through his hands on the way down to the floor and the feel of her lithe little body gave him a jolt. “It would have said so on the computer. I bet someone’s stolen it.”

“That’s pretty low, stealing from a library.”

“Happens all the time. I can’t wait until books go all-digital. No more stealing, no more late fees, no more re-shelving!” She regarded him, cocking her head to one side, and he didn’t point out the obvious no more librarians conclusion implied in her train of thought. “Do you have an e-reader?”

“You mean, like one of those Kindle things?” He shook his head. “I’ve got a laptop, though.”

“You can check it out digitally if you want.” She sounded excited as he followed her down the row and back through the aisles of books. Pausing at the row of computers, she frowned. “But I don’t know if it would work so well for your little cousin, reading it on the computer.”

“Oh that’s okay.” He waved her concern away. “I’m just reading it so I can help him. The ‘Dummy’ in the title is me, not him.” That he believed the statement to be more true than he wanted to admit, even to himself, was another point he wasn’t going to bring up.

“That’s so sweet.” The look she gave him made him want to melt. There was the reaction he’d been expecting in the first place.

He hoped his blush appeared properly humble. “Thanks.”

“Let’s see if we have a digital copy.” She sat back down in front of the terminal, typing away again, and this time Henry sat beside her. He was big for the little chairs, but she fit perfectly, crossing her slender, shapely legs and leaning toward the screen.

“So are you a librarian?” He didn’t believe it for a minute.

“I’m just a student assistant,” she explained, frowning as used the mouse to scroll down the screen. “I started working here last year and love it so much I changed my major to library science.”

“So you’re a sophomore?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

At least she’s not a senior, he told himself, not volunteering the fact that he was just a lowly freshman. She could probably tell anyway, the way he’d been stumbling around the stacks, looking lost. His roommate, Dean, said freshmen were like baby pigs, lost and rooting around looking for something to get into. Of course, Dean didn’t really consider himself a freshman, even though he was. His parents were both alumni, his brother had graduated the year before, and his sister the year before that. He was like a celebrity on campus, a first string wide-receiver on the U of M football team.

“I’m sorry.” She pointed to the screen. “It’s not available as an ebook.”

“Ah well.” He shrugged. “We tried, right?”

Her eyes were a bright, shocking blue, and that, combined with the red hair and the smattering of freckles across her nose, and the way her lips pursed and her brow furrowed, made him think he’d never seen anything cuter in his life.

He’d seen lots of girls in his five weeks on campus-blondes, brunettes and redheads alike. Dean had introduced him to most of them. Some of them had been real knock-outs, the sort you couldn’t even approach without stammering and going cross-eyed, the kind you knew had to spend hours getting ready to go out every night.

But this girl…she was so naturally pretty it was hard to even wrap your head around it. She was the kind of girl that would grow old gracefully, who would spend her whole life looking beautiful not because she tried to be, just because that’s who she was, at her very center. It radiated out of her like light and he gravitated to it like a moth, feeling like he was bumping his head against glass the whole time.

“How about this one?”

He just observed her as she spoke, trance-like. “Huh?”

“We’ve got Phonics for Dummies.” She tapped the screen with her fingernail. “And most beginning reading problems usually stem from a phonics issue anyway.”

He stared at her, not really understanding a word she was saying, just sort of basking in her light. Now he didn’t feel like a moth-he felt more like a lizard on a rock, lazy and slow to respond, with no other thought in his head but his own basic need, which was growing more apparent by the moment.

“Um, okay,” he agreed. She could have said, “I think you should set your hair on fire and jump out the window,” and he probably would have agreed. Good thing they were in the basement.

“How exciting!” She stood, smoothing her skirt, and he remembered the texture of the material, wooly and soft, under his hands. He couldn’t have agreed more about the exciting part. “Let’s go upstairs. The ebook system is brand new, and this will be my first digital checkout!”

“So I can say I was your first?” Henry grinned as he followed her to the elevator.

“Dubious honor.” She pushed the button, giving him a sly, slanted look as she reached down to pick up the book he’d left in the chair. “But I suppose you can say you broke my digital-checkout cherry.”

He laughed. “Not quite as fun as the other one.”

“Print books, you mean?” She winked as the elevator doors closed behind them.

“Right.” He nodded. “That’s what I meant.”

Of course, now he was thinking things he shouldn’t and silently cursing the guy who got to hit that for the first time, if he was being totally honest. Which he wasn’t about to be, at least out loud, with the girl standing next to him.

“Have you ever read the Kama Sutra?” She leaned in close, as if there was someone else who could hear her, leafing through the book she’d picked up on their way into the elevator.

He eyed her, surprised, brain devoid of any snappy comeback. “No.”

“Look at that.” She paused at one of the pages. The book didn’t just have drawings of people, no-it was fully, pictorially illustrated. Christ. Henry swallowed, studying what was essentially porn open in the girl’s hands.”Do you think that’s even possible?”

“Ouch,” he agreed, noting the position, the guy standing, the woman’s legs bent at an awkward angle. How was he even holding her up?

“Oh, but this one’s nice,” she said, stopping on another page. The couple was kind of spooning.

“Nuh-nice.” Henry stammered.

“Sure you didn’t want to check this book out?” She winked and he noticed that even her eyelashes were red. A natural redhead. That meant that wherever else she had hair on her body, it was most likely red, too. She interrupted his straying thoughts. “No law saying you can’t. Thank god.”

“Yeah, censorship sucks,” he agreed, boldly reaching over and flipping a page. Then another. He could smell her, a light, clean scent, soap or shampoo maybe.

She stopped him, a small noise escaping her throat. “That one.”

The guy’s face was buried between the woman’s thighs, her legs up over his shoulders. You couldn’t really see anything, but you knew just what was going on.

“One of my all-time favorites.” Henry’s arm brushed hers as he reached out to turn the page again.

“Mine, too,” she breathed, making another noise at the position on the next page. “That’s a fun one. Ride ’em, cowgirl.”

“Is it just me or is it hot in here?” He shifted from foot to foot, peeking at the lights on the elevator. They were passing the ground floor now. Checkout was on the second floor.

“Got kind of intimate all of a sudden, didn’t it?” She was so close he could count her freckles. “Elevators do that to me anyway.” Her voice was low and sexy. The tone made his mouth water. He saw a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “Closed spaces.”

“You’re obviously not claustrophobic.”

First floor. Almost there.

She laughed as the elevator doors opened, stepping out and walking toward the checkout. Henry followed, giving up his student ID, which doubled as his library card, watching her as she typed and swiped and did whatever she needed to do.

There was another woman watching them-probably the real librarian, a pudgy woman with short black hair and thickly painted on red lipstick that was bleeding into the faint outline of her mustache. She was a far cry from his wet dream archetypal image of a librarian, but her demeanor was similar, the serious frown, the watchful eyes. She looked like she was about to say, “Shhh!” at any moment.

The flirty, suggestive girl from the elevator had disappeared-the redhead turned into all-business when the librarian was around.

“Okay, I think I did this right.” She handed back his card. “You’ll get an email with a link. Just click it and download the ebook file. It will expire in two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Henry gulped. How in the hell was he going to learn to read in two weeks?

“You can check it out again, as long as it hasn’t been requested by someone else,” she explained. There was a line behind him now, and the red-lipstick librarian was watching them with raised eyebrows.

“Okay you’re all set…Henry,” the redhead said loudly, squinting at his card as she handed it back to him.

“Thanks.” He leaned forward onto the counter, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You know, they say you never forget your first.”

She smiled. “But you don’t even know my name.”

“I’m such a dog.” He pulled out his wallet so he could put his card back-just an excuse to talk to her longer. “With a long string of ebook checkout firsts all through the state…”

“Olivia.” She leaned forward to tell him, so close he felt her breath on his cheek. “Libby.”

He heard the girl behind him grumble loudly as he slipped his ID into his wallet.

“Maybe I’ll see you around, Libby.” Henry put his wallet into his back pocket, stepping away from the counter.

Libby winked. “I’ll be here.”

The dragon-lady, a name passed on year after year to incoming freshman by her former students, was a formidable figure in front of the classroom. She towered over them, her heels clicking up and down the aisles, hips swaying. She reminded Henry of both a dragon and a cat at times. It was the way she moved, the way her eyes narrowed, and if she had a tail, it would swish constantly.

She was also drop-dead gorgeous. It wasn’t just her curves-and the woman had those in spades, and in all the right places-she had a kind of cool beauty that made your breath catch in her presence. Unlike most women her age, she hadn’t followed the trend and cut her hair short. Instead it hung long and free, so black it was almost blue under the fluorescents. She wore it up on occasion, or braided into a long, thick plait down her back, but mostly she didn’t and it was a terrible distraction.

It was her eyes, though, that mostly got to Henry. They were dark eyes, framed by thick lashes, and they watched him. It seemed as if she watched him constantly. Whenever he looked up, her gaze was on him, as if she knew him, or knew something about him. It was unnerving. But it also intrigued him.

“Mr. Baumgartner.” Professor Franklin sighed loudly as he fumbled with his microcassette recorder. He never took notes. Instead, he’d used his recorder all through high school and it was proving to be invaluable in college as well.

“Uh…yeah?” Henry glanced up, turning the cassette over and pushing the red button. Not that he wanted to record this exchange for posterity. For some reason, she liked to focus on him, single him out.

“Must you do that?” She had her paperback version of The Great Gatsby open, had been in the middle of reading them a passage, when his tape had run out.

“Do what?”

She pointed. “Use that…thing?”

“It’s…” Necessary was the word that came to mind. Instead he said, “Easier.”

“Easier than what? Taking notes?” She waved her hand around the room. Everyone else had a notebook open.

“Yeah, for me.” He sounded more defensive than he wanted to. “It is.”

“Easy isn’t always best.” She considered his recorder, the tape turning again. “Can I go on now?”

He felt his face burning. “Sure.”

She began to read again from the book, “He had intended, probably, to take what he could and go-but now he found that he had committed himself to the following of a grail. He knew that Daisy was extraordinary, but he didn’t realize just how extraordinary a ‘nice’ girl could be. She vanished into her rich house, into her rich, full life, leaving Gatsby-nothing. He felt married to her, that was all.”

She stopped, inspecting around the room. “Why do you think he felt that way?”

Henry blurted out, “She was his soul mate.”

“That’s very romantic, Henry.” It was the closest he’d ever seen her to smiling.

He shrugged. “Isn’t it a romance?”

“Gatsby?” She blinked at him. “Austen, maybe…that’s romance. Pride and Prejudice. Sense and Sensibility. Matches and marriages are made. Happy endings are implied. But Gatsby? Have you read to the end of the book?”

“Yeah.” Well, that was partially true. Thanks to audio books and his iPod, he’d managed.

She raised her eyebrows. “Then you know how it all ends?”

“Just because people die, doesn’t mean it’s not a romance,” Henry said, defending his position. “I mean, they love each other, right? Just because Romeo and Juliet end up dead doesn’t mean they didn’t love each other.”

Professor Franklin folded the book in front of her, keeping her place with her finger. “But Romeo and Juliet was a tragedy.”

“Not in the beginning,” Henry countered. “I mean, sometimes it works out, and sometimes it doesn’t. But love is love. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s true.” She gave him a nod of acknowledgment, turning back to the book. Then she paused, focusing once again on him. “Henry, will you keep reading for me, please?”

It was the first time she’d called him by his first name. It was the first time he’d heard her call any student by their first name. But he couldn’t read out loud. It was hard enough slogging through it by himself. One page could take him an hour.

Henry considered his predicament, trying to find a way out of it. “I’ve got a cold. My throat kind of hurts.”

She didn’t drop her gaze. “Just the next paragraph.”

“Just one paragraph?” He picked up his book, glancing at the clock. It was almost time to go. Maybe he could stall… “What page are we on again?”

“Two-nineteen.”

He started flipping through the pages, feeling his face begin to burn. This always happened, every time he got put on the spot. And if he had trouble with words to begin with, it was even worse under pressure. It became impossible to think, let alone read.

Henry found the page, glancing back up at her. “Two-nineteen?”

“Fourth paragraph,” she indicated. “Go ahead.”

He used his finger to count down the indents. One, two, three, four…

One word at a time, he told himself. But it was a futile reassurance. He was about to humiliate himself in front of the entire class.

“Wh-” Henry stopped. The words were literally swimming in front of his eyes. “What…”

“When,” Professor Franklin prodded, her voice gentle. “The paragraph starts with when. Go on.”

“When…they meet…”

“Met,” she corrected. He felt her moving toward him, but didn’t look up from page. He also felt thirty eyes turned in his direction.

“When they met…across…”

“Again.” He glanced up at her this time, confused. She was standing right next to his desk.

“The word is again, not across.”

He cleared his throat. “When they met again, two days after…”

“Later,” she corrected. “Two days later.”

“Hey, you know what, I have to…” Henry closed the book, starting to stand. “Go.” He observed the time. Thank god. Saved by the bell. “I have hockey practice.”

Professor Franklin glanced behind her at the clock. The class was already gathering books, packing backpacks, putting on jackets. “Don’t forget to read through the end of the book by next week!” she called over the rustling noise and conversation. “I’m afraid it doesn’t end all happily ever after.”

Henry clicked stop on the tape recorder and shoved it into the front of his backpack, along with his paperback. He was getting up before he realized Professor Franklin was still standing next to his desk, watching him.

“Henry, may I speak to you, please?”

Henry again. Twice in the same day. Why had she singled him out? He followed her silently to her desk and stood there, waiting, as she began to pack her things as well. The class had dispersed by the time she pulled a blue essay book out of her bag. The sight of it made his stomach drop to his knees.

“You recognize this?” she inquired, putting it down on the desk.

He just nodded. She had given them a “pop quiz” last week, just a short essay about the symbolism in Gatsby. Freshmen professors had to send out five-week progress reports. It was a new thing this year, she’d explained, so she wanted something to base a grade on. He hadn’t expected it and hadn’t prepared for it.

“It’s insightful.” She tapped her long, red fingernail on the essay’s front page. Then she opened it up and Henry saw the “F” circled in red marker inside the cover. He felt like throwing up. “But it’s nearly impossible to read. Your spelling is atrocious. It’s almost as if…”

“Spell check is my best friend.” He gave her a sheepish smile, shrugging helplessly.

“No one should rely on spell check for the basics.” She pressed her lips into a thin line. “I couldn’t pass you based on this. I’m sorry.”

“Can I…would you let me take it and re-do it?” This was something he’d gotten away with before. Maybe…

“I’m afraid not.” She handed the paper across the desk to him. “Henry, I also wanted you to know…I had to send your progress report for this term to your coach.”

He swallowed. “My coach?”

“You have a hockey scholarship, right?”

He nodded. Not hockey. Anything else, but he couldn’t lose that.

“It’s part of the new freshmen requirements.” She sounded apologetic.

Henry steeled himself against her words. There was no way they’d bench him. He was leading the league in points. And even if his coach brought it up, he’d find a way to talk his way out of it. He always did. “Listen, I’m actually gonna be late for practice if I don’t go…”

“I just wanted you to know, before you saw your coach.”

Henry turned and headed toward the door, escaping as quickly as he could.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the redhead.

He’d intended to brave the library again just to tell Libby that she’d done everything perfectly. The download worked and the ebook was readable right there on his laptop.

The only problem was the original print version of the book came with a CD that said all the phonics sounds for you, while the digital download didn’t come with those particular bells and whistles. Unfortunately, in his case, the CD was a pretty necessary thing, because trying to decipher all the pronunciation code was even more confusing than trying to figure out the words themselves.

Not that he was going to tell Libby that.

But then Dean insisted he pledge Alpha Pi Alpha with him and his mid-term progress report went out and he had to have “the phone call” with his parents and his coach threatened him with losing ice time if his grades didn’t come up-and he lost track of a week before he knew it. He’d told Dean about Libby, of course. He told Dean everything.

“The hot redhead in the library? You mean Olivia Stowe?” And of course Dean knew her. As big as the place was, it seemed like he knew everybody. “She was voted ‘the girl you’re most likely to jack-off to’ at Alpha Pi Alpha! There’s no way, freshman. She dated some senior guy for a while last year and then he graduated. She hasn’t dated anyone since.”

“We’ll see about that.” Henry shrugged, flipping through his history text, as if he were actually reading.

Dean snorted. “Is that a challenge, dude?”

“Maybe.” Henry grinned.

He’d never expected Dean to take him up on it. Or to win.

So when Dean invited him to the football game-wanted him to meet his date, maybe keep her company on the sidelines-Henry didn’t think twice.

He walked into his dorm room in a pretty good mood on his way back from hockey practice, tired, but in a good way-at least he got to skate at practice-freshly showered, his face still red from the October wind and the long walk across campus, ready to meet Dean’s girl and head off to the game. He had to admit, he idolized Dean. But who didn’t? And being his roommate gave him all sorts of advantages he didn’t even know existed.

Now if he could just tell the dragon-lady to pass me in English, Henry lamented, opening his dorm room door, whistling some tune he’d heard piped into the locker room overhead just half an hour before, and finding Dean sitting on his bed with a girl in his lap.

This wasn’t an unusual sight. He’d seen Dean with a lot of girls over the past five weeks, had even had to go next door to sleep in Bel’s room one Saturday night because the black sock was tied around the door handle. It wasn’t seeing him with a girl on his bed that was the problem.

The problem was-the girl was Libby. There was no mistaking her long red hair, that peaches and cream skin, the delicate, long-fingered hand that was playfully slapping Dean’s roving hands away. Dean was with Libby.

Henry stood in the doorway, frozen, staring at the two of them with an expression he was sure gave his feelings away. He was too surprised not to reveal himself. He felt as if the entire foundation of the world he walked around on had just crumbled away in an instant and he was falling toward the fiery hell of its center.

“Dude!” Dean turned his head toward Henry, smiling, not getting up, not pushing Libby off. In fact, he pulled her in closer with one arm, wedging her more firmly in his lap, and she was struggling at his fierce attention. “Libs, you know Henry.”

“Hi, Henry.” That was all she said, but he thought he saw a moment of surprise cross her features.

“Hi.” He managed that much.

Dean frowned. “You okay? You don’t look so good.”

Was he really so obtuse? Or was he just playing head games?

Henry shut the door and tried not to stumble as he made his way over to his bed. He wanted to crawl under it. Or at the very least, throw himself down on it. Maybe punch the pillow. Or the wall. Until his hands bled. That would be good. Instead, he just sat facing the two of them, wondering just how much worse his life could really get.

“Yeah, well, coach gave me some bad news.” Henry tried not to look at Libby’s face. Anywhere but there. He didn’t want to see whatever feeling was in her eyes-especially if there was no emotion there at all. “He’s not playing me until my grades come up.”

“Fucker.” Dean rolled his eyes. Libby had managed to slide off his lap, but Dean still had his arm around her. Henry tried to ignore his friend’s hand, the one that wasn’t wrapped around Libby’s hip. That one was resting on her jean-clad thigh, massaging gently. That’s the hand he wanted to tear off. “Want me to have my dad call him?”

Henry actually considered it. Could he really do something, or have something done? Dean’s family carried a lot of clout at the university. His dad was on the Board of Regents. Maybe…

“Nah.” Henry stiffened, deciding that if Dean’s influence came with the kind of attitude he was now seeing in his roommate, he didn’t want to take anything from him. Henry kicked off his shoes and leaned back on his bed, hands behind his head, to stare up at the ceiling. “It’s just my English class. I’ll pull my grade up.”

“He’s got Franklin,” Dean explained to Libby.

“Ohhhh, not the dragon-lady.” The soft sound of her voice made Henry’s whole body respond. He’d been thinking about nothing but her since they’d met-her voice, her touch, her smile. Now to have her here in his dorm room, just a few feet away and untouchable, was the worst torture he could imagine. “I hear she eats freshmen for breakfast.”

“I transferred out first week.” Dean snorted and shook his head. “See if you can get into Parker’s class with me. She’s a pushover. Total cake-walk.”

“Too late. Tried that.” Henry sighed. “They won’t let me transfer this late.”

“Franklin’s tough, but she’s fair,” Libby countered. “And you know what? We have a great tutoring program. You can sign up at the library.”

He didn’t turn toward her, but he mumbled a, “Maybe,” in her general direction.

“Well, dude, I’m sorry.” Dean stood, stretching, and headed to their bathroom. “It sucks you aren’t gonna get any ice time just because Franklin’s a bitch.”

“She’s a pain in my ass,” Henry muttered. Just thinking about his English teacher made him borderline homicidal.

Libby giggled and Henry rolled onto his side to gaze at her, realizing Dean had just left him and Libby alone, even if just for a moment. She was cross-legged on Dean’s bed, leaning her elbows on her knees and studying at him, her hair falling over her arms and thighs like a river of lava.

“So do you do tutoring?” Henry asked, hopeful. That would be a great excuse to see her, he thought, watching as she stood, wandering around the room.

“Professor Franklin runs the Literacy Tutor Foundation. I volunteered through them last year.” Libby was exploring the surface of Dean’s desk. “Oh my god, are these real?” She held up a pair of handcuffs.

“Ask Dean.” Henry snorted. “He’s got a whole story about a cop and a prostitute he could tell you.”

“Nice.” She rolled her eyes, dropping them on the desk as if they were on fire. “Anyway, yeah, I could tutor you. If you want.”

He considered her offer. He really, really considered it.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a tutor. His particular handicap had forced him to become very resourceful over the years. He couldn’t count the number of tests he’d cheated on, the girls and friends who had written the essays and papers he’d turned in, and the tutors he had manipulated into doing most of his work. But for some reason, he didn’t want to lie to Libby.

Of course, he didn’t want her to know the truth, either. That would be awful.

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll manage.” He always had. By high school, it was really athletics-hockey specifically-that had saved him. He’d found something he was incredibly good at, something that wasn’t just valuable to him, but something other people valued, too. His high school hockey coach had taken him under his wing, making exceptions for him and talking to all of his teachers. He went from skating by, barely passing, to getting A’s and playing great hockey. He’d even gotten a scholarship to U of M-something he was now in danger of losing.

“Well, the offer’s open.” Libby sat on the bed again as Dean came back into the room, still zipping up his jeans.

“I gotta get going,” Dean informed them, grabbing his jacket and regarding Henry. “You’ll keep Libby company during the game?”

Henry stood, walking toward the door and opening it. “Can I talk to you? In the hallway?”

Dean followed him.

Henry shut the door. His hands were shaking. “What the fuck is going on?”

“You mean Libby?” Dean took a step back when he saw Henry’s face. “Hey! Hey! It’s not serious or anything. I asked her if she wanted to go to the game and she said yes. I was as surprised as you! Besides, I thought it would give you time to get to know her, since I’ll be playing football the whole while.”

Henry frowned, hesitated. His hand was already clenched into a tight fist, cocked and ready to go. But part of him wanted to believe. Was Dean really just trying to help him? “It looked pretty serious to me.”

Dean grinned sheepishly. “Well, I wasn’t gonna turn the girl down. Would you?”

“So what is this now, a competition?”

“May the best man win?” Dean took another step back, holding up his hands and laughing. “Dude, I don’t wanna fight. We both got an equal shot. If she likes you, she’ll end up with you. If she likes me, well…” He shrugged, still smiling.

What else could he do? “Fine.”

“Still friends?”

Henry ignored Dean’s outstretched hand. How in the hell was he supposed to compete with Dean Mosher? The dorm they lived in was named after his great-great-something or other, for god’s sake! The guy had everything and he walked around like he knew it.

“Hey, will you bring Libby back here after the game? I’ve got to head over to the frat house for some setup afterward. Next week’s Greek Week, buddy!” Dean waggled his eyebrows, grinning with perfectly straight teeth, and Henry relented.

“Okay, but if the sock’s on the door, you’re sleeping on Bel’s floor-and I saw him eating baked beans at lunch today.” Henry gave him the finger as Dean laughed and walked away.