Complicated Page 3

  He flips the pages in his book a little and jitters his leg. Okay, he has a crush on me. But it may not be so bad. He's doing the work, he's quit being such a whiny bitch. What's an innocent, little crush gonna hurt?

  4

  This...this could be it. Seriously, it really could be. I can't help but giggle a little as Khefren and I make our way back to my hotel room. He wants to know more about himself, as in the Egyptian pharaoh he's named after. I've told him there isn't much. He says he wants to see for himself.

  This...this could be it. The butterflies in my stomach feel like they're the size of mack trucks as I slip my key in the lock and allow him entry. His lanky frame slides past me, his chest lightly brushing mine as he passes.

  "Nice room," he comments, looking around and then kicking his legs out and falling onto the bed.

  "Make yourself at home," I laugh and he smiles brilliantly up at me, resting his hands behind his head.

  His eyes fall on the table, piled with books and papers. He quirks an eyebrow at me, pulling himself up to look through the pile of notes and research. "What's all this?" he asks, grabbing a book and flipping through the pages.

  I sigh, stress creeping its way up my back and tensing my shoulders. "My thesis paper. On the regional art and history of ancient Greece and Macedonia."

  "Thesis?" he asks, snapping the book shut and examining the cover. "Sounds...interesting."

  I laugh a little at him and his throwback to our very first meeting. He grins at me, setting the book back down on the table and falling onto the bed again. I bite my bottom lip, eyes roving over his body all laid out across my bed. Long, denim clad legs, brown leather belt, and just a hint of olive skin peeking from under his soft cotton polo.

  "Come here," he says softly, tugging his head back in a beckoning gesture.

  I smile, dragging my feet a little and climb onto the bed, resting on my knees next to him, my palms flat on my jean-covered thighs. His hand reaches for mine, lacing our fingers together.

  "Dinner was good," he says, his green eyes watching his long fingers intertwine with mine. "Well, I guess it wasn't really dinner. Midnight snack?"

  I laugh. "Yeah, your job kinda prevents the traditional dinner date, doesn't it?" I bite my lip. "It was good though," I say softly, watching his face. God, he's gorgeous.

  "Would..." he trails, biting his lip and then taking a deep breath to start again. "Would it be forward of me to kiss you right now?"

  My stomach does a somersault as I bite my own lip and shake my head no. He grins slowly, propping himself up on his hand, locking his arm to come face to face with me. His nose brushes mine and I nuzzle back, both of us laughing a little, his breath warm against my lips. My tongue snakes out to wet my bottom lip and he mimics me, both of us grinning. His head tilts and I close my eyes, waiting for the contact and then...

  There's a fucking knock at the door.

  He pulls back, tucking his chin to his chest and sighing. I hang my head back and the knock comes again. I growl, pulling myself from the bed and stomping to the door.

  I swing it open and there's Harry, notebook tucked under his arm. He smiles brightly at me and I fight the urge to glare at him.

  "Hey," he says a little breathlessly, and I force a smile.

  "Hey Harry," I respond and he moves to walk in the door but I put out my arm, grabbing the door frame, preventing his entry. "What do you need?"

  His face falls. "Um, well this paper...you said it had to be in..." He pauses, looking down at his assignment sheet, "Emlah." He looks back at me expectantly.

  I raise an eyebrow at him. "Excuse me?" What the fuck is he talking about?

  "Right here," he says, pointing to the assignment sheet and I lean in, tucking my dark hair behind my ear as I survey it. "Emlah." His voice is soft, right next to my ear as he leans in as well, his shoulder pressing into mine.

  I sigh. "Harry, that's MLA. It stands for Modern Language Association."

  He opens his mouth in a silent "oh" of comprehension and shakes his head. "Oh...I...I get it." He chuckles at himself a little and the look on his face tells me that he had it all along.

  "Uh huh," I say, looking at him skeptically and he grins kind of sheepishly.

  "Yeah...it was...confusing." He smiles at me boyishly and even though I'm annoyed, I smile back at him. As much as I hate to admit it, he is cute sometimes.

  "Who is it, Scarlett?" Khefren's voice calls from inside the room and Harry's smile slides off his face immediately. He looks at me, his eyes showing hurt and confusion. "Oh, hey little man!" Khefren greets and I feel him step up behind me.

  "Don't call me that," Harry scowls, hand going to his hair and adjusting it nervously. Khefren's own hand slides across my lower back and hugs me to his side.

  "Was that all you needed?" I ask, feeling a little bad for him.

  "Yeah, that was all," he says dejectedly, turning to leave.

  "Bye Harry," I say, watching him trudge away, feeling a small pang of guilt in my chest.

  "He so has a thing for you," Khefren laughs, his nose nuzzling my ear, breath fanning against my hair. "Then again... so do I," he whispers, swinging the door shut.

  5

  I can't stop grinning. I'm practically skipping to the coffee cart in the catering room. He likes me! He really does actually like me.

  Yes, we kissed last night. For hours we just kissed and kissed and kissed like we were fucking teenagers. And then we talked. God, we talked and he told me about how he grew up in Michigan, raised by his grandmother, how he had three sisters but wasn't sure where they were anymore. How he played trombone in middle school and how he always loved music, he was just shit at it. But he had a good ear. How he loved his job. How he was really glad that I was here.

  And I told him about how I was an only child of parents still married. I told him about growing up in West Virginia and my father's job as a pharmaceutical drug rep, my mother's life as a housewife. About my passion for history and art, how I love the steadfastness of dates and the timelessness of the whole subject. How I can't draw to save my life. How I initially hated being stuck on this stupid tour, but now not so much.

  And then we kissed some more. He didn't leave my room until four o'clock in the morning, kissing me sweetly and chastely, making me wish he wasn't leaving. Wanting him to stay, for us to go further. But I knew we should take it slow. We need to not rush this. We need to savor it.

  I woke up this morning, or should I say this afternoon, his taste still on my lips along with a smile, his face creeping into my mind. I remembered the way his hands skimmed up my body, touching and feeling tentatively, learning me as I did the same to him.

  Yeah, we need to savor this, but not for too long...

  I'm practically dancing into the arena of the Hershey Park Stadium as I scuttle my way to the front of the house booth. I can't wait to see him. I walk up, setting his coffee on the side of the booth, fully prepared to smile cheekily at him.

  But he's nowhere around. The booth is empty. I check my watch. 1:36. He's usually back from lunch by now...

  "Hey Scarlett," Dale greets, brushing past me. He looks harassed and disgruntled.

  "Hey Dale," I reply, watching him fiddle with knobs and buttons, doing what Khefren usually does. "Where's Khefren?"

  Dale sighs, turning to look wearily at me. "He was fired this morning," he says with a sigh and it's all I can do to not let my Styrofoam cup of coffee fall to the floor.

  "W-what?" I stutter, my mind jamming, not understanding

  "Yeah," Dale replies, sighing tiredly. "They sent him home this morning."

  "I-I-I don't understand," I stutter, my breath coming in pants. "Fired?"

  "Apparently," he says bitterly, "one of the guys had a serious issue with the way the show sounded last night."

  "What?" I ask, astounded. This doesn't make any sense. Khefren was good at his job and strove for perfection at every show. It was absurd to think that one of the group members was...

  W
ait a minute.

  "Which one of the guys had the issue?" I ask, rage already starting to bubble inside me.

  "I dunno. Their manager was waiting here when we got in this morning. Said he had to let him go," Dale replies. "Look, I'm sorry Scarlett, I gotta go. I'm doing his and my work both for this show."

  I watch him make his way across the arena, disappearing backstage, anger rooting me to the spot. Oh, I know exactly which one of the guys it was that had him fired. And it has nothing to do with how the show sounded last night and everything to do with a so-called innocent crush. I'm so mad I'm shaking all over as I stomp back to the dressing rooms.

  I tear down the hallway, breezing past security as I storm towards the room I know he's in. I stop in the doorway, chest heaving with repressed anger. He's sitting at the vanity, book open in front of him, cutting out photocopied images of art pieces and architecture and pasting them to index cards. He looks up at me and once seeing me in the doorway, peers back down to what he's doing, throwing out a distracted "Hey."

  "Did you fire Khefren?" I ask angrily, hands fisting at my sides.

  He glances up at me again, his jaw clenched, eyes triumphant. He does a poor job of repressing smile as he looks back down at the scissors in his hands. "Who said it was me?" he asks, and I clench my teeth.

  "I know it was you, Harry," I growl. "Why the hell would you do that? He was good at what he did. The shows sounded great—"

  "And how would you know?" he asks, looking up at me, eyes cold. "It's not like you've ever been to one."

  My jaw drops a little. I had indeed never attended a show, but Khefren was such a perfectionist, and the sound check's always sounded amazing.

  "What does that have to do with anything?" I yell, but its weak and even he can see that.

  He gives a perturbed sigh before looking up at me and condescendingly replying, "Look Scarlett, it was business, okay? I'm sorry you lost your little boyfriend but this tour isn't about your love life." He gives a wave of his hand, sighing irritatingly and rage boils in me. This whiny little bitch is treating me like some lovesick teenager, like one of his stupid fans. I grind my teeth and step inside, slamming the door behind me. He looks up at me startled.

  "Put your stuff away," I growl and he looks at me perplexed.

  "Why?" he asks suspiciously.

  "Because you're taking your test right now."

  His eyes widen and his jaw drops. "What?" he asks, his voice jumping an octave. "You said it wasn't until next week!"

  "Well, you're taking it now. Take out some notebook paper and a pencil and put your other shit away."

  I'm so livid I can barely even see straight. He scoffs, frozen in his seat. "That's not fair!" he whines. "You haven't even given me any time to study! I don't know any of the dates!"

  "Put your stuff away now or you get an automatic zero."

  He scowls deeply, dropping all his things to the floor and kicking it violently under the vanity, pulling out a pencil and a page of notebook paper.

  "Your test will consist of four essay questions—"

  "Essay questions?!" he exclaims and I give him a menacing look and he shuts up immediately.

  "You will need to have an introduction, a body, and a conclusion. Spelling and grammar will be taken into account."

  "Scarlett, you can't be—"

  "Question number one!" I yell over him and he sighs, defeated. "Describe in detail the function, iconography, symbolism, religious meaning, and explain the significance of the Ancient Egyptian Shawabti. Be sure to cite specific pieces. "

  "Wait...what?" he asks, looking at me confused. "We didn't cover that—"

  "Names, dates, and locations are required," I command, falling into a chair and he looks at me, completely lost.

  "Wait, so—"

  "This is an exam, Harry," I reply coldly. "There's no need to talk."

  He sighs, putting his pencil to paper and writing, brow furrowed in confusion. I almost feel bad for him as I spout out three more graduate level essay questions, watching his scowl deepen, feeling the satisfaction of revenge. Everything was going so well. I was finally not hating this stupid job. I was finally dating a guy who respected me and had his act together. And Harry just had to screw all of that up. He's gritting his teeth the entire time and I can tell he's holding back his smart ass remarks, forcing down his whines of protest.

  "Times up," I speak, looking down at my watch, having given him only twenty minutes on his last essay, and I can tell that he just can't take it anymore.

  "Are you fucking serious?" he exclaims and I walk over and snatch up his papers before going back over to my chair.

  "You forgot your name," I say, pulling my red pen out of my bag. "That's ten points off."

  His eyes widen. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

  "And you didn't indent your paragraphs, that's another five points."

  "Scarlett!" he exclaims, his eyes pleading with me and I feel a small pang of guilt. "Goddammit this is fucking stupid. You can't be that pissed off about losing some stupid guy. I mean damn, I heard girls went batshit crazy after giving a guy some pussy but this is ridiculous."

  Guilt. Gone.

  "You selfish, spoiled prick. What the hell would you know about it? You're a fucking virgin!" I spit and he scowls deeply at me, opening his mouth to retort but I lean forward, dropping my voice to a throaty whisper, "And you wish you could get a taste of this pussy."

  I watch his eyes widen and he sucks in his breath as he scans my face.

  "That's the reason you fired Khefren, right? You figured with him out of the way you'd get this little snatch all to yourself. Well three words, Harry," I say relishing in the shocked look on his face, falling back against my chair again, "Never. Gonna. Happen."

  "You are such a cold hearted bitch," he grits out, clenching his fists that are resting on the vanity and I sigh in satisfaction.

  "And keeping with that theme," I respond, "You are to write me a ten page research paper on the Apollo of Veii, Italy."

  "Ten pages?!" he exclaims, jaw dropping.

  "Due in one week."

  "One week?!"

  "You need five sources aside from your book."

  "Where am I going to get the time to—"

  "You wanted my attention, Harry!" I say, cutting him off harshly. "Well, you got it. I'm gonna ride you so hard you'll feel it for days. And I'm not talking in a way you might enjoy."

  6

  I miss Khefren. I miss him so much. I have spent the last three days meandering about in a dazed state, sort of at a loss as to what to do with myself. I guess I hadn't really realized how much time we had spent together because now my life consisted of nothing but my thesis paper and arguing with Harry over his school work. I miss his laugh. I miss his smile. I miss the way he kissed me.

  Which is part of the reason for my pilgrimage to the library today. I need a distraction. I need to clear my mind and get centered. There's just something about a university library that settles my emotions and brings a small ounce of peace to my mind. This trip to the library, while still thesis oriented, brings me back to what I'm good at. It lets me forget that I'm babysitting instead of searching for relics of the ancient world. The quiet allows me to focus, to—

  Tap

  Tap

  Tap

  I grit my teeth and do my best to ignore Harry's fidgeting. I glance up at him and find him gazing glassily down at the book in front of him, mouth slightly open, pencil tapping slowly against the table.

  He hasn't really spoken to me in days, just sneering at me and refusing to answer questions as we glare moodily at each other during lessons. He's pouting, which really just makes me want to strangle him. I want to strangle him anyway, but when he's so damn obstinate the urge becomes almost unbearable.

  He threw a fit when I told him he would be spending his day off in the library. He whined and bitched the entire way here, not to me, but to the bodyguard that was taking us to the library, making pointed reference
s to me without actually looking at me or speaking to me. He really is very mature sometimes.

  TapTapTap.

  "Harry, will you fucking stop?!" I exclaim suddenly and he snaps out of his trance, glaring at me moodily, and silence descends on us again.

  Okay, so maybe I'm a little on edge. But this trip to the library wasn't strictly a research mission. It was a way for my professor to fax me the latest draft of my thesis, which I had left with him before even starting the tour. I've been anxious to hear his thoughts on my research and on my arguments. Parts of it are direct quotes from his lectures, things he's taught me over my college career. I can't wait to see what he thinks.

  "This is bullshit," Harry says finally, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. He sighs defeatedly and I almost feel bad for him. Almost. "It's impossible. There's not enough information for ten pages."

  "There's enough," I say simply, going back to taking notes. "You just aren't looking hard enough."

  "I've looked all over this goddamned library," he replies, gesturing towards the bookshelves around us. "There's not enough. I have seven pages." He's looking at me pointedly.

  "Only three more to go then," I respond, not looking up at him and I hear his scoff of indignation.

  "You're being fucking ridiculous, Scarlett," he sighs, falling back against his chair.

  "And you're being a whiny little bitch," I say and he gives me a condescending smile.

  "You can't talk to me that way," he says smarmily. "You have to be professional and polite."

  "What are you gonna do?" I ask, laughing. He narrows his eyes at me and I look back down at my paper before adding, "Tell your mommy?"

  "Hey!" His voice is so forceful that I look up at him astonished. His eyes lock on mine and I see fire smoldering in his green orbs. "You can be a bitch to me all you want but don't say shit about my mother. Do you understand?"

  His intensity shocks me, the serious look on his face so much more than a pout. Harry is very close with his mother. The guys tease him about it but it isn't really until this moment that I realize that he just brushes it off, instead of violently opposing it and whining about it like he usually does when they make fun of him for something. His eyes are still locked on mine, glaring at me sternly and I nod to him in concession. I can respect this in him. It's the one thing about him that I can really tolerate at this moment in time.