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It was a warm spring evening, and Belle French was doing something rather out of character. She had crept up on the flat roof of one of the arts department buildings, and now she was sat with her back against the brick ledge, doing a halfway decent job of rolling a joint. It was her second time trying, and her first time had ended with a lot of people scrambling to stop her from sprinkling the carpet with weed, but she was determined to get this one right.
She had planned it meticulously; stuffed her book bag with a picnic blanket, a bottle of orange juice, her iPod, candy, rolling papers and the weed her ex-boyfriend had hooked her up with. Because he owed her. Oh boy, did he ever owe her. Hours and hours of tutoring free of charge, a ridiculous possessive streak, lackluster sex, and no overlapping interests whatsoever. But he had come through for her this time, and he hadn’t even demanded to know who she planned to smoke it with, so Belle was in rather a good mood up there on that roof, on her own.
“Twist the end, burn it off...” she muttered to herself, her face the utter picture of concentration. She held the lighter to the twisted end, watched the smoke curl up and away, the paper smoldering and receding. And then she smiled. Because even though hers was way thinner and a lot more wonky than the ones her friends rolled, she was proud of herself. Not bad for a beginner, she thought to herself. Not bad at all.
With a quiet chuckle, she placed the thing between her lips, held the flame up to the other end, inhaled, tried not to cough. And for a glorious couple of seconds, Belle was pleased. This was perfect. The sun was starting to set, her joint was holding up, and bringing that blanket up there had turned out to be a genius move. She was looking rather smug, blowing out thick white smoke towards the fluffy white clouds as if she thought it would float up there and join them, when the creak of the stairwell door leading up to the roof froze every muscle in her body and almost stopped her heart in her chest. She and her fearful wide eyes had a direct view of the door, but it opened towards her, so all she could do was hope that whoever had opened it would change their mind and go right back downstairs again without peeking past.
No such luck.
Belle wasn’t sure how it was possible, but she was simultaneously relieved, and also slightly terrified. Because standing there, looking straight at her with a confused look on his face, was Professor Gold. Before she saw his eyes lock with the joint she was holding halfway up to her lips (limbs still frozen in shock) he had looked a little guilty himself, but that look had made place for one a little more disconcerting.
“Ms. French. What are you doing?” he asked, emphasis on the ‘are’ and an amused grin playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Getting caught,” Belle managed in a small voice. She tried to smile, but she couldn’t. Not really. She was too nervous. She was glad it was him, but she was also thrilled it was him, and that called for caution. That wasn’t a normal reaction at all.
“You know, anyone else would have thrown that off the roof by now.”
“I was going to until I saw it was only you.”
She hadn’t thought about the words before they left her mouth in her desperate urge to appear calm and collected in Gold’s eyes, but as she spoke them, she realized it was true – if it hadn’t been him, she’d have panicked and tossed the joint and the rest of her weed off the roof in an instant. There was no doubt in her mind about that.
“Only me, eh? You don’t think I’ll report you?”
“Will you?”
“God, no. ‘Course not, dearie. I don’t care. It’s just weed.”
“Good thing I didn’t start with the heroin today, then.”
He grinned at her, and she couldn’t help but sigh in relief. Her shoulders relaxed, her limbs could move again. Something inside of her, however, was growing. An idea, some words, a feeling – all combined, making her want to say or do something that would be tricky to take back.
“Getting high all alone, though? Don’t you think that’s a little sad?”
And with that, Belle felt her chest fill and swell up with that strange feeling. It left very little room for her heart to beat, not much room for her lungs to expand. But bravely, with nary a tremble, she held out the joint to him, eyebrows raised in expectation.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, looking at her in utter incomprehension. Fear, almost; as if she had just offered him a venomous snake, not a simple joint.
“I know.”
He stared at her hand, face unreadable and eyes dark, but she refused to look away. Her arm remained outstretched, smoke curling up from between her fingers.
“Go on, professor. You’re letting it go to waste.”
She could feel her voice beginning to waver in the face of his scrutiny, but she put on a brave smile regardless. She saw his tongue flick out to wet his lips. She’d noticed that before. Usually, when he did that, it meant he was holding himself back. Trying not to call a rude student some awfully creative but positively foul names, trying not to look pleased with his own jokes, trying not to laugh at anyone else’s – in short; trying to keep on a slippery mask. Swallowing her fear and doubts, Belle decided to take that as a good sign.
After what seemed like forever, he sighed, then stepped towards her – slowly and with his eyes nowhere near hers. He took the cigarette from between her fingers, gave it a quick, critical look, then placed it between his lips and took a drag. A small one, first, but then a longer one. She stared quite openly; from his fingers to his lips, his dark eyes under furrowed brows, his jaw and the stubble there, his chest expanding as he inhaled deeply, until she realized her mouth was just a little bit open and she must have looked rather odd, so she folded her face back into a contained little smile.
He had turned his head away, but he shot her a minuscule sideways look and a smirk as he blew out the smoke. He was standing at the very edge of her blanket, and Belle almost wanted to reach up, grab his hand and tug him down.
“Wouldn’t have pegged you as the type, Ms. French.”
“I’m not, really. But I’ve smoked on occasion.”
“Always alone?”
“Never, actually.”
“Any particular reason you were about to get high on your own in a pretty risky location, then?”
“I didn’t think anyone ever came here.”
“Well, I do.”
“Which, apparently, doesn’t make this a risky location.”
“You’re not answering my question, are you?”
Up and between his lips the cigarette went for another long drag, and then he leaned forward to hand it back to her. She took it with a little smile and was quick to take another hit. It felt just a little bit wet between her own lips – and what a strange thought to have, that was. But not a very surprising one, no. Not very surprising to Belle, at least. Professor Gold had always made her think a little differently than usual. Because there was something about his presence, his attention, that sent her brain whirring. Made the cogs spin round and round and her words flow freely.
“It’s silly, but I’m graduating soon, and I felt I hadn’t gotten in enough... Hm. I’m not sure. Enough cliché bohemian college experiences. If that makes sense.”
“You can get high on rooftops after you graduate, you know,” he said, a little half smirk curling his lips.
“But it won’t feel the same, right?”
She would never know, but Belle seemed to him, in that moment, all wisdom and competence. Someone who would always be alright, somehow. Because Gold had sat on rooftops and smoked in his youth, and he’d sat on rooftops and smoked as an adult member of the workforce, and both those times had felt infinitely different. It felt different, now, too. The memory was there, like an old photograph, dusty and veiled by a thin layer of smoke, but it was only there to be contrasted. To show him what wasn’t, anymore. And he knew that if you had asked him when he was in his twenties, climbing out of the window and hoisting himself up to sit in the rain gutter with his thin legs dangling from the roof, book of matches between his teeth and a joint tucked behind his ear, whether it would still feel the same some thirty years later, he would have scoffed and told you to fuck right off with that shite, of course it would. Not her, though. Not Ms. French. She already knew.
“True. It’ll be different.”
She didn’t quite know where to look when he was watching her, so she smiled at nothing in particular and took another hit. A small one, mindful of the heat now that it was burning closer to the end. It burned in her throat, but she scrunched up her face and powered through it, making him laugh.
“God, look at you. You’ve got a blanket and everything. How perfectly twee.”
“Come sit,” she chimed, patting an empty spot on the blanket across from her, “I’ll show you what else I brought.”
“Are you sure you want me here for your little college experience catch-up? You wanted to smoke alone, after all.”
“Are you kidding me? This is much better. Please, sit. I’m going to strain my neck if I keep looking up at you like this.”
“You’re a strange one, Ms. French,” he muttered, but he moved closer, unbuttoned his jacket and sat down nonetheless – slowly and with a little grimace of pain. “Most students run screaming in the opposite direction when they see me walk down the halls.”
“Well that’s just not true. You’re plenty liked.”
“Nonsense. I don’t mind, though. I much prefer my students cowering and apologetic.”
She laughed and handed him the ever shrinking cigarette.
“Too bad, because you don’t fool everyone. It just takes a bit of effort to see past the grumpy professor act, that’s all.”
He paused, raised an eyebrow at her, then picked up Belle’s lighter (purchased for the occasion) and held the flame to the joint placed lightly between his lips. It had gone out. A few short drags, and the end glowed orange again, smoke floating up.
“What makes you say it’s an act?”
“Come on, professor. You were in your element up there, insulting long dead authors and rude students with that deadpan delivery of yours. I could always tell when you were having fun.”
He shook his head, but he couldn’t help a little smile. It warmed her, urged her on to prove her point.
“You were strict, but you were never unfair,” she added, “and the people who claimed you were just wanted to be coddled. You expected more from us.”
“I’ve since had to lower my expectations.”
“You’re just saying that,” she said, narrowing her eyes a little bit. “I think you see potential in people. I think you’re constantly disappointed because they don’t live up to it.”
“And you just think that because you’re the kind of person who sees the best in people. Even if it’s not there.”
Silence fell over them. What on earth had just happened to the conversation to make it curl up and die like that? She was just trying to assure him he wasn’t universally hated, and then she’d spoken as if she’d known him a lifetime. And then so had he, and now it was quiet. Too quiet.
He reached out to pass her the joint, but she shook her head.
“I really don’t like the tail end of those. Burns my throat.”
“Then shall I just...” he started, bringing it up to his lips again, looking at her with eyebrows raised as if asking for permission.
“Yeah! Go ahead. I’ve got more.”
“Really? You were planning quite the one person party, weren’t you?”
“I like to do things properly. But hey, never mind all that, tell me what brought you to the roof this evening,” she said with a stifled giggle. She watched him blow smoke upwards, his lips twisting into a grin as she laughed.
“Nothing exciting, I can assure you. Sometimes I come here to smoke something a lot less exotic,” said Gold, flicking the cigarette butt somewhere over his shoulder. “Usually,” he continued with a smirk, “no-one disturbs me up here.”
“Technically, you disturbed me.”
“Technically, you oughtn’t to correct the professor who should be dragging your baked arse to the dean’s office.”
His voice had been low and gruff, but a hint of kindness in his eyes coated his words and rid them of their sharp edges. She giggled, and she felt it, then; the haze in her head. Because she knew she was laughing louder than she normally would, knew for a fact that if she didn’t put an effort in to focus on the conversation that she would keep laughing until her throat hurt.
“I always assumed you were a smoker,” she said, tearing open the bar of chocolate she’d gotten out of the vending machine downstairs and offering it to Gold. He waved her offer away with muttered thanks.
“I thought I was doing a pretty decent job at hiding it. What gave me away?”
“Nothing substantial, really. I guess I just pictured you smoking, and it stuck.”
In an unaltered state of mind, Belle would have been immensely embarrassed about what she had just admitted to, but it was so easy to let go of words and let them flow up with the smoke like this. Gold didn’t seem to read anything into it, in any case, just absently nodding as she explained herself. The mood had disarmed them entirely, it seemed.
“Well, if anyone asks,” said Gold, eyes narrowed, smirking just a little bit, “my lungs are tar-free, you understand?”
“Gotcha. It’ll be our little secret.”
“Our big secret being the on-campus drug use, of course.”
“Of course.”
Belle felt a lot better about wanting to stare at the man in front of her, now that he didn’t seem to mind her lingering looks and she, being somewhat high at this point, didn’t mind much of anything at all, herself. He looked relaxed – softer somehow. In the four years she’d known him, she’d noticed that there was a limit to the amount of eye contact he put up with. If they were in class right now, and she had stared at him half as long as she had since he’d walked up on the roof, he would have gotten jittery and tense already, would have addressed the back of the class (where no-one was really listening at all) instead and afforded her only the odd sideways glance. But the look he had on his face now reminded her of their talks in his office; meetings to discuss her papers that they somehow always managed to turn into gossipy book club meetings. Only he was so smiley, now. And his voice had gone just a little bit more expressive, and she had heard his vowels shift a while back, making him sound a lot less the intimidating grump he presented himself as.
“Does your accent always get thicker when you’re high?”
“You’re saying that like I make a habit of this,” he said, then adding: “Wait, has it?”
“Oh aye.”
He rolled his eyes at her but his grin betrayed him, and she burst out into giggles again.
“Let’s not go there, dearie. I’ve got a million Australian jokes and I’m not afraid to use them.”
“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” she laughed, reaching into her bag to retrieve the plastic ziplock baggie of weed her ex-boyfriend had so politely and correctly declined payment for.
“You can’t be serious,” he muttered, almost looking a little impressed.
“I was thinking maybe you...” she started, trailing off and waiting for him to read her mind and offer to roll one himself.
“Look, this is an awful idea, and I’ve been making some piss poor decisions since I got up here, but if you insist, I’ll roll us what our dear American friends would refer to as a spliff, if you like.”
“Excuse me, but a what?”
“A spliff. Mix in some tobacco. Slower burn. Less pressure to smoke fast. That way I might make it off this roof with some of my dignity left.”
“I didn’t bring any tobacco.”
He smiled, reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“Oh, right,” Belle said, grinning as she nodded, “our little secret.”
“Have you got your rolling papers?”
“Here.”
“We didn’t call these spliffs, back home. That’s just how we did it. Tobacco, always. It’s a European thing, apparently.”
“Yeah?”
“Hm. I would have thought you’d have been familiar with it. Thought maybe it was a Commonwealth thing, too.”
“You reckon the tobacco thing’s how they do it in Australia?”
“Well, I don’t know. I was asking.”
“I wouldn’t know, either. I moved here before I was old enough to think drugs were cool.”
He laughed at that, and it made her want to join in. But instead, Belle watched him closely as he tore a thin strip of card from the booklet of rolling papers, folded and rolled it, then put it to the side.
“Are you married?”
“I’m not, no.”
He took a sheet, folded it in half and reached for his cigarettes. Belle smiled at the way he tapped one out of there with no hangups whatsoever, one fluent motion practiced a billion times over.
“Me neither.”
“Well thank fuck for that,” he chuckled low, tearing at his cigarette’s paper casing and exposing the tobacco.
“What?” she laughed, incredulous. She’d expected him to laugh at her stupid joke, perhaps, but certainly not that.
“I’ve seen your boyfriend around, Ms. French, deliberately bumping into petrified freshmen and begging hard working students for notes he could have taken himself. Your taste in men is shocking.”
Oh, well, how about that. Professor Gold had an opinion on her ex-boyfriend and unwittingly managed to insult himself in the process of expressing it. Belle almost laughed, but she decided to have a little fun, instead, and put on a serious face.
“Well, he’s been my ex-boyfriend for a while now. And you’d be a wise man to take that back.”
He had been sprinkling a thin layer of tobacco on the sheet, hair having fallen forwards and obscuring his face to her somewhat, but he stopped for a moment to look up at her, eyes darker now the sun was sinking low.
“Apologies, Ms. French. That was uncalled for. He must have some good qualities for you to have even bothered with him.”
Belle bit down on her lip so as not to laugh. For a moment there, she thought he’d caught on, but then he looked so guilty and terrified all of the sudden, and Belle knew for sure he was clueless.
“That’s alright, professor.”
“It’s really not. I’m truly sorry. Perhaps I should-”
“Don’t you dare leave! I’m learning how to roll a... wait. What was it? A spliff?”
The terror and the guilt melted from his face, and Belle smiled in relief. He was so easily spooked, today, and it was strangely adorable.
“That’s the one. Not that we ever called it that.”
He opened the baggie and topped the tobacco with weed. The way his hands moved swiftly and surely as if he’d done it a million times just yesterday made Belle wonder just how many times he’d really done this before.
“Can I tell you something I shouldn’t?”
The words were out of her mouth before she even knew it. He didn’t look up from his task. The hair fell in front of his eyes again as he placed his little cardboard construction at one end of the paper, then started to roll it up.
“Only if we can pretend I answered that question in the negative, later.”
“Deal.”
He looked up again as he licked the paper, and Belle purposely pursed her lips because she knew her mouth was dangerously close to dropping open at the sight of his tongue flitting out like that.
“Go ahead,” he said, twisting the end and burning it off as Belle had done earlier, then handing the finished product to her.
It looked a lot better than hers, but then again, it had definitely not been Professor Gold’s second go at that. Belle knew that for a fact. She took it between her fingers, then between her lips. He nudged her lighter over to her, and she lit it, taking a couple of careful drags. The longer she waited, the faster her heart beat, the tighter the knot in her stomach. She would say something, she promised herself. She definitely would. But perhaps she ought to smoke a little more, first.
“I’ll tell you in a bit,” she half said, half sighed, trying her best to sound relaxed, smoke escaping her lips.
“Sure.”
Belle tilted her head up to exhale the next lungful of smoke, and that’s when she saw the evening’s sunset colors for the first time. The odd solitary cloud was strangely pink and orange colored, purple streaks in the distance. It was beautiful, and it made her smile.
“You certainly picked a good day for it, didn’t you?” came his voice.
She tore her eyes from the sky and saw him looking at her with a soft little smile she’d never seen before. She nodded, and it felt like that simple motion had sent her brain spinning loose in her head. Oh, a bit lightheaded, now, she quietly noted. That hadn’t happened quite so fast, before.
“Dizzy?”
“Mhm.”
“That’s the nicotine, dearie. It’ll pass in a moment.”
“I like it,” she said. “Is that why people smoke? Because I see the appeal now, I think.”
“Stops once you’re hooked.”
“Oh.”
And then the silence fell over them again, like a blanket this time, not like a bucket of cold water. He watched her, and she let him. She was about to say something very brave and stupid, and she wanted to remember the way he looked at her before. So she gathered her courage, inhaled one last time before she sank the ship they were on, exhaled, spoke.
“I, uh,” she started, her eyes locked onto the smoldering end of Professor Gold’s expertly rolled spliff, “I’ve sort of had this massive crush on you for four years.”
Belle didn’t know what she was expecting. For Gold to hightail it out of there, perhaps, limp or no? Laughter? A polite but well-deserved bullet to the heart? Anything, really, but certainly not what actually followed.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands, but not before Belle could spot his embarrassed grin.
What on earth was that? Her heart had been racing, but her confusion was starting to slow it. Had he even heard what she’d just said?
“I’m not sure what kind of reaction that is, but, uh, am I right in thinking it’s definitely not surprise?”
“Ah, well,” he started, pausing to clear his throat. “You... had some trouble with subtlety, on occasion.”
“Oh. Oops.”
Her heart had been racing, then it had been slowing, and now it had seemingly stopped and settled in her throat, of all places.
“Oops,” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief.
He was still grinning behind his hands, and if Belle didn’t know any better, she’d have thought his face was getting a little bit red. She reached over, tapped him on the knee, spliff between her fingers. He looked up – at her hand, not her face – and she motioned for him to take it with a little smile.
“I feel like an idiot, now. I think I was hoping you’d be completely surprised.”
“I suppose I am surprised you’ve come right out and said it, if that’s any comfort at all. I’d convinced myself I was seeing things.”
“I wouldn’t have said anything if I was still in any of your classes. You know that, right?”
He nodded, grabbed the lighter and lit it again. Belle hadn’t noticed it had gone out. The drag he took then was long, and he inhaled so deep Belle almost felt like coughing herself, but he held it in for the longest time.
“I know,” he said, pausing to exhale. “You might be a wee bit too brave for your own good, but you’re no fool.”
Belle took the time to breathe in the changed air between them now that she’d confessed, to taste it on her tongue and come to terms with this new atmosphere. Behind him, birds flew past, cawing, and it seemed to Belle that they were there to remind them that there was a world beyond the rooftop. It was odd, though. Because it didn’t feel like it at all.
“So, you knew?”
“The possibility crossed my mind.”
“Just the possibility? It wasn’t that obvious, then?”
“No, it was. It definitely was, in hindsight.”
“Well, which is it?” she laughed.
Cigarette between his lips, he ran his fingers through his hair in a slightly nervous gesture Belle hadn’t been witness to all that often. God, she thought to herself, he probably doesn’t even think he’s handsome. So dense, for a genius.
“At the time, I thought it better to minimize the things I did notice.”
“And what were those?”
Finally, he looked up at her, confusion written all over his face. Better than ridicule, Belle felt.
“Why are you so hellbent on having this conversation?” he asked. He sounded genuinely lost.
“I don’t know, but I am. Come on. Think of it as feedback. I can take your points of criticism and apply them next time I have a hopeless and inappropriate crush on someone.”
“Fine,” he sighed dramatically, “you asked for it. You stared, for one.”
“I paid attention,” she huffed.
“Other people paid attention. You stared.”
“Fine, I’ll let you have that one. What else?”
“You smiled at me an awful lot.”
“That’s just being nice!”
“Perhaps.”
“What else?”
“The smiling, though...”
“You just said that! You are so high!”
“Hush,” he said, laughing as he handed her the cigarette. “I know I said that already. It’s just that they came paired with this look in your eyes that was difficult to mistake for anything less...”
“Less what?”
“Less than what it was. Look, never mind. I shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“We shouldn’t be getting high on the roof either. What else did I do? Because it doesn’t sound like I was that obvious so far!”
He fell silent for a moment, deep in thought. Belle inhaled deep, blew the smoke out of her nose, just because.
“You touched my thigh once.”
“Shit, seriously?” she sputtered, then coughed, then laughed and coughed again. Gold chuckled low in his throat, reached over and took the cigarette from her hand while she was wheezing.
“I don’t remember that,” she said, voice a little hoarse now, her face red. Whether that was because of the coughing fit, or because of the turn their conversation had taken, it wasn’t quite clear. Perhaps both. “When was this?”
“About two years ago. During one of those dreadful round table discussions where it always becomes glaringly apparent that no-one gives a solitary fuck about the reading assignments I give them.”
“Hey.”
“Apart from you. That’s true. You always did what you were supposed to.”
“And that’s not because I wanted you to-” but she stopped in the middle of her sentence, stared in silence for a couple of seconds, then burst into laughter. “I’m not going to finish that sentence.”
“Thank you for that. I’m not sure if I can handle any more of your honesty.”
“I really touched your thigh, though? That’s insane. I can’t believe I did that.”
“You were sitting next to me at the table when you agreed with something I’d just said, and you just lightly touched my thigh for a second as you said it.”
“Oh God.”
“And I remember looking at you to see if you’d lost the plot completely, but you didn’t even look back at the time. I don’t think you even realized you’d done it.”
“Wow. That is so not appropriate.”
“Not very, no.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No matter. You didn’t mean to,” he said, waving away her concern. “Like you said; you can’t even recall doing it.”
“I know, but I still crossed a line, there. That could have put you in a difficult position.”
He raised an eyebrow and snorted. Belle gasped and smacked her hand over her mouth.
“No! Not like that!” she cried. But then she lowered her voice and muttered “I mean, not like that, right?”
“Ms. French! Of course not! I’m not some 16-year-old hormonal disaster area!”
She giggled, and it was her turn to hide her face behind her hands. He was laughing just as much as she was, now, and even when he rounded his mouth to blow out a lungful of smoke, the smile on his face didn’t quite disappear.
“Please tell me that was the worst of it.”
“I would, but that would be a lie,” he said gravely, in between puffs. “There was, I seem to recall, an e-mail.”
Belle’s stomach flipped. This was bad. This was awful. This was karma coming back to shove her down a flight of stairs – or at least that’s what it felt like because, Belle knew exactly what he was referring to, and it was quite possibly the dumbest thing she had ever done.
“Oh God. No, no, no, please no.”
“Ah, so you remember?”
Of course she did. Last year, beginning of term, sloshed on wine and egged on by her best friend, Belle had sat down in a corner at the most awful party she had ever been to, and wrote Professor Gold an e-mail on her phone.
“I thought it hadn’t gone through. I hoped. I prayed. Oh God.”
“It was a gem amongst student e-mails, I have to say, Ms. French. Made for much better reading than the newspaper first thing in the morning. Woke me right up.”
“Look,” she started, peeking through her fingers, “I was really, really, really quite drunk.”
“Yes, I did gather as much. You signed off with ‘Vodka’ if I remember correctly.”
She threw her head back and laughed without sound, her shoulders shaking. “I wasn’t even drinking that!” she cried, clutching her sides as she laughed, in complete hysterics.
“What was it again? ‘Dear Professor Gold’ – three o’s in Gold, there, which I thought was very creative – ”
He paused because she had doubled over and he wasn’t quite sure whether she was laughing or coughing anymore, but then she looked up with tears streaming down her face and her grin impossibly wide, and the concern fell from his face to make way for an amused smirk.
“And then it was something about loving the class so far and complimenting my reading list, I think. The one I hadn’t handed out yet. I could check. I have it archived.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Ah, and you asked me what conditioner I use, I think. How we laughed in the staff lounge.”
“Oh, stop it. You didn’t show anyone,” she said softly, the laughter having calmed and settled in her eyes instead.
“Your trust in my character is appreciated, but unwarranted and ultimately misplaced, Ms. French.”
“Am I wrong, then?”
No answer. Instead he inhaled slow, deep, then handed the cigarette back to her. His admission came in the form of the slow smile he gave her, almost shy, like she’d caught him out.
“Thought so.”
“But I could have.”
She didn’t even bother to contradict him this time. She merely rolled her eyes instead and shook her head with a fond smirk. The smoke was hotter, now, but Belle found it easier to ignore the heat in the haze. There was a strange, movie-like quality to everything, and she knew that it was just the weed, but she grabbed hold of the thought and allowed herself to melt into the moment anyway, just so she could say the things she would only say if she were a fictional character; a version of herself, but braver.
“Now that I’ve told you something I shouldn’t have, can I ask you something equally ill-advised?”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” he said, but she could tell he didn’t mean it. Or she imagined it. Whichever. Fiction and reality were just a little bit blurred, then. They were two primary colors slowly blending, and in her altered state of mind, she wasn’t quite sure whether she was still referring to fiction and reality, or him and her.
“Did you ever think about me?”
He looked at her, now, his grin now a ghost of what it was. Still a hint of it there, but not quite the same. It made Belle a little nervous, her mouth and lips gone dry. She drew her bottom lip inward to wet it. He averted his eyes, feigned an interest in the clouds behind her. The next drag burned her throat, too hot for her to bear, and she offered the spliff to him. He took it, puffed once, twice, then let the smoke out with a sigh.
“I’m not sure what it is you’re asking.”
Belle swallowed.
“My friends said I was obviously your favorite. I thought they were just mocking me, but now I’ve got you smoking weed with me up on the roof, I’m beginning to think they were right.”
“Of course you were my favorite student,” he grumbled. “You’re an intelligent, conscious woman in a sea consisting mostly of brain-damaged jocks and mindless parrots. But that wasn’t really your question, though, was it?”
“Not really,” she admitted, her grin somehow at once devious and a little bit shy. Like she got caught with her hand in the cookie jar, but it had been so worth it.
His eyes were dark. The little smile on his face just seemed tired, resigned.
“Did I fancy you, you mean?” he muttered, offering her the cigarette. She shook her head to decline. He pulled back.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. I’m out of order, aren’t I?”
She hadn’t expected him to just go right ahead and indulge her, but then she hadn’t expected him to get high with her either, so she had no right to be surprised when he licked his lips, sighed once more, and proceeded to answer.
“You were always there in the front row, looking at me as if I was saying something profoundly interesting. When you opened your mouth, something intelligent and meaningful came out. Without fail. You rolled your eyes at the loudmouth idiots in the back of the class, but I could tell you let them borrow your notes anyway, even though they had done nothing to deserve it. Don’t think their tests and papers didn’t have your insights and fingerprints all over them, dearie; that’s the only reason they passed my classes, rest assured. Am I wrong?”
“They knew to ask nicely,” she said, tongue sliding across her lips again, mouth dangerously dry.
“When you came to my office to discuss your papers, we always ended up talking about other things. That’s why I scheduled your feedback meetings with me after everyone else’s; because otherwise I’d be running late for all of them. Not that I’d have minded. I’d have sent them all home, gladly, if it hadn’t been for the inevitable mountain of angry e-mails I’d have to deal with the next day.”
She was rapt, her heart swelling with something she didn’t quite dare name. His lips around the cigarette demanded her attention, but the words that came from them made her head spin, made her want to see what his eyes were silently saying instead. But it turned out she didn’t have to go looking for that; he was willing to say the words.
“In addition to all of that, your face is a work of art, and I can’t even begin to describe the effect some of your outfit choices have had on me in the past. So yes. I fancied you.”
Something in her belly scorched her like the smoke in the back of her throat. Gold looked over her shoulder again, stubbed out the spliff and flicked it away like he’d done before. Belle saw it land near the first one. She half wanted to joke about his precision in some way or other, but the thought didn’t stand a chance of fully forming; there was no room in her mind, crowded by feelings she couldn’t, wouldn’t name.
“You’re a good man.”
“I would reserve your judgement, if I were you. I could still turn you in,” he teased, his laughter ringing just a little uncomfortable in her ears. Belle couldn’t blame him. There was no rulebook for this conversation. No script. They were in uncharted territory and she’d hounded him there.
“You know what I mean. You knew I was smitten. You could have made a move any time you liked,” she explained, watching him try to fold his face into a neutral expression. “But you stayed back.”
“I didn’t know anything.”
“Oh, you knew. You might not have thought I was in my right mind to be interested in you, but you knew I was. And you didn’t take advantage.”
“No man deserves praise for not being a power-abusing lech.”
“No praise. I’m just stating facts. You’re a good man, and I’m not surprised.”
Finally, he looked at her. She had never seen him this way before, never quite this vulnerable, this worried. The wind toyed with his hair, and she wanted to reach over and join in, not unlike a cat drawn to sudden movement, but she didn’t want to scare him away. So with a deep sigh of resignation, she reached into her bag and retrieved her forgotten chocolate. What was she sighing about? This was fine. This was beautiful. These confessions, the sunset, the stars peeking out, their secrets like little treasures shared between them. What on earth was that lump in her throat? What business did that heaviness have, filling up her lungs and weighing down her stomach? What the hell was wrong with her?
And what was he doing, taking off his jacket now that the wind had started blowing?
“You’re cold,” he said softly, scooting over just close enough to drape his jacket over her shoulders. Belle sat stock-still, eyes glued to his adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down once.
“Am I?”
“Look at your arms.”
Goose bumps. She hadn’t worn anything over her short-sleeved blouse, but she hadn’t felt the cold until he had pointed it out to her. That was odd.
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Not so prepared after all.”
“Guess not,” replied Belle.
And then that silence again, except this time the birds didn’t take it upon themselves to break it. She tried to feel the high so she could have an excuse to say the things she wanted to, but it had changed shapes and eluded her somehow. No longer that movie screen effect, not the laughter bubbling up from deep inside of her and threatening to boil over. Just sort of... there. In her limbs, weighing her down.
“I don’t like the thought of never seeing you again.”
She could think of nothing better with which to puncture the silence. Nothing else quite as worthy as that simple truth. His dark eyes watched her carefully, his lips pressed together.
“You’re high,” he said, leaning back and resting his weight on his hands. He almost looked relaxed, and he’d almost fooled her, but she saw him swallow the way he had just a little earlier, when they were too close, and she knew.
“You’re scared.”
“Careful.”
“Call it what you like, and then get over it and go out on a date with me.”
His dark look cracked and made way for a grin Belle could only describe as being utterly endearing. Nervous, yes; nervous still, just a little bit. But there was warmth there, too, and it was a weight off her shoulders.
“I’ll tell you what. If you’re still, for whatever dark and unfathomable reasons you may have, interested in me after you graduate, we’ll go on that date.”
“Come on, why wait? We’ll be sneaky about it. Go out of town.”
“Too risky.”
“Okay. I’ll wait,” she sighed. “On one condition.”
“Oh, go on.”
“I get a kiss.”
“A kiss?” he parroted, eyebrow quirked.
“On the lips. A proper kiss. Right now.”
“Ms. French-”
“It’s Belle. Now come on. Kiss me, or I’ll have to come up with a highlander joke.”
He huffed and shook his head, narrowing his eyes at her in mock disapproval.
“That’s it. That’s your one. That was your free pass, right there.”
“Didn’t you already give me a free pass, earlier?” she teased, a slightly crooked smirk lighting up her face.
“Yes, well, behave or I’ll rescind it.”
“Will you just shut up and kiss me, please?”
Gold shook his head and pressed his lips together a little bit, trying not to grin, but there was no fooling Belle. She had him hooked, and she knew it. With a dramatic sigh Belle forced herself not to roll her eyes at, Gold scooted closer. She had her lower lip between her teeth because she felt the laughter bubble up again, and this was definitely, definitely not the time for another giggle fit. But she let her lip slip free when he leaned in close, his dark eyes flitting to her mouth. Closer, still, and then she smelled his aftershave and felt his hands on her arms, hands slowly encircling her wrists. She mirrored his actions and tried to encircle his, but they didn’t quite fit around them. Her eyes fluttered shut, her lips parted, and she waited for him to-
But instead of kiss her, he laughed. He actually, honest-to-god, laughed. And when she opened her eyes to see what had happened, his head had fallen to her shoulder, his hair against her cheek.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, slowly sliding her arms around him, holding him as he shook against her, chucking softly but uncontrollably. It was starting to infect her, and she felt the giggles rise up from her belly. She smiled against his soft hair for a moment, but then he drew back, her arms slipping from his shoulders.
“Highlander,” he uttered, grinning and wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “That’s good, that.”
“Seriously? You only just got that?” she laughed, eyebrows raised in disbelief.
He shook his head and crawled to sit next to her instead, their backs against the ledge.
“No, no, I got it then. I just...”
And when he dissolved in laughter that time, he dragged Belle along with him, and the mirth in her chest boiled over. She leaned against him and giggled into his shoulder. The two of them sat there laughing under the dark purple sky for a while, until by some miracle, they managed to calm themselves.
“I’m sorry. I may be just a wee bit higher than I’d anticipated.”
She turned to look at him. He was close, his thigh touching hers, and there were tears at the corners of his eyes. She smiled and reached up to brush them away with her thumb.
“You don’t have to kiss me if it’s too weird," she murmured. "I’d still like you to, but it’s okay.”
He blinked at her, the smile on his face gone in an instant, his eyes a little darker, and before she could ask him what was wrong, he had turned towards her and had her face in his hands and his lips on hers – warm, wet, and parting to capture her lower lip between his, and it took her all the self-control she had left not to gasp into his mouth. This was unreal. She’d expected a little patronizing peck on the lips, not this knee buckling, heart-stopping monster of a kiss. And then his tongue brushed against her lips, and that was it; she moaned. He broke away, but his hands were still cupping her cheeks, and their foreheads were pressed together. She opened her eyes and he was staring right at her as her chest heaved and her heart beat madly within.
“Too much?”
“God, no.”
“More?”
“Please.”
And he was on her again, more insistent, hotter and urgent, and she sank her fingers in his hair to make sure he wouldn’t stop this time. The hands on her face had slipped to her neck, then over her shoulders and gliding down her sides until he reached the place where her hips met her thighs, and Belle could have sworn she felt the heat of his hands through the fabric of her skirt. The man was absolutely not shy about using his tongue, it seemed, and while he had started slow at first, it now felt like he was devouring her, and she could barely keep up, what with her head reeling and the heat in her belly growing steadily more ferocious. Oh, but it was perfect, and it was dizzying, and why did she promise to wait until graduation to have more of this? More of him? She wanted to take him to her room, let him have at her – all of her – the way his mouth told her he wanted to, but she couldn’t, could she? He wouldn’t. They shouldn’t. When he broke away that second time, he’d left her with her eyes shut, her lips parted and practically panting.
“You don’t mess about, do you?” she said after a while, voice low, almost a purr.
When she opened her eyes, he seemed to be admiring his handiwork (her wet, red lips, her messed up hair, her eyes well and truly glazed over with lust), and she couldn’t help a little flustered grin under his greedy gaze.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” said Gold.
“Yeah. Yeah, me too.”
“I should go.”
“Really?”
“It’s for the best.”
It was dark, now. Dark and late, and Belle knew they couldn’t stay up here forever, but that didn’t mean she was ready for him to leave.
“Give me your number.”
“My mobile?”
“Yes. So I can make sure you don’t forget about our deal. And maybe send you some inappropriate texts.”
“What deal, dearie?”
She rolled her eyes at his smug, teasing little smirk, but he took her proffered phone and tapped his number in.
“As if I’d forget about that,” he muttered, shooting her a quick, meaningful look over the edge of her phone.
“But you’re still giving me your number. I can only assume you’re up for those inappropriate texts, then,” she teased, giggling at the way his tongue flicked out between his lips in that way that meant he was having to exercise some serious self restraint.
“Perhaps.”
He stood (with a groan that made Belle want to scramble and help him up) and moved backwards towards the door, slowly, smiling.
“Your jacket!”
“Collateral.”
Belle grinned and pulled the fabric tighter around her shoulders.
“Shouldn’t I give you my number?”
“You could just send me that inappropriate text. I only get about twenty a day. Get a shark or a kangaroo in there somehow and I’ll know it’s yours.”
She tried to look stern, with her narrowed eyes and her head shaking in disapproval, but her grin betrayed her amusement, and with a little wave, she watched him disappear into the bright yellow glow of the stairwell, the door falling shut behind him.
His footsteps faded, and Belle grabbed her phone. She stared at the screen for a while, watching the cursor blink, then began to type.
Can’t wait to didgeridoo you
Part of her hated herself with the intensity of a thousand blazing suns, but, then again, a bigger part of her was quite proud she’d managed to come up with that one on the fly. With a soft chuckle, she pressed send. About ten seconds later, she heard a very vague ‘beep beep’ coming from the bottom of the building. She hoisted herself up, looked over the ledge and saw a bright blue screen light up, about twenty steps away.
She’d recognize that laugh anywhere, now, after she'd heard it so close to her ear. As if he knew, somehow, that she was watching him, he looked up. She held up her own phone, a little beacon of light to guide his gaze. He waved. She waved back. He walked away, shaking his head, his laughter soft in the night time air.
One month. One more month, and then he was hers.