Check, Check, Crush

Smiling, as if he hadn't just short-circuited her brain with his touch. Eric stays too close for just another second.

His cinnamon-peppery scent lingers as he moves back a little. He’s been playing her like that for weeks, and she knows it.

Teasing her while consistently dragging down her walls. One by one. Day by day, week by week. Like holding a gigantic shield over her head: I am here. I am staying. Starting minutes before their first non-date, when her hand gripped nothing, expecting the handle of her cello case, forgetting the shoulder straps. He’d told her then to ignore her giggling roommate hanging up a poster in the back, as he was holding her other hand for the first time.

While not overbearing, she knows his cinnamon will stay with her. She remembers her pillow smelling like Eric, the last time he had walked her home. The smell tends to cling to her hair when he's close enough. She never changed the sheets that night.

She barely stifled a gasp. She couldn't maintain eye contact—not when Eric was smiling at her like that.

Eric just brushed her jaw! Her breath hitches. The tingle lingers, even as he moves on.

“Careful, I might actually kiss you soon. Do give a wink if you don’t want it.” He winks at her. She ducks her head, cheeks flushing.

Riley’s eyes travel downward. Past his green sweater and black pants.

The corner where the yellow wall meets the floor still looks dusty. Even if she wanted to, she could not get a word out as the seconds ran past her.

Yet he sees it. Of course he does. “I’ll take that as a potential yes.”

His breath brushes her ear as he leans in closer once more. “Thank you for answering, darling.”

She holds her breath. He presses a kiss to her cheek. She inhales—then he takes a step back — grins. “Take your time, Ry.” He turns toward the stairs.

Darling? She closes her eyes.

His leaving makes her realize she’d been oblivious to the cold air in the hallway — now replacing where his fingers had been. He’s always so forward.

A window falling shut behind her, the gust making her shiver, rips her out of her stupor, as she leaves the hallway, too.

Riley’s footsteps squeak on the steps. The squelching noise always irritates her, makes her feel like a duck, sound-wise.

Quak, quak, quak, she shakes her head, kissing - how does it even work? Quak. Ugh! At least Eric's shoes made a noise, too!

She touches her cheek as she keeps walking, flaming red slowly vanishing, as she inhales deeply. The cool air entry hall was a stark contrast to her skin, finally wiping away his scent.

Shaking her head, she grins. At least she hadn't dropped her folder this time, unlike that one time in middle school. At this over-regional sports event, she had been trying to deliver notes to the head coach before her second race.

She’d full-on crashed into a guy in crimson tennis clothes, who had the guts to lean down and say, nasally, “Oh, so you’re fast and cute.” Annoyingly, the crash had not caused her to drop the folder; no, his words did.

She couldn’t even remember his face, but she did, for whatever reason, remember his body, throat down — crimson clothing; maybe because — red flag.

Now, close to a decade later, she’s twenty-three, a ‘bloom not even open yet’, as her sister would say. Riley shakes her head. Not that she’d ever admit that, not when her roommates talk about sex in excruciating detail weekly. Though she’d faked ominously saying ‘yeah, I know’ on occasion, heaven did she want to try things out. Surely her vast theoretical knowledge would help. She wouldn’t suck at it. No, she would not!

Actually, she’s been wondering how Eric could make her blush like that. She certainly heard worse at home.

Or in general. Like, the douchebag she went on a date with three years ago, who infuriatingly called her Maria all night, like she was supposed to laugh at that.

According to him, he only remembered the names of interesting women. Everyone else, till bodily proven otherwise, was dubbed Maria.

She pursed her lips. Like, who does that?! This is the same as the I know exactly who you are kind of look, some guys, about to tell her how ‘innocent,’ a ‘good-girl?’, or ‘cute’ she is, have.

Eric instead had given her a nickname. Just like he figured out from her ‘I want chocolate’ that she likes hot chocolate as well. He even had introduced her to Mochaccinos for her afternoon classes, while she’d started to share her sandwiches with him.

Weeks earlier, she’d gone to the Uni-city-exchange students on their first day, cello in tow — though she didn’t know why she’d done it. Only later had she realized she’d ignored everyone next to him.

Riley had asked Eric, grinning, whether he’d been following her. They had met for the fourth time that week. In a bar, the train, the grand supermarket in the city center, now at uni — somehow always ending up in a conversation.

Somehow, she’d just wanted to say that to him. To just ask that.

Eric had grinned at her, and for whatever reason, her face had flushed. Mumbling about having to practice cello for the uni orchestra, she’d left. Which made him find her later.

She’d heard him come in back then, his steps resounding in the empty room.

She turns toward the window facing the small park behind the cafeteria; autumn leaves drift past the building, twirling in a rush.

Ironically, that one time, seeing his lean silhouette walking out of a dark hallway, brushing through his hair, his eyes meeting hers as a smile bloomed on his face? Yeah, she’d been a goner; she’d recognize him anywhere.

The first time they had – well, gone out, is probably the wrong wording. They had conveniently shared ice cream.

“I want chocolate.”

“Ah, so not a vanilla girl? Good to know,” he winked at her. “You know vanilla can be nice, but I guess chocolate is spicier.”

She had stared at him, irritated. What did he even mean? Was that an innuendo? “I’ll take strawberry.”

He had laughed. “One strawberry-chocolate and one lemon-dark chocolate, please.”

Eric had paid before Riley finished saying, “Both? I said-“

“You wanted chocolate.”

An hour before that, she remembers him — visiting her in the practice rooms while she was playing the cello — as she tunes her cello.

“People who play instruments do not like to be watched while they practice,” he’d said, leaning against a table and tossing her pencil case like a ball. Watching her through the dust of rosin.

It had been the first time they were alone together.

All had gone well until she royally messed up the position shifting.

Because she’d played for him, simply out of spite.

He told her, “And now you're playing.”

Her head had swung to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You're angry. Perfection is not everything. Your instrument is allowed to sound like you're passionate. A dissonant note shows that. Not everything has to be polished.” He put her pencil case down. “Thanks for the private concert.”

“That was not a concert!” she’d pressed out, as he was leaving.

“Oh, but you played, darling.”

She had sat there, hating how her streak to prove others wrong sometimes tripped her up.

She initially had just been trying to blow off steam for walking up to him like that. Riley had gotten into trouble for that before. She vividly remembers her cello teacher in high school yelling at her for getting sick on concert day, simply because her sister had bet her she’d never run outside at freezing temperatures for longer than five minutes. She’d given her fifteen. She’d been proud. Still was. Her sister would never do that. Also, that concert was more of a showcase of the students taught, nothing official.

After Eric had left, it had been impossible for her to concentrate any longer. Packing her things, she’d rushed out of the room into the great hall. Sitting down, she placed her forehead into her palms. Why was she so flustered?

He had come out of the training room hallway after her, sitting next to her, talking about — she didn’t even remember.

She had answered, and somehow, after that, he had taken her hand in the grand hall later to show her a poster for the upcoming poetry slam contest. Only he had not let go.

Riley had heard her roommates giggle. “Go, Riley!” She’d closed her eyes – then Eric stepped closer, causing her to blush.

He had looked at her, like a puzzle, stating: “Oh, so you do react – Ice cream?” Leading to their first non-date.

Riley had been completely out of her depth. Flirting, she was sure it was that, latest when he was like “Open up” before pushing her cold strawberry ice cream with his dark chocolate one into her mouth. He had held it there for several seconds. The boldness had shocked her. Or was it the cold?

His warm gaze had waited for her. Ignoring anyone walking past their table in the cafeteria at that moment

He had asked for an extra spoon when buying their cones. Riley had wondered why. Only for him to try and prove dark chocolate-strawberry tastes better than the light one.

Truthfully, it did. Sweet and somewhat bitter; fruity, mixed with heavy, dark, cold cream.

Truthfully, she’d blushed. Truthfully, he had asked her what was better, only for her professor to walk past them, and she realized—feeling like cold water rushing over her head— that she had class in less than 8 minutes.

Eric had laughed, congratulating her for not having to answer. Before eating himself from that spoon. Riley had just had it in her mouth. Running after she’d known she was out of his sight, while internally screeching, she found the next bathroom for cold water.

Since then, Eric and the other students visiting from other universities had been everywhere.

Art showcase? Check.

Seeing her totally pants at math class when the professor called on her? Check.

How embarrassing.

To be fair. Eric had been trying to teach her math since. Once he realized she genuinely did not understand the material.

This had led to discussing one of her high school teachers, who used to make her recite and draw lines in her booklet in front of class, then have everyone vote on whether her ‘n’ was considered to be an ‘n’. Eric's eyebrows had risen. “Excuse me?”

“Well, he thought it was a ‘u,’ and it totally wasn’t, the whole class said so!” She could not help but grin, flustered. “I did change the way I write it, though.”

He had sat up in his chair. “Did you have any other teachers like that, Ry?”

“Well,” She momentarily looked to the ceiling. “Technically, I do like math,” she’d glanced at Eric. “But the one in the ninth grade was always drunk, and somehow, I used to feel cold when my seat neighbor even mentioned ‘math’ starting that year.”

His jaw had tightened, fingers gripping his cup a little too hard. “Did he get closer to you?” She’d shaken her head. “Mhm? No, but his breath kinda felt like I would pass out when smelling that.” Riley had grinned.

Eric had not. “And the others?” He had pushed his cup away from him a little too hard.

Reaching toward his shoulder to brush off a hair of hers, she turned her attention back to his eyes, which for a second seemed to have frozen, until he brought himself out with a little shake of his head.

“Well, one of them gave minus points; I nearly failed that year, but the head teacher regraded my work, bumping me up to a C. – Oh, and another only wore a tankini to a school event!”

Riley had rambled on. Eric had listened, looking more pissed off by the second. “All your teachers freaking sucked!” His voice had sounded deeper than usual.

Eric had then, after stating his initial frustration, said Riley wasn’t scared of math; “You are scared of not understanding it. Riley, I think your fear stems from not knowing how or being insecure in just trying, thanks to your past experiences! Let’s go back to the basics, okay? We’ll start over.”

So, they had started meeting up and starting with the basics: plus, minus, multiplication, and division.

Only to somehow end up on systems of three linear equations in three variables. Eric had asked her what she specifically liked out of all the things she learned in math.

Eric had laughed for five minutes when she told him she’d been solving those for fun since middle school— ‘Cause those got me higher points in ranking.’

His laugh had sounded slightly deeper than his baritone, sending shivers up her spine.

They ended up doing twenty of those questions on that afternoon, combining cookies and hot chocolate.

They had started every math session since, with one exercise of that type.

And now he said he wants to kiss her. Please don’t let her lips be dry.

Her.

Him. She giggles at the thought of that. Before drinking a sip at the water fountain next to the library entry. Though it simultaneously terrifies her.

Admittedly, he had not announced it out of the blue. She should have expected it.

Earlier today, her private law teacher had walked in, and by now, Eric was just sitting next to Riley whenever he was around.

Only for said teacher, to be well… not really – she was wearing a full outfit, just sheer, without a bra, and drunk, again. Riley had not even known where to look.

That was so embarrassing. She’d long since stopped looking toward the front. Once more, only listening to which paragraphs were relevant and why.

Eric had then asked her, cross-armed, if this was normal for this class, to which she kinda mumbled: “Yes.”

The teacher liked to be ‘free of chains or norm-related constructs,’ though she usually was not drunk.

He had then asked for Riley’s schedule, only to leave and inform the other teacher responsible for her class. Who had come sprinting. The teacher had been wearing, sheer, ah, well, no, opaque clothes. Riley, for whatever reason, always mixed up the wording here.

Somehow, this had brought up Riley choking on the idea of Eric being a knight in shining armor.

“Why do you have troubles elsewhere, too?” Stepping in closer.

“No, but ... you know if you have any? You can tell me, too, Eric.”

Which then had led him to brush her jaw.

She never kissed anyone before!! Kissing, how does it work? Like, obviously pressing two pairs of lips against each other. But what comes after? She moved her tongue inside her mouth, twisting it. Feeling the glide. What if she’d open her mouth too widely?

She brushes her hair out of her face as she arrives at the bus stop.

Ping.

She looked at her phone, taking a step back to let passengers board and alight the bus toward the city centre.

Eric: ‘Are we still on for the poetry slam tonight?'

She blinked tonight?! Crap. She was gonna need to blow-dry her favorite shirt!

Riley: ‘Sure! Where do you wanna meet?’ Her cheeks were turning red.

Eric: ‘I’ll pick you up at seven. Gives us enough time to get snacks and drinks.’

Riley: ‘Sure. Seven works perfectly! Do you know where to park?’

Eric: ‘Yes. 😘’

Her eyes widened as she inhaled deeply. Don’t scream in public. She exhaled loudly.

Eric: ‘See ya 👋’

A laughing sound escaped her lips. She slammed her hand in front of her mouth.

Riley: ‘👋’

Three hours later, she had washed her shirt, had showered, eaten, tried to lie down – failed, blow-dried her shirt, and freaked out to her best friend.

He rang the bell on the dot. She opened the door.

Eric was wearing a coat. A long coat. Navy blue. Perfectly matched to his eyes. She unconsciously licked her lips.

“Are you feeling hot?” his voice drew her out of his thought.

“What?”

“You seem a little flushed - nice outfit by the way!”

Riley swallowed silently. “Ah, no, just... blew-dried my hair, that was hot.. uhm nice coat, compliments, your.. you.”

“Thank you,” He grinned. “Do you want me to wait while you grab your jacket?”

“Yeah- yeah, no, it’s fine, come in. I’ll be back in a sec!” She rushed toward her room.

Sliding into the middle, she stressfully searched through the rest of the closet chaos she had created earlier to find her pants. Jacket, jacket, COAT! She grabbed her forest green coat, threw it on, and took a scarf with her.

Her heart was racing as she came back toward the front door. Which he was leaning against.

“Ah, taking the coat, I see...” he stood up straighter. Stepping toward her. While she was wrestling with her boots.

“Yeah, you know, the weather. Uhm, it’s warmer than my other jacket-“

“Riley.”

“Yeah?” She turned toward him.

Lips.

She was frozen to the spot, bliniknik— blinking!

“Glad you like my coat, darling.” Eric moved his face a little away from hers while taking her scarf.

“You know. Seeing your reaction to my sending you that kiss emoji-“ he started laying her scarf around her throat.

Her brain kicked into life. “You saw that?!”

“Same bus, remember?” he tied the scarf in a knot and drew her in. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she croaked out, before his lips met hers again —she tastes chocolate! — soft, warm, and finally on hers, cinnamon-pepper engulfing her.

He pulled back slowly. “Took you long enough, Ry.”