Part 8 (1/2)

That afternoon they had worked out for nearly an hour, sometimes only a few feet from each other. He caught her eye several times, and she met his gaze before returning to her work. When he finished his routine, he took a drink of water and paused as close to her as he dared.

He hesitated, knowing she'd probably laugh at him and send him on his way. Still he smiled at her and wiped his forehead with a towel. ”New?”

”Mmmm.” She ripped off a set of ten squats, straightened, and studied the length of him. For the first time that afternoon the haughty look in her eyes faded slightly, and she grinned. ”You're a jock, right?”

Dirk remembered how his face grew hot as her question unwittingly hit a sore spot in his soul.

His brothers had played ball, but he'd stayed away. Who wanted to dribble a ball up and down a court for hours on end or spend long days with fifteen sweaty guys who thought life happened in a dugout? Guys whose greatest accomplishment was. .h.i.tting a ball over a fence or kicking it over a goal line? Guys who were entertained by seeing how far they could spit a wad of tobacco?

Then there was the other problem, the one he never talked about.

Dirk was afraid of getting hurt.

Though his brothers reveled in the physical contact of sports, Dirk could see only the grim possibilities. The concussion in football, the broken nose in basketball, the pulled muscles in

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track. And in baseball. . . well, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what would happen if a ninety-mile-per-hour fastball made contact with your face.

No, sports had never had a pull on him.

So Dirk had gone his own way and joined the marching band. Drum major. And like his friends, he had paid the price with hours of weekend practice. Sure, there were girls in the band who became his friends. But not the kind of pretty honeys who came calling for his brothers. In the high school social structure, girls who looked like Angela Manning recognized the fact that drum majors were beneath their rank. They rarely gave him more than a polite pa.s.sing nod-and that only because his brothers were part of the golden circle.

Was he a jock?

Four years of high school memories swarmed in Dirk's head that afternoon in the weight room as Angela waited for an answer. He opened his mouth to lie to her, to tell her that yes, in fact, he was. But in that instant he caught a glance of his reflection in the mirror and realized something.

He wasn't in high school anymore.

His brothers were at separate universities a hundred miles away. He was tall and tan, and he'd put on twenty pounds of muscle since arriving at Indiana University. He smiled at Angela and said, ”Drum major.”

She arched an eyebrow, c.o.c.ked her head, and let her eyes run lazily from his face to his feet. Her grin was just short of suggestive. ”You don't look like a ... drum major.”

A new feeling coursed through Dirk's heart, and it took him a moment before he recognized it: confidence. He allowed himself to be lost in Angela's bright blue eyes, and he smiled again. ”And you?”

She lowered her chin, eyeing him playfully. ”Journalist.”

”Journalist?” Dirk had never been on this side of the game before, but he'd seen his brothers play it a hundred times. He

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imitated her, his eyes drifting over her body and back to her face. ”You don't look like a ... journalist.”

She lifted the corner of her T-s.h.i.+rt and wiped at the sweat of her brow, exposing most of her stomach and causing Dirk to ex hale sharply. When the s.h.i.+rt was back in place, she planted her hands on her hips. ”I'm free tonight. Want to show me around?”

The evening had been like something from a dream, and four! days later they had slept together. Dirk was only nineteen that! summer, four years younger than Angela, but she didn't seem to care. They were together almost every night until school started, She was bright and quick-witted, and she admitted once that she wanted a houseful of children.; Just like he did..; Dirk was sure he'd found the girl of his dreams, the woman he was going to marry.

Things between him and Angela had cooled a little once school started last fall.

He told himself that was to be expected because Angela was a senior and really dedicated to her studies. But they still had their moments, weekends when she spent the night and whispered words of love so sweet and true that Dirk had not a single doubt that one day they'd be married. He was so sure that a month before Christmas he had bought her an engagement ring. He told his parents about her, even told them he was going to propose.

”Are you sure? Isn't it a bit soon?” His mother sounded worried about the engagement, but Dirk had never felt more sure about anything in his entire life.

Then, one week before he planned to pop the question, he had seen Angela and the professor at one of the tables in the cafeteria. His stomach had slipped down to his knees as he watched Angela tip her head back and laugh when the professor spoke. The way her eyes danced from across the room, the way she seemed lost to everything but their conversation.

That same week she stopped answering his phone calls, refused to return his messages. By the time Christmas came

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around, they were barely speaking to each other. Still, Dirk remained undaunted.

Angela was merely going through a phase -- soul-searching, his father used to say.

She didn't love the professor. He was too old for her, too . . . too married.

No matter what Angela said or did, Dirk was sure that deep inside, her heart still belonged to him. Would always belong to him. He could wait for her to come around. She was worth it.

Time pa.s.sed, and Angela went home to Boston for the summer. Dirk used the time to perfect his workout and hone his body. He was sure that come fall the professor would be out of the picture. But days into the new semester, he realized that Angela was spending more and more time with the man. And that was when Dirk started keeping closer tabs on the situation. Often Dirk was not far away when the two of them would leave the journalism building or the cafeteria or walk across campus together.

Dirk didn't think he was acting crazy, really. Just keeping an eye on a woman who would one day be his wife. But he had never expected to catch Angela and the professor together at her apartment. Alone. The way she and Dirk had been when they first fell in love.

Dirk imagined the gun, its smooth black handle, and pictured it in its box, safely tucked beneath his bed. He needed it, no question about it. He couldn't stand by and watch Angela be taken advantage of by a man who was supposed to be a trusted teacher, a mentor.

But even with all his determination, Dirk hadn't done anything to stop it. Sure, he'd called the professor's wife, but that had just made things worse.

He fingered the bottle of pills in his hand and watched the professor and Angela finish eating lunch, laughing, sharing quiet secrets. The whole thing made him furious, filled him with an unspeakable rage. That's why he needed the gun. In case Angela didn't come to her senses soon.