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Lady, Runnin' Down to the Riptide
"I'm serious, man. This girl is amazing. She's funny, sarcastic. Says whatever comes to her mind first…"
"And pretty hot, from what you said."
"A solid 10/10, dude!"
The blond boy smiles, remembering the last video call he had with her. It was last night, before bed. They spent over an hour going back and forth, and neither of them really wanted to hang up. It took Bob throwing a pillow at him to end the call and finally get some sleep. Honestly, he was happy for John. The guy was great once you got past the first, second, and third impression. Now, in his sophomore year, he seemed to have found the girl of his dreams — or so John claimed. After living out the full freshman fantasy, partying every weekend and sleeping with every girl he could, it was hard to believe. Well, good for him, truly. Bob just wished, from the bottom of his heart, that someone would let him get his full eight hours to function like a normal human being. God, he had the worst morning classes. Was a little consideration too much to ask?
"What'd you say her name was?"
"Ava. Ava Starr."
"Ava Starr," Bob repeats, not looking away from the screen, working the joystick. "Wait, is that the Ava Starr from the pre-law program?"
"You know her?"
"She's in my Social Psych class."
"Damn, I should've taken that class. I'd see her more."
Ava Starr was the kind of girl who could intimidate you with a single look. Bob only ever saw her from a distance; they'd exchanged maybe a couple of words. The first time was early in the semester, when his pen rolled all the way to her seat. The second time was when the professor asked her to collect the assignments. Ava didn't talk to anyone unless it was strictly necessary. She was serious, disciplined. She always took one of the front-row seats, as close to the professor as possible. Her hand was always the first to shoot up for the trickiest questions. Honestly, Bob wouldn't have pegged her as John's type. Or rather — John wasn't the kind of guy Bob would've pictured Ava choosing.
"Like I said, I really like this girl, but… I'm worried she thinks that…"
"That you're a player?"
"That I don't want anything serious." John's face twists at the accusation. "Seriously, man? God, remind me why I don't hit you."
"Because I helped you with math and gave you the last burrito in the dining hall when you asked."
"Oh, right. That was so good."
Bob rolls his eyes, but his attention quickly snaps back to the screen and the tight race between his car and John's.
"So why would she think you don't want anything serious?" Bob asks.
"It's her roommate." From John's tone, Bob can tell he doesn't much like Ava's roommate. Fair enough — he couldn't blame her. If he were Ava's friend, he'd warn her about John too.
"She's talking her out of it?"
"She's talking her out of it. Can you believe that?"
"I believe it."
"Son of a bitch."
"Come on, you have to admit last year you were a little promiscuous."
And that was Bob being generous, adding the "a little" before "promiscuous."
"So by your logic, people can't change?"
"They can, but that doesn't mean they don't have to deal with the consequences of their actions. And you, my friend, are stuck carrying the reputation of hooking up with every freshman on campus."
"Wait a second. Are you psychoanalyzing me right now?"
Bob laughs, and John, close enough, takes the chance to punch him in the arm. It's a friendly hit, a thing between them. Bob and John had settled into a functional enough dynamic over time.
They keep playing. Bob's eyes stay locked on the screen; his fingers work the controller, trying to catch up to John's car and make him eat pixel dust. John laughs, confident in his lead. He hits the gas as the countdown flashes on screen, the finish line closing in. There's nothing to be done — John's car crosses first, and seconds later, so does Bob's.
Photo finish, folks! Frame it for the memories. John throws his hands up in victory. Even if it was just a game, you could still be the best at it.
Bob, tired of losing for the third time in the last hour, tosses his own controller onto the bed. Honestly, he's exhausted, his ass hurts from sitting so long, and he needs to pee.
"Oh, come on, don't be a sore loser."
"Says the guy who doesn't know how to win."
"You can't judge me for being awesome."
"Sure, whatever you say, Mr. Awesome," Bob says, letting out a nasal laugh and getting to his feet. He stretches his back until a couple of vertebrae crack with a satisfying pop. "Don't get too excited. I just need to hit the bathroom before my bladder explodes."
John turns off the console and heads toward the bathroom. He stops at the door, then steps back. When he hears the faucet turn on, he moves a little farther away, then returns to his original spot. Bob comes out of the bathroom with wet hands, oblivious to John's nervousness.
"What's up with you?"
"I'm going to ask her to be my girlfriend."
"Wait, what?" For a second Bob thinks he misheard. "You're going to tell Ava Starr you like her?"
"Yes, because that's literally what asking her to be my girlfriend means. Please, Bobby! You're not helping."
"I don't get it — what do I have to do with any of this?"
"Well, I told you her roommate's been talking her out of it. They're pretty close, and Ava really values her opinion. So I was thinking — it'd be great if we used the long weekend for a quick trip to the coast before exam season starts and I can't see her as much as I'd like. I asked her if she wanted to come with me and she said yes."
"Great, but again, what does that have to do with me?"
"Come on, Bobby, use that big brain of yours to connect the dots," John says. "Ava says she'd feel more comfortable if her roommate came along. I suggested she reconsider, and she said in that case she'd have to pass."
"Wow, man, what a mess. So you told her no?"
"I told her yes!" Desperation seems to pour out of John's every pore. "I told her: 'Of course, Ava, if that's what makes you feel safe, then let's invite your roommate along.'"
Bob bursts out laughing so hard he doubles over, clutching his side. He genuinely can't believe John is so far gone for this girl that he'd agree to something like that. He's not sure he'd have done the same in his place. Well — it depended on how much he actually liked the girl. Bob didn't have much experience with women like Walker did. He'd dated a girl back in his school in Florida once, her name was Lindy. But they only lasted a week — Child Protective Services found out about his family situation and the abuse he'd been suffering at home, so the Department of Children and Families placed him with his closest relative. He'd moved from Florida to live with an aunt in Kansas.
"Man, you're in deep trouble."
"You have to help me," John says, his face so serious that Bob stops laughing and stares at him, trying to process what his roommate just said.
"What?"
"You have to help me."
"I heard you the first time, and honestly, I don't get what you want me to do."
"Come on, Bob, you're the smart one between the two of us. Seriously, you don't get it?"
"Yeah, nope. Honestly, I'm having a hard time following you" — and every day it's getting harder, really.
"Come with us to the coast this weekend."
"You want me to be the third wheel?"
"Technically you'd be the fourth."
"Very funny, Walker." Bob's dry laugh wasn't because he actually found it funny — quite the opposite. It was a terrible idea. A truly awful one.
"Come on, man!"
"Honestly, what makes you think I'd sign up for that? Ever consider I might have my own plans this weekend?"
John lets out a mocking laugh, which Bob does not appreciate at all.
"Oh right, your plans. Playing Gear Solid and going to the library like the nerd you are."
"Yeah, well, sorry for wanting to be a responsible student."
"Who even goes to the library anymore, man? Get with the times. Use Google like everyone else."
"If that's your idea of asking me for a favor, trust me, you're going about it the wrong way, Walker."
"Listen, Bob, I'm desperate, seriously desperate—" In a rare moment of vulnerability, John grabs Bob by the shoulders, and Bob can see the desperation in his friend's eyes. That's when it hits him — John is truly, genuinely in love with this girl, because he'd never beg for a favor like this otherwise.
"Wow… you really like her."
"Yes! That's what I've been trying to tell you!"
"Okay… sorry, John. I didn't realize you were serious, but now I see you are."
"So, will you come?"
Bob wants to say no, that he really has no interest in being the fourth wheel whose only job is to block off some random roommate. If he were in her shoes, he wouldn't want some guy bringing a friend along to try to run interference either. But John was desperate, and desperate people do stupid things sometimes. John could do stupid things, sure, but he was a good person, and he deserved at least one shot at proving that to Ava.
"Fine, you win."
"Man, I love you," John says, planting a kiss on his forehead, pure relief written across his face. Bob, caught completely off guard by the gesture, goes as pale as a blank sheet of paper. "I owe you one."
"Just… don't do that again and we're even."
"Yelena, hurry up. John's about to get here. Are you seriously doing this right now? They're going to be here any minute."
In the room she shared with Ava, Yelena had four different swimsuits spread out across her bed, trying to decide which one to bring to the beach. The suitcases had been packed the day before; in the shared toiletry bag they'd stuffed sunscreen, a few first-aid essentials. In her own personal one, she'd packed her favorite eyeliner and the rest of her makeup. Honestly, she wasn't in the mood for a weekend trip, and she definitely hadn't signed up to be some kind of chaperone for her roommate. But Ava had insisted so much that she'd come along that there was no getting out of it.
Ava was her best friend — the first friend she'd made in this whole place. She didn't like John Walker, mostly because the guy had a reputation as a player. What worried her most was the thought of Ava getting hurt, and she'd said as much, just so Ava would be fully aware of the facts and could make her own decision without regrets down the line.
"Okay, tell me — which one do you like?"
"Seriously?"
"Unless the beach we're going to is a nudist one. Yes, I'm dead serious."
Ava steps closer, looks over all the options, and settles on an olive-green bikini. It's pretty — Yelena has great skin, and the color suits her.
"All right, we have a winner."
"Are you seriously sure John's okay with her coming along? Honestly, if I were him, I wouldn't be."
"You're the one who said you're worried he's not being fully honest."
"I am worried. But at the end of the day it's your call, I mean. Would John Walker be my first pick for you? Absolutely not. But if you really like him, then I'll support you."
"I like him."
"Good, that's what matters."
"And I want you to like him too."
"Oh, come on, Ava, he doesn't have to grow on me." Yelena smiles sideways. Honestly, she didn't understand Ava's need for her and John to get along. Yelena knew enough to form her own opinion; she didn't feel the need to know him any better.
"It matters to me. I'd like the two people in my life to be able to get along."
Yelena lets out an exhausted sigh.
"Fine. Okay. You win."
"Thank you so much."
"But just so it's on record — your suitor is paying for lunch both days."
They hear a car horn honk outside. Ava rushes to the window. Below, there's John Walker, waving from a distance, arms flailing to get her attention.
"They're here," Ava says, grabbing her things and heading for the door. "Yelena, let's go."
"Fine, fine. Damn it."
They both leave the dorm building. The morning air is still cool, and the parking lot is filling up with students taking advantage of the long weekend to get off campus. Some are loading surfboards onto their trucks; others are packing coolers and backpacks into their trunks while music plays from a nearby car. John is the first to walk over to Ava. The second she steps off the last stair, he smiles with that ease that seems reserved only for her and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"You look… really pretty…"
"Really?"
"Oh, come on!" Yelena groans, fighting the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes. Seriously, is this what she has to put up with for two straight days? Honestly, right now, all she wants is to go back to her room, shut the door, and spend the weekend doing what she'd actually enjoy. Sleeping.
"Hey to you too, Yelena."
"Yeah, yeah, let's skip the formalities — where do I put my stuff?"
"Hold on a second," John says, hurrying to pop the trunk of the rental car, "here, there's plenty of room."
"Wait." Yelena spots an extra bag in the trunk. "Hey, Walker, aren't you bringing kind of a lot of stuff for just one weekend?"
"Oh, no, only one bag's mine. The other's Bob's."
Bob? Who the hell is Bob?
"Bob." She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "And who exactly is Bob?"
"My roommate. I invited him to come along, that's not a problem, right?" Walker's teasing smile is a clear challenge aimed at Yelena. John had no idea it would bother Ava's roommate this much. Well — bonus points, then. If Yelena wanted to play, John would take her up on it.
"A problem?" Yelena flashes a sharp, toothy smile, but her eyes could shoot sparks if they could. "Of course not. As long as no one minds sharing a car with a complete stranger."
"Yelena," Ava warns, but she isn't listening.
"Bob's not a stranger," John says. "He's my roommate and a very good friend of mine. He's a great guy, okay? Super chill."
"Uh-huh."
"What's your problem? By that logic, you're a stranger too."
Seriously? Is this guy actually saying that to her?
"Forgive me for caring about my safety and Ava's. I mean, for all we know, he could be a serial killer."
"Oh, come on," John scoffs, "don't be ridiculous. Bob is not a serial killer."
"And how would you know that?"
"I don't know what's gotten into you, or what trash you've been watching on TV. But Bob's a good guy. So maybe dial the paranoia back a notch."
"Funny, you know that's exactly what people say when they find out their neighbor turns out to be a serial killer? 'He was such a nice guy, so boring, so normal.'"
"Who's a serial killer?" someone says, and Yelena turns to find the source of the voice.
He's a big guy, almost as tall as John, with a kind, harmless face and calm blue eyes. Brown curls partially cover his face, but not enough to hide some genuinely striking features. He's dressed light — a blue t-shirt with the logo of some band Yelena's never heard of in her life, black cargo pants, white sneakers. He looks like he's hauling two heavy bags stuffed with chips, cookies, sodas, and other snacks.
"Bob, man, perfect timing," Walker says, grabbing the shopping bags from him and stashing them in the backseat. "You already know Ava."
"Really?" Ava looks genuinely surprised by that.
"Yeah, actually, we're in a class together."
"Oh, sorry, I'm terrible with faces."
Ava offers her hand, and Bob, still not quite following what's going on, shakes it with a dopey smile.
"And this grumpy one is—"
"I can introduce myself, thanks, John," Yelena says, smiling as she tries to hide her obvious dislike for her friend's suitor. "Nice to meet you, Bob. My name's Yelena. Yelena Belova."
Bob stares at her for a long moment, and it's like everything just slowed down. Holy hell, she's gorgeous. Bob actually has to fight the urge to rub his eyes just to make sure he's not dreaming. Short blond hair, barely grazing her chin, every strand pointing in a different direction. Her eyes are such a pretty shade of hazel that for a second Bob's sure they're green. She's beautiful, with those big eyes and that button nose that make her look like the porcelain dolls his aunt used to collect back in Kansas.
"N-nice to meet you," he stammers, unable to look away.
Yelena notices, and rewards him with a lovely smile. Unlike Walker, who hits her like a punch to the chest. Bob seems like the total opposite. Nervous, a little shy, a little scattered. Not at all the kind of guy she'd expect to find hanging around John Walker.
Already an improvement.
"So, Bob, do you have a last name, or is it just Bob?"
"It's Reynolds."
"Robert Reynolds, right?"
"Uh, yeah. But honestly, I just go by Bob."
Yelena smiles at him, silly and helpless, unable to stop herself. Like a teenager. Just Bob. She likes that — it's simple, easy to say. Also, he's clearly not as dumb as John. And she doesn't just mean the name. Bob offers her his hand and she shakes it. His grip is firm — surprisingly so; you can tell a lot about a person from a handshake, her dad always said. Yelena's willing to bet Bob would get along great with Alexei.
Wait, hold on — what is she even thinking?
"I hate to break up whatever's happening between you two," John says, earning a withering glare from Yelena, "but seriously, we need to get going, or traffic's going to get us."
Absolutely not! It's already too much having to put up with him for four hours. Yelena doesn't think she'll survive that long.
"Fine, everyone in."
They pile the luggage into the trunk with the rest of their things, then climb into the car, buzzing with anticipation. Ava takes the passenger seat next to John, who helps her buckle her seatbelt. Their hands brush, and they both look at each other, grinning stupidly, lost in each other for a few seconds too long. Yelena, once again, feels like she might throw up.
"Hey, Romeo!" She kicks the back of the seat in front of her, which happens to be John's, snapping him out of his daydream. "Get this thing moving already."
John shoots her an irritated look but doesn't say anything, because Ava's right there and he doesn't want to look bad in front of her. Honestly, he'd already expected Yelena to be an insufferable pain — good thing he brought backup.
"Hey, Bob."
"Huh?" Bob answers, completely indifferent, one hand buried in the bag of chips, mouth full of little pieces.
"Why don't you two get to know each other? I'm sure you have a ton in common."
"Oh yeah, like what?" Yelena asks, arms crossed, kicking John's seat again for good measure.
Seriously, this trip is going to be a nightmare if Bob doesn't keep Yelena distracted. In his heart, Walker pours every wish he has into hoping his friend can redirect the attention of that pain-in-the-ass Belova. Sure, it'd be great if Bob would step up and actually help like they'd agreed.
"Bob, you got nothing to say to Yelena?"
Bob looks pretty confused for a few seconds. Yelena turns toward him — they're shoulder to shoulder. Cheap Walker rented a tiny car, so they're all crammed together. This is the first time Bob's been this physically close to someone. Well, he hadn't exactly had a robust dating life since 2012, okay? Honestly, who could blame him for not knowing how to act in a situation like this?
"Uh… do you like the cheese chips or the regular ones?"
"Jesus, Bob, seriously?" John says.
"I bought both, in case anyone had a preference. I also brought cheese sticks and butter cookies, and gummy bears, and those sour candies that never seem to actually finish sour-ing, and pickles…."
"Pickles?" Yelena repeats, a crooked, amused smile spreading across her face.
"Two of the big jars."
Yelena bursts out laughing, the sound bright and full, filling the whole car. It's such an open, genuine laugh that Bob, holding half a chip inches from his mouth, has no idea how to react. Yelena is like a rushing current, about to crash headlong into the riverbank with absolutely nothing anyone can do to stop it. She's wild, unfiltered, a breath of fresh air. As luminous as her name.
Yelena Belova.
"Give me some of those." Yelena's hand, covered in bracelets and rings, snaps Bob out of his thoughts. She grabs a chip and devours it, letting out a satisfied little sound as she crunches it, sucking the salt off her fingers. "Damn, these are good."
"Want more?" Bob offers her the bag and she snatches it right out of his hands. Seeing her happy feels satisfying, somehow. It makes something warm settle in his chest, though he's not sure exactly what it is. He's in no hurry to find out — he just enjoys the feeling.
Yelena sets the bag down for a second, then offers it back to him as a peace offering.
"I'll share with you."
In reality, it had been Bob who bought them, and Bob who opened them first, but who's counting? Small details, once again.
"Thank you," Bob says, giving her a genuine smile, grabbing one of the chips from the bag and popping it in his mouth.
Walker rolls his eyes. Fine, it's not exactly what he had in mind, but he'll take it. How was he supposed to know Bobby was terrible at flirting? Still, not all hope is lost. Yelena seems to find his awkwardness kind of endearing, and that's a small win already. Feeling good about it, he turns the key and the engine roars to life. Ava perks up, excited, and that alone is enough for him. Walker shifts into gear and pulls out of the lot, and the trip officially begins. The car slowly pulls out of the residence hall parking lot. The red-brick university buildings fall away one after another. The perfectly manicured lawns start to disappear as students, backpacks and suitcases in tow, scatter across campus, making the most of the long weekend. They pass the library, then the stadium, the gym, the frat houses. The cafés where they'd both grabbed breakfast before exams more times than they could count. Within a few minutes, the university is nothing but a shrinking shape in the rearview mirror, and the city takes its place.
Someone turns on the radio and "California Dreamin'" fills the small space. It's a calm, satisfying feeling. So far, nobody's tried to kill anybody, and that alone counts as a successful start. Yelena rolls the window down a little, letting the highway wind brush against her face, tousling her blond hair with the same softness a golden wheat field ripples under a summer breeze. Yeah, she could definitely just sleep for a bit and enjoy the rest of the ride.
"Gummy bears?" someone asks. It's Bob, holding out his little colorful gummies. Yelena looks at him for a moment. She still has the salty taste of chips in her mouth. Something sweet might hit the spot.
"Sure."
Yeah, they were definitely way too sweet — even more than she remembered. As a kid, Yelena used to love stuffing her face with that junk alongside her sister. They'd put on Disney Channel on Saturday mornings and laugh through episodes of DuckTales with their mouths full of candy. Alexei had always been way too permissive with them. Then the cavities showed up, and their mom had to start rationing the candy. What a tragedy. A complete disaster. Without meaning to, she'd stumbled on a memory she thought was long buried, and it made her nostalgic, gave her the sudden urge to text her sister. She was married now, living in New York with her husband. A boring guy, but a good one.
"I didn't know they still made this brand."
"They changed the recipe," Bob says, watching Yelena and the way she seems to be enjoying herself, even if she won't admit it.
"Yeah, I noticed." She smiles. "They taste like cough syrup." She sticks out her tongue dramatically, and Bob can't help but smile back at her.
"The licorice ones are still the best. Those barely changed at all."
"Let me try one," she says, and Bob offers her the bag again. "Oh, hey. You're right. These are better."
"Told you."
"You two seem like a couple of eight-year-olds," John teases, not taking his eyes off the road or his hands off the wheel.
"And you seem like a seventy-eight-year-old grandpa, Carl Fredricksen," Yelena says, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "Seriously, Walker. Can this thing not go any faster? We're going to be here for hours at this snail's pace."
"It's called being careful and responsible, Belova. You should try it sometime."
Yelena scoffs, brushing off anything Walker might have to say. Besides, she wasn't exactly defenseless — she'd grown up with a sister just as loud-mouthed as she was. She knew how to hold her own.
"That elderly couple behind us just passed us."
"I'll go faster if you're the one paying the speeding ticket. Quit being a pain in the ass and enjoy the damn trip, would you?"
"Ooh, Grandpa Walker's mad, told me to shush," Yelena keeps teasing, popping another gummy in her mouth.
"Oh, just shut up. Shrimp."
"You shut up, idiot."
"Enough, both of you!" Ava's patience is running thin. She shoots her friend a scolding look. "Seriously, Lena, you need to calm down."
"Lena?" Bob asks, not paying much attention to the argument until Ava calls her that. "They call you Lena?"
"Um, yeah…" Yelena's cheeks flush, and she'd swear her face is actually burning. Must be the heat. The sun was high enough by now that the temperature in the car had climbed. "My dad calls me that. He does it to annoy me."
"Lena's cute," Bob says, not realizing what he's said until it's already out there, because suddenly Yelena's staring at him like he just said something completely ridiculous, and now there's nothing left for him to do but be embarrassed.
"You… you can call me that too, if you want," she tells him, putting on her sunglasses to look cooler than she feels, even though inside she's as flustered and anxious as a fifteen-year-old. Damn it, she was a grown woman. A cute guy telling her that her childhood nickname is cute shouldn't rattle her this much.
"Really?"
"Sure, I mean, whatever, only if you want to," she says, trying to sound indifferent, doing her best impression of the cool girls from TV shows.
"Okay," Bob says, curls bouncing like little crazy streamers. For a second, Yelena wants to reach out and touch them, see if they're as soft as they look.
"Can I do it too?" John asks, ruining the moment. As always.
"Go to hell," Yelena replies, giving the front seat another kick.
Yelena didn't remember her pillow being this soft, this comforting, or smelling like licorice. She shifts, trying to get more comfortable. So warm. God, it's like lying on a giant marshmallow. She curls in closer, chasing more of that warmth, like a baby chick nestled under its mother's feathers. Yeah, a chick was exactly the right comparison — small and round and always so cozy. She doesn't want to open her eyes. Doesn't want to ever wake up again.
"Yelena…"
Yeah, she was definitely taking this mattress home with her. It was perfect, the best one she'd had in years. She just hoped it wasn't too expensive. She squeezes her hand a little, trying to feel the texture. Huh, there's something hard right there.
"Hey, Yelena!"
Why is a dog barking?
"Damn it, Yelena, we're here, wake up." John's annoying voice forces her eyes open. Her sunglasses have slid halfway off her face, and she feels something wet on her chin.
"Huh?" is all she manages, wiping drool off her face, still a little disoriented.
"You too, Bob, wake up," Walker says, climbing out of the car with Ava behind him. "Start unloading the bags while I go grab us some rooms."
Bob starts blinking his eyes open, moving like a slow, clumsy sloth. He squints and yawns loudly. His hair is a total wreck of flattened, messy curls, and there's a large damp patch on his chest.
"What the—" he says, slowly registering something cold on the left side of his chest. He touches the exact spot where Yelena had been resting her head. "Why is this wet?"
"No idea," Yelena says, playing dumb, making sure to wipe her own face thoroughly before anyone catches her. "Walker says we're unloading the bags."
"Okay."
God, it feels amazing to stretch her legs, even if they're still a little numb and her butt kind of hurts, but hey — they're at the beach. Who cares about that when they can finally relax before exam season kicks in? Bob climbs out after her. Yelena almost feels bad for the poor guy — he must have had a rough time crammed into that tiny thing Cheap John rented. Well, at least she had the advantage of not being that tall. Perks of being short.
"You okay?" she asks him.
"Yeah, just — give me a sec. I'll be good as new soon."
Yelena smiles at him. Bob was funny and sweet. For him alone, she could put up with insufferable Walker.
"Your hair's a mess," she says, stepping closer and stretching her whole body up, trying to reach it. God, this guy is tall. She has to go up on her tiptoes just to manage it.
"Yeah, I know."
"Here, sit down right here," she orders, and Bob obeys, like a big, well-trained golden retriever.
Yelena has to resist the urge to pat him on the head.
She digs through her bag for her toiletry pouch, and once she finds it, pulls out one of her hairbrushes. It's one of her favorites — wide bristles, perfect for Bob's hair type. She stands in front of him and runs her fingers through his curls, taking advantage of their current position. Yeah — definitely soft. She works the brush through the brown strands, smoothing them out, making sure everything's neatly in place. It really is unbelievably soft, and her fingers feel good doing this. She never thought a guy's hair could feel like this. She gives it a few final passes and tucks a stray curl behind his ear.
"There, much better." Her slim, delicate fingers brush against his ears, and his cheeks immediately go pink.
"Th-thanks," he mumbles, dying of embarrassment but trying to sound normal. Spoiler alert — he's not pulling it off.
"Anytime. Your hair's really pretty."
Bob looks up at her, his eyes widening, brightening even more.
"You really think so?"
"Um, yeah. I mean, it's super soft. Do you use some kind of product or…?"
"No, nothing."
"Some people just win the genetic lottery," she says, smiling as she gives it one final pass and tucks the brush back into her bag. "Come on, or Grumpy Walker's going to scold us again."
Bob follows her, because at this point it feels like the most natural thing in the world to do. He feels like he could follow her anywhere she wanted to go. Because she's as untamed as a windstorm, shaking the foundations of everything, turning his quiet little world upside down.
"Okay. You carry Walker's stuff, I'll take Ava's," she says, already carrying her friend's bag along with her own.
"I had a weird dream," Bob blurts out suddenly, John's bags now next to his own.
Yelena laughs, expecting something funny.
"What'd you dream about?"
"I dreamed I was a giant dog, and there was a cat crushing me."
"Sorry, what?"
"She was kind of grumpy, but weirdly, she stayed completely still and calm the whole time, sleeping right on top of me — even though she knocked the wind out of me a couple times, squeezed pretty hard. She was really cute, though. A little ball of yellow fur."
Yelena's face goes bright red. It's so embarrassing that right now she wants to dig a hole in the ground and bury her head in it. It's strange that they both had different versions of the exact same dream. She covers it with a cough and tries to act natural.
"You have the weirdest dreams," she says, laughing nervously.
"Weird's a pretty accurate word to describe me, actually."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It's not usually something people see as a good thing. I'm pretty sure John wouldn't even be my friend if we hadn't gotten randomly assigned as roommates."
"Oh, come on, Walker's an idiot. If anything, he's the lucky one to have you as a friend."
"You don't like him, do you?"
"It's not that I hate him," Yelena clarifies. "I just still have my reservations about him."
"I know it's not really my place to get involved. But I can tell you John's genuinely in love with Ava, he really cares about her. At the very least, I think he deserves a chance to prove it."
Yelena watches him, and they both keep walking slowly, dragging out the moment. There's something unique about it, something that somehow feels familiar too. Yelena wasn't an easy person — loud, sarcastic, sharp-tongued. She often got herself into trouble for saying what she thought out loud. Few people made it onto her list of people she truly cherished. Her mom and dad, her sister and brother-in-law, Ava, who was just as honest and blunt as she was, and now there was…
"Fine," she says, knowing full well she's just handed him a complete, undeniable defeat. "You win, you're right. Walker's an idiot and he's probably always going to be one. But he's my friend's idiot, and I guess he at least deserves the chance to prove he's not as much of an idiot as he seems."
Bob bursts out laughing, so bright and full of life. For a moment Yelena compares him to the sun. When Bob let go of his shyness, he let out the sunlight that lived inside him.
"You said 'idiot' at least three times."
"Only three? God, it should've been at least eight more. Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot—"
"Stop, you're going to kill me," Bob says, unable to stop laughing. "God! You're hilarious."
"I also do great impressions. I can do a guinea pig. Watch." She demonstrates, perfectly mimicking the funny little animal, puffing out her cheeks and making a ridiculous mouth movement with a squeaky little sound.
"Oh my god! I can't! I'm gonna die!"
"Oh wait! I've got a better one! Here's a cat."
Yelena starts meowing, nailing the sound of a cat so perfectly that Bob's eyes widen in shock, and he actually looks around, genuinely checking to see if there's a real cat somewhere nearby. Nope. Nothing. It was Yelena!
"Incredible!"
"Nobody beats me at parties."
"You're gorgeous and hilarious! The whole package."
Yelena stops in her tracks, looking at him in a way that feels completely unique, completely his alone. Like nothing else in the world matters except Bob. God, he's ridiculous — a big, sweet, gentle, warm, cute, handsome guy, so damn handsome. And those wild curls that only make him look even better. Why can't she look away from him? Who turned off the air conditioning?
"You… think I'm pretty?"
"You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen in my life."
There's no going back now. Yelena blushes, but she doesn't try to hide it. Well, she'd always been brave, so she'd face this head-on like the champion she was. Right now, she feels like you could fry bacon and eggs on her cheeks, they're that hot.
"You're not so bad yourself either." Okay, Yelena, time to break out the flirting playbook.
"Really?" Bob smiles, shy, but to Yelena it's the most adorable thing in the world.
"Really. You've got a good body for someone who eats this much candy."
"Oh, well, I work out pretty regularly. John's always dragging me to the gym. We go like four times a week."
Yelena has the urge to smack her own forehead. Right, of course, that would explain the broad, firm chest. She wonders — what other parts of him look like that?
What a filthy mind you have, Miss Belova.
"Ah, well… it definitely shows. Your arms look really strong."
He could carry her in those arms anytime he wanted. She wouldn't stop him.
"Bob, Yelena. Come on, guys!" John calls from a distance, looking as annoyed and unpleasant as always, but Yelena doesn't care anymore. Walker can enjoy the rest of his weekend without worrying she'll ruin his plans, because she's already found someone much better to redirect her attention to.
Bob Reynolds.
"Hey, Lena," Bob says, using the nickname Yelena let him borrow.
"Yeah?" she answers, stopping just a few feet ahead of him. "What's up?"
Bob looks a little nervous, but he steels himself to keep going.
"John brought me along to distract you. He wanted some alone time with Ava, that's why he invited me on this trip… I just — I feel like you should know that before this goes any further, I mean… I want to spend more time with you, not because John asked me to, but because it's what I actually want. So… if after this you want to avoid me like the plague, I get it."
Yelena stays quiet, taking in Bob's rushed confession. Watching him, it's obvious this has been weighing on him, and it hits her — Bob really is an honest, sincere person, through and through.
She feels a little bad for having thought, even for a second, that he might be a serial killer.
"I already knew."
"You already knew?" Bob looks genuinely stunned.
"Yeah, I mean, it was obvious he'd pull something like that. Like I said — predictable idiot. I'm always three steps ahead of him." She says the last part with genuine pride. "So you don't need to feel bad about playing along with your friend's plan. I can tell you care about him, and honestly, that just makes you the kind of person people can rely on because they trust you."
"I… don't know what to say."
"You could say" — she starts, suddenly slipping into an impression of Bob's voice, or at least trying to — "'I am truly, deeply sorry, Lena, I will buy you literally anything you want,' and I'll say, 'Come on, Bob, it's fine,' and you'll say, 'No, I have to, my honor demands it, at least let me buy you a strawberry ice cream,' and I'll answer, 'If you buy me two, I might think about it.'"
Bob bursts into full laughter, his whole body shaking in a way it never has before. Yelena Belova was incredible. As beautiful as she was funny.
"Then make it three, I need to make sure that forgiveness sticks."
"Add some fish sticks and I might even agree to a date."
"Dinner, and you let me stay by your side the rest of this weekend."
"Only if you take me to the movies when we get back to campus."
"Wait, are you asking me out?"
"Um, yeah," Yelena says, feeling nervous all over again. "Is it working?"
"It's working." Bob gives her the brightest, most dazzling smile she's ever seen, and Yelena feels like she could melt right there on the spot. Like a popsicle under a merciless sun.
A sun almost as bright as Bob Reynolds.
"Come on, guys!" John shouts from a distance. "Seriously?"
Above him, you could clearly read the name of the motel where they'd be staying — "Riptide" — lit up in colorful neon.
"Wait!" Yelena says, making Bob stop mid-step.
"What's wrong, Lena?"
"If you're going to be my date, you need to look the part," she says, pulling off her sunglasses and putting them on him.
"How do I look?"
"Super hot."
Bob's lips meet hers — a quick kiss, clumsy and warm. The feeling lingers on Yelena's mouth, and she's rendered completely, utterly out of service.
"Come on, let's go." He takes her by the hand, and the two of them run together down to the Riptide