Free Andre by V. Vaughn

Chapter 1
    N othing irritates me more than waiting. This stupid night-escort rule Bowdoin College put into place after Thanksgiving means I can’t walk back to my dorm in the dark without a security guard by my side. I got through the first week avoiding it, but tonight I was so wrapped up in my studies, I lost track of time. I gaze at the glowing blue light of the security phone. Those popped up everywhere over break too. Why isn’t that enough? We’re in freaking nowhere, Maine.
    I lower my shoulder and let my backpack fall to the concrete step with a loud thud. This semester is all about heavy books, and I rub my neck as I scan the area, looking for the guy who’s supposed to protect me. The night air is cool, and the light breeze blows loose strands of my hair in my face. I huff as I shove them out of the way. If he doesn’t get here soon, he’ll need someone to keep him safe.
    My feet thump as I begin to pace. I don’t have time for this. I need to get a good night’s sleep before my science lab tomorrow. It’s not my subject, and I’ll need every brain cell I’ve got. When I turn, I notice a large man walking toward me. I mutter, “Finally.” My bag strap cuts into my forearm when I lift it up and descend the stairs. When the guy gets to me, I hold my backpack out for him to take and say, “I’m going to Parkinson.”
    He doesn’t speak, and I glance up at his face. Whoa. Hello there. White-blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and his eyes are the shade of faded denim. He stares down at me for a moment before he begins to walk. The uniform he’s wearing fits poorly, and I imagine he’s got a killer body under the jacket that has too much material around the middle while the shoulders and arms are straining at the seams. But I don’t care, because he didn’t take my bag. Unbelievable. I’m beyond annoyed and say, “A little help here.”
    He stops and turns to me with a hint of a smile. I thrust my backpack toward him, and he hooks his finger under the strap to take it. You’d think it weighed nothing the way he dangles it from his hand as he begins to walk again. And how is it he’s not cold without mittens and a hat? It’s beyond frigid in Maine in the winter. I scramble to keep up, which is saying a lot since I’m six feet tall with the long legs that go with my height. But this guy’s got to be well over seven feet, and I have a new appreciation for what it must be like for my short friends to walk with me. I ask, “Could you slow down a little?”
    He stops and waits for me to catch up. I can’t take his silence but am distracted for a moment by his plump lower lip before I ask, “Don’t you talk?”
    A smile forms on his angular face, and he says, “When I need to.”
    I shake my head. “Whatever.”
    We continue on in silence, and I notice he’s matching my stride step for step, as if we’re synchronized. It’s oddly attractive to me. Holiday lights adorn the lampposts and trees on campus, and they twinkle. I steal glances at the man next to me. I’m not sure if it’s his size or his mere presence, but when we get to my dorm, I realize I’m no longer irritated. I smile at the Nordic god and say, “Thanks.” I wonder if I could request him the next time I need an escort, because he makes the guard thing something to look forward to.
    He hands me my bag without a word, and disappointment makes my smile fall. I have my keycard in my mitten-clad hand, and the plastic is slippery against the wool as I fumble with swiping my ID through the reader. The guy waits for me to open the door, and when I turn to glance at him again, he nods at me as if he knows I couldn’t resist. I frown. Arrogant much?
    When I get inside, I notice a large guy leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He’s wearing a lacrosse team jacket. I take a moment to study him. His dark hair and facial features are similar to mine, as if he’s a distant relative. The electric-blue shade of his eyes is