Manipulative Attraction

7. ⚛️ Pattycake, Pattycake

Jeannie hadn't seen Thorne in-person for weeks, but she'd heard him several times. As promised, he'd dropped off the Casablanca DVD outside her door.

Every night, before Jeannie went to sleep, she thought about how his eyes had drilled into hers during their breakfast and the time she'd cooked for him.

The way he'd made her feel, with just one look, caused her body to inflame with heat.

What would I have done if he'd kissed me? Jeannie mused. A thrill went down her spine at the thought. Jeannie paused with stirring the cake batter.

We'll never happen. If Hawthorne were interested, he would have contacted me by now, and he wouldn't have brought company back to his apartment.

His company, or rather his women, had accounted for the other times she'd heard him. There was no mistaking the sounds that came from behind his door one night as she stood with her eye glued to the peephole. That instance had left Jeannie shaken.

Jeannie had seen the woman. She was petite where Jeannie was tall. Thin where Jeannie was round. And blond where Jeannie was dark. The woman had been her direct antithesis.

And there were more. Lots more.

Thorne shuffled in the women under cover of darkness and hurried them out before the break of day. The women always walked away from her window, so Jeannie couldn't see what they looked like. Every time his dates had left, a feeling of woefulness would take over her general happiness, leaving her dour.

Ugh! Why am I even thinking about him when I have so much to do?

Jeannie poured the batter into the Bundt pan, turning down the temperature to the proper setting. Three of her fellow students were coming over in less than an hour to discuss the mountain of work that lay ahead of them. Not only had she to do an individual thesis for her dual master's, but a group one also. Each paper had to fit cohesively into the main and support it. The subject her group had chosen was Biological Warfare. A broad topic to be sure, but her teammates had eagerly snatched it up from the list of choices.

Jeannie was the youngest of the group, while Sarah Michaels, a bubbly blonde, Theodore Johnson, a handsome, lanky brother, and Robert Page, with his beautiful brown eyes and sweet mannerisms, were all older by almost three years. In hindsight, Jeannie was glad to be working with them as they'd all proven to be brilliant in their own right.

Almost as good as my first choice, Jeannie thought wryly as she dumped the dirty dishes into the sink and sprayed a small amount of dish soap on top.

As she scrubbed the dishes, she thought about her classmates.

There were eight students going for dual masters. For their thesis project, her professor, Dr. Share Longborn, instructed the class to divide themselves into two units during the lecture last week.

Jeannie had immediately approached Shon Westwood because of the knowledge he'd displayed in the lectures and his reputation, which preceded him.

Two years ago, Shon, at the tender age of eighteen, had published several works in a host of medical journals. He'd also received a generous grant for research for his upcoming doctorate studies.

Jeannie was more than Shon's equal, but where Shon was outgoing and confident, Jeannie's imposed shyness hindered her. Jeannie never spoke up during class. Instead, she preferred to observe her classmates. Her reticent made people think she wasn't intelligent and many of her peers dismissed her because of it.

Shon had stood as she approached with a welcoming smile on his face. Jeannie's smile grew in return. Her lips turned upside down when he'd brushed past her to circled his arms around the shoulders of two girls and to grab at the sleeve of another.

He'd made his choice. And it wasn't her.

Jeannie pitied Shon's mistake. Those girls were wrong for him. She swore the girls had gotten in the tough-as-nails program through other means than academia. They were always giggling and batting their eyes at Shon, not even bothering to pay attention during the lectures.

Jeannie had eyed Shon's choices sourly. They only wanted to work with him because of his Delft-blue eyes, full lips, and trim muscular physique. So what if his hair was the perfect shade of brownish-gold and his face could put him on the cover of a magazine?

His loss, Jeannie thought with a grimace.

After Shon's rejection, Jeannie had been reluctant to approach the other group, but when Robert waved her over, the rest had accepted her right away.

One of Shon's girls, Bekka Freeman, had narrowed her green eyes at Jeannie, eyeing her up and down with her lips curled in distaste.

Bekka, the perfect melding of a Swedish mother and Surinamese father, was a pretty girl used to getting what she wanted and Shon Westwood was it. She'd flipped her brownish-blond hair over her shoulder and whispered something to the other girls in the group. As a one, they'd looked over at Jeannie and laughed.

Jeannie's face had burned with an embarrassed heat.

Theodore noted the interaction with disgust. He patted Jeannie's arm in sympathy.

"Don't worry about those snobs," he'd said, throwing a glare towards the other group. The girls still sniggered while Shon's expression remained impassive. "We are lucky to have you."

Jeannie's spirits had lifted when Robert touched her shoulder in reassurance.

I'm lucky to be working with them, Jeanie thought, washing the last utensil in the sink. When her phone buzzed, she stored the incident in the back of her mind. Her dad was calling and he needed to hear her happy, not sad. She wiped her damp hands on her apron and answered the call with all the love she felt for her father. "Hey, Daddy!"

"Hey, Pumpkin. How're you doing?"

"I'm fine," Jeannie replied, "And you? How is Fifi?" Jeannie sorely missed her father and her two-year-old Chihuahua.

"We're both doing great! How are your studies coming along?" her father asked. His smile at his only child's enthusiasm carried through the phone.

"Just peachy, Daddy. Nothing new to report."

"Have you made any friends?"

Jeannie pulled a sour face at the question. Other than her father, Jeannie had no one she could pour her heart out to. Not even acquaintances.

Before coming to the Uni, Jeannie had made a vow to herself and her father to make friends. She hoped she could soon count her study group as among the people she could befriend, but only time would tell.

"Well, a few people are coming over today to discuss our group project." Jeannie held the phone between her shoulder and her ear to put the freshly washed utensils in the drawer. They clanged against each other, rattling off a mournful tune. "I'm baking an applesauce cake to lure them into friendship."

Her father laughed. "Your cake will surely do the trick. I wish I had a piece now."

Jeannie's voice rose with anxiety. "Did you already eat up the pieces I'd left for you in the freezer?" Alex Jones wasn't healthy. He was fine—for now—but that could always change.

Her dad let out another laugh. "Jeannie that was almost a month ago!"

"Daddy, with your illness, you shouldn't be—"

A knock interrupted Jeannie's scolding, and her eyes flew to the clock on the kitchen wall. She wasn't expecting anyone for another twenty minutes.

"Hey, Daddy? Someone is at the door. I'll call you after my study group leaves."

"Okay, Pumpkin. Love you."

"Love you too, Daddy."

Another knock sounded. This one was harder than the last.

"Coming!" Jeannie shouted. She laid her phone down and rushed to the door, flinging it open before looking through the peephole.

"Something smells good in here. I had to see what it is," Thorne said, entering her apartment like he paid the rent.