The Tooth Hurts Chapter 2

Leo was a year ahead of me in college.

He was the undisputed, untouchable king of the dental school. I saw him for the first time during freshman orientation, standing in the middle of a chaotic crowd. He was holding the department banner, ignoring every single person with an equal, democratic disdain.

That intense, brooding energy, the sheer force of his aloofness—it hit me like a lightning strike.

I asked around. The consensus was unanimous: don't even bother. Leo Carter's photo had already been posted on the university's unofficial Instagram page eight times in three days during orientation week. The number of people who came to "casually" see him in person was insane. The line of girls who had tried and failed to get his attention was at least a hundred long.

But I was stubborn. His name was Leo Carter. It sounded like something out of a romance novel.

I shamelessly threw myself at him for a whole year. Finally, at the start of my sophomore year, I caught his eye.

I'd been getting nowhere, and in a fit of frustration, I'd scheduled a swim day with Jenna. On autopilot, I sent him a picture of me in my new bikini before my brain caught up.

It was too late to unsend.

Leo: I saw it.

Leo: Please don’t send me things like that again.

Leo: …

Leo: And it’s probably not a good idea for a girl to go swimming alone with a guy.

Leo: I don't mean anything by it. Just a reminder.

It was the most he’d ever written to me.

I looked over at Jenna—my 5'10" best friend who'd just buzzed her hair for the summer and lived in oversized, gender-neutral streetwear.

I started to laugh.

Later, with a little coordinated teamwork from me and Jenna, Leo was finally mine.

Once we were official, he was, just as I'd predicted, incredibly passionate. Aside from being a man of few words, he was perfect.

But his lack of words was also the source of most of our fights. He was a vault. You couldn't kick a single word out of him. Most of the time, our arguments ended with him making some silent gesture of apology, usually followed by a silent, smoldering seduction.

And I, pathetically, would always give in.

The underlying problems were just swept under the rug.