Still Jaded

  "You've got somewhere to be today?"

  He reached for his shirt on a chair. "I'm meeting with my coach for breakfast and then with the team for lunch. I'm meeting the trainers in the afternoon."

  "So you'll be around, when?" I put my toothbrush down and waited.

  Bryce shrugged his lean shoulders and grinned as he eyed me up and down. "I'll be back by tonight. That's for damn sure."

  I rolled my eyes. "Are you staying here or at your mother's?"

  Bryce cursed. "You really think I'm going to put up with my mother?"

  "So you're staying here?"

  "We lived together in Spain."

  "Yeah, but it's different when you have family here."

  "What about you? Your mom's still in town, isn't she?"

  I grimaced at the thought of her. "Dad won the house in the divorce. He signed it over to me so I don't have to put up with my mom."

  Bryce zipped up his jeans and regarded me for a moment. His eyes held so many promises, but then he waved over his shoulder as he turned to the door. "I'm heading out. I'll see you later."

  He left the door open, and I heard the front door click shut. The sound seemed to echo, almost painfully, and I was struck by how big my home was, how empty it was. After a second, I shook my head, cleared my thoughts, and moaned in protest—I needed to get ready no matter how much my body wanted to stay in bed.

  I tried to hurry my shower but, as I bounded down the stairs, realized I'd need another shirt. My tank top wouldn't hold up against the air conditioning in class. I hurried back up, finding a cute white sweater that matched my blue top and white ruffled miniskirt. At the door, I slipped on white flip-flops and hurried towards the garage. As I got into my car, I was, again, struck—this time by the absence of the red Miata. It seemed weird, like it should've been there, but it was just another reminder that Bryce was back.

  He was back…

  I sighed and gunned the car. When I parked outside of Corrigan's frat house, I cringed at the thought of going in there. They all knew my issues, but I should've been used to it. My personal crap had been splashed across the European tabloids on a regular basis; a few frat brothers were nothing compared to that experience.

  But I didn't get out of my car.

  I should head in there. I should apologize. I should enjoy embarrassing what girl he had in his bed, because I knew he would have one.

  But I didn't. The idea of seeing Corrigan died. A different knot had taken root in my stomach, and I turned the car around.

  When I got to campus, the odd knot in my gut was gone. I forced it out. And I had enough time to check my mail and grab a coffee. The mailroom was no sweat—no one got their mail before eight in the morning, but the coffee kiosk, however, was another matter. I was seventh in line with another four behind me. All of them had the same hurried, irritated expressions on their faces. I started to space out my surroundings when the line shifted and someone screamed.

  Suddenly, everyone was awake, and no one was in a hurry.

  I looked around and saw that one of Corrigan's frat brothers had spilled coffee on a girl. She had her auburn hair in two dreadlocks and wore a pink top under overalls, untied white sneakers, and no socks. I liked the outfit, but I could tell whatever-his-name-was didn't give a damn.

  "You—you—you—oh my God!" she finally ended her scream. Her hands were outstretched in the air. Her blue eyes snapped in anger.

  "Hey, dude. Come on. Accident, seriously. I'll pay for a coffee." And there was Corrigan's brother speaking in his true tongue—dumbass.

  "I don't care about the coffee. What am I going to wear? I commute an hour to go to school here, and I don't have a change of clothes. I have to walk around like this. I probably have second degree burns because of you."

  "Raz," he offered as he gave her a lopsided grin and flipped his blonde mop to the other side of his head.

  "What?" she growled.

  Steam rose from the top of her head. It wasn't the coffee.

  "That's my name. Raz. What's yours?" He held out a tanned arm and flashed a charming smile.

  Oh yes, Raz was the stereotypical frat boy.

  "Like I want you to know my name. I don't even want to associate with you."

  "Oh come on, don't be like that. Hey…uh…" Raz looked around with an easy shrug. Then his eyes lit on me.

  I groaned.

  They sparked alive. He snapped his fingers. "She's got clothes. She's, like, rich. She'll help."

  The dreadlock girl swung glowering eyes my way, froze for a second, and then exclaimed, "Getting help from her would be like getting more coffee spilled on me. No thanks."

  As she stomped away, she frantically rubbed at the coffee stain.

  I whistled as I drew close to Raz. "That's a first. I'm already hated and I haven't said a word. It usually happens after I've opened my mouth."

  Raz shifted twice on his feet, readjusted his backpack over his shoulder three times, and then, when he was settled, shot out his hand. "I'm Raz. I'm in Corrigan's house. You have a spectacular game room."

  "Game room?" It sounded sexual.

  "Yes. You have an original Pac Man and three Froggies. They must've cost a fortune. I was in love last night."

  "You made love to Pac Man?"

  "Nah," flashing perfect white teeth while chuckling, "that'd be funny though. I'm studying to be a programmer. I want to develop programs like that."

  And the stupid frat boy image went out the door.

  "Mmm, wouldn't have pegged you for that type," I mused as the line shifted, and I was one person away from my coffee.

  "I have to say that I love Corrigan, like truly love him, but not in the gay way. I just love the dude. He's a complete dude for all dudes, you know."

  How could I have thought this guy wasn't smart?

  "Thank you?" I wasn't sure what to say, but he was helping to pass the time.

  "I figured you might not know who I am, but I know who you are. So, here I am. I'm Raz." He held his hand out once more. As I shook it, he continued, "Yeah, I don't know what her deal was. She must've heard about your celebrity beau and done one of those things, like, jealousy things."

  "Jealousy things?"

  Raz nodded. He didn't blink. He was so serious. "My sis calls 'em jealousy fits. She suffers 'em all the time, but our preacher's trying to help her with them. I think its part of having a vagina."

  "Or low self-esteem." The line shifted again. Hello coffee counter.

  As I gave my order, Raz bobbed his head next to me as if he had all the time in the world. "Anyway, I saw you in line and got so excited because I remembered your game room. I am hyped for the party."

  "It's you and Pac Man all night again?" I grinned, but then I got my coffee. All sense left my body. Heaven.

  "Yeah, man. Not a lot of girls are into it, but I love that stuff. That's gonna be my future." He snagged a sugar for himself. After he opened it, he tipped his head back and swallowed the contents. Then he continued without missing a beat, "Anyways, you're a rad girl. You're buds with Corrigan, and Bryce Scout is my soccer god, so I consider you family. If you ever want me to throw coffee on the likes of that Dorothy chick again, let me know. We're like the mafia in that way."

  "Her name was Dorothy?" That perked my ears.

  "Hmm what?" Raz tried to look confused. He failed.

  "She never introduced herself." I caught the lie, and he crumbled, but did so cutely. "She's in one of my political science classes. The girl is chick-smart, man. I didn't like how she treated you, though. You're family, so chick smart nothing. She's gotta go down."

  "Let me guess, that's how you roll?"

  Mental note: stop at the coffee kiosk every morning. So entertained.

  He bobbed his head some more. "That's how my brothers roll. We take care of our own, and like I said, you're familia. You and your beau."

  "Bryce will be happy to know that."

  "I'll see you later tonight. We're playing sloshball. It's the ultimate
game."

  He bounded away in all his glorious surfer good looks, but I had to admit, I enjoyed the morning. Then, I thought about the party at their fraternity, and the knot came back again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After my classes that day, I went to Donadeli's, Of course, it wasn't Donadeli's anymore. It had been sold. Marcus' family had moved. No one wanted to stay around a place where people knew your son had killed two girls, raped one of them, nearly killed Corrigan, and attempted to kill the object of his obsession—me. I would've left too.

  So the old hangout was now called Sparky's. It was owned by another Italian family, but had been given a makeover. Instead of an Italian eatery, Sparky's resembled a fifties diner, complete with roller skates for the servers.

  As soon as I slid into my normal corner booth, I glanced up and realized why Dorothy might not have liked me. She was one of the servers, and, judging by her grim look, I was pretty sure I was currently seated in her section.

  I knew then that she had waited on me before.

  As she started to roll my way, I sat back and considered calling Raz to come and eat with me.

  "Can I get you a beverage to start?" she asked. The smile was forced.

  "So you did have a change of clothes." I gestured towards her uniform, a pink vest over a black ruffled skirt. Her two dreadlocks had been pulled up in a ponytail, held together by a black ribbon. "I wouldn't want to wear that to classes either."

  She kept her glare in check. "Do you want something to drink?"

  "I'm sorry if I've been rude to you some other time. I'm just…no excuse, that's just what I do. I understand where the attitude comes from." I gestured to her and leaned back.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but the doorbell jingled and Bryce entered. He stopped in the doorway, and all conversation lulled. I wasn't sure if it was the sight of the local jock celebrity or because Bryce had that natural charisma, but he demanded attention, always had, and it was usually the kind that set cops on edge, sent women into heat, and sparked worship from men. It didn't matter—people noticed him. And Dorothy was no exception.

  He scanned the diner for me and then strolled towards me with that natural athletic physique.

  Dorothy shifted on her feet when Bryce slid into the booth across from me.

  "Hey," I murmured.

  Bryce grinned and looked at Dorothy. "Did you order yet?"

  Dorothy jumped.

  It took me a moment to realize that he addressed me. "Uh, no, not yet. Dorothy and I were making peace."

  She furrowed her brows.

  "Or I had thought we were. You want a beer or something?"

  "Yeah. I'll have a tall one on tap." He then shifted his attention to the menu before him.

  "I'll have the same."

  Dorothy skirted her gaze between Bryce and me. She wanted Bryce, that was obvious. The dilemma was that she couldn't ask him for identification without asking for mine as well. I knew she wanted to deny my drink, but she didn't want to deny him anything.

  I smiled when Dorothy snapped her mouth closed and turned on her heel. As she stalked to the bar, I watched her shove the mugs underneath the tap before catching Bryce's smirk.

  "What?"

  "You are not twenty-one."

  "Bite me."

  "I do. Often."

  I rolled my eyes. "Shut up. And how'd you know I was here? You got GPS on me?"

  Bryce chuckled and threw his arm on the back of his booth. "Corrigan told me you come here on Thursdays. I didn't believe him, not at first, but he kept insisting. Then he said you were an 'effing moron' so I knew it was true." He leaned closer. "Why do you come here?"

  I knew the question was coming, but I didn't have an answer.

  "It can't be because of the memories. We weren't very nice people back then."

  "I was, just to the wrong person."

  Bryce pondered that a moment and then started laughing. He shook his head. "Do you realize that you are mean to most people, but the one person you were nice to was a serial killer?"

  I glared. "You're not making me feel better."

  Bryce shrugged. "You're the idiot who comes here. He screwed up our lives, Sheldon. I don't get why you want to remember him."

  I stared at him. "He screwed up my life. He killed Leisha and Bailey. He didn't screw up your life. You still went to Europe."

  Bryce shot forward, "You are still furious about that, aren't you? You came with me, Sheldon. You didn't have to. I didn't make you."

  I leaned to meet him halfway across the table, "And what else was I supposed to do? Be here alone? I killed someone. No matter how much he deserved it, I ended a human life. You don't think that ate me up inside? I may be a bitch, but I'm not heartless."

  Two mugs of beer plopped down. Our heated discussion stopped as Bryce and I both leaned back and turned our attention toward our server. An unnamed emotion was brimming in her eyes as she looked between us. "Do you know what you want to order?"

  Bryce cursed. "A burger and fries for me."

  "What? No salad?" I taunted. "Aren't you in training? Don't the nutritionists have something to say about your diet?"

  Bryce glared long and hard but didn't say a word.

  I expelled a ragged sigh in an attempt to calm down and crossed my arms tight over my chest. After a few seconds of silence, I looked back and saw both Dorothy and Bryce were waiting for me.

  "What?" I broke out.

  Bryce ordered for me. "She'll have a side salad, Caesar dressing."

  Dorothy closed her order pad, but I stopped her. "No. I want mashed potatoes. I want the cheesy ones…with bacon."

  "Okay." She frowned as she scribbled the rest.

  "You don't like potatoes." Bryce halted her with his words.

  I clipped out, "I do now."

  Bryce rolled his eyes and leaned back. Dorothy crept away.

  "Is that why you come here? To remember how to be a bitch?"

  I growled and my hands clenched the end of the table. "Marcus didn't make me a bitch. He just loved me because I wasn't a bitch to him."

  Bryce shook his head, his lip curled at the corner. "Marcus didn't love you. Trust me. I have some knowledge on loving you, and he did not. He was sick, deranged, and pathetic."

  "He was dangerous."

  "No. He was underestimated because he appeared weak. And he was. He manipulated and maneuvered, but he was weak in the end. You bested him."

  "He hurt Corrigan."

  "And he killed Leisha and Bailey because they weren't expecting it, not from him. But don't do that, don't give him more credit than he deserves. He was spineless. And coming here, paying tribute to him—I think it's the worst thing you could do."

  I felt slapped by his words. "It's not about him. It's about