She tilts her head into me, her eyes watering with a heartbreak I can’t even begin to understand. “Only you know the answer to that, Cole.” She slides off the seat and points across the bar at Bryson. “If anyone can help you figure out a way to be a one woman man it’s him.”
I shake my head at my old roommate.
Bryson Edwards made it out of the sexual woods alive and with just one girl on his arm. Here’s hoping he can show me the way.
Here’s hoping Roxy is the girl walking beside me once I’m out.
If Bryson Edwards holds the key, then I damn well better find out what it is.
After my shift, I hunt down Bryson at his apartment, which happens to be right next to mine.
“Come in.”
I haven’t been here since I helped drag his stuff over a few months back. It feels weird knowing he defiles my sister in this place. My stomach turns, and I feel lightheaded just thinking about it.
“Grab a seat. I’ll get you a cold one.” He tosses a water bottle at me before I hit the couch. “What’s up?”
“Just checking in.” The couch is in a different configuration. The kitchen looks the same sans the cooking clutter, but then I’m pretty psyched each time Rox churns out a batch of fresh cupcakes, so I don’t mind the clutter so much. “I think I’m into Roxy.” There, I said it.
“Really?” He presses back into the sofa, amused.
“Yeah, really. You got a problem with that?”
“No. Ryder might, but I don’t. I think Roxy is a great girl. She has her rough side, but if you don’t get under her skin you might survive. Ryder’s a great guy too once you get to know him, but he’s pretty protective, so you might want to lay low at first.”
“Like you did.” Baya and Bryson kept their relationship a secret from me for who knows how long. “I’m not big on sneaking around. Besides, she hasn’t exactly reciprocated. I’m just wondering how I might convince her I’m being genuine. I’ve got a scoreboard on the wall that says maybe I’m not.”
“You still adding to it?”
“No.” I stop shy of telling him I’ve lost my boner for the masses. “I’m sort of stuck on Rox.” I take a breath. “I’m pretty sure I’m done with that thing forever. I’m not into notches or other people’s crotches. I want something more.” A picture of Baya and Bryson encapsulated in a frame catches my attention. “I want what you and my sister have.”
“You should tell her.”
“She’s going to think I’m trying to land her on her back.” Not that I’m opposed to that position. It happens to be my favorite. I’m old fashioned that way.
“Tell her you want to take it slow—and mean it.” He growls it out. “I get you’re into her, but you’re still you. I think if you want to build something that lasts, you need to start at the beginning, and the bedroom just so happens to be at the tail end. That’s what Baya and I did.”
“Whoa.” I touch my hands to my ears before getting up. “I think I’ve heard enough.” I offer him a knuckle bump. “Thanks, man.”
I take off and close the door behind me.
I’m glad Baya is with a great guy like Bryson. I don’t think I could have picked anyone better for my sister. And one day I’d love to hear Ryder say the same thing about me.
Slow.
Something tells me it’s going to kill me just a little bit.
5
Butter Me Up
Roxy
A week thumps by, and winter starts in on her brutal assault, turning the walkways, the grass, the pine trees into frosted confections handmade by the supreme baker in the sky. It may be pretty to look at, but it’s cold as hell with a biting wind that cuts right through all ten layers of clothing I’ve piled on today.
Whitney Briggs has its fair share of fashion-minded coeds who run around looking like snow bunnies begging to get laid by the big bad abominable snowman—I’m presuming that’s Cole—although, he’s been off his game as of late. It’s as if that sugar coma I inadvertently launched him into has put his dick on notice, letting him know that maybe I do want a bite out of him after all. His thick-barreled biceps run through my mind—his tattoos laid out like a map that I’d like to trace with my tongue. Those long lashes, those sexy-as-hell lime green eyes that electrify me every time he walks into the room are about all I can handle. If I didn’t hate anything on this planet that has a procreative organ outside its body, if I didn’t hate men who shared their bed with more women than there are grains of sand on a California beach, then I actually think my vagina and his penis might be paired quite nicely.
I give a smug grin at the thought as I make my way to my first class of the day, Entrepreneurship and Small Business. I’m pretty psyched about this class for two reasons; one, I plan on opening up my own store as soon as I get out of this hellhole, and, two, I’ve sort of already started my own business right from the comfort of my very own apartment. Of course, one day, I hope to acquire an actual storefront. I’ll probably have to grovel to Ryder and beg him to cosign a loan for me, but I’m ready and willing to work very hard and pay back every red cent. If it’s one thing my parents instilled in me it’s to live debt free whenever possible. Another thing they’ve made clear as Waterford crystal is that once I graduate, I’m permanently cut off from any Capwell funds and free to make my own way in the world. It sucks knowing that all of the wealth my parents have amassed will be hitting the road once they croak to about a dozen different charities. Not that I’m opposed to helping charities, it’s just that I’m not so sure I’d leave my kids high and dry. I kind of like the idea of helping them get on their feet, helping them out with say a bakery if need be. Not that I want my parents to croak. I love them despite all the bullshit we’ve been through. I just plan on being a different kind of parent.
I run up the steps to Burgundy Hall where the business classes are held.
That’s funny, I don’t think I’ve ever thought about having kids before. An entire army of dark-haired boys with piercing green eyes flutter through my mind, and, alarmingly, they all look like doppelgangers of my sexed-up roommate.
Pft. As if.
I try to shake the thought out of my head, but those boys keep popping back up like ghosts. Something warms inside of me at the thought, and yet the sane part of me demands I lick a frozen pipe as punishment.
It’s warm inside the class. It’s a cozy lecture, which is what Whitney Briggs is known for—small and personalized class sizes. The chairs are set in a circle, and I go to take a seat and freeze dead in my tracks. Aiden and his dream queen sit square in front of me, holding hands, giggling into one another as if they were actually in love.
Oh, God.
Here it is, that two-second window I have to bolt and forget this nightmare scenario ever transpired.
Aiden looks up and does his best impression of a deer in the headlights.
Crap. This is never going to work. The world is too damn small to ever escape my heartache. I’ll just have to get over him the old fashioned way, by genuinely getting involved with someone else. A rebound relationship is the least I can do to give both my heart and my vagina a fresh start.
Aiden offers up a nervous smile as I slip into my seat.
I squint over at both him and the glorified set of vocal cords, and that familiar rage percolates to life inside me.
I’m sick and tired of getting pissed off each time I see them. There has to be some way to take back the power I gave him to break my heart on a loop each time they’re around. The guy to my left probably has a girlfriend he mauls every chance he gets, and that doesn’t even remotely antagonize me. It’s obvious I let Aiden burrow in too deep. Now I just have to figure out how to pluck him out. He’s like a parasite, hard as hell to get rid of but worth the effort if you plan on living a long, productive life. I’ll probably have to gouge him out of my heart with a pair of tweezers then set his ass on fire like a tick.
“Welcome, everybody, I’m Professor Novak.” A small, balding man takes t
he lead and sits among us. “I think we all realize how lucky we are to have such a superstar in our midst—Ms. LeAnn Cleo for those of you living under a rock.”
I glare over at both her and Aiden. I’d like to stone a few people right about now.
“Ms. Cleo”—he continues—“please, tell us everything you know about business, about life, about love.” He laughs as he holds out a hand in acknowledgement of their blatant molestation of one another.
“Are you kidding?” She giggles into Aiden. “I would love to! But I have to warn you, I have a way of stealing the spotlight.” More annoying giggles ensue, and I’m pretty sure I have a mirror I can break in my purse to cut her with. “In fact, I might just steal your class right out from under you.”
“I can attest to that,” I mutter.
Professor Novak lets out a little laugh of his own. “Au contraire, Ms. Cleo. I would have to be willing, in some small way, to gift it to you. It takes two to tango as they say.”
I sink a little in my seat because he’s right. As much as LeAnn might have seduced Aiden from me, it wasn’t the first time he dipped his wick in foreign terrain. Aiden wanted her. He cheated willingly. And if I didn’t think I could have my heart stomped on anymore than it already has been, then I was badly mistaken.
It was almost easier to pretend she stole him, that he was kidnapped from my bed by her ridiculous back-up singers and taken to her sound-system-enhanced lair. But that’s not how it went down at all. Aiden’s dick simply pointed him in another direction, and he was more than willing to follow.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m not likable—lovable.
Maybe I never will be.
The pity party hits its pinnacle on Friday night when I stupidly let Cole talk me into meeting him at the Black Bear for drinks. Of course, Cole will actually be serving the cocktails in question, and I’ll be required, by social etiquette, to tip him for the effort. I step in and glance around at the bevy of drunken bodies already thrashing to the death-metal blaring over the speakers—girls are jumping up on the far end of the bar unbuttoning their blouses and grinding their hips into one another.
Holt must be in charge of this three-ringed circus tonight because Bryson usually has this place on a much tighter leash.
A pair of hands cover my eyes from behind, and I jump.
I hate this game. I’m not perky enough to care who’s playing peek-a-boo with me, come to think of it, peek-a-boo annoyed the hell out of me as a child. I should pretend to return the favor and not-so-accidentally take their eyes out Three Stooges style. That ought to teach them for messing with mine.
“Let go, or I’ll bite.” I spin, fully expecting to find Cole and that deep-dimpled grin I’ve secretly waited all day to see, but it’s not, it’s that shit-eating grin I was hoping to never see again—Aiden. “You have a lot of nerve.” I take a step to his left, and he’s quick to block my path.
“Wait.” His familiar cologne wafts through the air, and suddenly choking on Drakkar Noir feels like a real possibility. And, to think, I bought him that pricey bottle. “I think we should talk.”
“Go cry to LeAnn. Maybe she’s interested in what you have to say.”
“Chill out, would you?” His eyes squint into me as if he’s genuinely annoyed. Aiden has the looks of a dark-haired Ken doll with his precision-chiseled features, those long comma like dimples that press in, those papery-blue eyes that mimic a clear stream, and now all of the things I once thought were special about him make him look like some cheesy third rate model trying to sell you a winter coat in July. LeAnn can have him, plastic balls and all.
“Look, Rox”—he grips me by the elbow and steps into me until I can smell his shitty breath—“I just want you to know that I’m thinking about asking her to marry me. Out of respect, I thought you should be the first to know.”
“Out of respect?” I gag on the river of words trying to burst from my vocal cords. “Try not cheating on your girlfriend of three years out of respect. Or”—I dig my finger in my cheek to exemplify what a sarcastic bitch I can be—“how about you exit one relationship before starting the next? But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
I spot Cole over at the bar passing a drink to a patron through the legs of some bimbo busy twerking in his face.
“Let go.” I yank my elbow free. “My boyfriend is expecting me.” I scowl over at Cole for being useless at the moment. “And”—I turn back to the loser that I once let degrade my body—“just to be clear, I find you repulsive, Aiden. You could marry an orangutan. I couldn’t care less. I hope she cheats on you twice a week for the rest of your miserable lives so you’ll finally know how crappy it feels.”
He yanks me back in. His lips set in a snarl. “I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us. LeAnn is perfect. Look, I know you still want me. There are ways we can be together, and we’ll never have to worry about money.”
“Please.” I glance down at his crotch like a threat. “Like I’d ever touch you again. Enjoy your sugar momma while you’ve got her.”
I push him the hell off me.
“Yeah, and what did you get?” He calls after me. “A bartender? Hey, I know, maybe I’ll hire him to work at my wedding!”
The riotous crowd drowns out his sorry voice as I maneuver my way to the bar.
I’m shaking. Every muscle in my body drips with adrenaline.
What a butthole.
“He’s an idiot!” I say out loud, but my voice gets swallowed up in the noise from the bar.
I spot Cole serving some lush dressed in mesh from head to toe, and I shove her off the barstool and take a seat.
“Watch it, bitch.” She shoulder-checks me before getting her drink and doing a disappearing act.
“Nice going.” Cole cinches his lips up one side. “Because of your musical chair move, she didn’t leave a tip.”
I pluck a wad of twenties from my purse and stuff them in his hand. “That should make up for it. Give me a stiff one, and keep ‘em coming.” I growl like a tiger until he moves.
He narrows those glowing eyes onto mine. His lips twitch as if he were holding back a smile. “A stiff what?” I swear his crotch just swiveled, and I’m momentarily reminded that Cole specializes in stiff ones.
“I don’t know, genius. I don’t drink.”
Holt comes over with his smug smile, his chronic bedroom eyes. “What’s up, Rox?”
“What’s the girly drink of the night?” I demand.
His eyes widen a notch. “Pink Panty Dropper.”
Cole pumps with a dry laugh because we both know that’s his personal specialty.
“Then that’s what I want.” I shoot a hard look to my hotter-than-hell roommate with his full lips, his I’m-going-to-put-you-to-bed-myself lustful look in his eyes. “Give me ten.”
They both jerk at the idea.
“No,” Holt flat lines. He smacks Cole in the stomach. “One at a time. And never get close to ten.” He takes off to man the other end of the bar.
Cole plunks a small glass in front of me and pulls out two different poisons to mix up this magic potion guaranteed to make my panties flee voluntarily.
“So what’s sponsoring the panty raid?” He swoops in for a moment, and the thick scent of his cologne sends a spear of excitement through me. I like how Cole smells, masculine, alive, and, most importantly, different than Aiden.
“Men suck.” I glance over my shoulder and spot Laney and Baya walking in, so I flag them down.
“You’re painting an entire gender with a pretty broad brush.”
Baya tackle hugs me. “Who’s a pretty broad?” She leans over and slaps her brother on the shoulder.
“Never you mind,” I bark at him. “You just get to the business of mixing my panties a drink.”
“Whose panties are drinking?” Laney looks wide-eyed and afraid.
“This girl’s,” I say as I snatch the pink concoction from him and sniff it. Smells like mint and piss.
“S
he doesn’t drink.” Laney says to Baya, and they exchange looks as if an intervention were needed long before my liver has the chance to shrivel up and die.
“I do tonight.” I lift my glass in their direction. “Who’s going to hold my hair?” When I vomit, but I leave that part out.
The music goes off in a few violent jolts before cutting away to a new song that’s much more livable for my eardrums.
“Hold your hair?” Baya looks sorry for me.
I nod taking my first sip, and my face sours.
“You’re lucky your brother has to work tonight, or he’d be dragging you home by the hair.” Laney plucks the drink from me and takes a quick sip. “Let’s dodge this little pink bullet, shall we?” She tries to pass my glass back to Cole, but I’m quick to intercept. “My sister’s coming down, and we can totally make it a mission to get her laid. Won’t that be fun?” She nods at me like I’m a three-year-old.
“Oh, yes”—my voice drips with irony—“I would love to roll your sister in honey and throw her into the beehive that just stung me. Please.” I scowl up at Cole and his amply-endowed crotch. “I say we slaughter every human with a procreation station dangling from their bodies.”
Baya shoves her balled up fists into her hips and glowers at Cole. “Nice work.”
“What did I do?” He wipes down the surface of the bar in front of me, and something in his domesticated move endears me to him.
“You exist as one of them,” I mutter taking my drink by the balls and carefully pouring it down my throat.
Fire. I push it away as my body gives a mean shudder. “Gah!” It rips from me like a battle cry. “What the hell is in there? Rubbing alcohol?”
“Oh, sweetie.” Laney touches my cheek with her cold hand, and I only remotely feel it as my entire body goes numb.
“Shit,” I whisper as my head spins like a top.
A girl walks over, bopping up and down, smiling, perky as shit, and I suddenly wish I had left a tiny reserve at the bottom of my glass so I could throw it in her exuberant little face.