Cole takes a seat on the stool with a bowl of cereal under his chin as if it’s always been there. “Aubree Vincent dropped by.” He narrows his brows into her. Cole has the big brother intimidation factor down to a science. “She said they had a couple of dropouts last minute, and you were eligible to rush.” He swallows hard. Cole looks hurt, vulnerable, and, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.
“Really?” She looks to me as she considers this. “Maybe I will.” She glances back at her book. “Maybe I won’t.”
“Well, you can’t stay here.” Cole drinks down his milk from the side of the bowl. “You’ll finish your back off sleeping on that thing, not to mention what you’re doing to the couch.”
“Gee, thanks.” Baya pinches her lips to the side. “I guess if you really don’t want me here, I can always go back to Jeanie.”
“Speaking of Jeanie—I put a complaint in at the dorm.” Cole gets up and dumps his bowl in the sink like it’s no big deal and grabs another beer from the fridge.
“You what?” Baya jumps off the couch and springs over to his side, good and pissed. “What the hell did you do that for? She’s going to hate me now.”
“Relax.” He darts around her and heads to the couch. “She doesn’t even know who the hell you are. Besides, it’s not cool that she’s disrespecting you like that. Even I have the decency to shut the door.” He raises his beer at me.
Baya boils over. “Cole, you can’t just do things like that behind my back. I can fight my own battles.”
“Oh yeah?” He bears into her stern as shit. “Then why are you here?”
Baya sucks in a breath that tells him to fuck off far better than words can.
“You’re nothing but an asshole.” She picks up her purse and storms out the door.
“Baya!” he shouts after her, but she’s long gone. He looks over at me visibly pissed. “What?”
“Go easy, will you?”
“I can’t dude.” Cole blows a breath through his cheeks. “She’s been lying to me.”
“What do you mean she’s been lying to you?” My gut flinches like I just got sucker punched.
“There was no fucking book club weekend getaway. When Aubree came and I told her where Baya went, she said she went over to the dorm because she wanted to drop in on them and tell her the good news herself. She came back in less than fifteen minutes to let me know there was no book club. She asked if she was seeing anyone—trying to insinuate that Baya was hiding some guy.” He shakes his head.
Fucking Aubree. My blood pressure skyrockets as my adrenaline kicks in. She knew exactly where the hell Baya went, and she decided to start shit. A part of me wants to storm off and shake her, and, yet, the other part, the part that still has a foot in the past will never forget the day she looked me in the eye and said, You did this—you took away my best friend.
“Anyway”—Cole flops on the couch—“so, I went over to Prescott and found Jeanie bent over her desk with Stuart Saunders of all people.”
Stuart was our third roommate a few years back before we found out he was helping himself to our wallets. He’s damn lucky to still have air in his lungs, let alone the equipment necessary to bend Jeanie over.
“It’s no surprise. That girl has always had bad taste.” I snap a water bottle off the counter and take a seat across from him. “She slept with you didn’t she?”
“You, too if I remember correctly—on multiple occasions. Anyway, turns out, Baya wasn’t lying about Jeanie. I tried to see if they could pair her with a freshman, but Prescott’s full. If she doesn’t get into Alpha Chi, we’ll be stuck with her the rest of the year.”
I shake my head at the thought. Little does Cole know, I won’t mind one bit.
I’m hoping to be “stuck” with Baya Brighton for the rest of my life.
7
Into the Fire
Baya
The sky above Whitney Briggs is a colorful palate of pinks and golds. Fall has come, full force, with the temperature dipping way past the sweater zone and into the cocoon-me-in-a-down-parka territory. I speed over to Prescott like I actually have someplace to go, and with each step it feels as if I’ve tucked a sandpaper tampon high up inside me—a half a dozen of them at least that have been soaked in kerosene and lit with a match. I was a little thankful when Bryson’s mother shouted she was back from the other side of the door this morning. I used it as an excuse to hit the shower, but, truthfully, I don’t think I could have stood another round of rock the cock without having medicated myself with a morphine drip first. I whimper a little because that’s how its going to be in the future, me running from the sword dangling from his legs, and him trying to lure me back to the bedroom by way of higher power pharmaceuticals. I knew I’d be sore, but this was too unfathomable for me to have ever imagined. It’s hard to believe other girls go through this all the time. I want to have sex with Bryson again, it’s just that I’m not a big fan of having a blowtorch shoved up my nether region. And now I’m plain scared spitless to go there again.
Prescott comes up on my right, and I pause—too humiliated to step inside.
Freaking Cole. It’s embarrassing to hear how he “handled” things for me while I was away. Who the hell cares that Jeanie Waters is trying to launch herself into Guinness by way of her love glove? I certainly don’t give a flying fuck—and believe me I’ve seen her attempt “flying fucks”—it’s so not pretty. Even Thing One and Thing Two looked terrified. Clearly they were unwilling participants in the failed acrobatics.
I head into Prescott and head up to Roxy’s room hoping she’s around.
The cat with its blunt F.U. greets me until the door finally opens revealing a puffy-faced rendition of Roxy that I hardly recognize.
“What happened?”
She lets me in and I spot Laney sitting on the bed, Indian style.
“Baya!” Laney jumps up and offers a quick hug. “Did you get laid?”
I scoff at her dime store description of what happened this weekend, but I won’t indulge her with all the dirty details until I find out if Roxy is okay.
“More like rammed with a backhoe, but what the hell happened to you while I was gone?” I pluck a tissue off the desk and offer it to Roxy. The light from the window falls over her magenta highlights and makes her look even more gorgeous than she already is.
“Bad break up.” Laney nods. “She’s been dating Aiden Ryerson for the last three years. They like to break up now and again to keep things interesting.”
I tick my head back a notch. I’m pretty sure no one signs up for that type of misery, at least not willingly.
“So, what happened?” I ask.
“Same thing as last time,” Laney offers. “He cheated.”
“That’s terrible!” I can’t imagine how hurt I’d be if Bryson did that to me. Of course, I’d go into a psychotic rage at first and mutilate his reproductive organs, but I’m sure once I settled into prison life, I’d be pretty damn hurt.
Roxy takes a seat on the bed and starts to bawl. I lean in and rub her back while Laney rolls her eyes as if it were unrequited drama taking place.
“Don’t bother feeling sorry for her.” She makes a face. “Once a cheat always a cheat.” Laney plucks at Roxy’s arm until she’s looking at her. “Don’t waste this opportunity. This can be a totally empowering moment in your life if you let it. You need to embrace the pain. You should write this new skank a thank you note for finally opening your eyes to what an asshole this guy has been all along.” Laney’s curt demeanor is doing nothing to soften the blow, but I don’t dare tell her.
“She’s right,” I whisper to Roxy while pulling back her heavy curtain of hair. “I bet there’s a special guy out there just waiting to meet you. Someone who will love you with all his heart and soul.” Last night comes back to me in snatches, and I cinch my legs together with a rush of pleasure. “He’ll come to you at the right time.” A vision of Bryson bounces through my mind as he trembled over me while my insides tor
e apart at the seams.
“And in the meantime?” She darts a look in my direction with her eyes like two red nests.
“I don’t know.” I glance around, and her laptop catches my attention. “Watch YouTube. You can log all kinds of insane hours watching kittens sleep and…Meerkat soaps—trust me Meerkats can be much better to spend time with than people.” God—note to self: discover new ways to cheer friends the hell up without dragging poor defenseless mammals into the equation.
“Yes!” Laney bounces into Roxy. “I spent all day yesterday watching an entire season of Downton Abbey—of course it was a remake with Legos which only made it that much more fascinating.”
Roxy and I just stare at her.
“Anyway”—Laney shakes her head—“I think we all know the only thing that will make you feel better is plotting a little revenge. We should hijack all his social networks and have him fess up to a violent crime.”
“And that should land the feds at our door in about an hour,” Roxy snarks. “No thanks. I’m not feeling up to any internet felonies today.”
“Sunday is Halloween.” Laney gets a crooked look in her eyes. “All kinds of freaky things go down that night.”
“Again, no thanks.” Roxy cuts her a death ray that says, my cheating boyfriend lives to see another day.
“So”—Laney clears her throat—“tell us about your weekend, Baya. Inquiring minds want to know all the dirty deets. Dish.” Her eyes widen. Her mouth hangs open, anticipating every juicy tidbit.
“We did it.” I pump my shoulders like it was no big deal, but I can feel my cheeks filling with the fire from last night’s lovemaking. There’s no way those three little words could ever begin to describe what really happened.
“And?” She shakes her head unimpressed with my all-too-brief synopsis.
“Well?” Roxy leans into me, the patches on her face are already clearing.
“You really want to know?” If it’ll help Roxy feel better, I don’t see why not. I honestly don’t think Bryson will mind.
Roxy and Laney both nod furtively as if I were the only person in this room to ever have sex. God—I’m not, am I?
Laney leans in. “We’re like the only two girls on campus who haven’t leaned on his crutch,” she says it serious as death.
“First, that’s absolutely disgusting, and, yet, alarmingly accurate. It turns out Bryson Edwards favorite team member is much longer than a crutch, and I’ve got the friction burns to prove it.”
“Oh, that’s totally normal,” Roxy states, quickly regaining the even tone in her complexion. “I mean the burning—not the crutch.”
“Really?” I’m mildly alarmed. “I love him and all, but I’m not sure I can handle this pain twenty-four seven. How do you live with this?” It’s a wonder anyone has sex at all. Right about now I’m contemplating the miracle of life in an all new light. Women the world over must have some seriously high pain thresholds, either that, or we’re way overeager to please our man.
“It goes away, genius.” Laney swats me with a pillow. “And, if you do it enough, it never comes back. You were just too shiny and new. I’m sure his body will be a perfect fit over time.”
Over time. I like the sound of that. And, yet, I suddenly wish we were past the Vicodin phase of our relationship.
“Well then”—I toss my hands in the air—“I guess I’ll have to keep at it and let time heal this wound. Although, it’d better heal quickly, I’m not a fan of setting my kitty on fire.”
They break out into cackles.
I fill them in on everything that went down at his house, Annie and his mom—the strange incident with the picture, and bumping into “her” brother. I give a stern look over to Laney because she damn well knows what I’m talking about.
“So—I gave you the ‘deets’ of my special night”—I say, looking right at her—“and now I want you to do the same. Who was she, and what the hell happened?” I glare over at her as a means of intimidation, but I get the feeling not too many people intimidate Laney.
“Her name was Stephanie. And I don’t do people’s dirty work for them. If Bryson wants you to know, he’ll tell you.” She shakes her head. “Look, Baya, I’m sorry. It’s sort of a big deal. I really don’t think it’s my place to say anything. Just know that he’s been self-medicating on any and every girl that would swivel her hips in his direction ever since he arrived at Whitney, but, now that you’re here, he’s hardly the same person.”
“He called me his girlfriend.” I shake my head, with tears pooling in my eyes because Bryson has something so frighteningly sad buried deep inside him, and he won’t let me in. “I know it’s silly, but it made me all kinds of happy.”
“It’s not silly.” Roxy runs her fingers through my hair. “It’s beautiful. And, it’s nice to know that some guys still believe in the sanctity of a committed relationship.”
That cheating boyfriend of hers clots up the air like some fornicating poltergeist.
I give a hard sniff. “Bryson is amazing.” It comes out a little guiltier than I reasoned, considering I’m gushing over my boyfriend in front of a girl who was just brutally dumped by hers.
“Bryson is amazing.” Laney touches her hand to my shoulder. “Just know that you’re helping him heal, and, when he’s ready, I’m sure he’ll tell you everything.”
When he’s ready. It almost sounds cryptic. What if he’s never ready? How long do I let such a big mystery linger between us?
Hopefully not long. In the meantime, I’d better double down on the ibuprofen. Something tells me this is the type of pain I’m going to come to appreciate.
The week drifts by with Bryson and I stealing kisses while Cole showers—while Cole beds down an entire sorority house in his bedroom (no joke). Bryson and I take leisurely bike rides up to the Witch’s Cauldron before class and hold each other while eating donuts and coffee, but we’ve yet to free my vagina of its inferno of pain by way of his curative friction. And, by the way, that doesn’t even sound sane because it probably isn’t even true. But, nevertheless, I’m up for another session of the lust and thrust, and Bryson Edwards is the only person on the planet I want thrusting anything in my direction.
I’m headed off to my music appreciation class, which isn’t as easy as I thought it’d be, for one, there isn’t a whole lot of appreciating going on as much as there is rabid memorization of classical snippets. I keep having to associate the music to different times in my life when it would actually suit the mood. Like, for instance, the time I was nine and I spotted my parents going at it in their bedroom. It was a trauma that left me bouncing all over the house in a panic because my brain didn’t know how the heck to organize that clusterfuck of information. So, naturally, when I hear “The Flight of the Bumblebee,” by Rimsky-Korsakov, it takes me back to that traumatic day.
A body slams into me on the main thoroughfare in the middle of campus, and I tumble back to find the bumble bitch herself—Alpha Chi’s own—Aubree Vincent.
“Well, if it isn’t little Baya Brighton.” She wrinkles her nose at me like I just let off a foul sent. “Rumor has it you still want in. Is this true?”
“It’s true.” I swallow hard because it’s sort of not, but maybe with me away from my brother, Bryson and I will be free to spend more time together—in my new bedroom.
“I talked to your brother this weekend.” A thin-lipped smile glides across her face. Aubree would be beautiful if she didn’t spackle a vat of foundation and adhere poor defenseless tarantulas to her eyelids for the hell of it.
“He mentioned it.” God, I hope she’s not planning on becoming his latest victim or, as it would more appropriately be—he would be hers. “So when’s this alternative rush taking place? Can my friend Laney join?”
“Nope, just you. Be at the bridge Sunday at midnight, and come alone. Admitting members after rush is completely against the rules. I’m doing this as a personal favor because I just so happen to like you. But, if you so much as whisper to
anyone where our secret meet and greet is, I will find out, and you’ll be booted back to Prescott on your shiny white ass. Don’t blow this.” She breezes past me in her printed silk scarf, her long leather boots the color of honey.
“Wait!” I call after her. “Where’s the bridge?”
“Figure it out,” she shouts back.
Sunday. Why does Sunday sound familiar? Am I going somewhere, Sunday?
The picture of a ghost taped up on the window in Hallowed Grounds sends it all rushing back to me. Sunday—that’s right, it’s Halloween.
She wants me to meet her at midnight on Halloween?
Creepy.
I finally make it to class, but my mind keeps drifting back to Bryson and those electric kisses of his. I drop my pen three times, and the dark-haired boy in front of me is nice enough to return it each time.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hitting on me.” He gives a little smile. He seems sweet. Roxy should go for someone like him. “My name’s Luke.”
“Nice to meet you. And, by the way, you don’t know better.” I give a little smile. “Sorry.”
He spins around, and my thoughts migrate back to Bryson and the bump and grind that played out for hours.
All I can think about is how beautiful it was last weekend. Bryson and I finally had a chance to be ourselves, and it only annunciates the fact that Cole has got to be dealt with. I’ll recruit a pair of brass knuckles if necessary. It’s becoming painfully obvious that Cole is the only one standing in our way of behaving like any other rational couple. And, once his mad cock blocking skills have been taken out, and he generously gives us the thumbs up, Bryson and I will be free to take our relationship public by peeing circles around one another in the quad. Of course, I’ll make mine in the shape of a heart.