by Hughes, Maya
It was close. No time to slack now. I could rest when I was dead, hopefully holding the award high and shoving it in Mitchell’s face.
The bang of a cabinet door brought me back to what exactly I was doing, and then the guilt crept in. Was that why I ran myself ragged with all this? To outdo Mitchell, get my degree, and crawl out from under some student debt with a two-year stint living in a hut somewhere? All about me. Get a grip, Elle. I was also helping people, so it balanced out.
“Where is Zoe?” I asked.
Cupcake tins and other baking tools clanked together. Jules was Pavlov, and I was her insanely hungry dog. “Your guess is as good as mine. No cops have shown up at the door to break any bad news to us, so I’m going to guess she’s at her boyfriend’s place,” she called out from the kitchen.
Sugary, chocolatey smells tried to pull me off the couch as though the delicious tendrils could lift me up like a cartoon and carry me into the other room. With how my body ached, I’d have much preferred that to walking. “Which boyfriend?”
“Who knows? I can’t keep track. There’ve been three in six months. If she weren’t actually paying rent for her abandoned room here, I’d swear she was with these guys just for a free place to stay.”
“She’s been here no more than ten nights since she moved in in August.”
“And three of those were when her parents came to visit.” Jules came into the living room and pushed her glasses up with the back of her hand. This time they were covered in chocolate.
That perked me up. “Whatcha making?” I sat up and leaned closer. Her promise of brownies pushed my tiredness aside.
She switched the bowl to her other arm like I wouldn’t know batter from a mile away. “Yours are heating up in the oven. Give them five minutes. These are for my philosophy study group.”
“You’re always baking for your classes.” Was I whining? Hell yes I was. “That’s mean. I’m so hungry.” I stuck out my bottom lip, widened my eyes like a kitten begging for milk, and rubbed my stomach.
“You can lick the bowl when I’m finished and I’ll bring you any leftovers.”
“Yes!” I jumped up and followed her into the kitchen. “What about my brownies? You promised me brownies for all my good deeds.”
“Always looking for the upside to exploit.” She laughed.
My stomach soured. Was I?
“Don’t worry, your batch is almost finished.” Lifting the bowl, she held the whisk up until the mixture fell back into the bowl in thick, rich ribbons.
“How was your philosophy exam?” I followed her into the kitchen, some of my hunger beaten back.
“You do see all these dirty dishes and the mountain of baked goods, right?” She poured the batter into the zigzag pan that made every piece an edge piece and added extra chocolate chunks.
“That good, huh?”
“I don’t know why I care. I don’t even need this class to graduate.”
“So why’d you take it?” I hopped up onto the counter and drummed my feet against the cabinets below.
Ducking her head, she ran the spatula around the bowl. “No reason.” She held out the chocolate-coated bowl and spatula to me. “Here, you can have this.”
Her diversionary tactic worked and I decided to let it slide for the time being, my hunger totally back. “How is it so good before you cook it?”
“It’s probably the thrill of living on the edge with a risk of salmonella that gets your blood pumping.” She stuck the brownie tray into the oven.
I stared into the glass bowl streaked with chocolate and shrugged. “That and the touch of love you whip into every batch.”
“It’s not love—it’s blood, sweat, and tears.” The corner of her mouth turned up, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “My mom called.”
Oh shit. “Don’t answer her calls.”
“Then there’s the risk she’ll come to find me herself.” There was a sadness there that snuck in every so often. She didn’t let it happen more than occasionally, but sometimes it hit so hard it could take your breath away. “There are some new recipes I want to try, so you’re in for a mountain of sugar this week.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and sat at the kitchen table. Her notebooks and textbooks were fanned out across our makeshift tablecloth. No one wanted to see what was under the table. If we were lucky, whatever growth had held on to the wood’s surface throughout several bleach and disinfectant attempts wouldn’t sprout legs and murder us in our sleep before we moved out at the end of the semester.
“Midterms that bad, huh?”
She ran her highlighter over an empty space on the edge of an index card. Ten others were tented on the table, folded, torn, and covered with highlighter marks. “I’m not worried about them.”
“Then why the stress baking and note card decimation?”
“I didn’t tell you this before because I know how much you hate them, but Berkley’s in my philosophy class.” She peered up at me over the top of her glasses.
Berkley? I don’t know a B— “You mean Berk? As in one of the Trojans’ Berk?” Mystery solved. So that was why she’d taken the not-needed-to-graduate philosophy class.
Her shoulders hitched higher. “Yeah, him.”
“You’re baking for him?”
Her head whipped up. “No, I’m not. I’m baking for my group and he just so happens to be in that group.”
My issues with football players shouldn’t have made her afraid to even mention his name. “Jules, I’m not your jailer. You don’t have to cross to the other side of the road if you see them coming. I’d have thought you’d have mentioned it earlier.”
“There’s more.” She shook her head like she was about to spout pea soup from her lips. Her cheeks pinked up and she rearranged her pens neatly beside her notebook. “And it’s been more than one.”
“More?”
“He’s the guy.”
“What guy?” I tried to think back over any guys she’d talked about this year. There wasn’t anyo— “He’s the letter guy?” My screech ricocheted off the kitchen walls.
Her head snapped down in a sharp nod and her lips were pinched.
“And you kept this from me?”
“I figured it would peter out and there wasn’t a reason to tell you.”
“Holy crap.” I pushed back the curtain on the window and peered out at the house that had been the bane of my existence for the past year and a half.
She plucked at the edge of her notebook.
“Are you going to tell him it’s you? Right across the street from him…” I peered out the kitchen window.
Her head snapped up. “Never, and you can never tell him either.” She splayed her hands on the table top.
I held my hands up in front of me with my fingers spread in surrender. “Why don’t you—”
“No, Elle. Non-negotiable. You can’t ever tell him.” The sharp crack of her voice let me know there wasn’t a hint of joking in her words.
“I won’t ever tell. It’s not like I’m hanging out with them or anything.” I smirked to lighten the mood.
Her shoulders un-bunched and she sagged against the table. “That would be the day.” She chuckled. “Elle hanging out with the Trojans.”
“Well…” I cringed and my shoulders hitched up around my ears. “Nix did show up for the house build today.”
Her head snapped up and she stared at me wide-eyed.
“Yes, I know. I felt the same way when he walked down the aisle of the bus.”
“Does he still have all his limbs?” She pushed back her chair and checked on the batch of brownies on the cooling rack.
“He’s fully intact, although his fan club will probably end up with at least a few broken fingernails if they don’t pay attention while they’re hammering. He laps up all the attention—it’s disgusting.” Not even her amazing-smelling food could keep me from scrunching up my face like someone had plopped down a week-old trout in the middle of the kitchen.
“Maybe he’s just being nice. He can’t help it if people fawn all over him.”
“He encourages it.” I’d seen it a million times with James back in high school, and Nix was cut from the same freaking cloth. Oh no, don’t pay attention to me. I’m just like everyone else, but I’m also always expecting everything I want to fall at my feet, no matter who gets hurt in the process.
“For someone who says they don’t care about him at all, you sure seem to know a lot about why he does what he does.”
My eyes narrowed. I stuck my tongue out at her and chucked an oven mitt at her head.
She ducked my toss and grabbed her chest. “Shots fired. Baker down.” She slumped against the counter before testing the brownies in the oven with a toothpick.
Maybe I could sleep through the next week and then I wouldn’t have to deal with the Phoenix-Russo-sized bomb that had been dropped into my life. Did he look hot carrying all that lumber? Yes. Had it been just as hard for me to keep my eyes off him as it was for the Glitter Posse? Yes. Was tomorrow going to suck even more? Probably.
8
Nix
Another day, another human zoo exhibit on display, namely me. My dad had arranged for a photographer to come to the site later in the week once we made it through a lot of the progress, so the sweat equity would be worth it, if only to get him off my case. Any number of agents he had me meet with never seemed to be enough for him. Although, I didn’t know how to get it done without Elle showering me in an avalanche of rusty nails. It would confirm all the bullshit she thought about me, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, it bothered me what she thought. It did.
Rick waved me over. I put down the wood in the pile everyone else added to and dusted off my gloves. Sweat rolled down my back even with the spring temperatures in the cool range. Shifting hundreds of pounds of wood and marching tools back and forth had a way of ratcheting up temperatures even with a breeze.
“What’s up?”
“I’m noticing some of the people are a bit distracted.” He stared over my shoulder.
Turning my head, I tightened my lips. One of the guys tried to walk a two-by-four through a gap in the not-yet-completed wall that wasn’t quite four and ended up flat on his back with the wood cracking him across the chest. The clothes the three who’d been in the open bar group from yesterday were wearing made their outfits from before look like they were headed to a convent. I hadn’t thought shorts could get any shorter, and I had been wrong.
You’d think after going to school with me for the past four years, people would stop being so weird, but now that I’d been vaulted to the cusp of pro status, the weirdness had gotten worse. The only person who wasn’t treating me differently was Elle. She hated me no matter what.
It was kind of comforting.
“Nix, let me get that for you.” Krista leaned over, showing off her cleavage. I kept my eyes on the sky.
She handed me a box of screws when I’d asked for more nails.
“Thanks, Krista.” I looked up and wiped the sweat off my forehead with my shoulder. It was hot as hell out here, not as bad as standing in the middle of a field at high noon with twenty pounds of gear on, but still no walk in the park.
I caught Elle’s gaze. She glared at me, and I wasn’t sure if the pounding in my head was from the sun or if she’d developed some kind of telepathic powers. Her scrutiny pissed me off. I wasn’t up for leading girls on, but I might have laid it on a bit thick with Krista just to piss Elle off.
I gritted my teeth. She’d made up her mind from the second I caught her staring at my dick like it was a newly discovered prehistoric artifact. Whipping the towel around my waist and getting my jeans on as quickly as possible had been the only way to keep the blood flow that shot straight to my dick from embarrassing me. Once she figured out who I was, it was all over and her rampage began. Rumors about what had happened in the Brothel before we lived there were still floating around. While it had looked nice and shiny when we’d moved in, finding used condoms crammed into the sides of your drawers in the kitchen would make anyone pray for death.
Still, we weren’t those guys, even if she’d decided in her head we were.
Our predecessors’ reputation preceded us.
“I thought you might want to work on a project that’ll help keep everyone else focused.” Rick stared over my shoulder at the beauty pageant lineup going on behind me.
“That’s probably a good idea, make sure no one nail-guns their heads together.”
“Perfect, and I’ve got the perfect co-worker for you. She’s a total pro at this and hasn’t walked into any of the framed-out walls once since you’ve been here.”
I let out a breath. “That would be great.” The last thing I needed was the blame for another person ending up in the hospital being pinned on me.
“Elle?” He waved his hand over his head at her.
“Actually, maybe that’s not—”
“What’s up, Rick?” She wiped her hands on her cargo pants.
“I’ve found you the perfect partner for the ramp project.” He gestured toward me, and Elle’s jaw clenched. “We need specialty ramps made for the family that’ll be living here. The specs for it are in the workshop area. If you could work on those, it would help a lot. I’m sure it’ll be no problem for you two.” Rick gave us both a wide grin. The guy crapped unicorns and spat rainbows.
“Great.” Who knew you could growl out actual words. She stalked off, and I followed her.
“This wasn’t a special request I put in or anything.” I hoped to clear the air right there and then. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with power tools around her.
She tilted her head to the side, and the corner of her mouth turned up. “Sure you didn’t.”
“Why would I want to be trapped anywhere with you, B and E?” I tended to stay away from people who’d probably enjoy seeing my balls ripped from my body.
“Stop calling me that.” She brushed past me.
“That is what you did, right? Broke into my house?”
“The door was unlocked. I’m hardly a master burglar.”
“Fine, I can call you Trespasser if you prefer.”
“How about you call me nothing.”
“Fine, where’re the plans for these ramps, Nothing?”
“Are you five?“ She threw her hands up and rounded on me. Her fists tightened and a vein stuck out on the side of her neck. I could practically hear the blood thrumming in her veins. Why did I take so much pleasure in her annoyance?
She glanced over my shoulder, spun back around, and walked to the workshop area like she had just been asked to dig her own grave.
Inside the makeshift wood shop, she crossed her arms over her chest. “We can get these done quickly and painlessly. No talking necessary.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.” The less chatter the better, right? I’d had people in my ear for the past three months. Agents, terms, contracts, drills, doctor’s visits, breakdowns of what teams had the best prospects next season—the talk about the future was starting to chafe.
The laughter and voices from outside filtered into our wooden prison. We worked in silence—complete freaking silence. Elle did her best cavewoman impersonation, pointing and grunting at me. With the third near miss of a finger with her hammer, I’d had enough.
“What’s your problem?”
“There’s no problem. Let’s get back to work.” She stared down at the wood like she could slice through it with her eyes.
“What’s with this hate-boner you’ve got for me? If anything, I should be the one pissed off—you got me arrested!”
Her glare intensified peeling off a layer of skin. “You got yourself arrested.”
“Bullshit. You got me arrested.”
“I’m not the one supplying underage girls with booze and getting caught.”
I chucked my hammer down on the table. “Is that what you think happened?”
“Campus cops never do anything
about the noise complaints, over thirty since the beginning of the year. So, I called the city cops.”
“You seriously think we were giving booze to underage kids?”
“Why else would they arrest you? Or was it drugs? Maybe fighting?”
I’d never wanted to shake someone more.
“None of that shit. A ball I threw accidentally burst through my bedroom window and broke the cop’s window, and the city cops have had it out for us since the police chief’s daughter tried to get into one of our parties, we turned her away, and her friends left her drunk and passed out on our lawn. We called the ambulance, and he didn’t take too kindly to the fact that she was drunk and breaking the law.”
Her mouth opened for a reply, but it stalled in her throat. “Oh.” The wind was punched out of her sails.
“Yeah, ‘oh’, and maybe the campus cops never did anything about our parties because they know it’s a college campus and people like to have fun.”
“And some people like to sleep.”
“Well, those people shouldn’t rent houses on old frat row and expect to get a nice night’s rest.”
“Some people don’t have a choice where they live and have to take what they can get. Some people care about not doing whatever the hell they want without regard for anyone else around them.”
“You know nothing about me, but you’ve already decided exactly who I am, and that’s fine because I know exactly who you are.” My blood pounded in my veins. I could barely see straight.
“And who am I?” She jammed her fists into her hips. Better that than wielding the nail gun with a grudge.
“You’re one of those people who hates other people enjoying life because you can’t do it yourself. Maybe it was sucked out of your body by a Dementor, but however it happened, seeing other people having fun drives you crazy because you’re incapable of doing it.”
“I have plenty of fun.”
“I’m sure stirring your cauldron brings out the cackles.”
“Maybe my idea of fun isn’t blaring music and drunken antics at one in the morning when other people are trying to sleep or study without beer and a brain-blanking thump drowning out their ability to even think straight.”
