Looking for Trouble

by Stacey Lewis

  Wyatt’s reply is quick.

  Wyatt: Yup. P’s here. Ok?

  I don’t bother to reply. I could care less if his girlfriend is there. Not like it’s shocking considering they live together and have since last summer.

  The drive to their apartment doesn’t take long. It’s a little closer to campus than mine, and a lot smaller. Wyatt’s girl comes from money, but she pissed her parents off double time last year between her major and dating Wyatt. He’s not the rich guy they wanted her to be with, which meant they cut her off. She doesn’t seem to care, though. I thought she was a royal bitch the first time I met her, but she’s actually kinda cool. I can see why Wyatt digs her, and it’s not just for the fine-ass body she’s rocking. Peyton comes off as a total ice queen at first. I’m talking your dick would freeze if you stuck it in her and your balls would shrivel up and fall off due to frostbite kind of ice queen. She looks the part too with pale blond hair and pale skin. In fact, she looks a little like the chick in that cartoon Kat made us all watch. Wyatt’s girl was not amused when we all started singing the chorus and telling her to “let it go” constantly.

  When I pull up outside his building, Wyatt’s standing outside waiting for me. I pull into an empty spot and get out. “I never said I was coming.”

  Wyatt rolls his eyes as he walks up to me. “You wouldn’t have asked if I was home if you weren’t on your way. Are you okay with Peyton being here? She’s cool with leaving if you need some privacy. Says she has laundry to do anyway.” I envy him for a minute. He has someone to do his laundry. If I don’t take my stuff over to Mom’s, I have to wash my own shit. It only took one load of pink t-shirts for me to figure out what I was doing, so I don’t do it often. It’s a little weird to have my mom touching my shit now that I’m not living at home. I’m not above having her do it once a month or so when I’m in a pinch.

  “Nah, it’s fine.” I think for a minute, and then say, “Actually, she might want to hear part of this too.” Wyatt looks at me with interest. His girl’s cool, but it’s not like we’re BFF’s. When I don’t explain, he leaves me to follow him down the hallway and into his apartment.

  Peyton’s in the kitchen doing dishes when we walk inside. Wyatt wastes no time going over to her, standing behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but it must be something about her hearing what I’m here to talk about because the water shuts off and she follows him over to the living room. I flop down on the larger of two couches in the small room, while they cuddle up on the smaller one. It’s the perfect time for me to make a smartass comment about my friend being whipped, but I just don’t have it in me right now. My head is too all over the place to worry about them.

  I don’t know what to say at first. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure why I came. Both Wyatt and Peyton are staring at me like they’ve never seen me before, and I guess they probably haven’t. I’m not usually out of sorts, but the thing with Kat last night and this morning has me reevaluating my judgment. I rub my palms along my sweatpants in an uncharacteristic display of nerves and try to gather my thoughts.

  “Kat spent the night in my bed last night.” As soon as the words are out I want to take them back. The confused stares have turned into disbelieving ones, and I hurry to clarify. “Not the way you’re thinking. She got drunk at a party. So drunk she passed out. I didn’t know what to do with her, so I brought her home with me.” Peyton’s eyes narrow and I know she’s about to cuss me out. “I slept on the couch,” I reassure her. “I didn’t even take her clothes off. I just put her in my bed, covered her up, and got the hell out of there.” I don’t mention the sounds coming out of my bedroom early this morning. Even I’m not that stupid.

  “Ooookay,” Wyatt says slowly. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like you haven’t had a girl in your bed before. Maybe not one who slept there alone, but still.” He and Peyton share a look, but I can’t decipher what it means. It’s one of those silent conversation looks that only the two of them understand.

  I knew he wouldn’t get it. I’m just not sure I can explain it, but I have to try. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just, this morning? Things were really weird.” Mainly because I stood outside my door like a stalker and listened to her making sex sounds until I came with my ear against the door and my dick in my hand. I’m no stranger to pumping my python—yeah, it’s a python, not an inchworm—but that’s the first time I’ve ever done it standing just outside my door and listening to a girl get off, or dream about getting off, in my bed without me. It took all I had not to open the door and watch. The sexy as fuck noises she made were enough to keep my spank bank full to overflowing for at least a month.

  “Weird how?” Peyton asks cautiously, interrupting my thoughts.

  Running a hand through my hair, I sigh and explain the only safe portion of the night and morning—how the conversation was between us this morning. How I acted like my normal dick self and made her cry. I don’t say how craptastic I felt after I made her cry, but based on the looks they’re giving each other, I think they suspect. I tell them about taking Kat home, how eager she was to get out of the car and how awkward things were between us before she closed the door. Unable to sit any longer with them staring at me like I’m a freak, I stand and start to pace. “Then, when I got home, Max acted like he wanted to congratulate me on getting laid, running his mouth about me having to take her home and shit … until he found out it was Kat. He got pissed when he thought we had sex.” I stop in the middle of the room and my shoulders droop. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I wanted to beat the shit out of him for even thinking I would bang and bounce Kat.”

  Peyton walks over to me slowly, like she’s worried I’m about to bolt and places a hand on my arm. “It’s okay to care about her, you know.” I start to protest, but she cuts me off with a sigh. “I’m not saying you’re in love with the girl Clay. No one would ever say that. I’m just saying … she’s a girl you’ve known for a long time. Of course you’re going to want to take up for her. She’s probably like a sister to you. I bet you’d do the same for Max or Linc. It’s one thing for you to tease her, but it’s not cool when someone else says something about her.”

  Okay, that makes sense. Agreeing with her, I start to relax. She takes her hand from my arm and turns to Wyatt. “I’m going to go check on Kat. I’ll do the laundry when I get home, unless …“ she raises an eyebrow, “you want to do it while I’m gone?” Wyatt shrugs and she rolls her eyes with a huff. “Whatever. I’m sure you guys are just going to play video games, but it was an idea.” She goes to him, dropping a quick kiss on his lips before giving me a wave and grabbing her purse off the kitchen counter. Wyatt hands me a game controller, and I sit back down, determined to stop thinking about today’s events.

  Twenty

  Becca’s sitting on her bed doing homework while I’m trying to concentrate on the book I’m reading on my Kindle when someone bangs on the door. We both jump, but Becca’s the one to get up and answer. Peyton stands on the other side looking comfy but put together in pale pink leggings and a thick grey sweater.

  “You whore,” she says, flopping down on my bed, “how could you spend the night in Clay Mitchell’s bed and not tell me?” By the end of the sentence, she’s shrieking. I stare at her in shock, confused as to how she found out, but she’s quick to tell me. “Clay came over to talk to Wyatt about it.” She gives me a sly look before telling me, “Apparently Max flipped his shit when he found out you were the girl in his brother’s bed.”

  My bed bounces when Becca almost jumps from her bed to mine. “Ohmigod! You slept with Clay?” She practically sings his name, and I roll my eyes. I figure there’s no reason to confirm since Peyton already did. “Girl,” she shoves my shoulder, “you have got to give us details. I need size, girth … please tell me he’s large, in charge and knows what the hell he’s doing. A guy that hot? If he’s clueless, I’ll cry.” She pouts just thinking about it, and Peyton and I bo
th grimace.

  “You’re so gross, Becs,” Peyton says, scrunching her nose up in disgust. “I don’t want to know anything about Clay’s junk.”

  I hold up my hands and hope they’ll stop. “Okay! First off,” I turn to Becca, “I have no idea what he’s working with or whether he knows what he’s doing. He slept on the couch, and I was in an alcohol coma.” Remembering she was the one I was at the party with, I narrow my eyes and glare at her. “Speaking of which … what happened to you last night? We were supposed to take care of each other, but Clay said he couldn’t find you when I passed out.”

  Becca has the grace to look ashamed. “Well, you were flirting—and making out—with this guy, and his friend started flirting with me. I ended up dancing with him, and when we came back, you were gone and your guy said you took off with someone else. I was freaking proud of you! I would have been more proud if you’d hooked up with Clay, but whatever.” She gets up off the bed and the bouncing motion turns me a little green. One bounce was all right, but a second? It’s almost too much. My phone lands on my lap just before she sits down beside me again, and Peyton gives me a sympathetic look. “He did give me your phone though. He said you dropped it on your way out.”

  I’m a little angry that she wasn’t at all concerned about me, especially since she knew how much we’d both had to drink. But, I guess that’s part of the problem. We were both pretty wasted, and neither of us was thinking clearly. It helps to know she couldn’t call or text me since she had my phone. I push the button to illuminate my screen, and see that she actually did text me.

  Becca: Cat. U lft ur fone

  wit hit gy. Will retn tom.

  Covering my mouth with one hand in an attempt to contain my giggles, I hold the phone out so both Peyton and Becca can see the message. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Luckily, this example of her drunk typing isn’t as bad as some I’ve seen her send, so I can at least decipher it. I’m fluent in Drunk-Becca.

  Peyton starts to laugh, and points at Becca when she says, “You sent her a text while you had her phone! That’s awesome.”

  Becca’s face turns red and she quickly turns the conversation back to me. “Anyway. Please, Kat, at least tell me you saw him in his boxers. Oooh … or you saw him naked. That would be so much better.” Her eyes get a little glassy as she talks about the possibility of seeing Clay nude, while Peyton snickers and shakes her head.

  “No,” I sigh, “there was no naked Clay or even half-naked. When he woke me up he was wearing sweats and a t-shirt.”

  Becca pouts, then instantly brightens. “Wait! Sweats? Was there a tent?” I’m saved from having to answer the question when a pillow smacks her in the face. Her eyes go wide before they narrow into slits and she glares at Peyton. “Settle down, Elsa.” She throws it back at Peyton, who goes red in the face. I’m not sure if she’s mad at the pillow, or the nickname.

  This time, Peyton’s the one who gets angry, and I’m the one laughing. It looks like she’s about to pummel my roommate, and I can’t resist. “Let it go, let it go,” I start to sing off-key.

  The pillow being thrown around hits me this time, and soon we’re all collapsed on my bed giggling. Once we’re all able to catch our breath, Peyton stands, smoothing down her messy hair and straightening her clothes. When she’s done, she pulls me up so I’m standing in front of her and wraps her arms around me, giving me a quick hug. She pulls back and smiles. “I need to get home and make sure Wyatt and Clay haven’t eaten everything in the apartment. Plus, I’m sure he didn’t do any of the laundry and having clothes tomorrow is necessary,” she says wryly.

  She waves to Becca before shutting the door. Becca looks at me and grins. “Now that she’s gone, you can tell me the real story. You slept with Clay didn’t you?”

  I flop onto the bed and cover my face with a pillow, so my scream doesn’t bring the entire building to our door. At the sound, Becca sighs. “I guess that’s a no.”

  Lifting the pillow, I grin back at her. “That was a definite no. And, on that note, let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.” It’s been a while since Clay brought me home, and I couldn’t eat much of the food he bought for me. She’s still pouting, but she follows me out of our room.

  The dining hall is only a couple buildings away from our dorm, and it’s still early enough that while they are serving, they aren’t super busy. We’re there before any of our friends too, so dinner will just be Becca and me, which means I won’t have to tell the Clay story again. I don’t doubt that by tomorrow my “unable to keep her mouth shut” roommate will have told everyone we know about last night. She’ll also add a few embellishments I’m sure. Filing all of it away to deal with tomorrow, I try to enjoy the tasteless meatloaf being served tonight. At least it looks better than the enchiladas Becca’s eating.

  Twenty-One

  Class today was about three shades past awkward. At first, I didn’t think Kat showed up for class, but then I saw the back of her head sitting two rows from the front of the room. I can’t believe she’s avoiding me. We left things on a good note, or at least I thought we did. It might be she’s embarrassed over the getting drunk thing. It could be the show she put on, even if she doesn’t know I was listening. Or, maybe she remembered playing tonsil hockey with a douchebag. It’s also entirely possible she remembers how I taunted her into the act. It wasn’t one of my better moments.

  The lecture finishes and the room begins to empty like someone just pulled the fire alarm. There are probably close to seventy people in here, the room packed to capacity, and I wonder if she’ll get out without me seeing her. I watch closely as people make their way to the door closest to me, but I don’t see her. I stay in my seat until the room is empty, but she never appears. Finally, I have to admit defeat. She either went out the other door or she hid among the people trying to make their way out.

  I don’t see her in the hall, nor is she standing out front. Sighing, I head for my car, and still no Kat. I’m tempted to text her, to ask what the deal is, but I don’t want her to know it matters to me. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea, to get the idea I’m into her or something. Pulling my phone out, I start to text her, but then think screw it. Why am I even worrying about her anyway? It’s not like we’re friends, but I don’t believe we’re exactly enemies anymore either. Placing my phone in the cup holder, I take off for the gym. A few hours spent lifting weights and running on the treadmill are guaranteed to tire me out to the point I won’t think about her anymore.

  It’s still pretty early, and the gym is pretty dead. Aside from an older guy riding a stationary bike in the corner, no one’s using any of the other machines. There are a couple meatheads lifting weights, but I head for the treadmill first. I insert my earbuds and turn the volume up loud. Bass heavy rap music fills my ears, and I begin to run. I love the feature on my phone app that changes the music based on my speed. It doesn’t take long before I’m lost in the motions of my feet hitting the conveyor.

  I’m so focused on the thumping coming through my earbuds, making sure I’m moving fast enough to keep this music going instead of paying attention to what’s going on around me. When the emergency stop is pulled on the machine, I almost jump out of my skin. I have to scramble to grip the sides of the machine in order to stay upright. Yanking my earbuds out of my ears, I spin around to cuss out whoever dared interrupt me.

  The words die on my lips when I see Marcus standing to the side, arms crossed over his chest and a pissed off look on his face. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you.” Even though he’s trying to act angry, the smile tipping up one side of his mouth proves him a liar. He steps closer and holds out a hand for me to shake.

  “Sorry,” I say, clasping his hand. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.” Not exactly, but what else am I supposed to say? Sorry, I’ve been too busy fantasizing about a girl I have no business getting a boner over?

  Marcus nods, “I get it.” I’ve been avoiding Marcus since Liam said he wanted to
talk to me. Aside from one visit he made to my apartment, I’ve succeeded. I know what he wants, but I’m still not sure if I want to give it to him. If I’d been thinking straight today, I would have waited until later tonight to come to the gym.

  “Look, Clay, you’re a decent fighter. I can make you better,” he says matter-of-factly. “Just think of all the money you could make.” The fact that he’s trying so hard to get me involved in his side business is what finally makes me realize beating the guy who put his hands on Kat at the club that night was a bad decision. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but Marcus has been trying to get me to fight for him since I was a freshman and this just gave him more leverage against me. I have a temper, and I need an outlet for all the excess energy that builds up when I’m not playing football, but I’m not interested in illegal fighting. We’re not in the movie Fight Club.

  Resting my elbow on the side of the treadmill, I rub my temple with the tips of three fingers, and sigh. “I don’t fight for fun, Marcus. You know that. It’s not like we haven’t talked about this before.”

  He puts an arm around my shoulders and steers me closer to the boxing equipment. “Clay, my boy, just think about it. Fighters are friggin’ hot right now. You’d get money, women, recognition.” Marcus gestures at the two sweaty, muscular guys sharing a punching bag in the corner. One is holding the bag for the other, and as we stand here watching, they switch. “There’s no downside if you partner with me and let me manage you.”

  Groaning inwardly, I pull away from him, scrubbing both hands down my face in frustration. Marcus hates getting turned down—–for any reason. I pity any woman who says she doesn’t want to date him. He probably goes all stalker on them, keeping the restraining orders he receives as some freaky sort of love note. He’s still talking about the possibilities if I choose to be one of his fighters, but I’ve checked out of the conversation. The perks he’s talking about are already available to me. I have money, girls have always been easy for me, and I don’t need any more recognition. I’m a college football player, and not to be conceited—even though I have good reasons to be, but I’m pretty damn good. I don’t tell Marcus, not that he wouldn’t understand, but I’d rather fuck than fight to get rid of any excess energy. If I can’t fuck, working out is a good substitution. I can’t get laid if some giant, over-muscled, ape beats my ass and breaks half the bones in my body.