Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)

by P. Dangelico

  How ironic. All that money and still denied the one thing he wanted. “Where would you go first?”

  His head lifts, eyes focus, searching my face for God knows what. It dawns on me then that he’s searching for an answer. “Has no one ever asked you?”

  He shakes his head, loses himself in thought for a bit. “Patagonia…The Great Wall of China. Iceland. Kenya…” He smiles, warming up to the subject. But that smile slowly creeping up? It’s nothing but trouble.

  “New Jersey.”

  “Jerk,” I grumble and he laughs. “Go ahead and laugh it up, asshole. New Jersey is not known as the Garden State for nothing, I’ll have you know.” I take more pictures while he wipes his eyes, the laughter slowly dying.

  Entering the arena through the locker room door, Brock approaches. He’s a big, intimidating guy on any given day. Wearing sweats with a hoody up and a black backpack slung over a shoulder like he is now, however, makes him look a little murdery.

  Seeing us, he smiles knowingly. Whatever he’s assuming, he’s wrong.

  “I’m going to the store. You need anything?” he asks Reagan, stops at the bleachers where we’re hanging out.

  “I’m good. Bailey and I are going out to eat.”

  “Yeah? Where?”

  “Neptune’s.”

  “Cool. Mind if I come along?”

  “Sorry, man. Just us.”

  Totally awkward silence ensues. During which a flush starts at my collarbone and covers my entire face faster than you can ask what just happened.

  From behind the viewfinder, my eyes slowly lift. Feeling awful and complicit in this rudeness, they meet Brock’s with a silent apology in them. Meanwhile, Reagan continues to fiddle with my camera.

  “Guess I’ll see you at home, then. Bye, Alice.”

  “Yeah, bro. See you later.”

  “Bye, Brock.”

  While Brock walks away, Reagan gently tucks the camera back in its protective case inside my camera bag. “Ready?” he says, doing everything in his power to avoid eye contact.

  “Ready.”

  Reagan

  It’s midnight by the time I roll in. My stomach’s full and my mind’s at peace. Spending time with Bailey always leaves me feeling better. She’s a shot of serotonin to my restlessness. Even after she chewed my ass out about being rude to Brock. Not a lot of people I can say that about. As a matter of fact none, now that I really think about it.

  I enter the dark kitchen and find the man in question in his underwear, standing in front of the open refrigerator door with the light illuminating his face. He frowns when he sees me, grabs a quart of milk, and shuts the door. Okay, maybe I was a douchebag, but he was stepping on my time with Alice and I didn’t much appreciate it.

  “Hey,” I throw out as I drop my backpack. I get nothing in return, only the silent treatment as payback.

  I grab a water bottle out of the fridge while Brock opens the milk and takes a long drink, his stare never wandering from the side of my face.

  “Listen, dude––”

  “Uh huh––” he interrupts, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and pushes off the counter, walks past me. “Next time you want to spend alone time with your girl, just say so. No need to be a dick about it.”

  He’s halfway down the hall, headed to his bedroom, when I remember to speak. “She’s not my girl.”

  His door bangs shut.

  Chapter 15

  Alice

  “So you guys aren’t fucking?” Zoe says––loudly, to my great misfortune.

  “Shhh, keep your voice down.” I look around the library and find some curious glances being thrown in our direction.

  “No…” I whisper, slouching lower down in my chair. I take another furtive glance about the room for anyone I may know. That or the man in question. Nobody catches my eye, so I lean over the table. “I’ve been friend-zoned.”

  After spending all our free time together for the last two weeks, I can say that I’ve been zoned beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  I don’t know what exactly happened the night that he was rude to Brock. Since then, however, he’s been completely hands-off. The texts haven’t stopped. We still spend way too much time together––that hasn’t changed. The difference is that he hasn’t come within an arm’s length of touching me. As if I’m contagious.

  I’ll never understand men.

  “I h-hate that. I’m always f-friend-zoned,” Dora commiserates.

  Zoe’s flinty hazel eyes bounce back and forth between me and Dora. “That’s because you two losers allow them to friend-zone you.” She shakes her head. “Who does that?”

  I’m pretty sure that was rhetorical but I tuck my hair behind my ear and raise my hand anyway. “Umm, I do.”

  Dora’s hand shoots up. “Me too.”

  Zoe exhales tiredly, sucks in a deep breath. “We’re going to have to fight fire with fire to fix this.”

  I chuckle. “This isn’t a fight.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Wearing a vintage David Bowie t-shit, shredded skinny jeans, and lemon yellow sandals, Blake walks up to the table and sits. She’s so cool she makes everything I deemed cool before her look uncool. Out of her Louis Vuitton messenger bag, she pulls out a Mac Air and a textbook. “What did I miss?”

  “Alice is not fucking Reagan Reynolds.”

  “Oh my God, use a library voice!” I hiss very, very quietly.

  Blake looks shocked. She aims her shock at me. “Really?”

  “She’s been friend-zoned,” Dora explains, sad face on.

  More heads turn in our direction and my neck gets hot, my shoulders bend inward. “Yes. Now will both of you shut up before we get kicked out.”

  “Do you want to be?” Blake asks, genuinely concerned. “Sexing him up, I mean. Not friend-zoned.”

  I look around, stall for as long as I can. The one thing I cannot do is lie. Zoe will know. She’s scary perceptive. “Kinda?” I cringe.

  “That’s a yes,” Zoe responds, jumping right back in. “So…enough.” She slams her palms on the table and draws everyone’s attention. “Stop spending so much time with him. He’s got it too good right now. It’s in the book I’m reading. I should lend it to you. There’s a whole chapter on this. It’s all on his terms. You need to let him know he’s the one that’s been friend-zoned.”

  She’s onto something. He calls and I’m available. He texts and I’m there. A handful of hours ago this happened…

  Big Deal: what are you doing?

  I was about to walk into a free yoga class they offer at the campus health center only I got stuck outside, answering his text.

  Me: Walking into a yoga class.

  Big Deal: ants?

  Me: What about ants?

  Big Deal: you said you would try anything. would you eat them?

  Me: Seriously?

  Big Deal: why not, you said. that’s what you said. what if they were chocolate covered?

  Me: Then yes. I would. Because why not? One try won’t kill me.

  Big Deal: admirable bailey. i like a girl with conviction.

  Me: Go away.

  I never did make it to that class.

  “I don’t play games. I can’t do that to him,” I tell Zoe. Or anyone else for that matter. “He’s my friend. He trusts me. And I wouldn’t appreciate someone doing it to me.”

  Zoe tilts her head, her pale blonde ponytail swaying with it. “Then get ready to see him with another girl, because there’s one universal truth about men––”

  “They’re clueless?” Dora startles us all by saying. We all stare at her, pausing for a moment to absorb this.

  “No. But I like where your head’s at, Red. What I was about to say is…if he’s not gettin’ sum from you, he’s gettin’ it somewhere else.”

  Reagan

  Tuesday night at the Cantina is a bust. Or maybe I’m just in a crappy mood. Tipping my chair back, I let it slam back down and reach for my
third beer of the night because I need to either get trashed, or get laid. What I can not do is go home and jerk off to thoughts of Bailey one more time. My dick won’t allow it. It’s probably too chaffed for sex, but I’ll risk it for some seriously needed body-to-body contact.

  “So what’s the real story with phone-tree girl? Is she available?”

  I don’t like the smirk Cole’s wearing. I don’t like it at all.

  “Why?” I ask, suspicion riding high. Why would he bring her up now? I scan around and find nothing to explain his sudden interest.

  Most of the guys have moved to the bar. The only ones left at our table are Dallas, Brock, and Cole who’s usually off hunting for a new hookup but for some reason decided to stick around tonight just to fuck with me.

  “Why?” he repeats, half chuckling. “Because I’m a hetero dude and she’s cute.”

  She is cute. And sexy. And funny. And fun to be around. And easy to be with…damn, this is turning into a problem.

  I’ve been trying to give her more space lately, not spend so much time with her, but that has not worked out well. In her defense, it’s not her fault that she’s the first person I want to speak to when I wake up, and the last before I hit the sack.

  “No story. We’re friends.” The words do not come easily. They feel like a lie.

  He crosses his arms over his chest and nods. My attention moves over to Dallas, to see if I’m the only one finding this line of questioning odd, but he’s staring at the television screen over the bar behind me. Whatever.

  “Friends?” Cole repeats. Like a dick.

  “Yeah.”

  “So she’s available?” He smiles wider. “For dates and such?”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands up straight. Eyeballing him, I take a sip of my beer. “Nah, man. She’s not available. I don’t even think she dates and such.”

  “Really? Why not? Is she a Bible banger?”

  He’s really starting to get under my skin. “Because she’s got a full course load and a scholarship to hold on to. She’s not your type anyway.”

  He nods again. His mouth pressed tight. I swear, laughing at my expense is his favorite hobby after hooking up and polo. Shrugging, he says, “What’s her type?”

  I glance at Dallas and note he’s trying not to smile. “What are you two assholes up to? What’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you what her type is––” Cole starts. “About, mmm”––he looks off, squinting––“six feet.” He glances at Dallas. “Six feet, right?”

  “’Bout six feet,” Dallas answers with a quick nod.

  I know something’s up when the chuckles start.

  “Blond, surfer type,” Cole chokes out.

  “The hell is going on?”

  Cole points to a spot over my shoulder. “Your girl’s at the bar.”

  My head rips around and the two idiots I call friends break out in laughter.

  Alice

  The Cantina is packed tonight. It took fifteen minutes of intense stalking and searching to finally earn me an open seat at the bar.

  I look around. Zoe’s busy gettin’ her flirt on with the bartender. Blake is talking to a guy I don’t recognize, and Dora has yet to return from the restroom. In the meantime, I’m getting to know my barstool next-door neighbor. He’s kind of cute.

  “What’s your major?” Ken says in a slow voice.

  Seriously, Ken? You can do better than that. Cute, but not my type. Too blond, too surfery, and way too baked. His eyes are so bloodshot they make his red t-shirt look orange.

  “Film. What about you?”

  “It was business, but I’m taking a year off to reassess. Maybe go to Australia and catch some waves.”

  Ken does not strike me as the type to inhabit an office. He also must not have bills to pay.

  “Living the dream, eh?”

  He gives me a crooked grin and points to my half empty beer bottle. “Can I get you another?” Then his big brown eyes descend to my boobs.

  Here’s someone not interested in friend-zoning me.

  That’s when I spot him, a wall of testosterone and determination headed my way. He’s wearing his usual: white t-shirt, gray basketball shorts, flip-flops. It shouldn’t trigger sizzle. It really shouldn’t. And yet it does. Sizzle in my tummy, sizzle between my legs. This is really inconvenient sizzle.

  He reaches the bar and I get a load of the scowl he’s wearing.

  “Bailey? What are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here?” I can’t keep the confusion out of my voice. I look around to see if maybe I missed something. Is this place closed for a private party tonight? Nope, doesn’t look like it.

  “Yes. What are you doing here?” he reiterates, and awaits my answer with one hand planted on the bar, his arm serving as a security partition between me and Ken who looks more confused than ever. Though in his defense, he’s high as a kite.

  “Partaking in the age-old college tradition of fun? What are you doing here?”

  He squeezes his extra large body between me and Ken, boxing him out.

  “Hey, dude––” Ken finds the wherewithal to say.

  Reagan glances behind him. “Yeah, thanks for saving my spot.” He turns back around to face me. Only inches separate us. I have to squeeze my legs under the bar or risk having him step between them.

  “But I wasn’t…” I hear Ken attempt to say. His voice fades. I assume anything more would’ve taken too much effort.

  “You realize Tuesday nights are pick-up nights?” he says, skipping right over my question.

  “So I’m here on a good night? Is that what you’re saying?”

  He grabs one of the French fries out of the large basket I ordered. “No, don’t––”

  Too late. Gagging, he immediately spits it back up into his hand and dumps the remains in a cocktail napkin. Then he guzzles the rest of my beer and glares.

  “The hell?”

  “I was going to tell you”––a burst of laughter escapes me––“that I poured salt on them. It was a huge portion, and I was going to eat them all, so I ate half and ruined the rest.”

  Grimacing, he shakes his head. “Women.”

  My amusement won’t die. Which causes Reagan to smile. Our eyes lock. He’s so close I can smell him and it’s like a spell is cast, my body going hot and soft and amenable to being tampered with. “You didn’t answer me,” I ask to hide the fact I’m getting turned on by his mere presence, my voice sounding strangely seductive even though I don’t mean it to. “What are you doing here?”

  He looks down on me with a searching glance, his eyes so bright against the fresh spot of color from outdoor practice today. “I was about to head home, but I think I’ll stay now.”

  “Why?” I press. This back and forth needs to stop. I know I’m not the only one feeling this magnetism between us––this attraction. Let’s call it what it really is.

  “Because…” He huffs, a mix of confusion and irritation written in the v between his brows, in the way his full lips press together. I want to kiss those lips until they soften and kiss me back.

  “What are you, four? Because why, Reagan?”

  “Because you need someone to watch over you.”

  “I’m here with the girls.” I motion to Zoe and Blake. Zoe pauses her conversation to glower at him. “I don’t need protecting. As a matter of fact I was having a nice conversation with Ken before you showed up and interrupted.”

  “Rea, we’re heading home. You coming?” Cole Peterman walks up saying. He levels his dark blue eyes on me and runs them up and down my body with intent. Okay, that’s weird.

  The air around Rea changes, his entire being stiffens. “I’m staying. Alice will give me a ride,” he casually throws out.

  I will? This is news to me. He inches closer and the tops of his thighs press into my knees and every bit of my attention goes there, held hostage by that small spot where we touch. Jesus, this is bad.

  Cole’s eyebrow hikes up.
“See you later.”

  We both watch Cole walk away. Then his attention returns to me and anticipation thickens the air between us. My insides somersault. “Do you think that maybe you could…umm, back up a little.”

  “Why?” His face puckers as if this is the most absurd request he’s ever heard.

  “Because I’m here to meet people and you’re in the way.”

  “Like who, Ken?” He hooks a thumb behind him. “That dude got caught dealing weed on campus and got tossed out of school.”

  “Oh.” I chew on my bottom lip to stop from giggling. “He said he was a business major.”

  “Yeah, he’s a real entrepreneur.”

  “Fine then. Who should I go out with? Let’s hear some suggestions.”

  He frowns. “Somebody who’s responsible. Somebody loyal, who will be there for you.”

  “I’m looking for a fling, Rea. Not a dog.”

  “Hey. Are you ready to go? Blake has an early class tomorrow,” Zoe says while staring a hole in Reagan’s head.

  “Yeah, let me just go to the bathroom first.” I hop off the stool and my breasts brush against his chest. We both freeze. His body turns to stone and mine is ready to make a run for it lest he notice that my nipples are just as hard.

  Without looking into his face, I dart away and make it as far as the dim, narrow hallway that leads to the ladies’ room.

  A hand cinches around my wrist, stopping me. “What do you mean a fling?”

  I turn and face him, mustering all the courage I possess. “I’m pretty sure you can find the definition of fling in Urban Dictionary.”

  A guy coming out of the men’s room walks past us and Rea pins me up against the wall. “You’re looking for a fling?” If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he looks genuinely hurt and unpleasantly surprised.