Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)

by P. Dangelico

  “What the fuck?” Reagan mutters. “Where have you been?”

  “Jail.”

  Chapter 23

  Alice

  “That’s pretty cool,” Simon says as he and Morgan watch the first cut of the video I’m going to submit for the James Cameron internship on my iPad, the deadline only three weeks away.

  On screen, we watch the boys moving in slow motion. Dallas coming out of the water vertically to slam the ball into the back of the net, the water spray trailing the ball creating a perfect arc. All that raw emotion and unbridled energy working in synch. Factor in the animated faces of the players around him and it’s pretty awesome if I do say so myself.

  The transitions between video and still shots aren’t as seamless as I want them to be yet. For that, I need to use a professional editing machine like the one Simon said he has access to.

  “Three weeks, people. Do not wait till the last minute. I will not be taking any submissions past the stroke of midnight on the twenty-first. So don’t come to me with excuses of your grandmother losing a kidney in a freak motorcycle accident and you being the only matching donor in the world. True story––someone tried that one on me once,” professor Marshall barks.

  The lecture hall breaks out in laughter.

  “The transitions are a little choppy,” I whisper. “I’d really appreciate it if I could get some time on the Avid machine…if the offer still stands.”

  Simon’s dark eyes slide from my iPad to meet mine, his face a blank canvas. I can’t get a read on him which, in and of itself, is a little strange.

  “Uh, yeah. Let me check with my buddy, see when he’s got time available.” There’s a hollowness to his voice that engages my suspicion mode. Maybe he doesn’t know how to decline?

  My attention swings to Morgan. “What do you think?”

  “Semi-naked men isn’t a subject that interests me, but the camera work is phenomenal.”

  I can’t help but smile at her honesty. “How’s yours coming along?” Morgan told me she’s submitting a short on the Manga culture in Tokyo. She lived there in high school while her dad was stationed there as a diplomat.

  “Great. I’m done and submitting it tomorrow.”

  “I know you’re supposed to be the enemy but I’m wishing you luck anyway. If I don’t get it, I hope one of you two will.”

  “Same,” Morgan states and blows a bubble with her gum.

  Simon remains oddly silent. I glance up to find him staring back with a peculiar look on his face. He leans across his desk, into Morgan’s personal space, and she sits back to avoid him. A chuckle rises up from my chest.

  She’s disliked him from the get-go and I can’t figure out where it stems from.

  “Are you busy this Saturday?” he says, expression guarded.

  The amusement drops off my face. Even Morgan’s eyes widen. That’s why I couldn’t get a read on him. He was working up to ask me out again. He’s nervous and here I am conjuring nefarious motives.

  We never did make it to the Scorsese retrospective all those weeks ago. Between midterms and putting together our submissions, we both got busy. I had completely forgotten about it. Apparently, Simon hadn’t.

  “Uh…no.” That should not have sounded like a question. It should’ve come out as a firm declaration, fired back without hesitation. I might have flubbed this.

  After Dallas showed up on Thanksgiving night, all the heat smoldering between me and Reagan turned into a clammy chill. I haven’t spoken to him in the three days since. Only a few sporadic texts between practices. The team’s been busy preparing for the championship tournament starting next weekend so that’s understandable. What isn’t, however, is how we left things.

  Somewhere between Barstow and Las Vegas, Dallas dislocated his shoulder by driving his Porsche into a ditch. And that was the least of it. He was charged with reckless driving, evading arrest, and his license has been suspended. All in all, he had a slightly more messed up Thanksgiving than me and Rea.

  By the time he’d finished filling us in on the details of the arrest, a palpable awkwardness had settled between us. I don’t know what I expected but I didn’t expect it to get uncomfortable, for him to drive me back to the dorm in complete silence. So am I available? Yeah, I am.

  “I mean, I am––available, that is.”

  Simon smiles. “Do you like Thai? There’s a great Thai restaurant in Westwood…maybe we can catch a movie after?”

  God, nervous men are so adorable. Looking into Simon’s open gaze, I say, “I’d love to.”

  Because zebras have no business crushing on Thoroughbreds.

  “Bailey, you coming over?” Dallas says, speaking into Reagan’s phone.

  I can hear the rest of the guys on the team carrying on in the background, everyone celebrating the big win. A lucky goal by Rea in the last minute of the fourth quarter saved their season. Regardless, a win is a win. They beat Long Beach State fourteen to thirteen in the opening round and advance to the semifinals of the NCAA championship tournament next weekend.

  Dallas watched from the sideline. Even if he didn’t have a dislocated shoulder, Coach would’ve benched him for the arrest. Jake Chasen, a freshman and an upcoming star on the team, replaced him. He played really well too. Three assists and one goal.

  I didn’t go tonight. I wanted to––Zoe offered to drive me––but it was too important a game to risk Reagan being distracted. Which is why I watched it streaming live on my computer between the hands that covered my eyes and with my heart in my throat.

  “Sorry about that. Dall stole my phone.”

  “You two are so sweet. My parents do that all the time too.”

  “You missed a great one, Bailey. I can’t believe you didn’t come.” He sounds happy. I know it’s because of the game but the perkiness bugs me. It’s the first time we’ve actually spoken all week and he wants to pretend like nothing’s happened? No. He doesn’t get to do that.

  “Busy editing the video all day. I need to submit it in the next ten days.”

  “You’re going to get it. I know you will.”

  “I wish I had your level of confidence. The competition is stiff.”

  Shit, bad choice of word. There’s a strange pause, which sends a surge of unease sliding down my back. Rea clears his throat.

  “No one’s up for a big party. The next game is in three days so it’s just the guys and a couple of their girls.”

  I stop towel drying my hair and take a deep breath. It’s time. It’s past time actually. “I can’t,” I find the courage to voice out loud while I absently stare into my closet.

  “Yes, you can. Brock went shopping. We have chicken wings, steaks, salmon. I’ll be at your place in fifteen minutes to pick you up. The bus is pulling into campus now.”

  “No, I can’t. I have plans, Reagan.”

  “Plans?” The note of surprise in his voice grates on my nerves.

  “Yes, plans.”

  “What kind of plans?”

  “A date.” Funny how life works. When I finally stopped getting my hopes up that Reagan would see me as something other that his security blanket, Simon asked me out this week. On a real date. With plans and everything.

  “A date? As in a date?” he says a good sixty seconds later, sounding genuinely shocked. That really ticks me off.

  “Yeah, you know, not the oval fruit of the Medjool variety. Not the one on a calendar, either. The other one. Two people go out, eat food, talk, see if they like each other.”

  “I do know, Bailey. We do it all the time.”

  “Except this guy is interested in me romantically. We may even want to see each other naked.”

  Pause. Long, heavy pause.

  “You’ve seen me naked––”

  “And then you got weird on me again,” I jump in, talking over him. I can’t. I really can’t do this, the back and forth, anymore. So here we have it, a test of true friendship. Can it survive us dating other people?

  Aside from idle
background chatter, another sixty seconds of silence passes. “Shady Sean?”

  “Simon. His name is Simon. And he’s not shady.”

  More silence. This time with the addition of an occasionally hollered, “Bailleeeyyyy,” in the background.

  He exhales loudly. “I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” His voice is low, laden with disappointment. Join the club. I’m disappointed too.

  “Hey, good game,” I tell him. He’s one step closer to winning his first championship as captain of this team, and he should know someone recognizes how hard he works. And regardless of everything, I’ll always root for him.

  “You watched?”

  “Of course, I did. You were amazing. Played your heart out.” When he doesn’t respond, I put us both out of our misery. “Night, Rea. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Reagan

  “Knock it off. Not in the communal living area. I mean it, D,” I bark.

  Across from me, some chick is straddling D’s lap and his hand is on her ass, pushing her shorts aside. Even one handed, he’s dangerous.

  My mood is currently taking a tour of hell and everything is pissing me off. The guys playing video games in the living room inside. The ones smoking at the edge of the beach. The one practically fucking in front of me.

  All I wanted to do was come home, hole up in the privacy of my room, and get wasted. But no, the guys wouldn’t have it. Now it’s almost midnight, half of them are still here along with a bunch of girls I barely recognize, and I’m stuck on the patio watching Dallas get it on. I’m not drunk enough for this shit. Unfortunately, I’m not drunk at all.

  He pulls his tongue out of her throat long enough to flip me off. I think she said her name is Karen, or Katherine. Not sure. Don’t care. He slaps her ass and she gets off his lap, walks inside with an unsteady swing to her gait.

  For the millionth time tonight, I pull my phone out of my pocket and stare at it. No texts from Alice. My finger hovers over the screen. I start typing…erase it. Type…erase. I can’t. The phone goes back in my pants. I’m not drunk enough to fire off a text that will probably end our friendship for good.

  Across the way, I catch Dallas eyeballing me. He comes over and inserts himself between me and a passed-out Cole whose head is on my shoulder. He had the right idea, went straight for the tequila when we got home and now he’s contently snoring like a middle-aged man.

  “Where’s your girl?”

  “Not my girl.” The words taste so fucking bitter on my tongue I have to wash them away with a mouthful of warm beer.

  Do I want her to be mine? From the day I met her she’s made me want things I’d never considered before. Companionship, affection, stability, someone all mine. Yeah, I want her. And I was sure we were finally going to go there on Thanksgiving until Dallas showed up to ruin the moment.

  After he finished explaining what happened and we called Coach to let him in on it, Alice was looking so painfully awkward I didn’t want to push it. Besides, I’m still not sure I won’t screw it up. And then what will I have? No friend, no girlfriend, no Alice. And we’ve already established I can’t be without Alice.

  He hums, looks me over. “You look like shit.”

  I rest my head on the back cushion and palm my forehead. “I feel like shit. I think I’m catching the flu.”

  “Nah, bro. You’re catching feelings. That’s love making you feel like shit. Welcome to hell.”

  Digging my fingers into my hair, I scrub my scalp. It feels like my head is fighting what my gut’s trying to tell me. “I’m trying to get drunk in peace if you don’t mind.”

  “At least you didn’t deny it. My new shrink would be proud of you.”

  With a sideways glance, I check him out. “Why are you still sober?”

  “I’m gonna quit booze and pills for a while. See what happens.”

  This must have something to do with the new therapist he’s been seeing. Some of the guys dabble in Molly, better known as ecstasy, and coke. Some weed. I never have. After what drugs have done to my family, I was never tempted. The standing policy among us is don’t ask don’t tell. Everyone knows what’s at stake, what the consequences are if you get piss tested.

  “She’s on a date.” D blinks, staring at me like I’m speaking in Chinese. “Alice. That’s why she’s not here,” I clarify.

  The confusion on his face transforms into a loud burst of laughter.

  “Great. That’s just great.” My mood takes another turn for the worse.

  “And you let her?” I barely hear D say.

  My head is filled with too many images of Alice on a date doing God knows what. And what if she wants to keep dating him? I’ll lose her anyway. It feels like my heart just took a running head dive into a cactus. Snatching the phone out of my pocket, I type.

  Me: be with me.

  With my heart thundering inside my chest, I press Send before I have a chance to erase it.

  Katherine/Karen stumbles over to us towing her friend along. Long red hair, porn star rack. She giggles. It’s obnoxiously high-pitched. I recognize this one. I watch her size up Brock who’s been nursing the same beer for the past three hours.

  He peels his eyes off the TV where highlights of the football game are playing to kill whatever plan she was concocting with a cold, hard stare and a shake of his head. Brock’s not an approachable dude on a good day. And never if you’re a semi-sober girl on the prowl.

  “Reagan, have you met Tara?” Katherine/Karen says.

  “We’ve met.” I tip my chin up, force a smile. I’ve met her more times than I care to remember, and she still doesn’t interest me.

  They trip over each other and somehow Tara winds up in my lap with her arm around my neck and her tits in my face. Next to me, Cole’s head falls off my shoulder and he jerks awake. Tara giggles.

  And that’s when Alice walks through the sliding glass doors.

  I don’t know what comes over me. I honestly don’t have a clue except maybe a recessive male gene accidentally trips. Because seeing her standing in the open doorway dressed in a short blue skirt, a tight white shirt, high heels, and wearing makeup––Makeup. She never wears makeup––short-circuits my brain.

  Instinct takes over, the ugly side of it. The side that makes me want to hurt someone. Unfortunately this usually ends with the wrong person getting hurt.

  I grab giggling Tara by the back of the neck and smash my mouth to hers. The kiss lasts a good long while because, once given permission, Tara’s reluctant to let go of it. When I finally do come up for air, Alice is gone.

  Cole is the first to speak up. “That was immensely shitty of you. Like something I would do. I don’t know what’s changed, but I don’t like it. Change it back.”

  Extricating himself from the couch we’re all piled onto, he walks away.

  Chapter 24

  Alice

  This was a bad idea. I’ve had a few lousy ones. This one, however, wins a blue ribbon for sheer stupidity. I can’t believe I paid for an Uber to come all the way over here only to get my teeth kicked in!

  He saw me. He saw me standing there and he kissed her! Kissed her is an understatement. More like he ate her face. I’m so mad I could bend a crowbar…around his neck.

  I’m glad I kissed Simon tonight. I was feeling really bad about it earlier. It sure felt like I was betraying Rea at the time. But now I’m glad I did. Besides, you can’t betray someone you are not in a relationship with. And in my defense, I only kissed Simon to see if there was any chemistry between us.

  Mark that down as a big, fat no.

  Unfortunately, zebras shouldn’t mate with jack asses, either. The kiss was lackluster at best––a close cousin to what kissing the back of my hand felt like when I was eleven––and the rest of the date was even stranger.

  How did I not notice how self-absorbed he was before? If he’s not talking about himself, he’s discussing pop culture ad infinitum. Not once did he ask me something personal. Not a single question. And when h
e dropped me off at my dorm and I leaned away when he came in for a second kiss, I got this––

  “How about some head, then?”

  Which naturally prompted me to request, “How about you leap off a tall building into a concrete pit?”

  He didn’t even wait for me to get inside before he peeled away. I guess I won’t be using the Avid machine. It breaks my heart. The Avid machine, that is.

  “Alice!” I hear a familiar voice shout at my back. I’m thinking he needs to go look for a tall building too.

  Headed nowhere in particular, I pick up my pace down his street, each house I pass bigger than the last. It empties directly onto the beach so I figure I could work out the major fit of anger I’m having before I order another Uber that I really can’t afford.

  The electric blue Manolo Blahnik sandals I borrowed from Blake hit a rock and my ankle wobbles. This is why I don’t wear heels. Although I catch myself in time, it scares me enough to stop and take a breather. Last thing I need is another sprained ankle.

  “Alice! Where are you going?”

  “Go back to your party.” Asshole. I leave that part out. He doesn’t need to know that I’m so jealous I’d like to take these sandals off and throw them at his junk. Behind me, I hear running footsteps. A large hand cuffs my bare bicep and I yank on it, breaking his hold on me.

  “Don’t touch me,” I spit out, wheeling around to face him.

  He looks crazed. His eyes wild, his hair disheveled, his lips pink and puffy from the When Animals Attack episode he was imitating only a moment ago.

  “It’s midnight. Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere. To call an Uber. I shouldn’t have come,” I huff, exasperated, angry. I feel a thousand mixed emotions right now and most of them are telling me to hurt him. Turning, I continue my march to destination unknown. He catches up, takes my arm again. This time his grip isn’t going anywhere.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper-hiss as he hauls me off the deserted road and drags me toward the houses on our left. It doesn’t escape me that I look ridiculous tiptoeing as fast as I can down a narrow stone walkway.