Reckless

by Devon Hartford

  “So?”

  I frowned. “Hunter, I’m in a relationship.”

  “I’m not,” Romeo said.

  Hunter frowned at Romeo again before looking back at me. “Are you serious about this guy?”

  “Of course I’m serious!” I protested. “That’s why he’s my boyfriend.”

  Hunter cocked a thumb at Romeo. “You don’t mean him, do you?”

  That was actually funny. I chuckled. “I mean my other boyfriend.”

  “You have more than one?” Hunter asked. “Because I can be number three. Third time’s the charm, right?” he flashed his swoon-worthy smile.

  He was charming, all right. And by the looks of him, he could have any woman he wanted. So why me? He was wasting his time. I was in love with Christos, and that was that.

  I decided my best strategy with Hunter was to remain silent.

  Hunter followed me and Romeo out of the Eucalyptus grove.

  Minutes later, we were passing Tiffany, who was still camped on the side of the main pathway. Did she even have any classes? She was holding court with her two satanic hobot minions as I passed. No matter. She was the perfect distraction. Her smile faded when she saw me.

  I stopped suddenly in my tracks. Romeo nearly knocked me down as he stumbled to a stop.

  Hunter swerved, but kept his balance. “I see you changed your mind,” he smiled cockily.

  “Tiffany,” I said, smiling merrily, “meet Hunter Blakeley.”

  She took one look at him and her frown was gone. But then it was back. She looked between me and Hunter. “Is this some kind of a joke?” she scoffed.

  “No,” I smiled, “Hunter is totally in need of a date, and I thought you two might hit it off. Hunter, this is Tiffany Kingston-Whitehouse. She’s a great girl—” yes, I almost gagged when I said it, “—and I think you two ought to get to know each other.”

  “Did she put you up to this?” Tiffany glared at me suspiciously.

  Hunter was thrown off his game. He was obviously checking Tiffany out. I couldn’t blame him. Tiffany was very good looking. On the outside. Her insides looked like a sewer, based on my experiences with her. And I wasn’t talking about her colon. I meant her personality. Tiffany was one of those girls who wanted the world to believe that when she went number two, rose petals sifted out. Well, what really came out and fell into the toilet bowl was her personality. You know what I mean.

  “No,” Hunter said to Tiffany, “I, we just met. Samantha and I.”

  “Who?” Tiffany said.

  “I thought you guys knew each other?” Hunter asked, confused.

  “Her?” Tiffany sneered. “I think she scrubs toilets around campus. Yeah, that’s where I’ve seen her.”

  I was right. Tiffany and toilet bowls went hand-in-hand. Maybe I needed to start thinking of her as Tiffany Kingcolon-Shithouse.

  “Enjoy!” I waved to Tiffany and Hunter before hurrying off, pulling Romeo behind me.

  “Wait, Sam!” Romeo said. “He’s totally staring at us!”

  “I don’t care, let’s just go.”

  “But what if he’s staring at me?!” Romeo whined.

  “I doubt it.”

  “You think he wants both of us?” he gasped hopefully.

  “No, I think he just wants to add another notch to his belt.”

  “I’ll be his notch!” Romeo pleaded.

  “Shut up, Romeo!”

  With any luck, Tiffany and Hunter would tear each other to shreds like ravenous predators. Because that’s what they both were.

  I shuddered as I wondered what kind of babies they might make. Velociraptors and Sabertooth Tigers, look out! The Kingston-Whitehouse-Blakeley Boys are in the house!

  Somehow, I thought if Tiffany and Hunter did hit it off, it would be the end of the human race. What had I done?

  Romeo had section to go to for one of his theater classes, so we parted ways for the afternoon.

  As I walked to my car, I half-expected Hunter to pop up out of nowhere and pressure me to go out with him again. Thankfully, he wasn’t around.

  Unless he was watching me from the bushes with some of those infrared goggles that serial killers liked to use when stalking innocent college coeds.

  Okay, wrong train of thought.

  I walked across the gigantic parking lot.

  Alone.

  SAMANTHA

  On the way to my car, my phone rang. It was Christos. “Hey, you!”

  “Agápi mou! So good to hear your voice. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

  “You have?” I beamed.

  “Of course. You are my everything. What else would I be thinking about?”

  I sighed, “I love you, Christos.”

  “I love you too. Hey, guess what?”

  “You’re even more beautiful this evening than the last time I laid my eyes on your perfection?” He sounded like he was smiling, “No, I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “I found a job today!” I said.

  “Sweet! I knew you would, Samantha. Doing what?”

  “Working at the campus art museum at the cash register.”

  “Congratulations! You’re diving right into the art world, and getting paid. Remember what I said about your parents not knowing about all the opportunities out there?”

  “You were right,” I smiled.

  “I think we should celebrate.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “You coming over to my grandfather’s house. I’ll make you dinner. All you’ll have to do is sit back and relax while you keep me company.”

  “I think I can manage that.”

  “Perfect. Get your fine ass over here.”

  I dropped my cell phone in my purse and walked down the aisle in the parking lot toward where my VW was parked.

  I sensed a car approaching me slowly from behind. I angled toward the side, giving the car plenty of room to pass. The driver honked the horn twice. What the hell? There was plenty of room for them to drive around me. Whatever. I kept walking.

  The car pulled along beside.

  “Hey, beautiful,” the driver said.

  I’d spoken too soon.

  Hunter Blakeley grinned from his convertible Porsche Boxster. He wore aviator sunglasses that looked like they were used in conjunction with his car to stalk innocent college coeds and coerce them into his clutches.

  He wasn’t fooling me. I smirked at him.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

  I raised my eyebrows skeptically. I was so not playing into his flirtatious game.

  His arm rested casually on the steering wheel as his car rolled along beside me at two miles an hour. “I’m hurt, Sam. I thought we were friends.”

  “I barely know you, Hunter.”

  “That’s how friendships start. But we have to get past the barely stage before we get to the Blakeley stage.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Please tell me you just made that up, because if you’ve used that line on women in the past, there’s zero chance we can be friends.”

  He chuckled. “Then I’m in luck. I did in fact just make it up.”

  I said nothing and kept walking. Where had I parked my car? Was it like ten miles from here? I sensed Hunter might even follow me all the way home, trying to wear me down the entire way.

  Two could play at this game. I turned between two cars and crossed over to another aisle. I smiled at myself. The aisles were so long, it would take him forever to drive around.

  Unless he floored it, whipped around the far end of the aisle, and drove down mine.

  I sighed and kept walking as his car drove toward me.

  When his car reached me, he stopped and smiled. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you all day.” He said it like it was no big deal. He was totally at ease. This was his sport, and Hunter Blakeley was a total player. I’m sure he’d Gold Medaled in it in London in 2012.

  I kept walking.

  He put the car in reverse and caught up wi
th me, his car keeping pace with me going backward. “There you are,” he smiled, “almost lost you.”

  “You’re going to hit something,” I said dryly.

  “Nah, I’ve got my eye on the road.” He stared right at me.

  “Not from where I’m standing.” I’d had enough of this. I crossed back over to the aisle I’d just left. I expected him to speed back down the way he’d came.

  No, he simply put his car in park and left it idling where it stopped in the parking lot. He hopped over the door and trotted after me. He caught up quickly.

  “Hunter, your car is still running, aren’t you worried someone’s going to take it?” I asked.

  “Why? The most desirable thing in this parking lot is right here in front of me. I’d rather someone snatch my car instead of you.”

  Groan. Was it time to shout rape? He was never going to quit.

  Fortunately, I saw my VW a short distance away.

  Hunter kept pace with me. “I’ll just walk you to your car. Keep an eye on you.”

  I stopped and faced him. “Hunter, I don’t want you to walk me to my car. Can you please just go get your car before you get a ticket or something?”

  “I don’t care about getting a ticket. I only care about you.”

  Why did that nauseate me? “Hunter, please leave.”

  He smiled, completely undeterred. I had a moment to notice that he was amazingly handsome. But I didn’t really care. He would find someone else, I was sure. I turned on my heel and continued to my VW.

  “All right,” he said casually as he caught up to me again. “No worries. I’ll see you in class next time.”

  I was so surprised, I almost stopped, but managed to keep moving. “Huh? We have a different model every time.”

  “Not in Bittinger’s class. She hired me to work the entire term.”

  My eyes goggled. I made a vomit face as I thought about how the next ten weeks with Hunter and Marjorie going at me in sculpting class were going to drive me nuts.

  Thankfully, I made it to my VW. I slipped inside before Hunter could propose marriage.

  In my rearview mirror, I watched him wave at me as I drove off.

  At least he didn’t sprint to his Porsche and stalk me all the way to Christos’ place.

  As far as I knew, that was.

  Double groan!

  SAMANTHA

  Christos made me dinner, as promised. We sat at his kitchen table chatting long after we finished eating dinner. I didn’t notice the time until it was late, and made my way home. Christos couldn’t come with me because he had plenty of extra work to do around the studio with all the new demand for his paintings. That was okay because I still had homework and a job search to contend with.

  I guessed our Honeymoon was over.

  Whatever. I still loved Christos with all my heart.

  I hit the books the minute I got in the door at my apartment. When my eyes were swimming from pouring over my History and Sociology readings two hours later, I decided it was time to close my books and take a break. I needed a moment to regroup, but I immediately felt the lurching pull of my crumbling financial situation.

  With a pathetic groan, I opened my web browser and checked some of the job websites. Doing a search based on location, I discovered that, surprise, the very first jobs on the list were for accounting positions.

  My lips curled as I imagined both my parents clasping their hands together while smiling innocently at me with “we told you so” looks all over their faces.

  Screw them. I wasn’t giving up. I tried searching by job type rather than location. Maybe I’d find something that way. When the list came up, I scrolled down it further and further. And further.

  Almost every single job was somehow related to moving money around or computers. I took a moment to lean back, raise both my middle fingers, and launched both birds at my monitor.

  But I still wasn’t giving up. I did notice several jobs for long-haul truckers. Maybe I could do that? Wasn’t there something sexy about a woman who drove a big rig and had dinner at truck stops nation wide? Some of those truck stops even had showers for the truckers. How awesome was that?

  Uhhhh, no.

  Besides, I needed something part time. And it turned out, most of the jobs were full time.

  I did find one company that wanted to hire tutors for high school students. The subject they most needed, and for which I was best qualified, was math. Groan.

  “We told you so,” rang through my mind.

  I dropped my head back against my couch, grabbed the nearest pillow, squished my face into it, and screamed.

  That felt good.

  I did it again.

  I lowered my pillow and sighed.

  As much as I hated to do it, I filled out the online application for math tutors. Couldn’t the tutoring company have been seeking art tutors instead? Not that I was qualified, but why did it have to be math?

  We told you so!

  :-)

  SHUT UP!!!!!!

  I filled in the fields asking for my ACT and SAT scores were. Thanks to my parents, I’d taken both, and scored well on both.

  After filling out all the remaining information, I clicked SUBMIT and prayed that my age and inexperience would put me at the bottom of the application pile.

  I spent another hour combing through job listings. There were absolutely zero jobs related to art.

  We told you so!

  :-D

  A knot had formed in my stomach over the course of the hour. I started to wonder if my parents were right. Based on the jobs I’d found online, it sure seemed that way. But I reminded myself that I did have the museum job. That was art. And Christos’ whole family made money selling art. Heck, I’d made $150 on my crayon painting.

  Was it possible to sell ten crayon paintings a month? That would be $1,500, which combined with the $400 from working at the museum, would probably be enough for all my bills. I certainly had time to draw that many.

  But would I be able to sell all of my crayon paintings, month after month? Or would I end up sitting down on the boardwalk with stacks of crayon paintings laid out on one of those knitted blankets from Tijuana, and a sign that said “Prices reduced!” and the number “$150” would be Xed out, along with the numbers $125, $100, $75, $50, $25, $10, $5, $1.99, etc., all the way down to “FREE! Please take one!”

  It seemed all too likely.

  I needed to find a job with a paycheck while I still had a roof over my head.

  I ended up submitting a few other applications that I doubted would turn into anything because the jobs actually sounded cool and paid well.

  Was it time for me to hit the bricks tomorrow and follow in the time-honored American tradition of working for a fast-food chain restaurant?

  We told you so!

  Shudder.

  I texted Madison to see if she was awake. When I didn’t hear back from her, I called Christos. No answer from him, either.

  I did have ice cream in the freezer.

  I walked into my kitchen and opened the door. It was like a winter wonderland inside. Icicles everywhere, surrounding creamy, sugary escape. I could spare the calories. I’d been good. I’d barely had any ice cream in weeks. And I didn’t think I’d had a single spoonful over Winter Break with Christos.

  I opened up the container of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. There was hardly any ice cream left inside. I mean, it was almost half gone. Or some amount less than half-gone, but nowhere near a full pint. Because two good spoonfuls already gone was at least a half pint, according to my math. Anyway, it was going to get freezer burn sooner or later, then it would go to waste, and I was not one to waste food. Not when there were children in third world countries who never got to eat ice cream. Ever.

  I would eat it for their sake.

  I swear I would’ve shared, had any of those children been present in my apartment. I sort of wished they were, because I think the joy on their faces would’ve filled me up better than the ice cream.
But I was all alone, and had no choice.

  No ice cream would ever go to waste on my watch.

  Chapter 14

  SAMANTHA

  My same pattern of school, homework, job hunt, and no Christos continued for the next several days.

  Lame!

  I managed to actually hook up with Madison on campus a few days later. It was the first time I’d seen her since I’d dropped Managerial Accounting.

  We met for lunch in the Student Center.

  “Mads! So good to see you!” I said.

  Madison wrapped her arms around me. “I totally missed you, girl!”

  “Me too. You wanna get fish tacos?”

  “Hells yeah,” Madison said.

  We walked into the food court and got in the long line. I worried about spending the extra money, but I couldn’t ask Madison to have protein bars for lunch with me. Meh.

  “So, how’s Dorquemann?” I asked.

  “Doctor Dorquemann is the greatest sleep aid known to man. I think the medical school on campus has researchers in the lecture hall recording the sound of his voice every day, trying to pin down the exact pattern of frequencies that Dorquemann uses when he lectures. I hear they’re trying to get FDA approval already.”

  “That good, huh?” I smiled sympathetically.

  “No biggie. If I’m ever going to run my own company, I have to learn this stuff sooner or later.”

  “You want to run a company?”

  “Yeah,” Madison said, “Jake and I have been talking about it. He wants to start his own line of surf clothes, maybe even open a shop here in San Diego. If he wins a few more competitions and gets some good endorsements, he’ll have enough of a name and enough extra cash that we might be able to do it.”

  “Look at you,” I smiled, “Miss Go-Getter. That’s awesome, Mads. I totally think you could pull it off.”

  “I just wish I was taking more of the upper division Marketing classes for my major. I need to learn all that stuff, like, yesterday!”

  We finally made it to the front of the line and ordered our fish tacos. I tried to pay, but I’d already told Madison about my job hunt, and she refused.

  “It’s on me,” Madison said. “When you’re a world-famous artist, you can pay.”