I finally brushed my curly hair out of its braid, wound it into what I hoped was a tidy bun and got my feet into my shoes. I stuck my tongue out at Liandra’s sleeping form and glanced at my phone again. If I was going to make the bus on time, I was going to have to run.
I swore at myself as I made my way through the narrow hallway, past the long strip of dorm room doors.
Damned stubbornness. Damned roommate. Damned cell phone alarm.
“Hey!”
I stumbled as I swerved to avoid smashing into the source of the deep and surprised voice. I flailed as I tried to stay upright, grabbing the nearest wall to keep from falling. My hair flew out of its bun, blinding me as I wobbled.
“Dammit!”
I willed myself to stand up, and glared at my feet. That was when I realized that I was wearing two distinctly different sandals. One was gold and dressy—the pair I’d selected to wear—but the other was a sporty number with a Velcro toe strap. The only thing they had in common was that they were both on my feet.
“How did I not notice that?” I muttered to myself.
I stared accusingly down at the guy who was sitting on the floor. The mismatched shoes might not be his fault, but he had nearly made me break my leg. I had a snarky comment on the tip of my tongue, until he flipped his blond, boy-band hair out of his face, and I found myself gazing into the greenest eyes I had ever seen. They were breathtaking; they were filled with concerned sincerity and a hint of something else I couldn’t quite pinpoint.
My heart raced. His hand found mine and squeezed it firmly, confidently, like he was put on the planet to keep me upright. My palm tingled at his touch. Want licked through my hand to my wrist and across my chest. In two seconds flat, I was breathless, almost panting.
When was the last time someone touched me like that? When was the last time I reacted to a man’s touch with such fervor? I answered myself immediately. Never.
I knew my eyes must be open wide in surprise. I looked away and I pulled my hand from his grasp, then planted myself firmly on the ground.
What just happened? What did that kicked-in-the-gut moment mean?
“You okay?” he asked, breaking the spell.
“This is a girls’ dorm.”
I spun around and forced myself to walk until I hit the end of the hall and could run again without feeling those green eyes on my back. I fled down the stairs, glad to get away before I could be sucked in by the inevitable story he would tell about how his girlfriend was afraid of the dark, or how his sister was sick and needed him to stay over. I’d heard every lame excuse in the book. With an averagely aged population of about twenty-five, it was inevitable that guys were often found stashed throughout our residence.
I didn’t normally care. As long as they stayed out of the shower and refrained from dropping dirty boxer briefs in the common areas, it was fine. But my mood was bad, and getting worse by the second.
When I hit the final step, I flipped my shoes off and tossed them into my backpack.
At least it’s sunny, I thought.
I twisted my hair back into its bun, this time giving it a tug to make sure it was secure, and sprinted across the lawn.
I moved more quickly now that my feet were free, and I even enjoyed the sensation of grass beneath my feet. It was dry enough to be springy and pleasant, and for about forty-five seconds, I felt completely liberated.
When I got close enough to see the bus stop, I reined myself in, slowing to a hurried walk. Moments after I planted my bare feet on the cement pad, the bus wheezed up. I boarded it breathlessly, and tried to fill my head with thoughts of a rebuilt community center rather than a green-eyed boy.
Man, I corrected mentally, remembering the way my body lit up when our palms touched. Definitely a man.
I shrugged off the residual desire, and focused my mind on the upcoming meeting.
* * *
I crossed and uncrossed my legs nervously. I was already getting a headache and I hadn’t even started my presentation yet.
“You don’t need to be worried.”
I glanced up at Keith Bomner and frowned. He was so quiet and nondescript, it was easy to forget he was there. He had a face that would blend into a crowd if it wasn’t hidden behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and his clothes were plain. My own outfit looked slick beside his. But Liandra had assured me that he was the best person to help me with my plea to the city, and so far he hadn’t let me down. Today, he was going to help me remind the city officials that that they had a legal obligation to let me continue my quest, at least for another six weeks.
In fact, he was in my good books because he’d met me at the bus stop with a pair of shoes.
“How’d you know?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Liandra called. She said she found a pair of mismatched sandals on your bed. It seems she knows you well.”
I’d slipped on the flats gratefully and followed him into city hall.
Now I was tapping them nervously on the floor. Keith put a hand on my knee to stop me.
“This will be an easy meeting,” he said.
“I’m not worried,” I lied.
“Relax. This is a sure thing.”
“How do you know?”
“Because going back on their word would make for bad press.”
My heart beat nervously. “The press?”
“Liandra told me how you feel about the spotlight and I’ll respect it, even if I don’t understand it,” he let me know.
I let out a breath, and ignored the lawyer’s briefly curious expression. My mistrust of the media wasn’t without reason. For months after my parents’ deaths, reporters hounded me, begging for the inside scoop. The last thing I wanted was my name aired in public once again. The city officials knew who I was, of course, but the bulk of the fundraising was carefully hidden behind my not-for-profit business, and virtual anonymity suited me just fine.
“Thank you,” I said gratefully.
“But just because I know about your media ban doesn’t mean that they need to know about it.” Keith inclined his head toward the boardroom.
On cue, the door swung open, and a bald man wearing an ill-fitting suit cleared his throat and invited us to join him and his colleagues. I followed Keith into the room with my head down and my stomach churning. I noted in a vague way that there were several men and no women at the long table, and that all of them were dressed in similarly grey suits with similarly unremarkable ties.
I wondered if Keith hadn’t received the memo about the dress code. But he didn’t seem bothered by it all. He nodded at the group and dropped his briefcase onto the table.
One of the men stood up and reached out to shake my hand. I stared at him, thinking of how he was going to react to my sweaty palm wrapped in his. Thankfully, Keith intercepted and gripped the man’s hand firmly.
“Have a seat,” one of the city officials suggested.
I started to pull a chair out, then froze as Keith spoke.
“Thanks, but no,” he said.
It wasn’t his words that held me in place. It was my glimpse of a dark-haired man at the table. My stomach dropped at the sight of the familiar face. I marveled that even after all this time apart, I still felt the residual pain of what he’d done to me. I didn’t love him anymore. I’d been telling myself it was true for a long time. Seeing him sitting there confirmed it. There was no leftover attraction, no spark of hope. But that didn’t mean that there wasn’t a gaping hole left behind by his betrayal. It was that hole that formed the foundation for the carefully constructed wall around my heart, after all.
“What’s he doing here?”
I didn’t realize that I’d spoken out loud until one of the other men answered. “Mark is our intern.”
He was staring at me, too, with frank curiosity. I looked away first.
“Is there a conflict?” Keith asked with a frown.
“Not at all,” I said quickly, and didn’t meet Mark’s eyes.
My lawyer di
dn’t look like he believed me, but he just snapped his briefcase open and began presenting my ideas in an authoritative voice.
As he outlined my plans for fundraising and alluded to a potential media hailstorm, he sounded logical, believable and convincing. I was impressed, and I wanted to focus on what he was saying. But most of my energy was used up on keeping my eyes away from the man across the room.
For a crazy minute, I wondered if my sleep-text had somehow brought Mark here.
I looked down at my fingers and tried again to listen to Keith. He was talking about my nonprofit company and asking the room to direct questions to him rather than me. He threw out numbers that made sense and fielded their inquiries confidently.
My mind wandered helplessly, and I hoped no one was watching me.
What are the chances that Mark just happened to show up here, hundreds of miles from home, on the day you’re presenting?
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Keith said, and I realized he was finished. “We’ll come back to you in six weeks with the agreed-upon amount.”
I avoided my ex’s stare and followed my lawyer out into the hall.
“Tucker, are you okay?” Keith asked.
“Fine.”
“Hmm.” He shrugged. “I hope you’re better at raising money than you are at lying. You’ve got forty-five days to come up with the balance. Can you do it?”
I nodded. “I’m already set up to do the student market this afternoon.”
“Good,” Keith said. “You seemed a little unsure in there.”
“Just nerves,” I stated with a tinny laugh.
I cringed as the boardroom door swung open.
“I’m sorry, Keith. I’ve got to go.” I took off before Mark could make his way out.
By the time I got back to my dorm, the unsettled feeling in my stomach had calmed enough for me to begin thinking about my next move.
Joey
I woke up to find myself sitting up. Admittedly, that was a new one. Asleep in my truck, or fully dressed in my bed, or dozing on some girl’s floor—those were to be expected after my monthly night of freedom. This was a new low. The sense of dread wracking my body was all too familiar. I didn’t have to think too hard to recognize the relationship between the three things—the sixth of every month, feeling sick, and the parade of women—but I chose not to acknowledge it. I shoved aside the automatic connection and assessed my situation instead.
I started by trying to recall the events of the evening before.
Everything was an unpleasant blur that started with the Jell-O shooter girl and ended with me waking up with a stiff back and an aching head.
Where was your brain last night, Joey?
The problem wasn’t even the seven watered-down shots. I could drink twice that and keep standing. It was just that it was the same thing every month. I flirted with a few girls, sorted through them like a deck of cards, and went home with whichever one was most likely to kick me out before the night was through. I had getting tastefully out-of-hand down to a damned science.
I stretched my legs across the hallway as I planned my escape from the dorm. I knew I needed to get out before some girl saw me.
That was when I saw the mismatched shoes approaching at breakneck speed. They flashed—green/gold, green/gold—in contrast with the speckled linoleum.
What the—
My thought cut off as I realized that the girl attached to the shoes hadn’t seen me, and wasn’t going to stop.
Green/gold, green/gold, green/gold.
“Hey!” I yelled.
My warning was about two seconds too late, and suddenly a swirl of vanilla-scented hair cascaded across my face. I inhaled, trying to catch a bit more of the pleasant smell.
As she stumbled and reached out for the wall, I caught sight of her face. It was one of the most beautiful I had ever seen. She had a perfect, upturned nose and a mouth that begged to be kissed. An attractive smattering of freckles peppered her nose, and when she stared down at me, I saw her eyes were a gorgeous, deep brown. I took her hand to steady her and a jolt of electric attraction swept through me.
Her eyes held mine for a second longer. Desire played across her features, made obvious by the flush in her cheeks and the parting of her lips.
Forget it, I grumbled at myself. You’re in enough trouble as it is.
She recovered quickly and snatched her hand away. I made myself smile, polite but reserved, then asked if she was okay. Her response sounded as forced as my politeness, like she was trying to cover that hint of raw passion.
Why was she hiding it? I wondered.
I wanted to know.
Damn.
I felt a nearly unfamiliar pull on my heart, and tried to think of something to say to make her stay.
She shook her head at me, then walked away stiffly. I watched her go, mesmerized by the smooth, curved line of her backside as she moved. She was quick, and in a second she was gone.
She’s going to get away. I jumped to my feet.
I jogged to the end of the corridor and shoved open the door. The hall on the other side split in two and I didn’t know which way she’d gone, or even if she’d taken the stairs or the elevator. Feeling desperate, I pushed aside a potted plant and pressed my face against the window.
I peered outside. My heart lifted when I caught a flash of red moving across the commons, but when I blinked, the flash was gone.
Damn, I thought again, followed by another, far less pleasant mental exclamation.
I made my way back into the hall full of bedroom doors, an unusual sense of loss hanging over me.
Feelings, too closely linked to my past, struggled to find their way to the surface of my mind. Why now? What was it about the seconds-long encounter with the redhead that had brought them out? I ran my fingers through my hair, a dangerous recklessness coursing through my veins.
I tried to shove it down.
She was just a girl. A pretty, sexy, damned-near-perfect-to-look-at girl, but just a girl nonetheless.
I immediately wondered where she was going, and if she was meeting someone. I wondered what kind of guy got a girl like that to pay attention to him. I was envious of him, whoever he might be.
You’re being ridiculous. You’re getting jealous over the fictional boyfriend of some girl you’ve never met.
I felt angry at myself and at the girl. I knew that I had to find her, even if it was just to prove I was wrong about what I was feeling, or maybe about the fact that I was feeling.
With a sigh, I strode to the door that belonged to the girl who had booted me out the night before. I knocked, then waited. After a few seconds with no answer, I knocked again, more loudly.
“What time is it?” muttered a feminine voice from behind the door.
“Early,” replied another.
I tapped a third time, attempting to make it sound worth answering. I heard some shuffling, and the door squeaked open a few inches. A tired blue eye peeked out at me.
“Hi,” I greeted with a smile.
The girl opened the door a little further and eyed me curiously from behind a mess of blonde hair. I didn’t recognize her, but I continued to smile anyway.
“Hi,” she said back hesitantly.
The door swung open all the way, and a tall brunette stepped into view. She glared at me. Her angry expression was familiar enough, but aside from that, I didn’t recognize her any more than I did the blonde. Of course, it wasn’t the first time I’d forgotten a face, either.
“This is a girls’-only dorm,” the brunette snapped. “What do you want?”
“Probably to talk to me,” said a voice from across the hall.
I spun around, relieved to finally see a girl who I did recognize.
“Morning, Patty,” I said.
“It’s Peggy,” she corrected.
“Easy mistake?” I offered.
She tossed my keys at me, and I grabbed them out of the air befo
re they could hit my already aching head. Peggy slammed the door.
I turned back to the other girls. “I don’t suppose you want to help me?”
The brunette rolled her eyes, but the blonde hesitated. I turned on my best smile, and the girl’s mouth went up tentatively at the corners, too.
“With what?” she wanted to know.
“Just some information. Do you know a redhead who lives in this dorm?”
“There are three of them,” called the brunette.
The blonde shrugged apologetically. “She’s grumpy, but she’s right. You’ll have to be a little more specific.”
“She’s…” I paused.
I’d been going to say she was the prettiest woman I’d ever seen, but that probably wasn’t the best way of getting another girl to help me find out who she was. Even if it was true.
“She’s what?” the blonde prodded.
“Short,” I replied lamely. “She was wearing mismatched shoes. She had an army-green backpack.”
“He means the hippie!” the roommate yelled.
The blonde frowned. “Seriously? That’s who you’re looking for? Why?”
The brunette was back at the door, scrutinizing my appearance. I looked down at my white T-shirt and sports shorts. Judging from the brunette’s face, my clothes definitely fell short of whatever her expectations were. It wasn’t my finest look, but I didn’t think it was that bad.
“I doubt you’re her type,” she told me. “She’s probably into guys who hug trees and wear hemp pants.”
“So you know her well?” I asked.
“No,” both the girls said at once.
“I don’t think she even talks to anyone else in the dorm,” the blonde informed me.
“Unless she’s crusading for a cause,” the brunette added.
My shoulders dropped. The blonde put her hand on my arm sympathetically, and her roommate quickly swatted it away with a warning glare before she slammed the door shut.
Bad Reputation Page 3
