by Sarina Bowen
Dash pushed the heels of both hands against his temples. “I know you hate me, Bella. But I didn’t think I could stop them, short of calling the police. And since I’d just committed a crime, I didn’t do that. That’s how Whittaker sets up all his shit — he always makes sure that someone else is more culpable than he is. I didn’t understand until then. And I never went back.”
“What do you mean?”
“I slept on the sofa that night, in the same room where they left you alone to sleep it off. And after you left in the morning, so did I. And I haven’t been back since.”
“You haven’t?”
He shook his beefy head. “But I was still guilty of mixing your drink, so I didn’t say anything. Not until last week. They started harassing me, so I had a chat with my father, and then I went to the dean.”
“Why were they harassing you?” I asked, as the hair stood up on the back of my neck.
He chuckled. “There was a certain prank at the football game. They thought I did it.”
“What?” Beta Rho thought an idiot like Dash McGibb had pulled my stunt?
He gave me a wry smile. “Don’t look so outraged, Bella. You’ll give yourself away.”
Shit! Focus! “You must be in a pile of trouble for telling the dean what you helped Whittaker do.”
“You bet.” He nodded. “I got a year’s probation. And I’m off the football team.”
My inner bitch gave a snort. What kind of punishment was that? “What about the cops?”
He looked up with a wince. “After the dean finishes her investigation, she’ll probably ask you if you want to press charges against me. I asked my dad’s lawyer, and he said that’s probably what would happen.”
“Oh.” Oh. Jesus Christ. His fate was in my hands. How appropriate, really. And how strange.
The moment stretched on. We had a staring contest, which I won when Dash looked at his shoes again. “My dad’s lawyer probably wouldn’t want me talking about it. But I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. G’night.” He met my eyes one more time before walking away.
I don’t think I even answered him, I was too busy trying to understand what had just happened. How absolutely trippy.
After taking a few minutes in the (gross) Capri’s bathroom, I went back to our table. The quarters game had wound down, and all my friends were finishing their beers. Someone had taken my seat, so I took a seat on Graham’s lap, the way I used to. And that felt… fine, actually. The old ache was finally lifting. I looked from face to face, each one lit by the soft light of Capri’s neon beer signs, and dusty old lamps which hung from the ceiling.
I’d never be able to say that this was an easy year at Harkness. But not everything had gone wrong, and some things had gone very, very right. “What time is it?” I asked suddenly.
Graham lifted his hand to peer at his watch. “Almost eleven.”
“Damn. I have a presentation to give tomorrow. Walk me home?”
“Sure.” Graham gave me a friendly nudge off his lap. “You coming?” he asked Rikker.
And that was trippy, too. Graham never used to acknowledge Rikker in public. That’s why it had taken me so long to figure out they were a couple.
“Think I will,” Rikker said, getting up.
“Night, guys!” I called to the hockey players who were still there.
“Bella! Bella!” Trevi chanted.
A couple of other guys picked up the chant, so I held my hands up to silence them. “Stop already. But will you please beat Harvard this weekend? Because I’m going to be watching.” And not on TV, either. I had the sudden urge to see some hockey games again.
“You bet, lady.” Trevi winked at me from across the room. “Then you’ll come out with us afterward, right?”
“Sure.” This whole being-seen-in-public thing wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.
We made our way outside and walked home to the Beaumont gate. Rikker didn’t live in Beaumont, but Graham had a roomy senior single, and it was probably their favorite hook-up spot.
“Goodnight, guys!” I kissed them both on the cheek. I didn’t need to fake any cheer, either. Because there was someone waiting for me in my room. Someone I was very happy to see, especially if he’d removed any of his clothing since the last time I’d seen him.
“Night, sweetie,” Rikker said, giving me a squeeze. “Good to have you back.”
I don’t do mushy, so I slapped him on the ass and gave them both one more wave. Then I let myself into my own entryway, trotting up the steps as fast as I could. At the top, I opened my door to find a shirtless Rafe asleep face-down on my bed, his face buried in the crook of his muscular arm. My bathroom door was standing open. So I tiptoed through to peer at Lianne, who was asleep on her own bed in the exact same position.
In her case, though, an empty plastic wastebasket stood beside her bed. Perhaps Lianne and Rafe had a bit of a rough trip home.
Bummer.
I went back through the bathroom, shutting my door with a soft click. For a moment, I just stood there, admiring Rafe. His face was peaceful, and his back muscles rose and fell as he slept. I just had to touch him. I crawled onto the bed beside him and kissed the back of his neck.
Nothing happened.
“Honey, I’m home,” I whispered. “I always wanted to say that.”
“You did?” he rasped.
“Well, not always. Only now.”
He smiled without opening his eyes.
“There’s a subtext, you know,” I said, peeling off my jacket. “‘Honey, I’m home’ really means, ‘take off your clothes and fuck me.’”
“I never knew that.” Rafe rolled over and stretched his arms above his head.
His position gave me access to his fly, which I unzipped.
“Our project is ready,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“What project?” I leaned over him and began to kiss the skin just above the waistband of his briefs.
Rafe propped himself up on his elbows and looked down his body at me. “Did you have fun tonight?”
I tugged on his waistband. “I’m trying to right now.”
With a chuckle, Rafe put a warm hand on my hair. “I like what you’re doing, belleza. Just give me a minute to wake up.” He lifted his hips, allowing me to slide his jeans and briefs off.
“Did Lianne puke?” I asked, removing his socks.
“Only twice.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged, stretching out on the bed, naked now. “No big deal. I didn’t have to do anything except hold her hair.”
“Aw. You did that for her? I think you deserve a blow job.”
“From you though, right?” He winked up at me.
I slapped his thigh. “Who else? And you don’t even have to be quiet, because she’s passed out.”
Rafe must have liked that idea, because his dick began to swell. I slipped my hand around him, and he groaned. “Take off your clothes,” he ordered.
“Bossy much?” I grasped the hem of my T-shirt and pulled.
“I’m bossy for a reason.” He helped me shuck off my shirt.
“Why’s that?”
He caught my face in both his hands, and those espresso-colored eyes bored into mine. “Because whenever I tell you to take off your clothes, you get the best look on your face.”
“I do?” The proximity of my boyfriend’s naked body made it hard for me to listen, though.
“Yeah,” he whispered, his gaze dropping appreciatively to my cleavage. “Your face says, ‘Do me Rafe. And be quick about it.’”
I closed my eyes and groaned. “That sounds like something my face would say.”
“Yeah?” He pulled me down onto the bed and popped the button on my jeans.
“It does.” I helped him shuck them off. Then, wearing nothing but my favorite black bra, I stretched out on my back. “Are you awake yet?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Good. Because I want you to do me. And be quick about it.”
>
Chuckling, he rolled on top of me and kissed me.
Thirty-Four
Rafe
“Don’t forget to mention that there’s a sale-ratio trigger on the equity component,” Bella prompted me on our way to Urban Studies.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And then flip back to the diagram that shows how the trust is funded after the first wave of sales.” She tugged me toward the lecture hall. It was time for our presentation.
Outside the door, I spotted Alison and Dani waiting for us. I grabbed Bella’s hand and stopped to give us a second alone. “Hey. I’m happy to give our half of the presentation. And I promise to remember all the nerdy bits.”
She grinned at me.
“But I think you should consider doing it instead.”
Her smile faded.
I put my hands on both her shoulders. “Nobody knows this stuff better than you do. Nobody.”
Bella looked down at her shoes. “Maybe it makes me a coward, but I’m just not ready to stand up in front of that room.”
“Hold on.” I lifted her chin gently. “There is nothing you could do to make me think you’re a coward. Except about spiders, but I’m just going to let that slide.” Her lips twitched. “You’ve worked hard on this thing, and you sound formidable when you’re talking about it. Like, ass-kicking ninja real-estate developer woman. And you look hot in that sweater. If you were ever going to pick a moment to look the whole world in the eye, today’s not a bad choice.”
“I don’t know, Rafe. Maybe you should incentivize me.” She lifted an eyebrow. “What do I get if I do the presentation?”
I laughed. “I know!” I leaned over and whispered very closely into her ear. “An A in the class.”
She gave me a tiny smirk. “I’d rather you slip me the D.”
I leaned in again, brushing the sensitive place right below her ear. “You’re going to get the D no matter what happens.”
“Okay.” She wrapped her arms around me. “I’ll do it. I really want to win this for you.”
I pulled her tightly to my body. “Relax, baby. It’s all good.”
“How do you figure?”
I kissed her cheekbone, then whispered. “I already won. You’re a whole lot more important to me than this contest.”
The look of surprise on her face practically broke my heart. “Nobody ever said that to me before.”
I curved my hand around the back of her neck. “You know, maybe you didn’t plan it this way, but I’m happy to be your first.”
She let out a giggle, then rose to her toes to kiss me.
Pulling herself together, Bella did a fabulous job with our half of the presentation. And, if I was honest, so did Alison with hers. But there were twelve houses competing. So even though I was certain we’d bested seven or eight of them just with our excellent preparation, it was still a long shot.
After the last team was through, there was a five-minute lull while professor Giulios and his guest — Jimmy Chan, the food truck guy — conferred over the scoring.
Then Giulios took the stage, and Bella grabbed my hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, we saw some very fine work here today. In fact, it breaks my heart to know that a certain block of West 165th Street is not truly poised to go under the wrecking ball.” He lifted his clipboard. “We have a second-place winner to announce first. Team Beaumont, you did an excellent job, especially with just four team members.”
“Shit,” Bella cursed under her breath.
“There was some fine attention to detail on your project. And I think you were the only team to actually visit the site and take pictures. But ultimately, your design and your funding strategies were at war, which is why Coleman House will win tonight’s competition.”
Cheers erupted from team Coleman, and Bella heaved a sigh.
“I’m sorry,” Alison said from the other side of Bella. “This is my fault. That damned green roof.”
“Not your fault,” I argued, meeting Alison’s eyes. “We didn’t lose the World Cup here. We’re going to get an A in this class. And your green roof was cool.”
My ex’s cheeks pinked up at the compliment, and she gave me a tiny smile.
“The man makes a good point,” Dani said, tossing her notebook into her backpack. “I call that a win.”
Up front, Giulios was finished complimenting Coleman’s strategies, and the lecture was breaking up. “I’ll be right back,” I said, hopping out of my seat.
I found Mr. Chan at the front of the room, chatting with a student. I planted myself a few feet away, and was eventually rewarded by a glance and a smile when the other student moved off.
“Hi,” I said, thrusting out a hand. “I’m Rafe Santiago, and I was on team Beaumont.”
“Ah!” the man said, shaking my hand. “You were so close.”
“Yeah, that’s cool. But I was wondering how I can figure out the food-truck business. My family runs a Dominican restaurant in Washington Heights. We need to think about a food truck, but we don’t know the steps.”
He nodded. “How’s your health department rating?”
“It’s awesome because my mom is a slavedriver.”
The man laughed while he reached for his pocket. “Take my card. When you’re ready to get serious with it, call my secretary and tell her that you were the Harkness kid who wanted to get going on a Dominican food truck. We’ll have a meeting.”
My fingers closed around the card. “Thank you, sir. I will do that.”
“Nice to meet you, Rafe. And feel free to bring some majarete to the meeting.” He patted his stomach. “I love that stuff.”
“It’s a deal.”
I walked away, patting the card in my pocket. And just like that I really did win everything. I got a good grade and a connection at the City of New York.
And the girl, too.
Pinch me.
Thirty-Five
December
Rafe
On the first day of Christmas vacation, I came down with a nasty cold.
In my family, we called mid-December “catering season” because of all the orders for holiday parties. Naturally, I was helping out in the restaurant kitchen. Because that’s what a Santiago did.
But after the third time I had to step out the back door to sneeze and blow my nose, my mother fired me. “Go home,” she said. “I don’t want sickness in my kitchen. I’ll bring you soup later.”
On my way out the door, I slipped my phone out of my pocket and found a call from Bella. When I listened to the message, all she’d said was, “I have the most disgusting cold. Damned Lianne! Miss you.” Click.
I laughed. Lianne had been sick during exams, and the poor girl had been all freaked out that she was going to deliver “Romeo, O Romeo” in a frog voice. Though she’d recovered already, it was no surprise Bella and I had gotten sick next.
I called her. “Me too,” I said when she picked up. “The cold and the missing. Can I bring you some fresh-squeezed OJ?”
“Really? I thought you were working today.”
“I got the plague too. And Ma doesn’t let anyone sick work in the kitchen.”
“I knew I liked your mom. Get your cute butt down here and bring orange juice. We are going to have a movie marathon.”
“You need anything else?” I asked her. “Tissues? Cold medicine?”
“I’ve got all that. Get on the train, hot stuff. Lianne went to rehearsal, and I’m bored and lonely.” She hung up on me.
Turning around, I stuck my head back into the restaurant kitchen. “Ma? Don’t bring me soup later. I’m going to Bella’s. She’s sick, too.”
My mother frowned. “Take that girl some juice.” She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a quart of the stuff.
“What are you doing?” my cousin Pablito complained. “Takes me half an hour to juice a quart.”
He wasn’t wrong. This stuff was like liquid gold. “I’ll pay you back later. I’ll take one of your shifts.” Then I got the heck out of th
ere.
The front of Bella’s mansion on East 78th Street was just as grand as I’d expected it to be. It had a limestone facade and arched, leaded-glass windows. I walked up five steps to a paneled oak door that had been buffed to a high sheen. There was a little button beside the door and a small black sign reading: “Please ring the bell.”
So I did.
A few seconds later the door was opened by a comfortable-looking, middle-aged Hispanic lady. “You must be Rafe.”
“Good morning, ma’am.”
She smiled and took a step backwards. “Miss Cranky is upstairs in her room. I will show you up.”
“Thank you.” I held up the bottle of juice. “I brought her some orange juice. Can I pour her a glass?”
Now she beamed. “Follow me.”
We went through a gleaming entryway, and then through a white-paneled sitting room. In the back was the most beautiful kitchen I’d ever seen in a New York City home. “Aquí están los vasos,” the housekeeper said. She opened a cabinet and brought out two juice glasses.
“Gracias.” I opened the bottle on the pristine stone countertop. “Grab another one, though, because this is really good juice. You should have some. My family makes it for our restaurant in Washington Heights.”
For a second the housekeeper just stared at me. Then her face broke open into an enormous smile. “Call me Maria. And I will try your juice.” She turned to get another glass, and I heard her mutter something in Spanish under her breath. Something like: at least one of my girls has good taste in men.
I filled three glasses. Then I lifted one toward Maria, the housekeeper. “Salud.”
She touched another glass to mine and then took a sip. “Perfecto.”
Smiling, I picked up Bella’s glass. “I’ll take this upstairs if you don’t mind.”
She pointed at a narrow doorway off the kitchen. “The back stairs are closest — just one flight up, and to your right. But I warn you, she is cranky. My Bella — always a happy child, except when she is sick. When she was a little thing, you see a grumpy look on her face? You go looking for the children’s Tylenol. That’s Bella. Not her sister — that child was unhappy for any number of reasons. But it takes a lot to make Bella miserable.”
