The Shameless Hour

by Sarina Bowen

  And, lo! God smiled down and gave me her voicemail, which meant I could say my piece without groveling in real time. I opened with, “I’m so sorry,” and then I followed up with enthusiastic congratulations, followed by more apologies.

  “That should do it,” I said to nobody, throwing the phone down and rolling toward the wall. I recommenced my hibernation.

  But the world would not be ignored.

  Rafe showed up next, and he was not so easily shaken off as Lianne. “Bella,” he said, knocking. “Open up.”

  I decided opening the door would be the quicker method of ducking him. Seeing as I’d brushed my hair and made my bed, he might not call the authorities.

  When I opened the door, he walked in wearing running clothes. He had a pair of those spandex compression shorts sticking out from underneath his running shorts, which somehow managed to highlight how muscular his thighs were. Rawr. The boy was practically edible.

  Or rather, he would be, if I were still into men. Which I wasn’t.

  “It’s time for our run,” he said, as if we were running buddies.

  “I don’t run,” I reminded him.

  “Sure you do. I’ve seen you. First we run, then we go to class.”

  Lovely. He thought he had me all schooled up. “And what if I don’t?”

  “Same threat applies today.”

  God! You bossy…! I wanted to scream. “Look. I’m fine. And you can’t keep blackmailing me like this.”

  “Funny.” He chuckled. “Hanging out with you is not the effortless payoff that blackmail implies. But I will tell someone if I think you’re not okay. And if you leave the building with me, then I know you’re all right.”

  “You could just take my word for it.”

  “Not happening, chica.”

  With a curse, I got up to find some running clothes.

  We jogged a little farther than last time. By the time we arrived panting at our entryway door again, I was tremendously impressed with myself. But I sure wasn’t about to admit it to Rafe.

  He looked at his watch. “You’ve got twenty minutes to get cleaned up for class. I’ll knock on your door.”

  “I’ll just meet you there,” I tried, climbing the stairs slowly. My legs were shaky from exertion.

  Rafe just shook his head. “We go together, Bella. I’m not falling for that.”

  Christ.

  I took the world’s fastest shower and then hopped into my nicest jeans and a fancier sweater than I’d usually wear to class. As if that mattered. As if anyone in the lecture hall would look at me and decide I wasn’t actually a filthy slut because I was wearing a cashmere sweater from Bergdorf’s that matched my eyes.

  Rafe was maddeningly prompt, of course. When he knocked on my door, I followed him downstairs and outside. The closer we got to the lecture hall, though, the more my feet dragged on the flagstones. Urban Studies was a big lecture with at least sixty people in it. I did not want to sit there and wonder how many of them had seen my picture.

  My feet stopped altogether.

  Rafe drew up behind me. “By all means, move at a glacial pace.”

  I whirled on him. “You’re quoting The Devil Wears Prada while I’m about to lose my shit?” Whoa. Too much truth-telling.

  His big brown eyes went wide. “What’s the matter?”

  I looked up into his handsome face and felt like punching him in the teeth. “What’s the matter? Just everything. And your only concern is a project that’s not due for an aeon.”

  His face softened. “That is not my only concern. Let’s just go sit down inside.”

  “No! I’m not going in there.”

  I tried to duck around him, but he caught me around the waist. “Bella,” he whispered into my ear. “What’s the alternative?”

  “Transferring.” The word popped out as if it had been waiting there all along. I needed to be somewhere else — a college where I wasn’t that mess of a girl in that picture. Graham had said I shouldn’t let the assholes win. But right now I was willing to hand over the trophy without a fight.

  “Bella,” he said again, his voice low and steady. The sound of it cut through the clatter of the hamster wheel in my brain, the one that was running scared. He put his arms around me, and I hid my face against his soccer jacket. “We’ll sit in the last row. Nobody will even know we’re there.”

  I doubted that was true. But, as he’d pointed out, what was the alternative? I didn’t really have a Plan B. There were seven months left of my college career. I used to think of myself as a person who could survive anything for seven months.

  Obviously I’d thought wrong.

  My heart thumped spastically against my ribs as I considered leaving school. But where would I go? If I showed up on my parents’ doorstep, they’d want to know why. That would be a fun conversation. This problem wasn’t going away, even if I ran.

  All these thoughts battered around in my brain while I stood pressing my nose into my neighbor’s shoulder. Because that wasn’t weird or anything.

  I took a tiny step back, even though I didn’t want to. “All right. Let’s go.”

  With his hand at the small of my back, Rafe walked me into the lecture room. He didn’t let go until the second we took our seats in the last row. When class was over, I was up and out of there faster than you can say later, suckers.

  “Going to lunch?” Rafe asked, practically jogging after me.

  “Not yet,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t slow down my getaway.

  “I have to work. I’ll see you later?”

  I gave him a salute, then jogged toward Beaumont as fast as my legs could carry me.

  Who knew running was so useful? Obviously I’d never been mortified enough before to understand its charms.

  Seventeen

  Rafe

  During the lunch shift, I chopped a lot of vegetables, washed a lot of pans and worried about Bella. I was in way over my head. Maybe a smarter man would have already gone to the dean and explained the situation. But some of what Bella had said rang true. What could they do, anyway? If Bella named the guy who’d brutalized her reputation, they could make him take the picture down. But that could take weeks, and the damage was already done.

  Also, if I went to the dean she’d never speak to me again.

  That was the wrong reason to keep her secret, though. I worried that my judgment was completely obliterated by all the complicated feelings I had for her. Every time I saw her square her shoulders against the latest indignity, I wanted to scoop her up and hold her close. Nice, right? Just what she needed—another guy to ogle her.

  My job was just to be the best friend I could be. For right now, that meant watching and waiting. If Bella went to class, ate meals and went to work at the rink, then maybe I didn’t have to take any drastic action.

  Before lunch was almost over, I went out to the salad bar with one last pan of lettuce.

  “Hey,” someone said. “I didn’t catch your name the other day.”

  I looked up to see Bella’s friend Graham. “It’s Rafe,” I told him.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Kinda working here,” I said, more annoyed with him than I ought to have been. But I was pretty sure this was the guy Bella had fallen for, and so I disliked him just on principle.

  “It will just take a second.”

  “All right.” I led him over to the door to the kitchen, where nobody else could hear. “What’s up?” I asked, noticing that Graham’s boyfriend had also joined us.

  Graham got right to the point. “Who’s fucking with Bella?”

  “I have no idea,” I said truthfully.

  “It was someone from Beta Rho, though,” Graham said. “That website is theirs.”

  “Sure,” I agreed. “But that’s… forty guys?”

  Graham flushed. “Seriously, if you have any idea…”

  Rikker put a hand on Graham’s shoulder. “He hears you, babe. Message received.”

  Graham’s shoulders
slumped. “I just… I hate that some asshole is getting away with this.”

  “No kidding,” I grunted. “It’s all I think about.”

  Rikker lifted his eyebrows. “Is it?”

  Now they were both staring at me. “How do you know Bella, anyway?” Graham asked.

  Smooth, Rafe. “We’re neighbors,” I said. There was a beat of silence during which both guys seemed to debate whether to ask me more questions. “Look. If you want to help Bella, make sure she eats dinner tonight. I’ll be at a team meal.”

  Rikker’s eyebrows shot up again. “She’s not eating?”

  “She’s avoiding public places,” I said. “Or maybe she isn’t anymore. But it would be great if you could check.”

  “Done,” Graham said. “I’ll bring her some dinner.”

  “I have to get back to work,” I said.

  “Hey, thanks!” Rikker called after me.

  I walked back into the kitchen, wondering why he was thanking me. Had I helped Bella at all?

  I really had no idea.

  * * *

  The soccer schedule swallowed up my next few days. I cajoled Bella into running with me once more, and she came to Urban Studies class again. But for several days in a row, I didn’t see much of her.

  My team made a road trip, where we beat Harvard and lost to Dartmouth. Bickley chattered in my ear all the way home from New Hampshire, when really all I wanted to do was sleep.

  Bickley could afford to squander his time on gossip. But the second I stepped off that bus, I had to hustle to make a Sunday night dining hall shift.

  Fighting exhaustion, I cut up chickens for three hours straight, and then chopped vegetables for tomorrow’s omelets.

  Dinner service was almost over when I saw Bella slip into the dining hall. Good news. She got herself a plate and carried it over to sit by Graham and Rikker. I gave her a wave when I went out to pull trays off the salad bar.

  “Hey, Graham?” I heard her ask. An edge in her voice made me linger nearby. “Do you have anything going on next Saturday night? I have a thing in New York that I have to go to, and I need a date. It’s an open bar.”

  “What about my needs?” Rikker joked, his arms spread wide. “I like free drinks. And you’re stealing my date.”

  Graham cleared his throat. “Um, guys? That’s the night of Skate with Harkness Hockey. I have to cover it, because a couple of Bruins players are supposed to show up, too.”

  “Oh,” she said slowly. “The charity thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fuck,” Bella said. “The game schedule made that look like a night off.”

  Rikker frowned. “Wait. I could come down with the flu, or something,” he suggested. “I don’t see why they need two dozen players out there.” He gave a faux cough into his hand. “I think I feel it coming on.”

  Bella shook her head. “Yeah, and nobody would notice if the most famous Harkness teammate wasn’t there.”

  Rikker grabbed her hand and stuck it on his forehead. “That’s a fever, right? Don’t I feel hot to you?”

  She gave him a sad smile. “Don’t worry about it, Rik. It’s not a big deal.”

  “I would totally blow it off, Bells.”

  Bella stood. “Really, I’m good. Thanks anyway, guys.” She trotted over to the conveyor belt to bus her tray.

  I caught up to her on the rebound. “Hey, Bella?”

  She looked up, startled. “Yeah?”

  “I can go to your thing in New York.”

  Bella hesitated, which bummed me out a little bit. Maybe I wasn’t Upper East Side enough to be her date. “Are you sure?” she asked after a long pause.

  “Well, I don’t have a game until Sunday night. So my mother decided that I should make an appearance at my little cousin’s christening on Sunday morning. I was supposed to take the train down anyway.”

  “Huh.” She raised her eyes to mine. “The reason I asked Graham to go was because he already knows the story of my crazy family.”

  Oh. “Well… how bad could they really be? You said there’d be drinks.”

  She seemed to consider the question. “Drinks will help. I just hope we won’t need them too badly. With my family, you never know.” She bit her lip, and even though it was inappropriate of me to think this way, I kind of wanted to bite it, too. “If you’re sure it’s not a big inconvenience, I could really use the company.”

  Holding up a hand for a high five, I said, “No problem. But first, we make some headway on the Urban Studies project.”

  She slapped my hand. “Okay, slave driver.”

  Eighteen

  November

  Bella

  As a favor to Rafe, I wrote a spreadsheet to help tally up all the different business loans we were considering for our Urban Studies project. Truthfully, I’d never been so caught up on homework as I was this semester. Since I was still calling in sick to hockey, I had a lot of time on my hands.

  “Damn,” Rafe said the next night when I showed him the spreadsheet. “We are going to win this thing.”

  “We so are.” It’s really astonishing what you can accomplish when you barely leave your room. I was quite pleased with myself.

  Rafe threw his soccer jacket on the desk chair and sat down on my bed, pulling my computer into his lap. “Are these interest rates accurate? They look high.”

  “Of course they’re right. What do you take me for?” I gave him a nudge with my elbow. “Commercial rates are higher than regular mortgage rates. And the terms aren’t as good.”

  Rafe’s dark eyes looked up at me in alarm. “What if another team doesn’t know that? We could lose the contest and all because you’re smarter.”

  “Huh. Well that’s a depressing idea. It’s usually the opposite — being stupid is what bites me in the ass.”

  “Me too,” Rafe mumbled.

  “Although, under the right circumstances, ass biting can be awfully fun.”

  His eyes got wide, and I laughed. “Don’t worry about the interest rate thing. I’ll put a range of interest rates in the write-up.”

  “Good idea.” He handed my laptop back on a yawn.

  “Tough practice today?”

  “Always. We’re playing Princeton on Sunday night, and coach is all fired up.” He unzipped the book bag at his feet and took out his Urban Studies notebook.

  “If you’re tired, we can work on this tomorrow.”

  He shook his head. “I’m good. Let’s make a list of all the businesses in the neighborhood, so we can see what’s missing.”

  We worked on that for awhile, with me manning the search engine on my computer while he made detailed notes in the nicest handwriting I’d ever seen from a guy.

  “You’re very methodical,” I said, trying to pay him a compliment. I was trying to act like less of a bitch when Rafe was around. It made me self-conscious to know he’d seen me at my absolute worst.

  “Eh,” he sighed. “Methodical is what keeps me afloat. The Harkness workload has been a real shock to my system.”

  “Lots of people say that,” I said quickly.

  “Do they?” he grumbled, turning the page in his notebook. “I haven’t met any of them.”

  There was a knock on my door. I glanced at the clock. It was ten already, so I didn’t know who it might be. “Come in?”

  Trevi opened the door. “Hey, Bella. You feeling any better?”

  “Uh, sure. Trevi, this is my neighbor Rafe.”

  “Hey man.” He shook hands with Rafe and then perched on my desk chair. “Bella, I have some shitty news.”

  “Oh, goody,” I said, my voice light. But inside, I trembled. More shitty news? Really?

  “Coach Canning made the brilliant decision to hire his son as the student manager.”

  “What?” I gasped. “He gave my job away?” Even as I said the words aloud, I wished I could take them back. Because I sounded so pathetic.

  Across from me, Trevi rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Yeah. The guys are
pretty pissed off. In fact, I was thinking I’d get a bunch of them together and we’d write a letter to coach. If there’s a dozen signatures on it, maybe he’ll listen.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “He won’t fire his own kid. And Coach warned me. His email said that if I didn’t come back to practice he was going to have to look around for someone else. I just didn’t think he’d do it so fast. I thought I had a little time.”

  “You didn’t go back to practice?” Rafe asked softly.

  I shot him a look. See? Rafe was destined to think I was a bitch. Because when shit went bad in my life, he always happened to be around.

  Trevi looked uncomfortable. “It’s just not right, though. His kid isn’t even a Harkness student.”

  I laughed. “I’d bet any amount of money that he will be next year. This is going to look so good on his application.”

  Trevi pulled a face. “As if the kid even needed to fill one out. I hate nepotism.”

  “That’s like saying you hate gravity, Trevi. It’s here to stay.”

  “That is craptastic.” Trevi stood. “Let me know if you change your mind about fighting it. It’s more fun with you around, Bella.”

  My heart broke a little bit when he said that. Because I wanted to believe him. But I did not want to walk into that locker room, either. And now I didn’t have to.

  “Come to Capri’s on Saturday night?” Trevi said, his hand on my doorknob.

  “I can’t. I have a family thing in New York.”

  “Sunday then,” he insisted.

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m not above throwing you over my shoulder and dragging you there,” Trevi teased.

  “Great idea,” I deadpanned. “Chicks really dig that.”

  I heard Trevi snicker as the door fell shut. When I turned back to Rafe, he was studying me with those big brown eyes that didn’t miss much. “What?” I asked, testily.

  “You haven’t been going to practice?”

  Ugh. Now he was going to go all bossy on me again. “Nope.”