The Junior (College Years Book 3)

by Monica Murphy

  I’m not sure.

  Once the second shift shows up, Caleb and I head up to the restaurant together, where we have to clock out. I can tell he wants to say something the entire walk, but I remain silent, frustration rippling through me. Doesn’t help that when we enter the building, all heads swivel in our direction, curiosity in their gazes.

  Looks like Noelle has already started spreading the rumor that Caleb and I are together. We probably shouldn’t have walked in at the same time to clock out, but too late to worry about that now.

  Caleb lingers to talk to a few of them while I go back outside, standing on the front porch and staring out at the lake. A bunch of little kids sit on the bench that’s right by the entrance, all of them licking furiously at their melting ice cream cones. Their faces are messy and they smell like sunscreen, which isn’t a bad thing. Their skin gleams pink from the sun and I watch them, smiling faintly.

  I like kids a lot. This is why I’m excited to be a teacher. I think they’re funny and smart and I love how honest they are, especially the younger ones. I’ll be student teaching in a third-grade classroom for the upcoming school year, though I really want to teach kindergarten or first graders once I find an actual job. Hayden and I both prefer the younger grades. They’re sweeter. More innocent. They’re also more dependent and not always as focused, but I can deal with that.

  “Oh hey, there you are,” Caleb says when he exits the building. “You okay?”

  I glance over at him. “They’re all talking about us.”

  He frowns. “You think so?”

  I nod. “Definitely. And now they all hate me even more than they did when they didn’t think I was your girlfriend.”

  “They don’t hate you.”

  “They’re not very friendly, Caleb. They feel like I stole the dock girl job from them,” I say.

  “They couldn’t all be dock girls,” he points out, which is true but still.

  I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  We head down the steps at the same time, in sync as we turn toward the back of the building where Caleb parked this morning. I sort of hate how in sync we are. Again, it’s as if we really are a couple. Is this some sort of sign that we should give it a try?

  Ugh, no. I can’t give us a try. He’ll fuck with my heart, I know it. This is a guy who views life as one big joke. And getting with girls is an endless party. He will use me—and use me well, I’m sure of it—I’ll fall for him and then he’ll leave me behind. It’ll hurt more with Caleb because I’ll still have to see him. Deal with him. Work with him.

  Live with him.

  I should’ve never listened to Eli. His idea was so stupid. Move in with us, he said. You’ll save rent and feel safe living with two guys, he said.

  Living with Caleb doesn’t make me feel safe at all. He makes me feel unsure and nervous. He makes me want something I shouldn’t. He makes me feel a lot of emotions I don’t understand, and can’t explain.

  Men in general are users. This is why I became one myself, I think. Beat them at their own game, so to speak. Watching my mother suffer through my father’s antics over the years—lying and cheating, just to name a few—made me realize I don’t want that kind of life. It’s better to keep them at an arm’s length than let them get too close. I can flirt and fall for them just like anyone else, but that’s it. That’s as far as I’ll let it go.

  Caleb pulls his keys out of his pocket and hits the unlock button. I climb into the car, wincing at the stifling heat, pressing my body against the passenger door once I’ve closed it, hoping for distance from him.

  But it’s impossible. He climbs into the car and eats up all the space. He’s big and broad and difficult to ignore, especially in the close confines of his vehicle. He should be driving a truck. Or a SUV. Something big with plenty of space so my arm doesn’t brush against his every time I move.

  “Why are you looking like you’re going to hop out of the car at any moment?” he asks me once he’s pulled out of the parking lot and we’re on the road headed home.

  “What do you mean?” I try to ignore the slight pain I’m currently experiencing with my shoulder slammed against the door.

  “Afraid I’m going to touch you?” He reaches toward me, wagging his fingers in my direction. I recoil from them and his hand immediately returns to the steering wheel. “Get over it, G. No one’s around to see us.”

  I push away from the door and slump in my seat, crossing my arms and huffing out a breath. Acting like a baby, which kind of sucks, but I can’t help it. What is it about this guy that makes me behave so…ridiculously? “Why did you have to tell Noelle we were together?”

  “Is it really that big of a deal?” He grips the steering wheel tight. “That chick is persistent. I couldn’t shake her. I haven’t been able to shake her for like a week, and I was desperate. I saw you watching us like you thought what she was doing to me was funny, and I decided to draw you into it.”

  “So you did it on purpose.”

  “Only to save my ass.”

  “Right, but now, I’m tortured too! That’s kind of messed up, Caleb. You don’t think about what you do and how it affects other people. You just—do things, and it doesn’t matter if it hurts them or not. Now I’m left dealing with a bunch of girls who don’t like me because I’m supposedly dating their dream man,” I say, my voice rising.

  “I’m really their dream man?” The fucker actually has the nerve to sound pleased by this revelation.

  I glare at him. Is he really that oblivious? I don’t think so. He just wants the accolades. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make. And of course, you’re their dream man. You know this.”

  “No, I didn’t know this. Actually, I don’t believe it,” he says, his lips curled upward. Oh, he looks so pleased.

  I kind of want to sock him in his pretty, stupid face.

  “We’re not having this conversation. I’m not going to tell you how great they think you are just to stroke your ego,” I practically spit at him.

  “Huh. I can think of a few things you could stroke,” he says, his tone vaguely suggestive.

  That’s it. This time, I do hit him, slugging him in the arm, which is totally ineffective and I end up hurting myself because damn, his biceps are solid as a rock and now my knuckles are smarting.

  “Ow, what was that for?” He rubs at his arm, sending me a wounded look, and maybe I did actually hurt him. Huh. I’m stronger than I thought.

  “I knew the real Caleb was hiding in there somewhere,” I say, discreetly massaging my sore knuckles. “I can’t believe it took almost a month for you to reveal yourself. Talk about restraint.”

  “You’re lucky I’ve been holding back. You’ve given me way too many opportunities to say something inappropriate. I just bit my damn tongue every time you did,” he says, sounding irritated.

  “You’re gross,” I toss at him.

  “And you’re a prude,” he throws back, though he has to know this isn’t true.

  Judgey asshole.

  We sit in angry silence for a solid ten minutes. Me scrolling through my phone, even though reception is for shit through this part of the drive and the only thing that will load are text messages. Not like I have many.

  Caleb remains focused on the road, his jaw clenched, his mouth formed into a deep frown. He’s mad. Which is fine because guess what?

  So am I.

  “I didn’t mean to pull you into my drama,” he finally says to me, his gaze still on the road, his voice tight, edged with irritation. “I saw you watching us, and it seemed like the logical thing to tell her. That you’re my girlfriend. I wanted her off my back.”

  A sigh escapes me. This is probably as close to an apology as I’m going to get. “Well, it worked. She left you alone.”

  He sends me a quick glance. “They’ll talk about us for a few days, but then some new drama will happen and they’ll forget all about it, G. I promise.”

  I see the sincerity in his blue ey
es, accompanied by a hint of remorse. He feels bad for telling Noelle I’m his girlfriend? Good. He should. “You owe me.”

  Caleb raises his brows. “What do I owe you?”

  “Dinner,” I say without hesitation, my stomach growling.

  “You should’ve grabbed something before we left,” he says.

  Gross. I’m over the food at Mitchell’s already. That’s the last thing I want. “I want Mexican food.”

  “You want me to buy you dinner?” He doesn’t sound opposed to the idea, so I take this as a positive sign.

  “I do,” I say without hesitation, visualizing chips and salsa and a giant margarita. “I definitely want you to buy me dinner, Caleb. And a drink. Maybe two.”

  “I’m not twenty-one yet,” he says.

  “You will be soon,” I remind him, knowing for a fact that he turns twenty-one in August.

  “Right and your birthday is in February,” he says. “You’ll be twenty-three.”

  It should not charm me that he remembers my birthday. It shouldn’t charm me at all.

  “I’ve always liked older women,” he continues. “They’ve shown me a thing or two over the years.”

  I roll my eyes. Hard. “Gross. You just ruined everything.”

  “Did that get me out of buying you dinner?” He sounds hopeful.

  “Nope. You’re still on the hook for buying me some tacos and a margarita,” I say.

  “Damn,” he mutters, but he doesn’t sound upset. Not at all.

  I think he’s pleased.

  Five

  Caleb

  Yet another argument with Gracie that felt more like foreplay. Is she really that pissed I told Noelle we were a couple?

  Yeah, okay. Probably. But shit, what was I supposed to do? That girl wouldn’t get off my dick. She was practically planning our wedding. I had to say something to stop her from chasing after me.

  Looks like declaring Gracie as my girlfriend might’ve done the trick.

  We argued, but now Gracie is happy with me paying for her margarita, which she is currently sucking down like a champ. We’re at the Mexican restaurant of her choice, a place I’ve never been to, but I’m digging the chips and salsa so I’m good.

  The restaurant is busy, and there are big screen TVs everywhere, broadcasting the same baseball game. The San Francisco Giants, the local favorite. “I used to play baseball,” I say to Gracie.

  Her gaze fills with interest. “Really? When?”

  “Started out playing T-ball. Played league for a while. Even played the first two years of high school, but quit after my sophomore year. Got tired of it. Wanted to focus on football instead,” I explain before I grab another chip and dunk it in salsa.

  “Were you any good?” she asks.

  I grin. “I was fucking great, if you must know. My coach tried to convince me to stay on the team, but I wouldn’t.”

  “You could’ve continued both and been a double threat,” she points out.

  “It was a lot of work. Too many practices. I wanted to have fun the last two years in high school. Not practice all the time,” I admit.

  “Hmm. Well, I guess this is where I admit I played basketball,” she tells me, her expression vaguely mortified.

  “No shit?” This doesn’t surprise me. She’s pretty athletic. She runs a lot in the early morning, though I’m not a fan of that. More that I don’t want her to get hit by a car or attacked by some creep or whatever.

  Gracie nods. “In middle school and most of high school. I was on the track team too. I lettered in track all four years.”

  “You weren’t a cheerleader?”

  “No. Sorry to ruin that fantasy,” she says with a smile, just before she reaches for that drink again. Her glass is half empty and the margarita was huge in the first place, so girl is gonna get lit here real soon. And Gracie is always a good time when she’s got alcohol in her.

  “You’d look good in a short skirt,” I tell her, not holding back.

  “I look even better in short shorts and a tank, running like a beast around the track,” she says with a laugh. “I was fast.”

  “I bet.” She’s always running away from me, that’s for damn sure.

  “I’m still fast.”

  “I don’t doubt you. You’re also pretty strong.” I’ve seen her out on the dock. Most girls are afraid to move the boats because it means they have to drive them, and some of the pontoon boats are huge. Long.

  Like my dick.

  Damn, I even make crude jokes in my head.

  Gracie hasn’t hesitated once out on the dock. We were crazy busy last Saturday with all the boats coming back in, and we needed help because we were falling behind. She jumped right in and steered one of the bigger patio boats we rent out straight into its slip. I was impressed. All the guys were. We paused in the middle of whatever we were doing and burst into applause once she jumped off the boat, and I even whistled at her.

  She smiled and bowed, looked awfully pleased with herself.

  “Thanks,” she says with a smile, her hands curved around her giant glass. “You’re pretty strong too. Do you work out?”

  She bats her eyelashes at me, and I know she’s kidding.

  “We start conditioning next month,” I tell her and when she frowns, I continue, “the football team.”

  “Will that cut into your work hours?” she asks.

  “I’ll just have to rearrange my schedule. It’ll get really busy, juggling both, but I don’t have a choice,” I say. “I need the money.”

  “I get it. I need the money too,” she says with a sigh.

  This is what we have in common, Gracie and me. Besides the whole we can’t commit thing, we also come from middle-class families. Normal families who make average incomes and do average things. It was easy for me to be jealous of one of my best friends when we were in high school. Jake Callahan comes from money and fame, with his mega rich ex-NFL quarterback dad, and he had everything he could ever want. Constant access to exclusive football training, besides the natural ability he inherited from his father. Plus, Jake always had the best clothes, the best car, the best everything.

  I resented him for it for a while, though I never talked about my feelings to anyone. I know our friend Diego resented him too. He comes from even less money than I do. But Jake never acted like a jackass around us. He never bragged either. Hell, he shared his wealth, and his father was cool enough to take the time to actually coach us. I learned a lot from Drew Callahan. He’s still coaching our high school football team, though that’s also because baby Callahan is currently on the team.

  Talk about lucky, having the Drew Callahan coaching us.

  That’s how I turned my head around. I wasn’t jealous anymore. I took advantage where I could. And I realized Jake Callahan was a dope friend who took care of his crew no matter what. He became one of my closest friends. Man do I miss that guy.

  We all do. He’s currently at USC, killing it as their star quarterback. He’ll be drafted by the NFL for sure.

  “I bet you were ridiculous in high school,” Gracie says, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on top of her fist as she contemplates me. “A complete player. Popular. All the girls chased after you.”

  “Wrong,” I say. “I chased after the girls.”

  “I’m sure it was a mutual thing,” she says.

  I shrug, but don’t say anything. Honestly, I was awful. In the early years of high school, I went through pretty much all the girls in our class, making them mad or frustrated or they’d end up flat-out hating me. With the exception of Baylee, who I messed around with on the side the entirety of our senior year, never once admitting to anyone that we were together.

  We really weren’t, though. It wasn’t a real relationship at all. Just a bunch of sneakin’ around and me getting some where I could. Kept that up in college too, though not as frequently.

  “I’m sure you were the hot girl at your school,” I tell Gracie and she starts laughing hysterically. To
the point that I have to wait her out, watching as she laughs and laughs, clutching her sides until she finally dies down.

  “No. I was definitely not the hot girl in high school,” she tells me, her voice firm. “I kept to myself. I was pretty shy. And I had one serious boyfriend my senior year. That’s it.”

  I immediately hate this guy, and I don’t even know who he is. “What was his name?”

  “Aaron,” she admits. “We were together for a while. Most of senior year.”

  “What happened?”

  “He broke up with me right after Valentine’s Day, the prick. He said he wanted to end it then before we left for college, and that he wanted to be free for the rest of senior year,” she says.

  “What a dick,” I mutter.

  “Right? Especially since he went to prom with Bella Moretti.” She scowls. Clearly, Bella Moretti sucks. I bet she’s a hottie though, with a name like that. “They were basically together the entirety of the summer after we graduated, only for her to dump him when she went to UCLA. His explanation for breaking up with me was clearly an excuse.”

  I nod, rubbing my chin, smiling up at the server who drops off a fresh basket of tortilla chips before dashing off. “Was that your only serious relationship? Or have you had more?”

  “Only that one,” she admits. “After that, I told myself I didn’t need anything serious. I became a new person in college. Part of that is thanks to Hayden. She really brought me out of my shell.”

  “Hayden’s a trip,” I say.

  “She’s the best friend I’ve ever had,” Gracie admits with a faint smile.

  “You two together are terrifying,” I admit.

  Gracie frowns. “What do you mean? Do we scare you?”

  “Hell yes,” I say without hesitation. “I wouldn’t mess with the two of you, that’s for sure.”

  “Aww, the big bad football player scared of two strong women,” she teases with a glint in her eyes. “We do know how to make your life a living hell, Caleb.”

  “I know. That’s why I steer clear of you two,” I say, meaning every word.