I’m about to meet Hurricane Holli.
Sweet Lord, help me.
“Umm—I don’t know if I want to tell you. I don’t even know if you’d believe me anyway.”
I’m being truthful. If anyone had told me a month ago that I’d meet Jennings Cohen in a cab, almost get trampled by crazed fans, and leave him with a sweet gesture in tow, I would have told you you’re bat shit crazy. Stuff like this doesn’t happen in real life.
At least, not mine, anyway.
She sets the note on my bed stand, and moves my arms, making me look up.
“Don’t give me that bull hockey, who wrote the note?”
Her bull hockey statement doesn’t go unnoticed, but I let it slide. Her Texas side is coming out, and if it were any other time, I’d give her shit.
I look to the ceiling. “Jennings Cohen.” I close my eyes and wait for the eminent squeal that’ll for sure come from Holli’s mouth.
In a flash, I feel her stand up. “Jennings Cohen wrote you that?”
I peek an eye open to find her giving me a quizzical look.
“How? When? I just talked to him a couple days ago. Wait,” she stops her tirade. “Did you tell him about me? Does he know you know me?”
I feign innocence. “Maaaaybe.”
“Holy shit!” She throws her hands in the air, bringing them down to slap on her sides. “What the fuck, Whit? How could you not tell me?”
I recoil, and retreat further onto my bed. “I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I just wanted to keep him a secret for as long as possible. He was sweet, and a little cocky,” I admit, letting myself smile. “I wanted to keep it to myself.” I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not mad. I’m just—I don’t know. Confused. We usually tell each other everything, and meeting Jennings is kind of huge. How did it happen?”
I wipe my hands down my face. “It’s a long story.”
She gives me a knowing smirk, and I have no idea what she’s thinking. I’m reluctant to even dive into her crazy ass head.
“Although, it makes sense why he called out of the blue.”
My mouth forms into a thin line. “What do you mean?”
She slumps back onto the bed. “I haven’t heard from him in months. He’s been busy with filming, and we haven’t had the chance to catch up. Anyway, when he called he was acting weird—jumpy almost, asking if I had a roommate. None of it made sense. I had no idea why he was asking me that. It was so unlike him. I just blew it off. Jennings can be an odd ball sometimes.”
I sit up straighter, my heart beating fast. “He asked about me? What did he say?” Why do I sound so interested?
Why oh why do I give a shit about him asking Holli about me?
I’m a glutton, apparently.
She gives me a somber look. “Listen, Whit. Jennings isn’t someone you should get involved with.”
I deflate and pick at my nails. “I know.”
She bumps my shoulder with hers. “He only asked if I lived with someone. The last time I saw him, we were filming WTP. We became pretty great friends. He got close to Blaine, as well. But—he always had a different girl in his trailer every night. He’s a charmer, and by the looks of it, he’s still playing that game.”
“I know. It’s just—you know that the tabloids are shit. Even you said they are snakes. They like to make up shit just to sell magazines.”
Why am I defending him? I know he’s a player.
“That’s true. I’ve just seen what he can do to the trail of hearts he leaves in his wake, and I don’t want you to be one of them. He’s a charmer, but that charm runs out once he’s had his fill.”
I groan, but make sure my heart hears her words.
“Don’t worry. I have Lark, remember?” Even that is a depressing thought.
She fakes dry heaving. “Good God, please don’t remind me. You need to kick his ass to the curb.”
I blow out a lungful of air. “Moving on. How was your day?”
She wiggles her perfectly manicured nail. “No way. Spill. What the hell happened with Jennings?”
My eyebrows downcast into my eyes. “A few weeks ago, I took a cab home, and we passed by the arena where the convention was being held. Fans chased him and he ended up in my cab.”
“Fans chased him? That’s scary.”
I nod my head. “It was. They attacked the cab. It was nuts. The police broke it up, and we drove here.”
“So, Jennings knows where you live?”
I pick up the note again and run the rumpled paper through my hands. “Yep.”
“Well, he lives down the street.”
My heart races. He lives down the street?
It makes sense—I guess. A lot of celebrities live in this community. I just had no idea he was one of those celebrities.
It doesn’t matter.
He can live in the same house, and it wouldn’t matter.
He’s a modern day Romeo. I can’t get mixed up with him.
Even as friends, he’d be toxic to me.
Or—my heart. Whatever.
“Well, that’s news to me. It doesn’t change things, Holls. I’m with Lark. I’m not going to cheat on him.”
She lifts her body from the bed, and heads toward the door. Turning around to look at me, she lets her eyes fall to the floor. “I know you’d never cheat. I’m not insinuating you’d do anything like that. I just worry about you.”
I give her a mocking smile. “You do? I hadn’t noticed.”
She pulls off her sock and throws it at me, hitting my arm. “Shut up, you know I love you.”
I toss the sock back in her direction, but she’s turned to leave and it flies through the open door. “Love you too.”
“By the way,” she calls over her shoulder, “What’s for dinner? It smells like it’s burning.”
I bolt off the bed and run to the kitchen.
Upon opening the oven, a plume of smoke engulfs the clean air and I cough.
Son-of-a-biscuit.
“I burnt the chicken. Dammit! I guess we’re having pizza tonight,” I yell down the hall, toward Holli’s room.
She peeks her head out of the door. “Great! I’m starving.”
We pass the night by eating pizza and watching movies.
Friday comes, and I study—I study a lot. I have high hopes for my finals and I don’t want to let myself down. I’m trying to make myself better. I’m tired of being the gypsy, I want to put some serious roots down, and make my own way.
I think both Mom and Dad secretly hope I’ll fail and move home to Kansas. But, I know that if I go home, I’ll never come back. Scarsdale is a little town outside of Wichita where everyone knows everyone. I couldn’t outrun the rumors surrounding my past.
Needless to say, I didn’t leave on good terms.
So, I left angry. Angry at the world. Angry that I was put into a situation where I had to leave. I didn’t have a choice. Leave or face the possibility of not making it out alive.
Love fucked me over.
But, love shouldn’t fail, right? It should always persevere.
It didn’t. It failed me.
Mom and Dad weren’t shining examples of it, either. How can I expect my own to endure?
My parents’ relationship confused me. I never fully understood what was right and wrong in a relationship.
So, I made a lot of mistakes.
Mistakes I couldn’t take back.
Mistakes that ruined me.
I had to leave.
So, California is my home, now. I have to find a way to make it work here.
And making the Dean’s List will help with that.
So, I study my ass off.
By the time I get home, I find Lark already making himself at home in my bed. Lying on his back with his hands behind his head, looking at the ceiling.
The floor creaks under my feet, and Lark looks my way. His eyes light up when he notices me at the door.
�
��Hi babe, how was your day?”
I throw my messenger bag on my desk and fall into the bed, stomach down. “Long.” My fluffy pillow contours around my head, and I shift to my back. “How was yours?”
Pulling one of his hands from behind his head, he plays with the hem of my shirt. “Good. Boring. Oliver got here, I guess.”
Oliver. Right. Forgot he was supposed to arrive today.
“How long is he staying at your place?”
As Lark’s hand inches further north, he says, “He’s leaving on Tuesday. I guess he got a place close to the campus.”
I involuntarily move toward his hand. My hormones have a mind of their own. “Oh, nice. I guess we’ll be seeing more of him.”
He’s reached his destination, and he squeezes. “Uh-huh. Enough about Oliver.”
His mouth finds mine and Oliver is forgotten.
It’s almost midnight; Lark and I are lying in bed, listening to the sounds of the house. I snuggle into his muscled chest, and rub circles on his pecs.
He sighs in contentment and kisses my forehead. “There’s a party at the house tonight.”
I laugh into his chest. When isn’t there a party? “What about it?”
He says nothing.
I lift my head and place my chin on his chest. “What’s up?”
“It’s probably going to be crazy. Are you sure you don’t want to maybe get a hotel tonight? We could order in, have a romantic dinner.”
Sounds sweet, but I don’t really have money to throw away. If I can’t find a job, I’m going to need every dollar in my bank account. And besides that, Lark doesn’t work. I have no idea how he can pay for anything.
“That sounds nice, but we don’t really have the money.”
He sighs. “You’re right. So, I guess we’ll party it up.”
“One last hoorah before I graduate,” I say in a voice that sounds reminiscent.
“What am I going to do without you?”
I will my eyes not to roll in the back of my head. He’s greatly mistaken if he thinks he’s going to miss me much. I know guys like him. He’ll move on.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say dreamily—fake. “You’ll figure it out.”
It’s then; I notice he’s already asleep.
He didn’t even care to hear my answer.
The end is near, and I’m ready for it.
“Come on, Lark. We have to get going. Blaine and Holli will be here any second. We need to be long gone by then,” I call up the stairs.
Trudging his heavy feet down the stairs, he slings his bag over his shoulder. “I’m coming. Jesus, Whitty.”
Skirting to the kitchen, I grab my purse. “This is important. We have to go now.”
He throws his bag forcefully on the ground and taps his foot. “It’s your house, too. You can take your time.”
Steam bellows from my ears. “It’s called common courtesy, Lark.” Not that he really knows what that is.
“So, we’re basically leaving so they can fuck all over the house?”
Oh, good God.
“Who cares? I’m not staying here.”
“Jesus, Whitty. Grow a backbone, will ya? This is your house, stake your claim!”
I’m angry pacing a hole in the floor, now. He’s starting to really piss me off.
Maybe he’ll be the first guy I break up with.
“Why do you care so much?” I spit at him.
The flicker of uncertainty flashes in his eyes and my stomach hurts.
What isn’t he telling me?
“I only care about you.” His features soften, and he moves toward me.
I’m not really feeling sleeping at his smelly house. Hell, I’m really not feeling him, but I have nowhere else to go.
His moody ass is my only option.
Yay for me.
Something lingers in the back of my mind, tapping on my brain, trying to make my eyes see. Lark’s hiding something. I can feel it. It’s yelling for me to figure it out. The question is if I care enough to put the clues together.
“What’s the deal, Lark?” I move toward the living room and sit on the couch.
He fakes ignorance. “What deal?”
I put my head in my hands, and sigh. “Something’s up.”
He sits next to me, and grabs my hands, forcing me to look at him. “I truly only care about you,” he repeats, kissing my hands. “I wanted tonight to be perfect.”
I fight the impulse to take my hands from his, but I don’t. I sit still, letting my heart pound, and that thought tap-tap on my brain.
He’s got to be hiding something…
His whole demeanor changed in the blink of an eye and I have no idea what to make of it. My brain hurts from the whiplash.
I have an inkling that I’m not going to like where this conversation is going.
“What do you mean?” I ask, my hands starting to shake.
He finally lets go of my hands and stands up. “I love you, Whitty.”
Like being sucker punched in the gut, all of the air leaves my lungs and I gasp for air.
“What—what did you just say?”
He can’t be serious. We’ve been together three months. This is moving fast. Way, way too fast. I’m nowhere near love. How can he just come out with it so easily?
For Christ sake, we literally spend weekends together. That’s sixteen days we’ve been in each other’s presence. How could he possibly say he loves me? How can he know? I sure as hell don’t.
“I—uhh.” My mind blanks. “I don’t know what to say.”
His face looks slightly ashen, but he recoups quickly. “Come here,” he offers me his hands.
I blindly take them, and he places them around his neck, making me hug him tight.
“You don’t have to say anything. I just had to put it out there.”
Out where? Into oblivion so I never have to say or hear them again?
Let’s hope.
I set my chin on his shoulder and keep quiet.
There’s a lot that has to happen in a relationship before I can fully voice loving someone. I don’t even fully trust him enough to properly love me. I’ve never loved before.
Do I even know how to love?
I guess if I can’t answer that question, the reply is a resounding no.
Nope, not ready. Not even a little bit. And I’m pretty sure I’m okay with that.
I’d like to think that if you feel it, you simply know. You don’t guess. And with Lark, I’m not even in the vicinity of guessing. His love is a multiple-choice question, on a test I haven’t studied for.
His like, I thought was up in the air. More times than not, I thought he was annoyed with me.
I made him wait a month for sex.
Gasp! I know. A month.
I thought for sure he’d dump me by the second week. But every week that went by, he became more and more understanding.
It made no sense. He makes no sense.
“Let’s get going,” he says.
And there’s the change of attitude, again. I can’t keep up.
I nod my head and move for the door to the garage, not wanting to talk about any of this anymore.
When we pull up to the frat house, it’s already hopping with partygoers. People sit in lawn chairs in the yard, drinking beer, playing football, and making out.
When we step inside the house, it’s crowded with already-drunk college kids. Squished like sardines, they’re practically on top of each other. Moving and gyrating to the loud thumping of the music, it looks like the ocean moving in waves. I’m a little lightheaded watching them.
I close my eyes and move toward the stairs to put my things away.
“I’m going to grab a beer,” Lark shouts into my ear, over the music.
I nod, but keep making my way towards Lark’s floor.
He just professed his love, and he’s not going to help me upstairs?
Chivalry is officially dead, ladies.
All is quiet on the top on the h
ighest story of the house, and I sigh in relief.
I’m not in the mood to be here, so I take my time, putting my stuff in cabinets.
Once my clothes are hung up and my toiletries are in the bathroom, I sit on the bed.
“Oh.” A guy stops at the door, looking wide-eyed and curious.
I quickly stand up to look up at the anomaly. No one is allowed up here but Lark and myself.
He’s got light blonde hair and gorgeous green eyes. Or are they blue? I can’t tell from this distance. There’s something familiar about them that makes me not want to look away. With a tight fitted black tee and low riding jeans, he is edible.
I’m going to be honest, he’s hot. Super hot. Like, sex-on-a-stick hot.
And a complete stranger.
What is up with hot strangers unknowingly coming into my life?
A slow, knowing smile slides onto his face, almost like a light bulb went off in his brain.
What is that smile all about?
Why do I feel like he’s in on a joke that I’m not a part of?
And why the hell do I want to be a part of that joke? I don’t know him from Adam.
Ugh, one glance from him and I’ve become the damn Question Queen.
Kick it into gear, woman!
I look to the dresser for something to defend myself with. The best I come up with is the lamp. He may be one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen, but that doesn’t mean I won’t go crazy on his ass if he tries to hurt me.
“What are you doing up here?” I ask, a little panicked, taking a step toward my phone sitting on the dresser.
He puts his hands up in surrender with a smile playing on his lips.
“Whoa—whoa, Cupcake. It’s alright. You don’t need to hit me with a blunt object. I’m just putting my stuff away.” He points his finger to the only other room at the end of the hall.
I hastily move my hair from my eyes. “Who are you? No one rooms up here but Lark.”
He stokes his chin. “Then why are you up here?”
I groan. “It’s not really any of your business, but I’m Lark’s girlfriend.”
Amused, he rolls his eyes. “You’re Lark’s girl?” He eyes me with delight. “Lucky bastard.”
His stupid smirk makes me antsy. And his eyes dance around his face, making me feel off.
I don’t trust him.
I wrap my hands around my middle, feeling awkward. He looks at me with intent—and I’m not sure of his intentions.
Anyone but Him Page 5
