He sets the laptop on his legs and squints at the screen. He looks like he needs glasses.
I smile at the thought. Dark rimmed glasses, he’d look great. Very scholar-like.
Seconds tick by, he huffs and drags his hands down his face.
“Whit, Jesus. I’m so sorry.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder. “So fucking sorry.”
The sobs have subsided, but tears still fall in their wake. I inhale, wiping the moisture away. “Yeah, thanks. It just sucks, you know?”
He nods his head, face gloomy. “It totally sucks. How is this even possible? It doesn’t seem right.”
I shrug my shoulder. Administration can do whatever the hell they want. “It doesn’t, but there’s nothing I can do.”
I’m fucked, I want to say, but I don’t. Stupid Lark termite is in my head telling me to act like a proper teacher.
“It’s bullshit,” Oliver scolds, rubbing my arm with his hand.
“What the hell is going on, here?”
Lark’s voice booms in the room, sounding twenty shades of pissed.
Oliver moves his hand away, and I scoot over.
“Lark,” I breathe. “What are you doing here?” I sound guilty. I guess, I kind of am, in a way. I didn’t do anything but open myself to a stranger.
Lark glares at Oliver, and he stands up. I follow suit.
“Nothing, man,” Oliver says in an easy breezy tone that pisses me off for a whole new reason.
“Why the fuck are you in my room?” Lark cusses.
Ha! Cusser!
I let myself smile even though this so is not a smiley situation.
“Oh, you know,” Oliver feigns innocence. “Fucking your girl.”
My jaw drops to the ground, and I turn red. Who the hell is this Oliver? Where is the man who held me while I cried? Because this asshole is a whole new man and I don’t like him.
“What?” Lark barks, looking slightly manic.
I shoot a glare at Oliver. “Get out.”
A mocking smile slides onto his face and he walks to the door, bobbing his eyebrows up and down at Lark.
What. The. Fuck.
Lark blows air out of his nose like a bull, and I sit back down on the bed.
“Oh, God, Lark. Really? We weren’t fucking!” I throw my hands in the air. “I was upset and he came to check on me.”
Well, that’s the half-truth.
Lark’s face softens and he moves to me, sitting down. “What happened Whitty? I came back because I felt bad about leaving you upset.”
Well, there ya go. Maybe he isn’t as selfish as I thought.
My tears are done flowing and all I am is vacant. Beaten.
“I’m not graduating this week, Lark. The office messed up my credits and now I have to take three classes before they’ll give me my diploma,” I say in a rushed sentence.
His face lights up.
Whoa, wrong emotion, buddy.
“That’s great!” he exclaims, looking way too happy. This information cut me, and it makes him giddy? What the hell is wrong with him?
I see red. “Great? Lark! I don’t get to graduate,” I enunciate the last word, like I’m talking to a four-year old. “This is awful. How could you say it’s anything but infuriating? My life is being put on hold. I’m fucking pissed!”
I didn’t notice I stood up until he wraps his arms around my waist.
“Baby, this just means we get more time together.”
Oh my God.
I push him away.
“This has nothing to do with you!”
I’m on the move, looking to pack my stuff.
He looks hurt. I mean, I hurt him? Oh, for heaven’s sake!
“I know, I know. It’s just an upside, you know?”
I level my eyes at him. He can’t be serious.
“Lark.” I rub the space between my eyes. “This is huge. Like, potentially could ruin my career, huge. Do you know that jobs look at my school record? They could see that I graduated late and not want to hire me. All because I didn’t know about a damn requirement change,” I say, feeling deflated.
My legs get shaky and I sit down on the bed, again.
He wraps his arm around my shoulder in the same way Oliver did a few minutes ago. Only, this embrace doesn’t feel as warm.
Actually, come to think of it. Oliver can suck a tire. He’s out of his mind playing games like that.
“Jesus, you could at least be happy that you’ll get another semester and a half with me.”
Is he pouting right now? Do my eyes deceive me? Gasp! Lark isn’t getting his way.
“For Christ sake!” I shout, getting out from under his arm. “I’m out of here.”
I move toward the closet, looking for my suitcase. Stuffing my clothes in it, I head to the bathroom and pack my toiletries.
I can’t stay another minute in this house. All it does is piss me off.
Lark and his ridiculousness and Oliver with his…I don’t even know what he is, but he makes me moody, too.
I move with haste in Lark’s room, retrieving my laptop and cell phone. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights and I scowl at him.
“Don’t go, baby. Tell me what I did wrong,” he says, grabbing my arm.
I yank it away. “Figure out what you did wrong, you selfish asshole, and give me a call when you do.” I move away toward the door. “Until then, leave me alone.”
With that, I move down the stairs.
The entire bottom floor is still full of passed out strangers. It’s Sunday morning, which means no one went home after the massive party last night. I do my best to step over limbs, but I manage to smoosh a finger and one arm on the way out.
Oops.
I mutter sorry’s and walk out of the house, never looking back.
When I get home, both Blaine and Holli’s cars are gone, so I park and go inside. Smelling my home puts a sense of peacefulness in my body and I calm down. The tranquil colors of the living room call me, and I sit on the couch.
It’s not long before I drift off to sleep.
It’s still light out when my eyes finally open. I turn to look at the clock on the wall.
Four-forty.
The ocean outside laps and moves toward the shore and without thinking, I leave the house and walk into the sand. Slipping off my sandals, I stroll into the warm water.
No one is around, which helps me think.
Okay, so I can’t graduate right now.
Things could be worse, I suppose. I could have failed a class. That would be horrible. I could have had to drop out because I lost my scholarship. That would have been terrible. At least my scholarship is still intact; I just have to take a couple more classes and I’ll be done.
My phone rings.
“Hi Mom,” I greet. I wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.
“Honey. How are you?” My mom’s loving voice comes through the speaker.
I kick the sand. “I’m—okay.”
Silence.
“What’s wrong?”
Damn that mother’s intuition.
I move back a few steps and sit my butt in the sand and tell Mom about my morning.
“Well, dear. You know you have my support. Things always happen for a reason, maybe this is just a blessing in disguise.”
“How, mama?” I sound like a sad child, and admitting something like that is a little sour. I pride myself on at least acting mature. On the inside? Not so much.
She sighs and I picture her twirling her wedding ring on her finger. “Baby girl, I wish I knew. Just try to find the positive. This gives you more time to find a position in a district you love. Maybe it’ll give you more time to be a kid—for just a little longer.”
She makes me smile. “Mom, I’m twenty-four, acting like a kid is no longer acceptable.”
“Oh, posh. Who gives a shit what everyone says?”
I sputter. It’s always so funny to hear her cuss.
I wonder where I got it from.
Getting an adult job, means I’m really a grown-up. I guess I could put it off a little longer.
It’s not the worst idea ever.
“That’s my girl,” mom coos. “Now, let’s talk about that Lark fella.”
I blanch. “I’d rather not.”
“He’s an ass.”
Another curse! Today is looking up.
“Ma,” I laugh. “He’s not…” I stop myself. “Okay, he totally is.” A skunk is a fucking skunk. And Lark is a smelly mother effer.
“Yes he is and you know it. When are you going to dump him and find me a lovely son-in-law?”
I pick at the sand. “Good God, woman. Quit trying to marry me off. Between you and Holli, I can’t take it. I’m still young, remember? I’m a kid, like you just said, and kids don’t get married.”
She huffs. “Don’t you use my wisdom against me, Whitley Jules Hayes!”
I giggle. “Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not ready to get married right now.”
She gives up. It’s a losing situation. “Fine. I’ll let it drop. I gotta get going. Ben should be home soon, and we are going to dinner with the Flannigan’s.” Ben’s my step-dad. She married him five years ago. Despite the fact that Mom and Dad were extremely unhappy in their marriage, she found someone new who seems to make her happy.
“Okay, Mama. Love you.”
She makes kissing noises. “Love you, baby girl.”
“Tell Ben I said hi.”
“I will. Bye-bye.”
When I hang up the phone, I can’t help but smile. Mom has a way of making things seem not so bad. I’m glad she called. It’s no secret she’d rather have me home in Kansas, but lucky for me, she’ll put my needs before her own. She understands that California is my new home.
Sitting with my feet under me, I close my eyes and breathe in the salty air that I love so much.
“Ooofft.”
Someone runs right into me.
Again with the falling?
I topple over, hitting my head on the soft sand.
“Holy shit,” a man says, pulling at my arm to sit up.
Shaking out the sand in my hair, I turn my head up toward the sky to look at the bulldozer.
With those damn bright blue eyes, Jennings Cohen looks down at me, staring with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen.
I gulp and close my eyes.
“Whitley Hayes, we meet again.”
“JENNINGS,” WHITLEY BREATHES making my heart race speeds that make me worry I might have some sort of palpitation.
My first name may be Oliver, but Jennings is what I’ve answered to for years. It feels good to hear her say my real name. I didn’t think after hearing her call me Oliver that I’d think that, but being the ‘other me,’ I don’t much like Oliver. He’s kind of a pompous prick when he wants to be.
Being Jennings with her excites me, it makes me feel courageous. I’m more like Jennings than Oliver.
Or, I’d like to think so.
So the moment I “accidentally” stumbled into her, I knew I had to charm her panties off.
After I left her this morning with Lark, I felt like a total cocksucker. A complete ass wipe worthy of the nastiest ass in the world. I officially deserve a good punch in the balls for the stunt I pulled.
I feel bad, and I know I shouldn’t have done it, but at the end of the day, I have to be two different people.
Jennings would never in his right mind, do something that low. He’d never make an ass of the woman who he’s kind of crazy about.
Whitley is the one thing both Oliver and Jennings have in common. She’s somehow found herself in both of my lives.
Lucky her.
I’m going to have to piss her off when I’m Oliver, and then make it better as Jennings.
What the hell have I got myself into? I sure as hell didn’t sign up for this.
Hopefully I get the opportunity to be Jennings with her often to make things better. Maybe today was the last time Oliver has to see her. Maybe he can move on from her and let Jennings take all of her time.
Technically, I moved out today to live in my new place. Not really, that was all show. I moved all of my stuff back to my Malibu house. It was a hassle, really.
“What—what are you doing here, Jennings?” Her voice is breathy, making me think she’s excited to see me. Her cheeks are flushed, and I bend down.
I had to have a wig specially made after I shaved most of my hair off, and I feel like it’s going to fly off at any minute with this wind. Thankfully, the make-up designer on my last movie gave me adhesives that make it look real and it stays snug on my idiot cranium.
I’m such a moron for thinking this is a good idea.
I chuckle and lend her my hand to pull her off the ground. “I live down the way.” I point my thumb behind me, in the direction of my house. “I was walking around, not paying attention, obviously, and ran into you. Are you okay, by the way?”
She shakes off the sand from her legs and butt and laughs out loud. “I’m—you know what? I’m great. I possibly might have broken up with my ass of a boyfriend and my mom just talked me down from the ledge.”
She broke up with Lark? What the hell did I do? The guy is a tool, sure, but I didn’t mean to break them up.
I’m a filthy prick.
And the ledge? Is she talking about not graduating?
I open my mouth to ask if Lark is pissed because she isn’t graduating, but I bite my tongue. Jennings doesn’t know anything.
Act aloof, you doof.
Her light blonde hair blows in the harsh breeze, and she uses her hand to pin back the tendrils that fly into her face. Just when her hair seems to be stuffed behind her ear, it’ll fly out from behind it and blow in her face again. I give her a few seconds to fight her hair, but can’t help but smile. As the seconds pass by, she gets more and more aggravated. The woman needs a hair tie or something.
“You broke up with your boyfriend? I’m sorry,” I comment, not sounding the least bit sorry. I’m sure it’s not something that a practical stranger should ask, but I’m curious to hear what happened between them. Plus, I’d like to know if I’m to blame.
She shrugs her little, petite shoulders. Her long, smooth neck moves from side to side, almost working the kinks out. “I—I don’t know, honestly,” she laughs an annoying sounding chuckle. “I was pissed he didn’t understand how big not graduating was to me. He made it about him, of course. So, I stormed out. I think I broke up with him, but I really have no idea. It’s Lark, he does whatever the hell he wants.” She’s talking in my direction, but it’s almost as if she’s talking to herself. It’s sort of endearing. Jennings technically has no idea what kind of man Lark is. “Lark could come around tomorrow and think nothing happened.”
She swipes at the hair in her face again and looks at me.
“I’m sorry you’re not graduating. That’s terrible. You told me you only had a few weeks to go, when we were in the cab. What happened?”
She sits down again, sitting with her legs stretched out in front of her, and lies back on her elbows. Eyes squinting, she looks to me, and moves her eyes to the sand, telling me to sit. I do as I’m told. Oliver would stand to defy her, but I, Jennings, would do what he’s told because he likes her. He wants to make her happy. He wants to see that scowl erased from her beautiful face and permanently replace it with her biggest, broadest smile she’s able to muster. He hopes to see her white, toothy smile shine on her face. He wants to be reminded of the small crookedness of her mouth when she’s been told something sweet, like when I gave her that note. He wants to see her blush a shade of red that really has no real color. The tint is something I’d love to bottle up and keep forever. Whitley blushing might be one of my most favorite images in the world. That, and her smile. That smile? Enough to knock the air from my lungs and shove me on my ass.
Another tear fall
s from her face, and like I did in the cab the first time we met, I pull her up and wrap my arm around her shoulder, letting her lean on me. Giving her comfort.
At least, I hope that’s how she sees the gesture. You know, not putting a move on her.
“The requirements were changed, and I didn’t take the correct classes, so now I have to make them up.”
I rub her arm with my hand.
The sun has fallen in front of our faces and I slide on my Ray Bans.
“That’s some serious bullshit. There’s nothing that can be done to change it?” I ask. I said something to that effect earlier, but we never really got to talk about it. Oliver had to go and fuck it up.
“No, there’s nothing to do. I have to deal with it. I’ll see if I can get into some summer classes and hope to graduate in December,” she concedes.
She’s accepted it and I admire her for that. Most people would be on the floor wailing and complaining. But Whitley, being the strong woman she seems to be, decides to make it work.
“I’m really sorry, Whitley. I wish there was something I could do,” I offer but there’s nothing to be done. I’m not a professor, but since I have the insider information, and know Lark is an asshole who made her situation all about him, she needs someone to be on her side.
I’ll gladly take the position.
She laughs, her head still down, sifting through the sand with her hands. “Thanks, Jennings. That’s sweet, and I wish that too.” She looks to me, and a smile plays on her face. “How are you? I didn’t mean to go all damsel in distress on you.”
I chuckle, and unlatch my arm from her shoulder. I’d like to bring her to my lap, but I squash that thought.
“I’m good, damsel cab girl.” I smirk in her direction and she rolls her eyes, giggling. “The movie wrapped up a few weeks ago, and now I’m free for the next few months.” Well, not really. School is going to occupy my time, but I can’t exactly tell her that.
She turns her body to sit cross-legged in my direction. “Oh yeah? What movie?”
I scratch my wig-covered head, hoping she doesn’t notice the slight move of it. Dammit, Jennings might need to dye his hair and shave it. This isn’t working. “It’s called The Last of You. Ted Bates directed it.”
Anyone but Him Page 8
