“Look, I get it. You want to do this your way. You want to have the best of both worlds. You want to be Jennings the movie star and the down-to-earth-college guy, Oliver. It’s just…Oliver is a big bet. You could lose a lot because you want to play that role.”
Each word out of Bradley’s mouth is a hit. Every word he says is true.
“I know.”
“And what are you going to do when it’s time to leave for your next film? How are Jennings and Oliver going to leave? Right now, she doesn’t suspect a thing because Oliver is there.”
I drag my hands through my hair, frustrated. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t fucking know. All I know is the damage is already done. I’ve already fucked up too much to go back.”
Bradley stops mid-step to look at me, eyes blazing. “Did you sleep with her?”
My stomach drops and I stay silent.
“Dammit, Jennings. You said you’d keep it platonic because you knew you’d both get in too deep.”
When I originally found out about Whitley being in both of my lives, I agreed to keep it in my pants because Bradley drilled it into my head that if I didn’t, it would ruin both of us. He might have been right. Since being with her, I’ve felt everything shift between us. It’s wasn’t just sex with us. Or at least—not with me. I found something in her and I can’t seem to let it go. I can’t stay away.
“How long ago?”
It’s the first day in about two weeks that it hasn’t been overcast and I take my sunglasses off. “How long ago, what?”
“You know what,” he snaps, his brotherly instinct kicking in.
“We slept together last month, alright?”
“Fuck, Jennings,” Bradley scolds. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
We load ourselves in the golf cart and Bradley sets off toward our golf balls.
“Honestly, I’m winging it.”
“Does she suspect anything?”
I’m not going to lie to myself. I’ve had a couple of close calls. My shaved head is beginning to grow out and my contacts don’t seem to cloak me anymore. I’ve sat next to her everyday because minus the fact that I know I should stay as far away from her as possible, I can’t deny myself a little something. She’s fascinating.
“I don’t think so. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Jesus, Jennings.”
“Tell me about it.”
Walking into the Kappa Chi Upsilon house, I have to take a deep breath and center myself. Being in a crowd like this makes me uneasy. Apparently it doesn’t matter if I’m in a room full of reporters or drunken college kids, I still clam up. It’s trickier playing my role here.
“Oliver!” Lark shouts from across the living room. “Bro, come play some beer pong with us.”
Ah, the pastime of our forefathers. I lift my hand in a salute and beeline it for the kitchen to grab a beer.
Alex waves a tentative greeting my way and I lift my eyebrows in acknowledgement. She didn’t exactly leave on the best terms the last time we partied and I kind of feel bad for being a dick. Although, that is Oliver’s style.
Grabbing a bottle of beer and returning to the living room, I stand next to Lark. Popping the top, I take a big swig of beer.
“So, what’s going on with you and Whit?”
Nice to see you, too, cousin.
I shrug a shoulder and take another drink. “Nothing. We have a class together.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah, man. That’s it. Why? You back together with her?”
I know she and I didn’t get into what happened at the coffee house a month ago, but I thought he groveled and that was it.
“I’m getting there,” he states with a sick smile that makes my stomach churn. He’s a player and an all around bad guy. I can’t understand why Whit gave him the time of day.
“You love her?” I ask.
Where did that come from? I don’t care. Well, Oliver doesn’t. Jennings cares, that’s for damn sure. I’m nowhere close to professing my love to her, but that doesn’t mean I want him out there loving her. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. She’s mine.
“What does that mean, do I love her? Love is for pussies, Oliver. Pussies. That’s why I do what I do.”
I crane my neck to get a good look at him. “What exactly do you do?”
“Not important,” he dodges by taking his stance in front of the table to make a shot.
“Whatever, man.”
This is why I didn’t make an effort to hang out with him as kids. He’s a pretentious prick. Can’t get a word of truth out of him and everything that spews from his mouth is complete filth. I don’t know why I try at all.
I turn to head for the exit when I run smack into Whitley.
“Oph,” I grunt.
Her hands curl in front of her on my chest and she looks up.
“Whit.” I smile, looking down into her gray, bloodshot eyes.
She’s sloshed.
“Well, hello handsome,” she slurs, patting my chest.
I scratch my head and look for Lark. He’s sinking shot after shot on the ping-pong table and doesn’t notice her.
“You’re drunk,” I state.
“Yep.” She pokes my chest over and over again. “That I am, Capitan Obvious. Now, let’s go get more alcohol.”
She lets go of me and pulls me to the kitchen, bypassing Lark who is now watching us with a look of disgust.
She wobbles to the fridge and retrieves a beer and opens the top. I watch as she clumsily stumbles against the counter and downs the entire bottle.
“Christ, Whit. Slow down,” I warn, taking the drink from her hand.
“Buzz kill,” she whispers under her breath and grabs a can of something, popping the top.
She’s kind of a charming drunk. You know, in the, she-sort-of-looks-like-a-baby-deer-learning-to-walk kind of way.
“Ouch, Whit.”
She sets the can down and rests her hands behind her on the counter. “A buzz kill is a buzz kill is a buzz kill.” She looks to the left with a puzzled expression, like she knew that made absolutely no sense.
It didn’t and I’m not drunk.
“What’s going on, Whit?”
Jennings talked to her earlier today and we began planning our trip. But, this doesn’t look like a girl who is okay about going on a vacation with the guy she’s seeing. This girl looks like she’s drowning her anxiety in cheap alcohol.
“Nothin’,” she strains to say the word. “I’m just havin’ a good time.” The words come out as one long breath, and she closes her eyes as her head falls forward.
“Your head heavy?” I laugh. She looks like a bobblehead.
“Very,” she mutters underneath her curtain of hair.
In slow motion, she begins to fall forward and I catch her just before she hits the floor.
“Christ, Whit,” I mumble, throwing her arm over my shoulder. “What the hell?”
She clumsily flings her head my way and squints. Well, maybe not. I don’t think she can actually open her eyes.
“What the hell to you, Mr-I’m-Going-To-Completely-Ignore-Everyone-And-Then-Act-All-Knight-In-Shining-Armour.” She shoves me. “Let me go.”
I grip her tighter while she struggles to escape from my anaconda-like vise. Hell, for someone who can’t hold her head up she can certainly give a jab without blinking. Or—you know what I mean…one can’t blink if they don’t open their eyes.
“Whit.” I boost her higher, getting a better grip. “Let’s get you home.”
“No,” she struggles with the simplest word. “I’m staying here.”
She tickles just under my ribcage and my hold on her loosens, making her scramble out of my arms.
Joining Lark at the ping-pong table, she grabs a shot of brown liquid that’s sitting on the table and downs it, wiping it as it tears down her chin.
I cross my arms and watch as she pushes herself further and further from sobriety and into drunkenness.
I stalk to her and grab her arm forcefully. Bending to her ear, I harshly whisper, “Lets get out of here. Now.” My tone makes it painstakingly obvious I’m not messing around. I’ll pick her up and haul her ass out here if she doesn’t comply. There is no way I’m letting her stay here with Lark.
Thankfully for me, though, she lets go of Lark and pivots toward me and I think she’s agreeing. “Oliver…whatever your last name is, I’m not going anywhere with you.”
I rear back.
Lark is watching us intently, but he looks to be out of it, too. “Listen, Oliver.” Lark steps forward, a little wobbly on his feet. “Whit is a big girl. If she wants to stay, she can stay.”
I’m already shaking my head. “No.” I look to Whitley, again. “You’re coming with me.”
“Look, dude. I’ll kick your ass,” Lark seethes.
I roll my eyes. “And how will you do that, exactly?” I raise two fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
He squints. “Not the point.”
“It’s exactly the point.” I step closer. “Cousin.”
He lets his arm fall from Whit and she leans on the table, looking for stability. She’s further gone than I thought.
“Oh, yeah, cousin?” he sneers. “I think it’s time you leave.”
“Larky…” a blonde woman whines, walking toward Lark.
He looks away from me and his eyes widen, shock written all over his face. He immediately sobers. Standing up straighter, he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks to the blonde. The crickety boards under his feet creak as he walks and everyone in the room quiets down to see what the big deal is. His eyes flash anger—menace.
She’s standing next to me now, and Lark grabs her arm, attempting to yank her away. She stands her ground, though. By the looks of it, she doesn’t seem to be drunk, which gives her the upper hand at the moment. Lark may have sobered up a bit by seeing the woman, but the liquor is still in his system and he isn’t as strong as he appears.
“Shannon,” he grinds out, trying to be silent. “What are you doing here?”
She looks around, confused. “We have an appointment.”
“An appointment?” Whitley asks, standing behind Lark.
Damn little woman. I didn’t see her.
Lark shushes her. “Shannon, I canceled,” he lowers his voice. “Remember? I told you she’d be here.”
My eyes dart back and forth between Lark, Whit and the woman named Shannon. What the hell is going on here?
“No.” She shakes her head. “You said to be discreet. Here I am, being discreet. I don’t even see her here.”
In the front of his body, Lark uses his thumb to point at Whitley.
Seriously, what the fuck is going on?
Shannon stands on her tiptoes and peeks over Lark’s shoulder at Whitley. Whitley raises her eyebrows and crosses her arms.
She’s sobered up a bit, too.
“What appointment, Lark?” Whitley asks, again.
“Nothing, baby,” he remarks over his shoulder.
Shannon looks to the side, at me, pointing her finger. “She doesn’t know?”
I shrug my shoulders. I don’t know either, for that matter.
“I don’t know what?” Whit urges.
“Your boyfriend has a business.”
“Shannon, shut the hell up,” Lark scorns, giving her a pointed look.
Whitley shakes her head, stepping next to Lark. “What business?”
Lark has pissed off Shannon, and it’s obvious she’s about to give some big secret away and the entire party has stopped talking to hear what it is. You could hear a pin drop—upstairs. The place is so soundless.
“Don’t listen—,” Lark stops. Whitley has put her hand up, advising him to shut up.
“You better tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Shannon exasperates. “Lark has his own damn escort service.”
My eyes bulge and I look to Lark who’s gone stark white. He gulps down the lump in his throat and looks at Whit, but her face has turned completely blank.
No one says a word for a few beats, and I wonder if Whitley is going to combust on the spot or if she’s just going to walk out. She’s sort of a firecracker and I’m not sure what to expect.
She clears her throat and moves her eyes to me. “You can take me home now.”
I nod my head and fish in my pockets for my keys.
“Wait, Whit.” Lark reaches for her.
“Don’t.” She pulls out of his grasp. “Don’t, you insignificant, little worm. How long has this been going on?”
He looks like she’s kicked him in the nuts. “Not long, Whitty. Baby, I’m so sorry.”
Shannon scoffs. “I’ve had an ongoing appointment with him for the past eight months.”
Whitley’s nostrils flare and she shoves past Lark. “If you ever come within kicking distance of me, I’ll punt your fucking nuts. Got it? As far as talking to me? I don’t want you to even breathe in my direction.”
She moves past us, and storms out of the door.
I don’t look back at Lark and sprint for Whitley who is in the front yard, leaning against a tree.
Tears aren’t streaming down her face, and she’s not a blubbering mess, but she is red-faced.
I’m almost afraid for my balls to approach her. “Whit…”
“Just.” She holds up her hand, stopping me. “Just give me a second.” Her slur is back and she seems to be having a hard time keeping upright.
I take a step back and give her some space.
“Where’s your car?”
I jut my finger over my shoulder. “Down the street.”
“Let’s walk.”
“You sure?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she answers. “I need to sober up a bit.”
She hoists herself off of the tree but wobbles on her feet. I rush to her to give her some support. Hitching her arm over my shoulder, we start our walk to my truck.
“Thanks,” she says a few houses down the street.
“For what?”
“Giving me a ride.”
“It’s not a big deal, Whit,” I reply as we approach my old, 1985 pickup.
“It is.”
I help her into the truck and make my way around the front to sit in the driver’s seat.
When I start the engine, Whit takes a deep breath. “I swear I’m not hitting on you, or wanting a rebound, but could I stay with you tonight? I’m smashed and I really don’t want to be home alone.”
Holli is back in Vancouver, and won’t be home till next week.
“Sure. It’s not too far from here.”
I bought a condo in town when I started school in case I needed a place close to crash for the night. My interior designer decorated it, and it has no trace of Jennings anywhere.
“Okay.”
Whitley fell asleep two minutes into our ten-minute ride to the condo and refused to wake up when we go there. I awkwardly picked her up and rode the elevator to the top floor of Laken Estates to my condo. I’m going to be honest, a girl, no matter her weight, isn’t easy to lug around. Carrying a person who is passed out is basically a heavy-ass sack of potatoes. It looks much easier in the movies.
I should know.
As much as I hate it, I set her in the guest room bed, and cover her with blankets. I’d prefer to have her in my bed, obviously, but that isn’t an option for Oliver.
Switching the lamp off, the glow from the living area illuminates the room and I bend down to kiss her forehead.
Whitley sighs and a smile forms on her mouth. “Good night, Jennings,” she breathes.
I stop breathing and my heart accelerates.
What have I just done?
OKAY, SO, I’M IN A STRANGER’S BED.
Why am I in a stranger’s bed?
I look around trying to find clues but come up short.
I remember going to Lark’s party last night. I drove myself because I knew I’d need a quick getaway. He invited me, and I felt bad because I never actually told him to go blow a whale when he asked to take me back. I evaded the whole situation with a case of the “duck and run” method. I shoved my tail between my legs and pretended I had a headache. So, my stupid brain thought I could go to the party and let him down easy.
That obviously didn’t happen.
Jennings called right before I left and we discussed going on a trip together. It would have been a highlight of my day. My week, even, but something in his voice made me think twice. Almost as if he’s subconsciously trying to tell me something and I can’t quite figure it out. So, I got off the phone excited and anxious. Which turned into doubt. And, maybe it’s because I haven’t seen him in at least a month, or the fact that no matter how hard I try, I can’t get my past out of my head.
Since the day my distorted face hit the tabloids, I’ve been waiting for the dark shadow of my past to stop lurking. Expecting it to jump out and cut my throat. Because when it does show itself in the light of day, I don’t know if I’ll recover. I’ve shoved it so far into my mind, that if I’m actually forced to deal with it, it might rip me in two. I haven’t delved deep into my past since before I left Kansas. I tarnished that city.
The smell of coffee breezes through the air under the closed door and I swing my legs out of the bed. Thankfully, there’s a bathroom attached to the room, so I shuffle in and sit on the toilet. Covering my face with my hands, I attempt to remember the happenings of the previous night.
I remember arriving at the house to find Lark on the phone with someone. It looked like he was arguing. My blood pressure was still high after my conversation with Jennings, so I walked straight to the refrigerator and grabbed the first thing that touched my hand and downed it. I remember watching Lark play beer pong for an hour while I continuously drank on the couch. I know Alex came up to me, attempting to talk and I told her to fuck off, which made her turn beet red and walk away. I can be sort of a bitch when I’m drinking. I recall jumping on the coffee table and dancing with a couple girls. Bumping and grinding a chick isn’t normally my thing but apparently hard liquor makes me do absurd things.
Anyone but Him Page 18
