Placing his hand on his hip, he thrust it out to the side dramatically. “Girl, that’s not the only thing I can swallow like wat-”
“La la la la! I can’t hear you!” I shouted, cutting him off as I made a run for the door.
“Don’t hate the player, girlfriend!” he called after me, leaning over the counter and sporting his gleaming smile.
I chuckled as I used my back to open the door. Stepping out on to the sidewalk, I took a lung full of air, hoping it would take the edge off this damn hangover. Nope, still felt like someone was pounding my head like a bongo drum. Sighing, I made my way back towards campus, with every step like pure torture to my painful head. My phone suddenly chimed in my purse and I groaned.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
Trying to juggle my coffee, I pulled out my phone from my purse, taking a look at the screen I smiled. Tate. Sliding my finger across the screen, I put the phone to my ear using my shoulder.
“Mornin’!” I cheered into the phone.
“Hey baby,” he huffed. He must be running, I thought; he ran every morning, no matter the weather. “I’m just on the last leg of my run, meet me at the coffee shop?”
“Way ahead of you, babe.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. You didn’t harass Jared again, did you?”
“Would I?”
“Yes, yes, you would. Now, tell me what you’re wearing.” He chuckled huskily into my ear.
“Why do you want to know what I’m wearing?”
“Because I need to make sure that the woman I am about to throw over my shoulder is my girl.”
“Arghhh!” I screamed as Tate flung me over his shoulder, my phone still attached to my ear and my coffee wobbling in my hand. “Tate, I’m going to drop the fucking coffee! Put me down!”
He laughed at my outburst, sliding me down the front of his sweaty body, making sure I felt every single muscle ripple underneath me. “What I have I told you about that filthy mouth of yours?” he husked into my ear.
I rolled my eyes as he took the coffee from my hand. “The only time I should be saying ‘fuck’ is when I’m underneath you.”
Arrogant ass.
“You’re finally learning,” he whispered, leaning in and pressing his sweat-lined forehead against mine. His right arm snaked around my waist, pulling me towards his deliciously hot body. “Kiss me, Low.”
His lips were so close to mine, holding me captive with every breath. This was what he did to me, holding me prisoner with his close proximity, rendering me completely stupid. I can’t get my bearings around him, I never could. My control had left the building. Poof. Gone. Sliding my hand around his neck, I pulled him in the last couple of inches and crashed his lips to mine. My phone dangled from my fingertips as I moaned against his mouth. His lips were plump but soft, his bottom lip a little bigger than the top, fitting against mine perfectly. He was warm, so warm that I almost couldn’t take the heat that radiated from him.
“I missed you last night,” he growled against my lips, and I melted instantly.
No one has ever made me feel like Tate does, and it scared the shit out of me.
I slowly broke the kiss, stopping before we went further than a PG rating on the sidewalk. I needed to regain my focus: this is what happened anytime he was near. I was completely and utterly vulnerable when it came to him.
I lifted my gaze to his, trying hard not to lose myself in those deep green irises which held so many secrets, wisdom, and fear. We all have secrets; some are small but others can be big enough to break dreams and shatter futures. Everyone is hiding something: I was one of them.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, holding my chin between his thumb and finger as his eyes inspected every inch of my face.
“I need to get over to Logan’s, I need to give Neva the research she asked for,” I dismissed, trying my hardest to break out the smile that told him I’m fine. For a minute I was sure he had found me out, his eyes stared into mine and for a fleeting second I couldn’t help but hold my breath.
“Okay. I’m headed back to grab a shower, meet me after class?” he asked, seemingly unaware of my internal battle.
I nodded. Swiftly, he pressed a feather-light kiss to my lips before pulling back and turning to walk away.
“Oh, and remind that jackass that Coach wants a quiet word with him. And if he starts giving you crap about it, a swift punch in the nuts should suffice.” He smiled over his shoulder before setting off at a brisk jog.
I chuckled before taking a sip of my searing hot coffee, the burn numbing my tongue – just the way I liked it. With my free hand, I pulled out my cell. Sliding my finger across the screen, I punched in Neva’s cell and hit call. When there was no answer, I threw my phone back into my purse and made my way over to Logan’s apartment. I shrugged: she was probably in the shower.
I took three flights of stairs to Logan’s apartment, my hangover still in full force as every step felt like pure torture to every inch of my weak muscles. Slipping my copy of Neva’s key into the door, I heard a click before I swung it wide open.
“S’appening, bitches!” I shouted, quickly regretting my dramatic entrance. “Oh. Dear. God!” I yelled, throwing my hands over my eyes. “I saw vagina… penis… ah, shit. My eyes, my eyes!”
“Get out, Low!” Neva shouted from the direction of the sofa.
“Oooof!” I grunted, taking something to the gut. Probably a cushion. “Okay, I’m going!” I turned, my hands still over my eyes, as I tried to navigate back out of the door.
“Ouch. Fuck!” I groaned as I walked into what felt like a wall. “Shit, my damn toe! The fuck’s lying on the floor? It’s a death trap for the currently sex blinded best friend in here!” I cursed, hopping on one foot.
“The door, Low!” Logan grunted from… somewhere in the room.
“Hey, don’t get all snarky with me. I didn’t come over here to see your wang and her cooter!”
“Low!” they shouted in unison.
“Okay, okay!” With my hands still over my eyes, I finally navigated my way out the door. Peering through my fingers, I sighed with relief as I spotted the hallway wall opposite me.
Hangover—gone. Gross images of my best friend and her boyfriend bumping uglies on the sofa—ever fucking present. I looked down at my feet as a niggling sensation told me I’d forgotten something.
Clean panties? Check.
Matching shoes? Check.
Clean teeth? Check.
Huh. What was I missing? Then I looked down at my hands. Oops!
With the surprise of walking in on my friends, I must have dropped my damn coffee in the living room. Great.
“Ever heard of knocking?”
The sound of Neva’s voice broke me out of my missing coffee induced thoughts. Turning, I couldn’t help but laugh as she pulled down the hem of her oversized t-shirt.
“Trust me, I don’t want to see…” I waved in her general direction, “that ever again.” I cringed.
“Shut your face and come inside.” She smirked, turning and walking back into Logan’s apartment.
Walking through the door and into the living room, I suddenly let out a large belly laugh, throwing my head back as I noticed Logan on his knees, grumbling as he cleaned up what looked like a puddle of my coffee.
“You’ve domesticated him? Nice call,” I said, flicking my gaze to my best friend, who only rolled her eyes at me.
“It’s a good thing I have hardwood flooring, Low. Otherwise I would make you suck every drop of coffee out of the carpet.” Logan grunted as he soaked up more of the coffee with a towel.
“Whatever you say, man whore.” I smiled, producing a fake gasp. “I mean, reformed man whore.” I smiled sweetly.
“I might change my major to forensics,” he muttered under his breath.
“Whatever, you love me, really. Anyway, Tate told me to tell you that Coach wants a quiet word with you,” I said with a wave of my hand.
“The fuck? Why?�
�� he asked, standing from his position on the floor and wiping his hands on his unzipped jeans.
Rolling my eyes, I stepped towards him, quickly slamming my fist into his crotch.
“Oooof!” He gasped. “The fuck was that for?”
“For being a jackass.” I laughed as he bent over, rubbing his nuts.
“Low, please leave my boyfriend’s nuts alone, I need those,” Neva shouted from the bedroom.
“Oh, that’s just gross,” I moaned mockingly, flashing a wink at Logan before walking to the bedroom.
Stepping into the room, I noticed how homely it had become. The last time I was here, I was dragging a pitiful Logan from his bed by his ankles, making him realize he had to fight for the love of his life. Fight for Neva. Now, a month later, it seemed as though things were good for them.
I let my gaze drift, taking in the room around me. The walls were painted an off-cream, a stark difference to the dark hardwood flooring. The furniture was minimal: two large dressers stood against the wall to my right, while a large queen size bed stood against the wall opposite. There were small trinkets here and there, but what caught my eye was the picture frame on the bedside table, with a picture of our little group. The picture must have been three years old, everyone looking a little less mature and innocent. There was me, Tate, Neva, Logan, Ace, and the twins.
“I miss those days,” Neva said, standing by my side, now dressed in jeans and a fitted Goo Goo Dolls top.
“Yeah, we look so young,” I whispered, staring into my own icy blue eyes.
“Tate had a thing for you even then.” She laughed.
My eyes darted to hers, disbelief clogging my throat as she smiled.
“You really didn’t know, did you?” she asked, taking the frame from my hands. “Look at his eyes, Low, they’re solely focused on you.”
She placed the frame back into my hands, shaking her head as she threw her hair up into a messy bun.
I took in the picture once more, my eyes trained on Tate as he stared at my younger self. I gulp hard: a lot had changed since then. Except me; I hadn’t changed, just merely understood far more than I should.
“Do you think Ace had his wang pierced by then?” I laughed, swiftly changing the subject.
“Oh, god. I hope not.” She cringed, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head. Grabbing her jacket and purse, she flashed me a smile.
I chuckled, placing the frame back on the bedside cabinet and leaving the room.
Walking back into the living room, I watched with a smile as my best friend embraced the love of her life, holding on as he kissed her fiercely. He held her like she was strong, like she could hold her own. Unlike how fragile and breakable she had been only a couple of months ago. She had come a long way, facing the demons of her past head on, kicking their proverbial asses in the process. There were times where she still lacked the strength she needed, but now she had Logan, the man who had been with her through the rough and the smooth. He was her rock, and she damn well deserved it. They deserved each other, finally.
“For the love of all things holy, can you please stop sucking face? I already have a delicate stomach and I have a class to get to.” I groaned.
Pulling away, they both laughed. Neva rolled her eyes before placing another kiss on Logan’s lips.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you too,” Logan replied with a show-stopping smile.
“Gag. I’m leaving the USB drive on the coffee table, I can’t stand around here much longer and watch your little love fest,” I said, placing the drive on the coffee table to my right.
Turning, Neva smiled and replied, “Thank you. You’re coming over to Bones tonight, right?”
“It’s a date!” I said over my shoulder as I made my way out of the apartment.
A warm March breeze danced over my neck as I finally made it out of the love shack that was Logan’s apartment, the smell of spring very much in the air. The scent of fresh lavender and blooming daisies hit my nostrils as I made it campus within ten minutes. Checking my watch, I had twenty minutes to get to Dr. Voxen’s criminology class. Criminology was my major; I loved trying to understand the mindset of crime in different situations in life and what could cause a person to turn to the crime world.
Pulling my purse higher on my shoulder, I slipped through the throng of students who were making their own way to classes. After finally navigating my way through the narrow corridor filled with bustling students, I made it to my criminology class with five minutes to spare. Opening the door and stepping in, I took my usual seat on the middle row.
The room was like every other in Spring Water College; whitewashed walls filled with subject related articles in black frames, row after row of blue seating facing a dry erase board and desk.
The room slowly started to fill up as I pulled out my notepad and pen, ready to take notes on the subject I was most dreading: Organized Crime and the Psychological Implications. Criminology was a subject I was passionate about, and understanding just what made a criminal tick intrigued me. Dr. Voxen was a well-received expert within the field, a psychologist who had based most of his twenty year research on the most explosive of criminal minds behind bars: organized crime lords.
“Okay, settle down,” Dr. Voxen announced as he made his way to his desk, throwing his briefcase down and taking out a projector pen. “Organized crime 101.”
The light in the room suddenly eclipsed, placing a blanket of darkness over the entire room.
“Organized crime, in basic terms, is defined by a group of criminals engaging in illegal activity for monetary profit,” he began, pressing a button on his projection clicker.
The first blood curdling image appeared before my eyes: six bodies laying underneath white sheets on the sidewalk. The black and white image itself an illusion to mask some of the distress within the image.
“However, this basic definition isn’t categorically correct.” He pressed the clicker to show another image. This time, it was an image of a young ethnic male. “Some organized crime is also politically motivated. This gentleman is Ali Saed Bin Ali El-Hoorie, one of the FBI’s most wanted. Suspected of conspiracy to kill US nationals, amongst other charges.”
Bowing my head, I quickly took down notes, not registering the click of the projection monitor as it moved to the next image.
“This is Julius Rowe.” I inwardly gasped as I kept my head bowed down to my notepad. “Suspected of running one of the biggest mob families within the United States. The charges are anything from conspiracy to sell illegal firearms, to conspiracy to commit murder. He has never been arrested for these suspected crimes due to lack of evidence.”
“You think they could come up with something more original,” Ace’s voice whispered into my ear.
“Fuck. Are you trying to give me a god damn heart attack?” I whisper-spat at Ace as he took his seat next to mine.
“Good of you to join us, Mr. Matthews; pressing engagement, was it?” the professor asked.
“Something like that, Doc.” He smiled, leaning back into his chair, crossing his legs at his ankles in a defiant manner.
“Take notes, Mr. Matthews, I expect an eighty-thousand word essay on what we discuss today,” Dr. Voxen said, rolling his eyes as he moved on to another image.
“Where have you really been, Ace?” I asked, my attention no longer on the professor.
“I don’t think you want to know, darlin’.” He winked, throwing me a cocky smile before wiggling his brows.
“No, I don’t think I do.” I laughed, turning back to my notes. “You headed to Bones with us later?”
“Depends.” He shrugged nonchalantly.
“On what?” I asked, gently rubbing my temple, trying to alleviate the remaining dregs of my hangover.
“On whether my pressing engagement is still tied to my bed.”
Chapter Two
Dr. Voxen’s criminology class lasted a good three hours, discussing everything from the drug cartel
s to sex traffickers, arguing whether the criminals who ran them were certified sociopaths. I had taken at least ten pages of notes, hoping I had everything I needed to form the eighty-thousand word essay the professor required.
“It’s a stupid question and you know it,” Ace said, flicking through the first couple of pages of my notes as we sat in the college library.
I had needed extra notes on previous research from other medical journals, and of course Ace had to tag his whiney ass along.
“No, you think it’s a stupid question because you’re a Mr. Know-It-All who is only taking this class because you need to minor in it to get picked up by the top legal firms in the country,” I said, raising my brow and turning the page of the book labelled ‘Criminal Sociopaths and the Psychological Impact on the Human Brain.’
“Explain the differences between the social…” Ace said, waving his hand in the air.
“… and political impact of organized crime,” I finished for him.
“Yeah, that. That’s a pile of BS and you know it,” he countered, trying to put his point across. “I mean, who cares what the impact is? Shouldn’t we be concentrating on how to rid the problem in the first place before we study the impact of it?”
“Ace, I’m not even going to argue with you on this one. You’re a law student; I don’t stand a chance of even explaining my side of the argument.” I laughed, watching as his lips curled into an over-dramatic pout.
“Spoil sport.” He winked before pulling out his phone and focusing on the screen. “Lover boy is on his way here.”
I rolled my eyes as he tried to hide his deep chuckle under a mocking cough.
“You drive me fucking nuts, you know that?” I said, giving him a right hook to his bicep.
“That all you got?” He laughed, pointing to the knuckles on the hand I had just punched him with. “Really?”
Ace was an underground cage fighter, and built for it too. His biceps and triceps weren’t just unreal, they were like a work of art; each definition a show of just how many hours he had put into training. Underneath the hard exterior was an even harder inner shell, the other side to Ace: his legal side. Ace wasn’t just one of the best underground fighters within the circuit, he was a rising law student who pretty much had the pick of the top firms in the US.
Finding Us Page 2
