by SM Soto
I have to keep telling myself it’s not okay to punch a drunk person. Let alone punch your drunk sister. I refrain from doing so by pulling up the text message notifications on my phone to distract me. Of course, they’re all from Sam.
Sam: Call me if you need me then. I’m late for my dick date ;)
I roll my eyes and open her attachment, immediately wishing I hadn’t. I’m scarred—the image she just sent me is etched into my brain forever, even if I don’t want it there. I text her back as quickly as my fingers will let me as I try not to gouge my eyes out simultaneously.
Natalia: NO MORE DICK PICS!!!!!!
Sam: Aw c’mon. This dick looked better than the last
There’s no doubt in my mind she’s rolling with laughter right now over my misery. If there’s one thing to know about my best friend, she loves to torture me in any way possible. Or anyone else for that matter.
I swiftly open the Uber app on my phone to schedule a pickup since I don’t have my car anymore. There’s no way I’m calling Sam after seeing the intimate details of her dick date, and I’m sick and tired of waiting for Georgina. To hell with the consequences from my dad. She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.
After fighting my way out of the house filled with drunken party goers, I finally make it outside. The cool breeze is welcome after being in that house surrounded by warm bodies. It was so stuffy in there, I was beginning to hyperventilate. I scan the front of the house searching for an address to send the driver but can’t find anything that would work as an address for him. I groan in frustration.
Can’t anything work in my favor?
Walking away from the house, I make a left down the street, the way I came when I parked with Sam. I exhale in frustration and mumble insults to my sister under my breath. I could’ve been at home right now, safely in bed, curled up with my textbook and a bag of chips.
“Normally, I would say not being aware of your surroundings is dangerous and stupid, but the fact that you’re talking to yourself is enough to make a predator run the opposite way.” A deep voice a few yards away from me rasps, nearly sending me into cardiac arrest. I snap my gaze up, finding Luke Caldwell in all his glory, leaning against a sleek black BMW. I feel his voice in my stomach. That’s not good. Voices should stop at the ears, but his—no, his voice travels throughout my entire body. His is deep, confident, and smooth—like fucking butter. It’s exactly how I expected someone like Luke to sound. He has it all. Looks, popularity, and now a sinfully sexy voice to match. Damn him.
My mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish. I’m at a complete loss for words, and it takes a few seconds for my brain to play catch up, digesting everything he’s just said. My eyes instantly narrow into thin slits.
“I wasn’t talking to myself.” I clip. He raises his brows in an “oh really” expression calling my bluff.
“Okay, well maybe I was, but that doesn’t mean I’m crazy,” I correct. Luke chuckles, crossing his thick arms over his chest, and I have to force my eyes not to follow the movement.
“The fact you had to say you aren’t crazy probably means you are.”
“And you would know wouldn’t you,” I snark, my patience thinning.
“One would think you were looking for trouble with the way you came walking out of that party, no doubt under the influence. Anything could happen to you out here by yourself. So yeah, I guess I would know crazy when I see crazy.” He shrugs with airy nonchalance, and I lose it.
How dare he accuse me of looking for trouble?
My anger starts to bubble over the surface, and I take threatening steps toward his casual stance against the car. He doesn’t even flinch a muscle as I advance. Surprise flashes in his eyes fleetingly, but the intensity and intrigue with which he regards me is unnerving. I stop no more than a few feet away from him and jab what I think is a threatening finger in his face.
“You don’t know jack shit, asshole.”
He chuckles again only fueling my anger.
“What the fuck is so funny?” I shout. “This is seriously not the night to mess with me! I’m supposed to be studying for exams on Monday for Christ’s sake, not out babysitting at a freaking frat party!” I shout again.
Great, I probably do look like a crazy person now. Shouting like a complete lunatic outside in the middle of the night. To my dismay, he doesn’t seem bothered by all my shouting, just all the more intrigued. He continues staring at me, searching for something. What it could possibly be, I’m not entirely sure.
“So, you’re friends with Georgina,” is all he says.
Did he not just hear anything I said? Why are we now talking about Georgina?
Then it hits me. Mother fucker. He wants me to talk to Georgina for him. Well too fucking bad Casanova. I’m not in the business of playing Cupid. His blank expression doesn’t change—he just watches me. Gauging my reaction. If he wants a reaction, I’ll give him one.
“Friends?” I scoff. “She’s my sister. Well half-sister. And she’s also told me all the sordid details of you guys banging each other, so please don’t try to befriend me in hopes that I’ll put in a good word for you, because I won’t.”
His brows pinch together, and something flits across his face for a brief second before he uncrosses his arms and looks me up and down. Not in a predatory way, but a way that says what the hell are you wearing?
Is he seriously just now noticing my lack of slutty attire?
“I was home studying. Gina said she needed a ride, but when I got here, she told me she had it covered,” I say in explanation.
Luke smirks and shakes his head. “Typical Georgina.”
I nod my head in agreement because he’s right. She does this stuff all the time, and I always fall for it.
“Why would I need you to get close to your sister? Do you not know who I am?” The way he asks the question irks me. Is this guy serious? I mean, of course I know who he is. He’s Luke Fucking Caldwell, but the fact that he knows how popular he is just shows he’s a total douche.
I bark out a sharp laugh. “You have got to be the most self-centered guy I’ve ever met in my life.”
He ignores my remark, instead switching the topic of our conversation. “We didn’t ‘bang’.” He air quotes for emphasis. “Your sister came onto me when I was drunk and offered her…services.”
I scrunch my face in disgust and wave my hands to cut him off. “Please, don’t say anymore. I already feel like I might throw up after some of the things I’ve seen tonight.”
He laughs at the repulsed look on my face and I frown.
“Where’s your car?” Luke asks as he scans the area for any cars nearby that might be mine.
I sigh. “Not here with me. I was just gonna get a ride from an Uber, but I don’t have an address to give. That’s why I was talking to myself. Trying to think of another option.” I look around the street still trying to find anything akin to an address.
“I can give you a ride,” he offers casually, still leaning against his shiny car. I pause for a beat, then purse my lips, crossing my arms over my chest protectively. Getting a ride home from a guy like Luke Caldwell can only result in one thing, and that’s something I’m not interested in. No matter how fine he is.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I think I’d rather be hit by a bus than get a ride home from you.”
I’m hoping spewing hurtful things will give him the impression I’m not interested when really, I am, but he sure as shit doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t even seem the least bit offended. He just shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“In all honesty, I think I’d rather be the one driving said bus but hey, I can’t always get everything I want.”
“Did you seriously just imply that you’d like to run me over with a freaking bus?” I ask incredulously.
“Yeah, sounds like I did.”
I narrow my eyes at him and my nostrils flare. I’ve heard a lot of things about Luke, and being an asshole to people has always been the m
ost frequent of discussions about him. That and the fact that he’s a manwhore. Can’t forget that.
“You do realize you’re an asshole, right?” I raise an inquisitive brow and he smiles. Framing his perfectly straight teeth and full lips are two incredibly attractive dimples.
Jesus. This guy can do no wrong when he shows off those things. They’re disarming.
“Fine,” I acquiesce and grumble under my breath all the way to the passenger side of the car. Luke unlocks the doors and I drop into the seat stiffly, with my arms over my chest like a petulant child.
After giving him directions, he starts the car and most of the drive is done in silence. I faintly hear the beat to my current favorite song on the radio and ask Luke to turn it up. He tweaks the knobs in the center console of his car, turning up the stereo. I quietly sing the lyrics of “The Middle” by Zedd, and can feel Luke’s stare at the side of my head.
“Stop looking at me. It’s weird,” I grumble, trying to lose myself back into the song.
“You’re weird,” he quips, and I whip my head over toward him.
Does he always have to have some sort of comeback? It’s freaking irritating. I heave a deep sigh and go back to my silent singing.
“You’re pretty good.”
I frown. “Good at what?”
“Singing,” he states, and I laugh. Like really laugh.
“Are you kidding?” I ask through my laughter. “I’m horrible at singing. I think a dying cat sounds better than I do.” I shift in my seat toward him and see a small smile play at the corners of his lips.
“Yeah, I know. I was just kidding.” His grin turns devious, and I have the urge to shove my fist in his face yet laugh all the same.
“You’re a dick,” I grumble under my breath. That gets a loud rumbling laugh out of him, and I have to force myself not to smile at his laughter. It’s infectious.
Smug asshole.
“Yeah, I know, babe. Pretty sure everyone knows it too.”
My heart stutters in my chest at his little endearment. I’ve never been called babe by anyone in my entire life. Hearing it come out of Luke’s mouth does something strange to me. I have to remind myself who he is, and what he does for a living besides play football—be a whore. He calls everyone babe, Nat, don’t feel too special.
“You know this is just a ride, right?” I find myself saying into the silence of his car. “You’re not expecting anything from me? Because I don’t even like you.”
Luke mashes his lips together, trying to stifle his laughter, and I frown once again. Why is he always laughing at me?
“I know for certain I don’t like you either, so rest assured there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just a ride.”
I should feel better now that he’s said that, but instead I feel like he’s just slapped me in my face. I mean, I know I’m not the prettiest girl in the world but damn, doesn’t he find me the least bit attractive? Way to squash a girl’s self-esteem.
The rest of the ride to my apartment is in awkward silence. Or maybe I’m just feeling awkward after he basically said he doesn’t like me and thinks I’m ugly. Sure, he didn’t say that in so many words, but try telling that to my brain. That piece of gray matter interprets things any way it wants. He throws the car in park, and I shuffle quickly to get out. Before closing the door, all I can offer is one word.
“Thanks.”
As lame as it is, I hurry up the stairs to my door and rush inside. I rest my body against the door, and my chest heaves with the realization of what this night turned into.
Holy shit.
I just got a ride home from the Luke Caldwell.
Pulling away from the door, I drag myself into my room and lie on my bed, staring up at the stark white ceiling. Thoughts of Luke cloud my mind and I’m no longer interested in studying.
CHAPTER TWO
Natalia
It’s been two months since I last saw Luke, and for that, I’m all too thankful. A few weeks after my ride home with him and I still wasn’t able to get him out of my head. He’s everywhere I look, and I often find myself searching for him on campus—which is just absolutely crazy because I’ve never seen him on campus anyway. Luke Caldwell might as well be a ghost. He’s untouchable. After a few weeks, I am slowly—but diligently—purging him from my mind and getting back to the way life was before I ever met Luke Caldwell. Work and school; work and school.
The fall semester is going to start in a few weeks, so I’ll need to prepare myself for another busy workload. I’ve already talked to my boss CJ at the Bar and Grille, asked if I can leave early on Tuesdays and Thursdays for classes. The class I’m most excited about taking is Psych of Personality. It’s required for my major, which is psychology, but unlike most other students, I’m looking forward to it. I’ve always wanted to be someone with a career that actually helps people, especially because of the way I grew up. I didn’t really know my mother all that well as a child, and I think that undoubtedly messed with my childhood. My dad was married with a child of his own—Georgina—and he went off and found himself a little sidepiece who turned out to be my mother. He traded in the older model, which was Gina’s mother, for a newer model who was my mother. She was from Mexico, and she wasn’t a legal documented citizen. My dad knocked her up and, well, lo and behold, here I am. Instead of being the better man and divorcing Gina’s mother to marry my own, he strung her along until she had me—he strung both women along, actually.
I briefly remember parts of her but not everything a young girl should remember about her mother. I remember what she smelled like—coconut and vanilla bean meshed together. I spent most of my teenage years searching for a fragrance that matched hers to a T. It took me a while, but I finally managed to concoct a fragrance similar to hers. I can hardly remember what her voice sounded like. She would sing to me in Spanish when I was just a little girl. It was beautiful. I can’t remember the song or the words, but I do know that whenever she sang it, I was happy. I vaguely remember what she looked like. Usually, I have to stare at the pictures I have of her until they spur buried memories of my childhood. Three damn pictures are all I have left of my mother. The first, her holding me as a baby. The second, our smiling faces shoved in front of the camera. And the third, my mother sitting on a rock somewhere, smiling at something in the distance. That one’s my favorite. It captured her beauty perfectly. Tan skin, full red lips tipped into a smile, with big brown doe eyes, and long thick strands of dark hair blowing behind her. She was the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen to date. The epitome of beauty. I can easily see why my father fell for her. She was stunning in every way.
Gina’s mother was furious when she found out my dad knocked up another woman, so she did what all scorned women do when they know they’re close to losing their happily ever after. She sabotaged my mother by having her deported back to Mexico. I was only four years old at the time.
Can you say fucked up? I know I can.
We kept in touch with her as best as we could, but my father would never let me go visit her or my family in Mexico. Eventually, he stopped allowing the calls, and I lost contact with my mother. It was hard. Especially since I didn’t understand why any of this was happening. I was just a kid.
I still don’t know why he kept me away from my mother, the woman who I’m positive would’ve given her life for me. I can’t ask him about it because the conversation always turns into a heated argument. I get that I was born as an American citizen, but what I don’t get is why couldn’t she take me with her? I mean surely Gina’s mother would’ve preferred that instead of my father moving me in with his family. It’s hard to believe becoming a Mexican citizen is harder than becoming an American citizen. My only guess—my mother didn’t want me to be stuck in Mexico with her. She had to have been working here for a reason, and maybe it was to get away from the place she grew up in.
Around the time I turned twelve, my father sat me down and told me my mother had passed away. Something about pneumonia or
asbestos in the chest. It was devastating. I was hurt. Beyond hurt. Because my mission was to one day meet the family that should’ve been mine. I had a plan—once I turned eighteen, the first chance I got, I would find my mother, and make up for lost time. Instead I got stuck with my father and Gina. Yeah, my dad loves me, but not like he loves Gina. He’ll do anything for her, and he almost always does. As for me, he can’t ever find the time to make an effort—which is fine. I get it. He didn’t ask for me, yet he ended up stuck raising me while my mother, who would’ve done most of the work, died. But sometimes I can’t help but be angry and let the hate fester. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for my father’s wife to hate my very existence. I didn’t ask for my half-sister to loathe me. And I sure as hell didn’t ask to grow up without a mother. Call it naïve, but how is any of this my fault? I didn’t ask for it. The few pictures of her that I stole from my father are all I really have left, no other ties binding us together.
I just wish I was given the choice to leave with her instead of being forced to stay here with a dad who doesn’t love me like he loves his first born. This is the main reason I don’t date, because of the fear of dealing with something like this. Yeah, it’s a little far-fetched that it will happen to me too, but you never know. That’s not a chance I’m willing to take. When I’m ready, I’ll find someone who is worth everything, someone who can’t live their life without me in it, someone who is willing to put me first, and we’ll spend our lives together happily. No drama, no fucked-up family issues—just us. For once in my life…I just want to come first.
CHAPTER THREE
Natalia
Today’s the first day back from break and I’m beyond ecstatic. The quicker I finish my education, the faster I can get the hell away from Gina and my dad and move on with my life. There isn’t very much diversity here at San Diego State, so my tan skin usually stands out among everyone else. They say your college years are where you build long-lasting relationships, and make some of your best friends, but honestly, I couldn’t disagree more. Some of the students here are complete assholes, which is why I don’t bother befriending anyone. As for the campus, it’s beautiful. Pictures don’t do it justice. With lush green palm trees, white stucco Spanish architectural buildings, and clear blue skies, you almost feel like you’re at a resort somewhere in Latin America.
