by Tara Brown
“I do not. I always do it face to face. You are both dicks.” I roll my eyes.
“You need to get a refund ‘cause that shrink your daddy is paying for, he isn’t doing shit." Leo does the perfect mock queen wave and leaves Nance and me there.
Ignoring his cruelty and disdainful hate of my shrink, I turn and hold my arms out. “Now tell me the truth—is this shirt okay or can you see cleavage? I really want this breakup to take."
“He really likes you. You're going to rip his balls off; trust me, he isn’t going to give a rat's ass how perky your boobs were while you did it."
My gaze lowers to my boobs. “You’re right." My stomach’s in knots but I know it’s time. That, and the idea of a guy touching me, is giving me the shivers. It’s been since the foot guy and I can’t seem to shake it. Not to mention, the gross feeling of Chad and his lovemaking. God, I hate vanilla sex.
“Why are you ending this one anyway? It’s casual sex. How hard can it be to remain detached? Who cares if he likes you a lot, that makes the sex better.”
I shake my head and give myself another once over. “Chad has done the ultimate no-no for any booty call. Not only did he ask if I want to be exclusive, he asked if I'd ever given any thought to us getting a place together in California this summer.” It makes me shudder and Nance giggle.
“Why are you making the baby face?" she points.
I toss a pillow at her but she’s laughing too hard to care. Apparently, I have a tick—I make faces when I see babies. Whatever. Not everyone likes babies. I point at the closet. “Go and hide. He's coming any second. He just texted again."
She breathes like she’s winded from laughing. "I’m not staying for this. I just can’t. You can’t make me watch." She grabs her room keys and walks to the door, pausing only to point at me. “We are getting drunk in an hour when this shit’s over.”
I nod, frowning at the closing door and her abandonment of me. It is the strangest thing, but I don’t want to be alone with him in my room. I don’t want to be alone with anyone. Shit is getting real in my head. I pop another Paxil and wait for it to hit. I swear the last one didn’t even touch me.
I would have rather done this in a public place, but Chad has gotten harder to nail down. I swear he’s trying to get me alone so he can again ask something that I might have to stab him in the eye for. Exclusivity is for when I’m forty and my boobs are sagging, and I have to get a surgery to make them twenty again.
I look at the clock and swallow hard as I walk over to the microwave and put the stinky cabbage in that I made Henry get from the Ukrainian market. It’s a trade secret. My Aunt Sarah used to cook it in the microwave before she would confront her future ex-husbands on their cheating. The smell was so bad that they always confessed and signed whatever she wanted. Anything to get away from it. Messing with a man's stomach was the best way to his wallet.
I don’t care about wallets, I don’t care about money. But regardless of not caring about those things, I have learned two things from my aunt and my father.
One—how to microwave nasty shit to make it a place no one wants to be, not even me.
The other—never ever settle down permanently. Love isn’t real.
Between my aunt’s six marriages and my four stepmoms before I was fifteen, I have had an early education in monogamy and trust. Women are gold diggers, and they turn the charm off the minute they’re done with you. Men are serial daters and are in everything for the short term, instant gratification.
I glance at the clock again. If Chad is anything, he’s punctual. The second hand hits one minute after eight just as there’s a knock at the door. What a wanker. I straighten my blouse and open it, gasping when I see him. “Oh my God.”
His tanned face and spiky brown hair are bloody. He blinks like he’s confused about where he is. He looks like he might fall over but I grab his arm, helping him inside. “What happened?"
He sways slightly. “The wind just dropped a pot on my head from a balcony just over from your building." He leans against the wall while I bend his head down to get a better view. His dark hair’s covered in dirt and blood and the gash looks deep. When I lift his face it makes me wince at his barely open eyes. My night is ruined. “You've probably got a concussion and your head needs a stitch."
He shakes his head. “No, babe. I'm fine. I just need a shower and a painkiller maybe." He drapes over me, squishing me into him. I press a button on my cell phone. “Henry, bring the car around and come help Chad to it."
"Right away."
“I think I love you, Lana." Chad smiles down on me.
I sigh, wondering if I can just do it now, or if I should wait until he will remember.
Damn. Even I’m not that heartless. Am I?
Who am I kidding? I can still make this a top night if I end this shit now. It’s not like he’s my responsibility. I shake my head. “You don’t love me, Chad. You don’t even know me.” I want to tell him that Ron, my therapist, thinks no one does so it’s not his fault. But I don't think he would hear me.
His face leans in, pressing blood on mine, nearly passing out on top of me. I pull back, holding him up and am about to fall as the door opens and Henry comes in. He pauses in the doorway. I assume he’s calculating the impact of his next choices.
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t do it. The wind blew something on his head down the road. He said a flower pot fell on him.”
Henry sighs, taking Chad into his arms. “Shall we go to the hospital?” Luckily Henry is a big guy, for a butler.
I step back, looking at the blood on my hands. “No, you take him. I have some homework to do.”
Henry’s eyes narrow, judgingly.
A pasted smile is my response. I just want Chad gone. The flowerpot isn’t my fault or my problem. Henry pauses, I think to give me a chance to change my mind, but I don’t. So he helps Chad out of the room and I close the door, wrinkling my nose at the stinky cabbage in the microwave.
“Damn!” My dorm stinks for no reason. I grumble and walk into the bathroom to take my third shower of the day. I still feel like Lady Macbeth.
The shower doesn’t change that. In fact, I find my eyes focused on the bathroom door I have closed and locked, for the first time in my life. The shampoo stings my eyes because I’m scared to close them. When I get out I take a few more Paxil. My shaking hands bother me so I clasp them together and take deep breaths.
I have to open all the windows and flush the cabbage. It’s making me gag. Damned Chad.
I am ready to leave the dorm an hour later, feeling better and ready for the night to start. I smile at Nance and Leo standing in the hallway. “Won’t we be the most overdressed people in the crowd?”
“As always.” Leo scoffs. “Just because we have to live on the East Coast, doesn’t mean we have to be the East Coast.” His father is a real estate tycoon, and nouveau riche, but his mom is old money from New York. He’s lived in San Francisco his whole life, until now. His mother and father met here at Harvard, which explains why he’s here instead of Brown, where he wanted to go.
Nance slips a small silver locket from her pocket, winks, and stuffs it back inside. A wide smile crosses my glossed lips. “Oh, it’s that kind of night, is it?”
She nods. “We saw Chad’s head. We assumed it went badly and decided it should be this Friday that we tie one on.”
“What? Henry took him to the hospital, I’m sure he’s fine.”
Leo starts to snicker. “No, my God. You broke up with a bleeding man?”
“I didn’t make him bleed!”
Even Nance gives me a look. “But—but you broke up with him anyway?”
“Yeah!” I don’t understand their confusion.
Leo links his arm with mine. “When Dr. Frankenstein made you, he must have forgotten an important piece of the puzzle.”
They both laugh but I focus on the white powder that’s going to take away the itch in my palms and the stress on my brow that’s trying to age me prematur
ely. “Whatever, let’s just get this party started.” I need to forget.
The Harvard Crimson Men’s Soccer is one of the better teams on the East Coast for Ivy League colleges. We hit the games up late, looking for prey. I hate stands and bench seating so I don’t ever sit and watch the game. We aren’t here for that kind of sport anyway. I have watched soccer, and I dated a soccer player in LA, but I try not to. Soccer and hockey frustrate me.
When we get to the washrooms, Nance cuts three lines of ecstasy and snorts one with her rolled bill. She passes to Leo who takes the second line, rubbing his nose and sniffing afterwards. I take the rolled bill, sighing. “This has been the longest week ever.” I lean forward and snort the line. We leave the washroom, giggling and getting ready for it to hit us.
I can’t wait.
The stands are filled with screaming fans, all in maroon, crimson, and red, while a game of some of the roughest soccer I have ever seen is being played. There are whistles and shoving, and guys shouting on the greens. The crisp air of spring on this godforsaken coastline makes my breath mist when I sigh. “How much is left of the game?”
“They keep blowing the whistle and it will never end.” Leo huddles and mutters. “They call this spring?”
Nance laughs. “I know, right? Spring my ass.” Her voice trails off as a girl walks by us, making Nance eye her up. “She could work.”
A scowl and pouting lip are my answer. She rolls her bright-blue eyes. “You are such a baby. Why can’t you just do it? For me? I take it from every guy you like to make the party even numbered—why can’t you just do one girl?”
“‘Cause I’m selfish and very hetero, unlike you two.”
Nance lifts her middle finger from her pocket. “Look what I found.”
We laugh but I’m not changing my stance about girl-on-girl action.
She pulls her phone out and scowls. “Bummer.”
Leo cocks an eyebrow. “You okay?”
“Yeah, my dad was in town this week, but he has to go home early so we aren’t meeting for dinner tomorrow night now.” She shrugs but I know it bugs her. She loves her dad and he is always busy. Nance is the daughter of a billionaire who has his Republican fingers in every piece of the puzzle. He’s like Christian Grey but a dad. Oil, real estate, stocks, whatever. If it makes money, Mr. Hensley is doing it. I have a slight thing for him. We had an incident when I was eighteen. We crashed at her place at Christmas, freshman year. He caught me in the kitchen at midnight, munching out on a coconut cream pie. We started eating the pie together, laughing and joking. The next thing I knew, he was on his knees and my shorts were pulled to the side and he was having a slice of me. I have never quite forgotten the feel of that powerful man between my legs. Nance doesn’t know, clearly, but her dad is a beast in bed. And for one night, one time, he was mine. I squeeze my thighs together whenever I think about it.
The guys on the field interrupt my pervy daydreaming with screaming. The game is over. My head spins, seeing nothing but a frothing sea of sweaty men in uniforms and shorts. Hands run through damp hair, pulling it a little. Mouths part with war cries of victory as they bump their filthy, yet sexy, chests against each other. “I want a soccer team.”
Nance gives me a look. “No. Gross. They don’t even know what they’re doing. They’re children.”
I block her out, focusing my eyes on the testosterone-laden field. Our boys won, again. The stands are going crazy but all I see is the thing I want.
Leo points. “If you can get the team captain, Jackson, or that sexy animal, James, then I want to be in the viewing seats. I want footage at the very least.”
I follow his finger to James Holland, the James Holland. He’s a bit of a celebrity here at Harvard and looks hot in the way you assume the sex is going to be nasty. I cock an eyebrow and contemplate them all.
“No.” Nance shakes her head. “I heard James is a bit of a lame ass when it comes to parties. He always leaves early and never gets drunk. He only lets girls go down on him. He never has sex with anyone. The girls want him ‘cause they can’t have him. I heard he’s fucking hung though.”
Ohhh, a challenge.
It makes me smug. “Yup. Soccer boys. They just won. It’ll be fun. It’ll be like men coming home from war.”
Leo nods. “I’m positive none of them are my type. Give me ten and I’ll go find the flavor of ice cream I like.” He winks and stalks off, looking sexy and high.
I glance at Nance. “Go find the girl to add to it. I’ll get the boys. But I’m not coming in that room, you’ll just have to take a boy in there with you two.”
“Lucky him.” A grin crosses her lips. “Meet you out front.”
It’s our Friday thing. Not every Friday, and not even every second one. It’s random, but at least once a month, we get a crew and go to the apartment Nance has in Boston. She doesn’t sleep or do anything else there. We stay on campus in Cambridge because our fathers have the same opinion of the ‘fraternity’ experience. Nance joined a sorority, but I knew right away, they were not my kind of people. The apartment makes it easier to throw a nasty party. The way we like to party doesn’t exactly coincide with her sorority sisters social events on campus. It’s better to have a place with a dirty bed for those nights.
I turn and head for the stairs that lead to where the long gray corridor is that the soccer team will enter from the field. When they do, they’re shouting and jumping on each other still.
I let the first couple pass, each of them eyeing me hungrily. They know who I am, and I’m certain they know what I want. Our parties are legendary.
The captain, Jackson, passes by me but he doesn't do it for me. I have a feeling just how normal the sex with him would be.
A pair of sexy green eyes catch mine as Jackson passes by. I point at Green Eyes, earning a smile, and I am won over. The sloppy grin means great kissing. Plus he looks eager to please. That’s what’s important.
I pass him a card as he walks by me. The guy behind him glares at me, but I can’t decide if he’s judging or just angry in general? The difference is important. His eyes flicker about the corridor, angry in every direction.
Mmmm.
I cock an eyebrow and point at him. He shakes his head. I nod and hold a card out. He takes it, running his middle finger along my palm roughly.
Shit. He’s mine. Nance can have Green Eyes.
I think I know him anyway. I swear our dads are friends and his name is Nick.
I turn away, going to the stairs again, as someone grabs my arm. “What are you doing?” he spins me around.
I pull a card and a sly smile. “That grip will get you every kind of fun.” I smile wider when I see the moody face of James Holland.
He is a beast—tall and thick and staring down on me with hatred. He actually makes me swoon a little. There is something twisted inside of me that always sees moody guys as a challenge. I always want to crack that nut. Not to mention, his dark-green eyes, olive complexion, dark sandy-blond hair in a spiky and sweaty mess atop his head.
Yikes.
“Why are you giving invites to the soccer team? Go prey on the weak-minded football players or the druggies at a school in town.” His jaw clenches and I can imagine licking it, biting his neck. I want to hurt him—in a good way. His touch makes me squirm a bit. The drugs are hitting me. He leans in, looking into my eyes. “You’re high already? It’s not even dinner time.”
I laugh, shoving him but he doesn’t move. “Whatever.”
“Your dad must be so proud of you.”
He brings my dad up? Awko-taco.
“Oh, he is.” I snatch the card from his hands. “I’m sure you have some lame-ass study group to attend anyway.” I turn and walk away, crumpling the card and dropping it on the ground. Asshole.
When I get out front, Nance and Leo have their new friends with them. Leo’s is a sexy guy with dark hair and tanned skin. He is clearly on our team and not from the East Coast either. He has a beach-boy feel to him, and East
Coasters rarely get color like us West Coasters do. I think he’s more adorable than Leo, which is a feat. The two would make a hot couple, the kind you want to read about in M/M novels. They’re my favorite.
Nance has a gothic-looking girl, her usual type. The girl probably isn’t even gay, and she probably doesn’t even know where we’re going. Somehow Nance will convince her the college experience is a fun one. She’s a master for a ditzy blonde. She smiles when she sees me. “I sent the message out to the usual suspects. It’s going to rock.” She pulls her date into the limo waiting for us.
I climb in, sending Henry a text about the two boys I need picked up, as per the instructions on the cards I gave them. It’s his favorite part of the job—not.
The apartment is a penthouse in an older area that has been redeveloped on the West End. Nance’s dad got in early and bought the whole building off the developer, selling at least half of the units off for a massive profit after the renovation was done.
When we get there, the elevator door doesn’t stop dinging. I hurry to the bar to set up the shots but Leo shoves me out of the way. “We got this, you go turn on some music.”
His friend scowls. “You’re going to trust a girl with music?”
Leo laughs, hitting me in the arm. “No wrist-cutter tunes.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that to me? I don’t cut. Freaks.” I turn and walk to the stereo. I crank a Justin Beiber song and point at Leo. “This one’s for you, baby-baby-baby.”
He groans and I change it to Icona Pop, the band I was going to pick before he got all ‘mean girl’ on me.
The music pumps but we don’t worry about the sound traveling through the floor. When Nance’s dad bought the building, we secretly created a fake company and bought the entire floor under us with my dad’s money. He still has no idea.
“What is this Eurotrash?” Leo asks as he mixes some brightly-colored shots in the tall glasses.
My jaw drops, as does his friend’s. “Dude. Harsh. Never speak of my girls that way. They’re awesome.”
His friend shakes his head. “Seriously. This girl may be a little crazy, but she speaks the truth. Icona Pop is the best.”
