Looking for Trouble (Nashville U Book 1)

by Stacey Mosteller

  Ignoring my last exclamation Becca cuts her eyes to me and says, “It is a big deal. When has Clay Mitchell ever done something nice for someone?” Well, she has a point. Sort of.

  “He’s done nice things for me before.” I’m not sure why I’m defending him since most of the time he’s doing his best to torment me.

  She scoffs. “Yeah, he’s done nice things for the past, what? Week? Maybe two? I’m sorry, Kat, but every time he starts to act like a decent human being, he does three things that show he’s not.” Becca has a point. With Clay, it’s like, one step forward, three steps back. He’ll do something that makes me think maybe we can work together, get this project done, without killing each other. Possibly even end up as friends … but then, it’s like he realizes he was nice to me, so he does something douchey to make up for it.

  Regardless … “Becca, why did you have to say anything? As if there aren’t enough rumors today with all the people who saw him carry me out.” I can feel a tension headache brewing behind my eyes. I had at least six people ask me outright about leaving the party with Clay, and no less than three times that many stopped talking every time I walked into class. If I’m not careful, that STD comment I made at the frat party is going to come back to bite me in the ass.

  “I wasn’t trying to start a rumor.” Becca waves off my concerns. “Anyway, you can explain it to them now. I told them we’d meet them for dinner. After, we can hang with Peyton at Wyatt’s practice.” She’s completely nonchalant, like she didn’t blow Saturday night completely out of proportion. I’m so angry with her when we get to the dorms I leave her standing beside her car. I don’t want to spend dinner trying to explain everything to Scarlett and Annabelle, so while Becca takes her things upstairs, I head for their room.

  Scarlett answers my knock. Today she’s wearing her flaming red hair in pigtails, making the black tips more noticeable. With the way she does her hair and makeup, she looks like a doll. It helps that she’s short too, at least compared to me. All my female friends, aside from Peyton, are shorter than me. I always feel like the odd man out. My eyes travel down her outfit and I wish I was as one-of-a-kind as she is. She’s wearing a burgundy tank top with a cross design matched with black skinny jeans that look like they’ve been shredded across the thighs and a pair of Doc Marten’s. A leather cuff around her wrist has a matching cross, and she has little crosses hanging from her ears too.

  “Kat!” she squeals, springing forward to hug me before stepping back to let me enter the room. Annabelle’s sitting on her bed surrounded by books and wearing a sweatshirt that says “Proud Supporter of Messy Hair and Sweatpants” with a pair of dark wash jeans. Her feet are bare, she’s not wearing any makeup or jewelry, and her mousy brown hair is pulled up into a topknot in keeping with her shirt’s slogan.

  Annabelle looks up when Scarlett shuts the door. “Hey Kat,” she says softly with a wave, before returning her attention to the notebook in her lap. I smile in her direction as I follow Scarlett over to her bed and take a seat. Their room is laid out much like mine, but while both my side and Becca’s are covered with papers and posters, Annabelle’s side is blank. She doesn’t have any mess; nothing is hanging on the walls. It’s like she’s making sure she’s ready in case she needs to bolt. Nothing in this room says anything about her while the other side of the room explodes with color.

  Scarlett motions for me to sit before making herself comfortable and pulling her legs up underneath her. “What’s this I hear about you and the devil in football gear?” Her description of Clay makes me smile, but I quickly sober.

  “There’s nothing to say.” I look down at the comforter on her bed, concentrating more than I should on the loose piece of thread I’m pulling on. When she doesn’t say anything, I chance a look up and she gives me a skeptical look. “No, really. It wasn’t a big deal.” I look back down and mumble, embarrassed by actions, “I got drunk at that party, and when I passed out, he took me to his apartment because Becca disappeared.” I feel like I should make a sign that says “I did NOT sleep with Clay Mitchell” and hang it on my chest. If it’s there, at least the boob men will look. Maybe I should put a matching one on my butt. That way I’ll get the ass men too.

  Scarlett makes a disgusted noise in her throat. “Ugh. I can’t believe you were in his room—alone—and you can’t even give good intel because you were unconscious. Please tell me you at least woke up early and did a little snooping.” I shake my head, and she sighs, sounding very disappointed in me.

  I don’t understand why she and Becca have such a fascination with him. He’s an asshole. He’s crude, he never, well, rarely, apologizes for anything he does wrong. And, oh. My. God. He’s the cockiest person I’ve ever met in my life! How can anyone want Clay when there are guys like Wyatt on campus? He’s the epitome of perfect. I just don’t get it.

  But, then again, he took care of me. I was drunk and so out of it that he could have done anything, could have let someone else do something, but he didn’t. He took me home with him, let me sleep it off in his bed, then bought me breakfast and took me home the next morning. Those are not the actions of an asshole.

  When I tell Scarlett the first part—the Clay is an asshole part, she laughs. “Oh come on, Kat! Haven’t you ever read a romance novel? They’re always these huge alpha dogs who act like cavemen. Bad boys are attractive … right up until you actually have one. We can lust over Clay from afar, but we know we’d never choose someone like him in real life. My knee would be sore twenty-four/seven from all the damage I’d do to his balls.”

  Annabelle agrees, sort of. “I don’t know why you would lust over some dude you would never really want. Give me the nice guy any day. I want one who’s sweet and attentive, who never scares me.” Her voice is quiet, and Scarlett and I share a look. I don’t know what to do about Annabelle. She says she’s fine, but she’s never talked to anyone about it. Letting the attack—if that’s really what happened—fester the way she has been can’t be good for her. Peyton tried once last year to get her to go to one of the campus counselors, but she refused.

  Before either of us can say anything, Becca knocks on the door and yells through it to say she’s ready to go eat. We file out, first Scarlett, then me, then Annabelle last since she had to put her shoes back on.

  Clay

  “Hey guys,” Max tells Liam and two other basketball players when they sit down across from us. The guys grunt their “hello’s”, more focused on the trays of food on the table than his greeting.

  Liam may be a tight end on the football team, but he’s way more valuable as a power forward on the basketball team with Wyatt, Aaron, and Luke. He’s actually the reason I met Wyatt freshman year. We started hanging out during football season, and then he started bringing Wyatt to parties when he started playing basketball. When Wyatt came back for Sophomore year, Emmett and I moved from a two-bedroom apartment to a three-bedroom and he moved in with us. Then, he moved in with Peyton last summer and Max moved his stuff into the open bedroom before anyone else got a chance to ask.

  Like he knew we were talking about him, Wyatt walks up to the table and takes the empty seat beside me. “Hey douchenozzle.” He rolls his eyes at my greeting, then nods at his teammates before turning back to me.

  “What’s up?” he greets the table.

  I search the room, but don’t see Peyton. “Where’s your girl?”

  “Ball and chain, you mean?” Liam taunts Wyatt. I shake my head. He should know better. Wyatt’s protective as hell over Peyton. But, surprisingly, he doesn’t rise to the bait.

  “With her parents.” Oh shit. Even I know that’s not a good thing. Her snobby, rich-as-hell, asshole parents are not fans of Wyatt’s. Actually, I’m not sure they’re fans of Peyton if you want the truth. When I ask him why she’s there, he shrugs. “Dunno. Her mom called yesterday and said they were coming to town and her presence was ‘required’, so she went.” His brows furrow in concern. “I just hope they don’t fuck with her head, or se
t her up on a blind date like they did the last time they ‘invited’ her.” Yeah, that was a jerk move on their part.

  Peyton’s screwed-up family makes me appreciate my own. My brothers might piss me off constantly, but I’m not one of those kids with a sob story. My parents are married, love each other, and love all of us. I never have to wonder, or worry that I’m going to piss them off to the point they’ll stop talking to me. If they haven’t stopped by now, they never will.

  A french fry smacks me in the side of the face and I turn to glare at a grinning Liam. “What?” he asks, trying to act all innocent, but failing. He never looks innocent, even when he is.

  “Did you just throw food at me?”

  He shrugs. “Actually, I was throwing it at your boyfriend over there.”

  Wyatt snorts. “Well, I hope you throw basketballs better than you do fries because that shot sucked.” I throw the fry back at Liam who catches it in his mouth. Wyatt and I both grimace at him, and he just smiles. Gross fucker.

  We go back to our trays for only a minute or two before the three players’ sit up straight to watch a girl walk by. When she stops at Max’s seat and he takes her tray so she can sit, they stare with wide eyes. Again, I want to brag on my brother, and tell them I taught the boy everything he knows. Holding that in is easy when he leans over to kiss Sophie quickly on the cheek before she starts eating. The lovebirds are holding hands while they eat, which means Max is now eating left handed. He’s not ambidextrous, that much is clear.

  I shake my head, returning my attention to the rest of the guys at our table, though three of them are still staring. Wyatt’s attention is focused on his phone, no doubt texting Peyton to see how things are going at her parents. I look around the room, and my eyes find Kat sitting with her friends. I can’t decide if she looks bored or uncomfortable, but part of me wants to go rescue her. What the hell? Since when did I become Kat’s knight in shining armor? That’s always been Max’s job.

  I’m not the only one to notice them. Max sees them too, and stands. “Where are you going?” Sophie asks him.

  “Just over there to see Kat,” He says, gesturing toward her table.

  Sophie’s eyes follow his arm and when she sees the group of girls, her eyes narrow. “Maybe I should come with you.”

  He shakes his head, oblivious to the hundred and twenty pounds of starting-to-get-ticked female beside him. “Nah, that’s okay. I’ll bring her over to say hi after, but first I need to apologize to her. Things have been a little off between us the past couple weeks.” Sophie asks him what he means, and I try to silently tell him to shut up. I’m not telepathic, so it doesn’t work, but damn, does he have no idea how women think? “It’s not a big deal, Soph. I made her mad, and I need to make it better. I hate fighting with her.”

  Gee, little brother, does the fact that fighting with Kat has you all out of sorts, but you don’t care about upsetting your current girl tell you anything? Clearly, I haven’t taught him everything. Sophie stands in front of him, her hands landing on her tiny hips, which incidentally pushes out her impressive chest. “Max Mitchell, you need to be more concerned about upsetting me, then some girl you’re ‘just friends’ with.”

  Max sighs, giving her the same puppy dog look he’s been giving Kat since he’s known her. “C’mon, babe. We’re just friends. I just want to make sure she’s not still mad at me.” I can’t believe he’s now practically asking her permission to go over. She huffs, obviously not okay with this turn of events, but he takes her not saying a flat-out no to be acquiescence. Idiot.

  Once he’s gone, Sophie drops inelegantly back in her seat to stare at her food. She folds her arms across her chest and sits stiffly, waiting for him to come back. I turn back to watch the drama I know is coming, and I’m not disappointed. Max walks right over and sits beside Kat, draping an arm across her shoulders. I watch Kat stiffen, feeling myself do the same. I don’t like him being so close to her, touching her, when I know she doesn’t want him to. Clenching my hands into fists, I hide them in my lap. After Saturday night, Kat has all my protective instincts—instincts I didn’t even know I had—on full alert. I want to hurt anyone who bothers her.

  The conversation between them is fairly brief. It ends when she stands to leave and a short exchange happens between him and Kat’s friend Scarlett. Whatever she says, Kat pales, then walks away from Max, taking Scarlett with her. Max stares after them for just a second before his shoulders fall and he walks dejectedly back to our table. As soon as he takes his seat, Sophie starts whispering to him. They begin to argue back and forth, Sophie pissed off because Max went over there after she sort-of told him she didn’t want him to.

  Ignoring the two of them, I watch as Kat and her friends head for the door. Just before they leave, it’s almost like she feels my eyes on her. She turns, her eyes meeting mine. They’re wide, guileless, she looks so innocent standing there. The fact that I want to go over and stand protectively next to her, keeping anyone, my idiot brother included, from hurting her pisses me off.

  She must notice the change in my emotions, because her head tilts and the look in her eyes changes to one that questions why I’m looking at her the way I am. I shake my head, looking away quickly and attempting to calm my emotions. When I’m sure my face is a blank mask, I turn back to face her. She can read the look and knows I’m hiding from her. It makes me feel shitty enough that I turn away again, focusing all my attention back on Max and Sophie’s argument. When I finally look back, she’s gone.

  Sophie storms away from the table and Max stands to go after her. Before he leaves, he turns to Wyatt and me to say, “I’ll see you guys later. Good luck at the game, Wyatt.”

  “You’re not going?” Wyatt asks, surprised. We promised we’d be there. Tonight was supposed to be the night he proposed to Peyton, but now that she had to go to her parents, I don’t know that she’ll be there.

  Max looks confused, so I clue him in. “Wyatt. Peyton. Diamond Ring.”

  “Ohhh shit. Sorry, I forgot. I’ll try to be there, if I’m not still groveling for forgiveness.” He sighs, but neither Wyatt or I feel any sympathy for him.

  Wyatt snickers. “Max, man, you should have known that was going to happen. That girl is obviously threatened by your relationship with Kat. You going over to talk to her, putting your arm around her and looking cozy doing it did not help matters.” He shakes his head, clearly pitying Max and his relationship newb status. “FYI—girlfriend comes before girl friends. Every single time.” He stands, clapping Max on the shoulder and telling him good luck before he, Liam and the other two basketball players head to the locker room to get ready.

  Max leaves too, and when I see Meghan come into the dining hall, I gather my stuff up and hurry out too. A stabby ex is not on my list of things to do tonight. When I walk outside, Kat’s nowhere to be seen, and against my better judgment, I send her a text.

  Me: Sorry bout Max

  I have to wait a few minutes, but she finally sends a reply.

  Kat: not ur fault. I’ll get over it.

  Her reply makes me smile. She doesn’t seem upset anymore, so I guess that’s good.

  Me: U goin 2 bball game?

  Kat: Yes. U?

  Me: Yep. See u there?

  Kat: K

  I wait for her to say something else, but she never does. Is the “K” an agreement that she’s going to see me? Or does it just mean “whatever” or “fuck off”? Why am I even wondering about it? I shove my phone in my jeans pocket and pull my hood over my head. It’s cold tonight, too cold really to wear a hoodie, but I didn’t want to carry around a bulky jacket during the game. I’m regretting that decision now, like so many others recently.

  Kat

  We walk to the dining hall, Scarlett with her arm through mine as she talks about the hot, grumpy dude in her English class. I’m grateful the attention is off me and the did we or didn’t we about Clay.

  “Ohmigod,” she gushes. “This guy, I don’t know his name because I
was too busy looking at his body, but,” she sighs heavily, “he’s the perfect broody mystery man.” We all laugh, but she stops us with a look. “No, I’m serious. He’s older than us. I don’t know if he started late, or he left and came back, or what, but he’s easily late twenties. He scowled the entire hour we were in class, and I don’t think he spoke but once. When he did though …” she feigns a swoon. It makes me glad her arm is tucked in mine because she’d probably fall otherwise. “Oh!” she exclaims. “And, to make it even better, he’s all muscle-y too. I would so totally hit that … multiple times.” Her eyes turn dreamy. “I bet he’s the type who could give me multiples too,” she nudges me with our linked arms, “if you know what I’m sayin’.”

  We all laugh as she continues to expound on his many attractive qualities. I’m just glad she’s taken the attention off what happened with Clay and me over the weekend. Her one-sided conversation takes us all the way through the line and over to a table close to the middle of the room. Scarlett and her I-need-to-be-seen personality. If any of us should wind up with Clay, it should be her. The thought sends a painful sting through my chest, but I contribute it to an after-effect from the dream-that-shall-not-be-remembered.

  We start eating, and Becca starts telling us about the guy she went home with at the party … or maybe I should say guys—plural. “OMG, guys. So, I met Chad at the party, right? He was there with his friend Logan, the guy you were dry-humping, Kat.” I’m so glad she pointed that out. I was doing so well at forgetting that part of the evening ever happened. Of course, since I still don’t remember any of it, that’s been pretty easy up till now.