I stop mid-sip and blink at her. It’s the very question I’ve been asking myself since spotting Ryan in the bar Thursday night. Still, I can’t just come out and admit as much. “Why this one what?”
“He’s not the type you typically go for.”
I’m immediately offended. “How do you know the type I typically go for?”
“I know.” She lifts her eyebrows. I hate that look. It’s are-you-shitting-me combined with I’m-not-an-idiot, all topped with a sprinkle of I’m-very-disappointed-in-you to really drive in that dagger of guilt. “Emma, how long have we been friends?”
“Since I came to BU.” I play with the cherry in my drink, focusing on it instead of Kayla’s judgmental eyes. I already know what she’s going to say. That I don’t know what I’m doing. That I’m playing a dangerous game. That I’m never going to find happiness looking for guys I already hate. “Don’t lecture me on everything I’m doing wrong. I already get that enough with Britt.”
She grabs my hands, nearly spilling my drink. I save it in the nick of time and drain it just in case she tries something like that again. She’s still got a hold of one of my hands as she says, “Don’t let him break your heart.”
Swallowing the burn in my throat, both from the vodka and the comment, I regard her. How’s she know exactly what to say? I’ve been trying to figure it out for two days. I barely talk to her about Ryan for two minutes and she already knows why I’m losing my shit. “What makes you think he’ll break my heart?”
“Because he’s exactly what you need.”
I refuse to believe that. Ryan isn’t anything close to what I need. I’m not really sure what I need, in all honesty, but I know it’s not a nerd in shining armor. “What’s that exactly?”
Kayla smiles that knowing smile. On any other occasion, I love it. Since it’s directed at me right now, I hate it. “He’s the opposite of the guys you like. You usually go for the hot guys, the ones who look great on the outside. After you see past his good looks and get to know the real person inside, you discover how messed up he really is. It’s the story of your life.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I’m immediately pissed and ready to walk out. She drove, which means I’d have to walk home. I could call Ryan for a ride on the Vespa, but don’t want to break up his guys’ night. Instead, I glare at the person sitting across the table, the person I thought was my friend.
“Ryan’s issues are only cosmetic. He’s a good person on the inside. You focus too much on the surface.”
“Are you saying I’m shallow?” Now I am ready to call Ryan and bust up his guys’ night for a ride home. I grab my purse.
“You’re not hearing me.”
“Oh, I hear you just fine.” I scoot to the end of the bench seat. “I came here tonight to talk to you about what’s going on with me, not get a lecture about how I only care about appearances.”
“I never said you only care about appearances. I said you focus too much on the surface.”
“What’s that even mean?” I hesitate with one foot on the floor. If she says one more insult, I’m gone.
“Stop looking at everyone like there’s something wrong with them, like they all have something that needs to be fixed. Not everyone is broken.”
“I guess not. Only me.” I swallow a tightness in my throat that causes my eyes to burn. That does it. I’m through having friends who constantly put me down for my life choices. As I storm off, her comment stops me in my tracks.
“Fixing them won’t fix you, Emma. Ryan is a good guy. Deep down you know that. You don’t want him to change. You want him to change you.”
My breathing comes in shallow gasps as the realization sinks in. It can’t be true. It just can’t. There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t need fixing. I’m not the nerd begging to be turned into a player. I whip around to drive home my point, even though I’m not sure what it is. “Why would I want him to change me?”
“That’s the bigger question, isn’t it?”
I hate that answer. It’s not an answer at all. It’s a cop out. I don’t know how to respond, so I stand there, debating whether to walk away and damage our relationship, or sit down and find something else to talk about. The waitress appears with the sweet potato fries and drinks. The draw of another maraschino martini pulls me back to the booth. I scoot in and force a smile until the waitress disappears.
“I don’t want him to change me,” I mutter as I dig into the sweet potato fries. They’re sweet, better than I expected, and don’t need anything to dip them in. “I’m fine with who I turned out to be despite everything.”
She picks up on something and leans in. “Despite what?”
I gulp at my drink. The vodka has already hit me from the first one, relaxing my thoughts and lowering my guard. “Growing up without a dad sucks. I did okay.” I take another long drink and sigh, letting the alcohol seep into my brain. What little filter I have—if any—is completely gone. “It’s not like changing me will change the fact I wasn’t enough for him to want to stick around. That ship has sailed. He’s got a tidy little replacement family now.”
I swallow the rest of my drink and cringe at the burn. My vision blurs a bit. I dig into the fries to soak up the alcohol and to stop myself from talking. It’s like I have diarrhea of the mouth.
Kayla plays with her straw. “You aren’t the reason he left, Emma.”
“I was a pretty big reason.” I laugh bitterly and try not to think about that day. He never looked back. Why should I? With a shake of my head to close the subject, I push the sweet potatoes away. “Let’s get a pizza, a bottle of cheap wine, and go to your apartment to binge watch something on Netflix.”
“Now you’re talking.” She smiles.
“No sneaking in any studying.”
She loses her smile, which draws out mine.
24
{Emma}
I spent Sunday how most college students spend Sundays—hungover and debating whether to get dressed or lounge around in yoga pants all day. Yoga pants won. Kayla and I binged on Netflix, on pizza and Fruit Roll-Ups, and on way too much cheap wine. Turns out she’s never seen any of the Harry Potter movies. She’s only read the books. We got through the first three before passing out on her tiny excuse for a couch. Neither one of us were in any shape to do anything on Sunday but watch the other four while nursing a wicked hangover. Cheap wine, pizza, and Fruit Roll-Ups do not mix. I now know this from experience.
Mondays are the worst. It’s like dangling the fact the weekend is over and the fact you have five days of hell to look forward to before the next one comes around. It’s one of the many reasons to hate Mondays.
Ryan isn’t at the front desk during my lab. I want to text him, but don’t want him to think there’s more to this than me helping out a friend. Texting him to ask him why he’s not at work would cross that line.
Kayla’s right. I can’t treat him like a life-sized Ken doll. He has feelings. I think. We didn’t actually talk about him much the last time we were together. I vow to change that the next time I spend time with him.
Speaking of…
I stare at my phone, debating texting him just to make sure he’s okay. It’s not like him to miss work. I think. Actually, I don’t know if that’s like him. The fact I don’t even know that about a guy I haven’t stopped thinking about doesn’t settle well.
“Why do you have the same look on your face you did when you wrecked your mom’s car?” Britt waits, batting those beautiful-enough-to-hate-her blue eyes. “Do you want to apologize now or later?”
“For what?”
“For throwing out all my shit. I had to rescue a weeks’ worth of food from the trash. I rescued yours, too, so you’re welcome. What the hell were you thinking? We need to eat, you know.”
“We don’t need to eat that crap. It’s terrible for you.”
“This from the same person who eats bar snacks. What’s going on with you? One weekend at the nerd’s and suddenly
you’re a health nut?”
“His name is Ryan.” I hate that I have to keep reminding her. The fact it’s exactly what she has to do with me isn’t lost on me. I’ll make it a point to remember her boyfriend’s name. Not that Ryan is my boyfriend. Fake boyfriend, sure. Regardless of his title, Britt should call him by his name.
“How’d that go, anyway? It’s not like you to hold back on the details.”
It’s exactly like me, but I don’t correct her. We always talk about her sex life. The size of his penis. How many times he can go. How many different positions they try. I have to admit, she’s pretty adventurous, based on her stories. “It wasn’t anything special. I’m more interested to hear about your weekend with Mike.” I hope I got his name right.
She lights up. “Oh my God. He’s the best. We did everything together.” She giggles and adds, “At least when we weren’t having the best sex of my life.”
As she proceeds to tell me every detail whether I want to hear it or not, I stare at the computer screen, wishing I grasped the subject matter. No, that’s not true. I actually get the subject matter. It’s that I don’t care about the subject matter. This is beyond boring. Who wants to sit at a computer and type this shit for the rest of their lives?
Again, I think of Ryan. He does. Or does he? Yet another thing I don’t know about my latest project.
Shit. Shit! I can’t believe I admit to it, even mentally. Ryan is a Project Em’s Way. I can no longer deny it. I’m irrevocably screwed up. I don’t know if I’m changing him, if he’s changing me, or something in between. I can’t stop thinking about him and staring at my phone, which reminds me of how Britt acts when she meets each heartbreak. I swear to God if I’m turning into my BFF I’m going to find karma and kick its ass.
I nod and agree on cue so Britt thinks I’m listening. It’s the same story. She’s nothing if not consistent. My mind drifts to my weekend activities. Friday morning was the highlight. Friday night sucked ass since I lost my shit on Ryan and stormed off, earning me the reward of spending the night alone in my dorm. I worked Saturday, got drunk on wine Saturday night, and took all of Sunday to recover. Britt’s weekend was definitely better than mine.
“And then he says he had a really great time and can’t wait to see me again.”
“When?”
“Tonight.” She smiles wide. “He’s calling in sick to work.” She squeals. “For me!”
“And they say chivalry is dead.”
“When are you seeing the nerd again?”
“Ryan,” I say through clenched teeth. “You don’t hear me calling your boyfriends names.”
“Boyfriend?” Damn it. Of course she picks up on that word. “Now he’s your boyfriend?”
“In appearance only, remember?”
She shrugs and faces her computer for the first time since class started. “If you say so.”
I return to my computer and read through the code over and over. Maybe I’ll get swept away and stop obsessing over the fact I haven’t heard from Ryan since Saturday when he came to the diner with his running buddies. Was he still with them? Maybe that’s why he’s not at work. Maybe they went on a bender and were in jail. Obviously, I’m not Ryan’s one phone call.
I can’t stand it and text him. Where are you? He doesn’t reply. I wait for what seems forever but is really only a few minutes. Are you ok? Still nothing. I don’t like it. My chest tightens as my breathing grows labored. What if he’s in trouble? What if a car slammed into the Vespa and he’s lying in a ditch somewhere? What if his mod blew up?
Okay, I clearly didn’t get enough sleep. There’s no reason for me to stress over this. He’s fine. He’s just busy. Somewhere else. With someone else. Oh, good Jesus with an open flame, I’m a hot mess. Why should I care if Ryan is with someone else? That’s exactly what I want for him. I’m helping him to become the player every girl wants. Right?
“I’m going to cut you if you don’t answer me.” Britt’s piercing glare has me shrinking away.
I recover as best I can by clearing my throat and moving my fingers over the keyboard like I know what the hell I’m doing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear the question.”
“I asked if you were going over to Ryan’s after class,” she whispers fiercely. “It’s like you’re not even listening.”
“Sorry,” I offer, knowing it’s not much. I don’t want to talk to her about Ryan. She’s only going to judge me and tell me to drop the nerd. I don’t want to drop the nerd. I happen to like the nerd. “Yes. We need to finish his haircut.”
“You cut his hair?”
Not well. “It’s not that hard.” It’s only hard if you want it to look nice. Even with the hack job I did, it still looks better than the mullet.
“He looks halfway decent. Definitely an improvement over what we met at the bar.” She’s looking past me, so I follow her gaze and can’t stop the sharp intake of breath when I see him. Ryan is just walking into the lab, a large computer bag slung over his shoulder. I don’t recognize it. It’s not the one he had at the mod.
That has to be why he’s late. He had to buy a new laptop. On a Monday morning. Before work. Even though he works in a room full of computers. Before I can stop myself, I jump to my feet. “Be right back.”
He immediately spots me and flashes that lopsided grin I’m really starting to like. “Emma.”
“Hey.” I play down the way my heart is now slamming in my chest. Heat hits my cheeks like I’m too close to the fire. “Uh, happy Monday.” I laugh to cover up the fact I sound like a complete moron.
“It is now.” He sets the computer bag on the front desk. It lands with a thud. He then rolls his shoulder. “That thing weighs a ton.”
It takes me a second to get my brain working again. I’m still lost in the moment, thanks to his comment. “New laptop?”
“Yeah.” He moves in front of the desk, closer to me. I fight the urge to reach for him. What’s the matter with me? We aren’t dating for real. I shouldn’t be this giddy to see him after only a few days. It has to be the fight. We haven’t had a chance to make up. That thought has the heat in my cheeks moving south. “You’re coming over tonight, right?”
He wants me to come over. I smile and nod. “I said every waking moment.”
“I spent a lot of waking moments this weekend after our fight.” He steps toward me, invading my personal space. I don’t mind. “I’m so sorry for how I treated you. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a Delta.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can be a Delta without being such a dick.”
“I thought you said I had to turn into a dick to be a Delta.” He frowns, furrowing his brow.
I did say that. Now I want to take it back. “How about we focus on some of your other qualities. Let the dicks be the dicks. You can make history by being the first Delta who isn’t a dick.”
He chuckles, sending my skin humming. It’s such a cute laugh. When he inches closer, so do I, closing the gap between us. I look into his steely gray eyes as he leans in and drops his attention to my lips. “Can I—”
“There you are,” Brandon the password hijacker interrupts. “This is the third time in a row you’ve been late to work. If I have to keep opening, I want a raise.” He jerks a quick look my way before regarding Ryan, completely dismissing me. I really hate this guy. “Feinberg wants to see you.”
“Okay.” Ryan waits until Brandon moves out of earshot. “Sorry. I gotta go.”
“Who’s Feinberg?”
“My boss. I’m sure I’m in for an ass-chewing for being late so many days.”
“Speaking of that.” I steal a glance at the new computer bag. “What’s with the new laptop? Was there something wrong with your old one?”
“I really have to go. See you tonight.” He grabs the bag and hauls it with him as he disappears in the abyss where all the workers go.
“See ya…” I trail off. He’s already gone.
25
{Emma}
Ryan wasn’t in c
hem, which has my suspicions on high alert. First he’s late to work, then he skips class. Something’s up with my fake boyfriend. I plan to find out what.
I make my way toward the mods of the Delta house. As I’m on the sidewalk of Greek Row, I hold my head high. I belong here, not in a dorm on the eleventh floor of a rundown building. I just don’t belong in a sorority.
Are females allowed to join frats? That question consumes my thoughts as I round the corner. If I could have found a sorority willing to accept me for me and didn’t want to borrow my entire wardrobe, I would have thought about it. But, not only did all the sororities I pledged to expect me to simply open my closet to them, when I told them to suck my big toe, they all told me I was… What was it? Oh, yeah. Obnoxious, annoying, and had no filter from my brain to my mouth.
Tell me something I don’t already know.
I walk through Delta’s yard to get to the mods out back.
“Hey, Red!”
I cringe as I recognize Brad’s douchy voice. Craning my neck, I spot him on an upper story balcony. “Hello, Brad.”
“That offer stands, sweetheart. You. Me. A private little setting, just the two of us.”
My sarcasm kicks into high gear as four of his friends join him on the balcony. “I’m so glad you cleared that up for me. I wasn’t sure if a private little setting meant more than just the two of us.”
His smile falters as he glances at one of his Delta dickhead buddies when he laughs at Brad’s expense. Then his expression hardens. Oh, yeah. He’s pissed. He jerks his attention to me. “Listen, bitch. You may think you’re smarter than me—”
“I am smarter than you,” I correct him with a raise of my hand to stop him from embarrassing himself further. “So you should save us all time and stop thinking.” I turn and walk toward the mod.
Out of nowhere something smacks the top of my head and bursts open, drenching me with freezing liquid. I pull in a sharp intake of breath as I immediately shake. I pull a piece of green latex off my sleeve. My throat closes as I fight back tears of humiliation. The asshole hit me with a goddamn water balloon.
Reluctant Hero (TREX Rookies Book 1) Page 18
