Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Information
Dedication
Quotation
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Special Note from the Author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Cover
Title Page
Spiked
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Jennifer Lane
Psyched Publishing
Copyright Information
Spiked, Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer Lane
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
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Published by Psyched Publishing
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First published October 2016
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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Cover Design and Book Design by Coreen Montagna
Dedication
To survivors of trauma:
may you tell your story and heal.
May you honor the past as you embrace the present.
Quotation
Chapter 1
THE STALE ODOR OF SPILLED BEER and unwashed laundry assaulted me as I walked down the humid hallway, confused by the blown-up Disney images of Elsa, Anna, and Olaf lining the dorm walls. Was this a university or a preschool?
Next to me, Mom wrinkled her nose. “I wish Highbanks had placed you in one of their newer dorms.”
“No, this is perfect,” Dad said, behind me. We’d piled my stuff into a cart that he now pushed, and it was difficult to hear him over the squeaking wheels. “The quintessential college experience: fifties architecture, no air conditioning.”
I pursed my lips. Why had I wanted my parents to stay together again? They disagreed on everything.
“Guys,” I said. “We already went over this. Canfield Hall is where most of the freshman swimmers live, ’cause it’s close to the pool.” I rolled my wheeled suitcase to a stop in front of room 220.
From our online chats over the summer, I knew my roommate had planned to arrive on campus yesterday. She’d said she’d need to adjust to a new time zone. Australia was a long way away. I knocked on our door, but there was no answer. A thrill zinged up my spine when I extracted my key from my pocket. My new home. The key signified freedom and fun.
When the door opened, the contrast between the two halves of the room startled me. One side was ugly, sterile, plain. The other, which was clearly now Mackenzie’s, exploded with color and energy. She’d lofted her bed frame to provide more space, and posters of shirtless men covered every centimeter of wall below and above the mattress. A fan on her desk rotated, pulsing the warm air.
“Well.” Mom set down her handbag and approached a muscled sportsman with a critical eye. Despite the heat, she looked perfectly put together in a pale pink silk blouse, black pencil skirt, and beige pumps. “Alex Rance, Richmond Tigers,” she read. “From the AFL. What’s that?”
“Australian Football League.” I heaved my suitcase onto the naked mattress. A bead of sweat slid down my spine. “Mackenzie’s boy crazy. She wants to become Australia’s equivalent of Erin Andrews so she can get up close to hottie athletes.”
“Who?” Dad asked.
“She’s an ESPN reporter,” Mom said, her eyes still on the poster. “I met her once at a fundraiser.” As a US senator, Mom attended plenty of those. “We discussed the challenges of working as a woman in a man’s world.”
Dad and I shared a smirk. Mom was a staunch feminist.
He scanned the bare walls, hands on his hips. “You need to spice up this room. Want me to paint something for you?”
I straightened. He would do that for me? “Sure. I guess.”
He fiddled with the collar of his light blue button-down shirt. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to display it.”
“I love all your paintings, Dad.” He’d inspired me to major in art at Highbanks.
“That will get you going again, finally,” Mom said to him. “You always love immersing yourself in a new piece of art.”
Dad didn’t reply, but from the tightness around his eyes, I could tell what he was thinking: Get off my back. His last gallery show had been almost a year ago, and Mom had been on his case to start painting again. But his muse wouldn’t be rushed, especially since the arguments between him and Mom had increased. Their spats poured ice water over his creative flame.
Mom fanned herself. “You sure we can’t convince you to live with your brother, honey?”
Before I could reply, Dad said, “Jessie wants her own life, Lois. She doesn’t want to live in Dane’s shadow. Plus, she’ll be closer to the art building here.”
“Don’t lecture me like I don’t know my own daughter.” Mom folded her arms across her chest, and my stomach clenched. “I appreciate the value of struggle for building resilience.” She waved her hand toward the chipped wood bedframe. “Like living with this cheap furniture. But Patrick, she’ll have enough stress as a college student-athlete. Do you have any idea how packed her schedule will be?”
Dad scowled. “This is a dig about how I haven’t been involved with Dane’s volleyball career?”
I stifled a groan. Two years ago, right before my mother lost the presidential election to Adolfo Ramirez, we’d learned my dad had cheated on her. He’d been distant for some time, and after that revelation, it all made sense. But he’d ended the affair, and my parents had committed to saving their marriage. They’d gone to couples counseling, and for a while I’d been simultaneously embarrassed and relieved to see them kiss and hold hands. But after my dad’s gallery show didn’t do so well last September, he’d become grumpy. They’d started to bicker more. And I couldn’t stand listening to their arguments.
Tuning them out, I texted my brother. Maybe his flight from Colorado hadn’t left yet.
Save me. They’re fighting again.
Fuck. They suck.
I grinned, grateful Dane didn’t act like the twenty-one-year-old college senior he was. He texted again:
Just boarded in CO Springs.
Layover in Denver then home at 5.
I’ll rescue you.
This was the second Olympic developmental camp he’d attended, and he had a good shot of making the national volleyball team after he graduated from Highbanks next May. I would kill to be on the national swimming team. I had less than two years of college training before the Olympic trials—two years to prove I was the best breaststroker in America. Just thinking about it made me giddy.
I replied:
The rents will be long gone by then.
Mom has a thing at the Statehouse.
Not too late to change your mind and live with me.
I sighed as I looked at the scratched linoleum floor. Dane lived in a sweet off-campus two-bedroom condo with probably ten times the square footage of my dorm room. But living with him meant I wouldn’t get to know my teammates o
r other students as well. I wouldn’t live a normal college life. And after all the publicity of my mother running for president, I wanted normal. Besides, I didn’t want to be a third wheel.
You and Lucia don’t want me around.
Luz loves you, you know that.
We’re psyched we both have our sibs here.
I gulped, picturing olive skin and dark, soulful eyes. Lucia’s younger brother, Mateo, was new on campus this year, too.
My choice to attend Highbanks had been a no-brainer, given I’d grown up here in the Midwest, and the school had a top-ten NCAA swim team. Mateo’s decision had been more of a surprise. He reportedly liked the music school, but I bet it had come down to security. Secret Service already had Highbanks figured out. They planned to house him with Lucia in a safe off-campus house.
Did Mateo move in yet?
Not sure. Sec Serv won’t tell Luz anything.
Boarding door just closed. Will call when land.
Tell Dad to stop being a dick.
It was more like Mom was being the dick, but I’d have to save that discussion for later.
I felt Dad’s hand on my shoulder as I texted good-bye.
“Bested by the cell phone once again. We’re clearly not needed here.” He smiled.
Mom looked in the mirror and brushed her fingers through her hair. Hers was blond, short, straight, and perfectly coiffed. Mine was blond, long, curly, and imperfectly feral.
“Sorry we got heated, honey.” She patted her hair, then looked at me. “I know you don’t like it when we argue.”
Then why do you do it?
“You’ll be okay, then, Jessie?” Dad’s deep blue eyes assessed me.
“More than okay.” I grinned. “I’ve been waiting for college for forever.”
Mom approached me. “I remember feeling the same way, my first day at Yale. You too, Patrick?”
“Sure.” Dad paused and shook his head. “Actually, I was scared shitless. The other art students seemed so sophisticated, and here I was, this poor kid from Ohio.”
“Aw.” Mom rubbed his shoulder. “I didn’t know that. I wish I could’ve been there for you back then.”
Dad nodded. “Me, too.” He reached for her hand.
I exhaled.
“So your mother didn’t take you to school?” Mom asked.
Dad shook his head. “She couldn’t get off work. I had to make the trip to New York by myself.”
As much as my parents annoyed me, I had to admit I was glad they’d helped me move in. But now it was time for them to leave. “Thanks for helping, Mom and Dad.”
“That’s code for Get the hell out.” Mom laughed and hugged me.
Dad squeezed me tight. “I’ll miss you. Can’t wait to watch you swim here.”
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I thought about my first college swim meet.
Once my parents left, I finished unloading the cart and returned it to the dorm lobby. I was stuffing my last shirt into the overcrowded closet when the door swung open.
“Roomie!” Mackenzie squealed as she bopped in.
She was about five-five with a dark brown ponytail. What I would give for that straight, sleek hair…She wore a Highbanks Swimming T-shirt, and her gym shorts showcased tanned, muscular legs.
“Hey. I’m Jessica.” I reached out my hand.
She frowned at my hand and scooped me into a hug. “Blimey, you’re tall!” She looked up at me. “You’re almost two meters, then?”
I chewed on my lip. “Um, I’m six feet.”
“Beaut.” She scanned the room. “So, whaddaya reckon?”
“Too hot in here.” I grimaced. My curls had seized up from the humidity, and I felt sweat at the nape of my neck. “Love your posters, though.”
She brightened. “Right? He’s my favorite.” She ducked under her bed and patted the muscles of an intense-looking guy with a shaved head. “David Zaharakis, from Essendon.” Her hand fluttered over her heart. “He’s scored over a hundred goals.”
“Awesome.” I had no idea what she was talking about. Were goals like touchdowns?
She straightened. “Hope I meet a guy as cute as him here. You’re coming to the swimmer party tonight, right?”
“I didn’t know about a party.”
“Now you do. It’s at the swimmer house. We’re going.”
The giddy feeling returned. My first college party!
She held up her phone. “Elyse texted me about it. She wants your number, too. What is it?”
Elyse was a senior on the team who had followed me on Instagram. After I told Mackenzie my cell number, I asked, “What’s the swimmer house?”
“A bunch of senior guy swimmers have a house on south campus.” She stripped off her T-shirt and turned to her closet. Like most swimmers, she had no need for modesty. “Is your mum here?”
“She had to leave.”
“Shit. Dad wanted me to meet her.” She tugged a camisole over her bra. “He reckons she’s famous.”
She didn’t know my mother? “You know she ran for president, right?”
Mackenzie blinked at me. “President of the United States? Rack off!”
I laughed. How could she not know that? “She lost the election two years ago.”
“Bugger. That must’ve sucked.”
I shrugged. “It’s not too bad. I wouldn’t have been able to live in the dorm if I had to have Secret Service all the time, like Lucia.”
“Lucia?”
“I told you about my brother, right? He’s a senior on the volleyball team here. His girlfriend is President Ramirez’s daughter.”
“I’ll be buggered. Dad didn’t tell me that.” She tossed her backpack onto her desk chair and rummaged through it. “I wonder what it’d be like to date the president’s kid.”
I wonder, too. I’d met Mateo at the presidential debate two years ago, but hadn’t seen him since. Back then, Secret Service agent Johnny Zucko had guarded me, and Dane told me Johnny was now on Mateo’s detail. I hoped I got to see them both soon, as well as meet the hot men on the swim team. The sweetness of eye candy awaited me.
I studied my closet, wondering what to wear to the party. “Hey, what’s up with Frozen-palooza in the hallway?”
Mackenzie snickered. “Zoe—she’s the RA—she said our wing theme is Frozen.”
“Whatever.”
“Right?”
As I selected a turquoise-sequined halter top, I thought about Anna, the younger sister in the movie. First she fell for the handsome and confident Prince Hans, but then the unassuming Kristoff wormed his way into her heart. One betrayed her, and the other earned her love.
“Love your shirt,” Elyse told me. Thankfully she’d leaned in to shout in my ear so I could hear her over the pounding bass.
I was glad I’d stuck with sequins despite Dane’s arched eyebrows when I’d met him for dinner. His only advice: “Don’t drink too much.”
“Yours, too!” I yelled back.
Elyse’s crimson cap-sleeve top complimented her long, vampire-black hair and dark-framed glasses. We both wore jeans. Her high heels brought her almost to my height.
“Want a beer?” she asked.
I nodded. I despised the taste of beer, but tonight was a chance to whip my taste buds into shape. When she left, I felt self-conscious, standing by the wall alone. A cute blond guy had captured Mackenzie’s attention, and I hadn’t met anyone else yet. I tried to fade into the woodwork, which was hard to do as a six-footer.
“Hey, beautiful.”
I turned toward the deep voice, and my breath caught in my throat. He towered over me, his gaze pinning me to the wall. He’d gelled his short brown hair into a peak over the middle of his forehead.
“Um, hi,” I said.
His smile revealed perfect, white teeth. “About time you got here. The girls’ team needs a fast breaststroker.” His eyes flicked down to my chest.
My heart revved—he knew who I was. “You’re a swimmer, too?”
“Of course. This is my house.” He opened his arms, and I noticed a crack in the plaster behind the beat-up, striped sofa. “Instant swimmer, just add water.”
I grinned. “What do you swim?”
“I’m a sprinter.”
I should’ve figured that. Sprint freestylers tended to be tall. And cocky.
Elyse sidled up to me and thrust a can of beer into my grasp. “I see you’ve met Blake.” Her voice dripped with disgust, but he didn’t stop smiling.
“How was your summer, Lyse?”
“Fine.” She gave him a tight smile.
I took a swig of beer and couldn’t hide my shudder.
Blake’s chuckle was low and deep, resonating in my toes. “Not a fan of the brewsky?”
“It’s great,” I lied.
Elyse latched onto my elbow. “I want you to meet Hailey.”
Blake shook his head as he smirked. “Catch you later, Jess.”
I allowed Elyse to lead me away, but I knew I wanted to talk to him again. My spine tingled, and when I looked back, his eyes still tracked me. Woo! Eye candy sugar rush.
“Elyse!” a girl shouted, grabbing her for a hug.
A little while later I was chatting with a couple of juniors on my new team when a commotion at the front door drew my attention. A red-haired woman in a business suit entered, and the second I noticed her earpiece, I gasped. Why was Secret Service at a college party? Had someone threatened my family? When I saw a spike of black hair behind her, I had my answer. Mateo was here!
A blond agent swept into the room, and as he neared me, I tapped his shoulder. He whirled to face me. When I noticed the alarm in his eyes, I jumped back. “Johnny, it’s me!”
His eyes flashed with recognition. “Miss Monroe. You’ve, ah…” He looked me over. “Grown up.”
“It’s so good to see you!” I’d spent over three months with him before the election, and I bounded into his arms for a hug. I felt him stiffen before he chuckled and patted my back. He let me go and scanned the scene around me. Elyse and the two juniors I’d been talking with gawked at us.
Spiked (Blocked Book 3) Page 1
