Her face crumples, and I reach for her on instinct, pulling her into me and wrapping my arms around her. Her shoulders shake just slightly, her cries nearly silent as I hold her.
“Shhh,” I whisper, kissing her forehead before pulling her in tighter and resting my chin on her head. “It’s okay. Want me to kick his ass? Put auto-tune on his mic?”
She laughs into my chest. “He was just kind of snappy with me and said some things he didn’t mean. He’s got a lot going on. I get it, I do. He’s just a little… different. That’s all. But when we’re alone, he’s the same Grayson I know and lo—”
She doesn’t finish the sentence, stiffening in my arms at the realization of the word that almost slipped out. I just hold her tighter and pretend like I didn’t notice, like it wasn’t a shotgun shell to the gut.
“Who the hell was that who bid on me?!”
Ashlei rushes the table in a flurry, eyes searching the crowd as Cassie sniffs and pulls away from me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, the guy who bid ten-thousand out the gate? Yeah, we’re all dying to know who he was, too.”
“That’s just insane,” Ashlei says, hands flying. She pauses when she looks at Cassie again, no doubt noticing the red blotchy skin under her eyes, but she doesn’t push for answers — not in front of me. Instead, she shakes her head and crosses her arms to mimic Cassie. “I mean, honestly, what college kid has that kind of money to throw around? And for an auto racing date that’s worth maybe fifteen-hundred, if even.”
“Maybe it was you who made it worth more to them?” I offer, trying to stick up for the poor sap.
She scoffs. “That’s even more ridiculous.”
A young girl with the biggest tits I’ve ever seen stuffed into a small tank top skips over to the table, handing us a check with a wide grin. “This is for the auto racing date with Ashlei Daniels,” she says with a high-pitched voice.
“Mykayla?!”
She blinks, turning to Ashlei. “Oh! Hey, you. Good job up there. This event is really cool! I never really did any of this when I was in school. I lived at home and really only came to campus for class. Are you sticking around for Grayson Anderson? He is so swoon-worthy.”
Cassie chews the inside of her cheek and I reach for her, grabbing her hand behind the table where no one can see. I smooth my thumb over her wrist and she closes her eyes with a sigh before squeezing my hand in return.
“Yeah, he’s a hunk,” Ashlei deadpans. “Mykayla, why did you bid on me?! And ten-thousand dollars?! Are you insane?!”
“Oh!” Mykayla shakes her head, dark blonde hair framing her rack as she giggles. “No, silly, it wasn’t me. I’m here on behalf of Mr. Church.”
Ashlei’s face goes sheet white as Cassie and I exchange a look and a shrug.
“Mr. Church bid on me?”
“Uh-huh,” Mykayla says, dragging out the words and bouncing on her heels. “He heard me talking about the concert and the auction. I just thought it was so nice of you to donate your time like that. And to risk going on a date with some random guy you don’t know? That takes guts. He agreed, and he wanted to help the cause, so he sent me with a check. Isn’t he the best boss ever?”
This time, Ashlei’s face flushes red, and she slowly closes her mouth that has been hanging open since Mykayla started talking. “He’s something.”
Cassie gives Ashlei a look that says they’ll be talking later just as Jeremy calls me backstage through my headpiece.
“I have to run,” I say, nodding to Ashlei and Mykayla before turning to Cassie. The lights on the stage go black and the crowd roars, more than seven-thousand people on their feet for the asshole who made my favorite girl cry. I keep my eyes on her, ignoring the first note from Grayson’s guitar. “You going to be okay?”
Cassie nods. “I’ll be fine.” She watches me, questions dancing in her eyes as the stage lights up again and the crowd goes even crazier. “Thank you, Adam.”
“I’m always here,” I remind her. Then, I lean forward, kissing her cheek with the same promise before jogging toward the stage.
A FEW DAYS AFTER the Alpha Sigma concert, I turn twenty-one almost silently and without fuss — exactly how I want it. My sorority sisters bake me an adorable pink cake with white, polka-dot frosting, and my parents call me to let me know they’ve wired some birthday money into my account, but other than that, it’s a normal Monday.
It’s perfect.
Around nine, I’m just about to take off my makeup and pull out my planner to see what Tuesday has in store when my phone lights up with a text from Skyler.
- SOS. I know it’s your birthday but I need you. Can you throw on something cute and come to Ralph’s? -
I groan, thumbing out a polite “no” as fast as I can, but before I can send it, another one from her comes through.
- Please. It’s important. You know I wouldn’t ask you to come if it wasn’t. -
This time I groan louder, but I know I can’t leave my Little hanging. She’s pretty self-sufficient, even when she has boy or family drama going on, so the fact that she’s asking for me tells me she really does need someone.
I send a text back telling her to give me twenty minutes, rummaging through my clothes hamper to pull out the same dress I’d worn all day. It’s a little too pink for Ralph’s, but I don’t feel like putting together another outfit, so it’ll do.
When my makeup is touched up and my hair is re-straightened, I grab my phone and purse and head downstairs. The house is surprisingly quiet, only a few sisters studying silently in our small house library, and I wave at them on my way out the door.
There are usually cabs waiting all along Greek Row on the weekends to shuttle students to Ralph’s and other off-campus bars, but since it’s a Monday, I have to call one, and I wait patiently at the pickup point at the end of the road, going through social media on my phone as I wait.
I glance up when a cab from a different company than the one I ordered pulls up, dropping three tipsy students off before it pulls away again. Two of them stagger toward Greek Row, but the other stands completely frozen, eyes on me.
“Erin?”
I squint through the darkness, and when he takes two steps toward me and the light from the street light catches his face, my entire body goes into fight or flight mode. The hair on my arms sticks straight up, a chill racing from my heart to my toes as my pulse races to catch it. I want to run. I want to knee him in the balls. But more than anything, I don’t want to do either of those things.
Because the last thing I want to give him is the satisfaction of knowing he’s had any kind of effect on me at all.
“Oh, hi, Landon,” I say casually, dropping my gaze back to my phone and pretending like I’m typing out a status update.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Can’t believe we’re running into each other,” he offers with a laugh that makes me want to grind my teeth and punch him in the mouth all at once. “How was your summer?”
“Fine.”
Every inch of me squirms the closer he moves toward me, and a small part of me dares him to try something. I took self-defense classes all summer long and I’m dying to use them on him if he even so much as puts a pinky finger on me.
“Hey, look, I’m actually glad I ran into you. I wanted to thank you,” he says, and I pause, fingers still hovering over my phone. “For being cool about what happened that night of formal. We were all so drunk,” he adds with a laugh. A fucking laugh. “And it just got a little crazy. I appreciate you not being dramatic about it and causing more trouble than there needed to be.”
Nausea rolls through me like a bad shot of alcohol, burning its way down my throat and back up again as I fight against it. My blood is cold, hands shaking as I grip my phone harder.
How fucking dare he.
The urge to send my knee flying into his groin and break his nose is almost too strong to contain now, but I use everything my mother taught me and do just that, settling for a sinister laugh of my own before tucking my
phone away inside my purse just as my cab pulls up.
I step toward him, looking straight into his eyes, which makes him take a full step back.
“No worries. Your dick is so small, I barely felt anything, anyway.”
His smile drops, and I blow him a kiss and wave my fingers in his face before dipping inside the back of the cab.
“Ralph’s,” I say to the driver, and then I nearly pass out, black and white spots invading my vision as I press one clammy hand hard against my forehead. I focus on my breathing, inhaling for eight seconds before holding the breath and letting it go even slower. I knew I would eventually run into Landon, but the way he just acted — so casual, like what happened didn’t matter — it hurt worse than if he were cruel about it.
The farther we drive away, the harder it gets to breathe. I just want to go home, to my bed, but then I hear my mom’s voice telling me to be strong, to not let that fucker get even one ounce of power from my emotions.
He hurt me, and now I want revenge.
In the back of this cab, I vow that I’ll get it this semester. I don’t know how, or when, but I will. And until then, I’ll remind him every chance I get that what he did to me doesn’t change who I am.
But even lies with intentions to heal are still lies.
My heart’s still racing when the cab drops me off, and I walk as best I can with my ankles still shaking as I make my way to the entrance. Before I can tug the door open, Clinton flies out it, ushering me to the side of the building while casting a look over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t seen.
“Uh, hi to you, too, Bear. Care to tell me why you’re blocking my entrance to Ralph’s and sneaking around like a 007 agent?”
“Skyler doesn’t need you,” he says. “There’s a surprise party inside. For your birthday.”
My racing heart stops altogether at his words, deflating like a balloon as I cover my face with one hand and groan. “No. No, no, no, I don’t want a party.”
“I know. I know, that’s why I stopped you before you went in. I didn’t want you to get overwhelmed.”
He’s dressed in a bright orange polo and dark jeans, his sneakers matching his shirt, and a flat-billed hat finishing off the look. His cologne is strong and sweet, making me want to curl into him, my body reacting to the way his large arms nearly burst out of his sleeves before I can remind myself why that’s a stupid reaction to have.
“Look,” he says, bending down a little to catch my eyes with his. His hands find my arms and he steadies me, squeezing them gently. “Just pop in, act surprised, stay for a drink and then you can fake sick and I’ll take you home, okay?”
“No,” I say automatically. Ten minutes ago, I could have done what he was asking, but after running into Landon, just standing on my own is taking everything I have. “I can’t.”
“Come on,” he urges. “Your sisters planned this for you. It’s your twenty-first birthday, Erin. Just have a drink and—”
“I DON’T WANT A DRINK!” I scream, breaking loose from his hold on me. “That last time I drank I was fucking raped, Bear,” I remind him, my voice cracking on the word as tears threaten to break. I hold them back, not wanting to let the pain out. “And the time before that, I…”
My voice trails off, realizing what I was about to say, but Clinton doesn’t let it go.
“You what? Slept with me?”
I shake my head, biting back the tears and wishing I could tell him it’s so much more than that. If he only knew what happened after, he would understand.
But it would also kill him.
And he doesn’t deserve that.
He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest with his eyes on the parking lot behind me. “Fine. Just leave. I’ll tell them you got food poisoning and you were throwing up the minute the cab dropped you off so I sent you back.”
I nod, glancing at him with the only thank you I have in my eyes. I can’t say another word, and he doesn’t ask for one, just sighs and shakes his head as he starts toward the entrance again. I take out my phone to call the cab back, but before I can dial the number, his voice stops me.
“I know what happened that night, Erin. I was there. I saw it,” he reminds me, his voice the shaky one now. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m pushing. You may have toughened your skin over the summer and shoved all your feelings on it down into some box with a bolted lid, but one day that lid is going to pop off from the pressure, and I just want you to know you have someone to go to when it does.”
His words are like numbing cream, drying up my tears as I hold the phone to my ear to order another cab and he disappears inside again without another look from me. He may believe he’s right, but I can’t — because going through the pain of opening that box again would be more than I could handle. It would kill me, and I’m not ready to die.
So, as I climb into the back of the new cab, I seal the box shut a little tighter, add a few more bolts, and swallow back the tears I never want to let fall again.
Maybe someone can see my scars, after all.
I HAVE NO IDEA what I’m doing.
Not just in the current moment as I pack my books for a day full of classes, but in life, in general. Up until right now, the only thing I’ve ever known to be certain is that I love to play poker. Period. The end. But that’s about all I have.
Sure, I like to flirt with boys and party with my sisters, but unfortunately, there’s neither a career path for those kinds of hobbies nor is there anything such as a Professional Paddleboarder or Dynamite Donut Eater that I’m aware of. So, over the summer, I asked myself if poker was really what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, because it was the only sure thing I had that could potentially be a career.
It wasn’t an easy question to answer.
I love poker, that much is easy for anyone to see. But can I imagine a life of always traveling, always hustling, always wondering if I’d make the next tournament or be able to perform in it? Can I see myself getting married or raising a family and somehow battling poker tabloids at the same time?
I don’t have those answers, and I didn’t find them over the summer. So, I filled my schedule with classes in all fields of study, hoping to find something that will stick. My first two years at Palm South University were a breeze, mostly filled with general education courses that were similar to high school in content, just more intense. But this semester, I’ll be diving into five different subject areas to see if anything sticks.
God, help me.
“You’re a mess,” Ashlei says with a laugh as she watches me pack my books for the day.
I have my Nonprofit Organizations class today, inspired by Jarrett’s most recent job acquisition, followed by Judicial Process and Politics, just in case I want to go pre-law, and finally, Stagecraft I. My mother was into theatre when she was in high school, so I figured maybe it’s in my blood. And this is just for my Monday and Wednesday classes. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have Principles of Advertising and Introduction to Elementary Education.
Something is bound to stick.
“It’s like being at a delicious buffet,” I say defensively, zipping up my blue and green Vera Bradley bag when all my books are in place. “I have to load up my plate and try a little of everything before I can decide what I actually want to eat a substantial amount of. In the end, I’ll be stuffed and happy.”
“Or you’ll vomit.”
I glare at her as she hops down from Jess’s bed, linking arms with me with a laugh.
“I’m just giving you a hard time. I’m glad you’re exploring options, Sky. It’ll be fun.”
“Not as fun as your bad-ass internship,” I counter as we make our way downstairs.
It’s a bustling Monday morning in the sorority house, girls flying every which way, hair half-done and protein bars in hand. Some are heading out to the gym, some coming back, the rest of us somewhere between classes, internships, jobs, or on-campus activities. Erin was out the door by six AM, which surprises absol
utely no one.
“It really has been such a blast, but the real work is starting now. I thought I was busy before,” Ashlei says with a sigh. “I had no idea. I want to knock the socks off of this client when we meet with them in a few weeks to pitch the event launch concepts.”
“You’ll do amazing,” I assure her, squeezing her arm before breaking our link as she heads toward the door and I toward the kitchen. “Still on for a girly movie night?”
“Definitely. I’ll smuggle in some wine.”
“My girl.”
Ashlei throws me a wink and then she’s out the door, and I make my way to the kitchen, snagging a banana and to-go cup of coffee for my walk to the Business building.
Even in the sticky September morning air, it feels good to be back on the PSU campus. The classes are challenging, the boys are hotter than Hades, and the parties are just as wild as ever. It’s home, but there is one thing missing.
Clinton’s smile.
I haven’t seen it, the real Clinton smile, ever since Omega Chi was put on a one-year suspension. I can’t blame him for feeling down, and even though he’s been trying his best to put on a happy face at the Alpha Sigma parties and social events, I know inside he’s miserable. Between his little brother living with a friend in Pittsburgh and everything going on with his fraternity, it’s a wonder he can even force a fake smile.
But that’s what he’s wearing nowadays, and today is no different as I round the corner of the Student Union and meet him in our usual place. We walk to the Business building together every Monday and Wednesday, me for my first class of the day and him for his second, hence meeting outside of the Union instead of on Greek Row.
Clinton is leaned up against the dark brick at the side of the building, his gaze distant as I make my way toward him. He still looks as fresh as ever, red and black Air Jordans matching the Nike design on his casual t-shirt and Omega Chi hat turned a little to the side. He’s grown a little scruff on his chin since the beginning of the semester, and I run a knuckle over it when I reach him.
Palm South University: Season 3 Box Set Page 7
