More Than a Memory

by Marie James

  “I don’t have any interest,” is her response. “Why don’t I just fly there?”

  “Can’t happen, sweet cheeks. You know what my parents said.”

  “They’re just trying to keep us apart. You even told me that yourself. I’m going nuts being away from you,” she says, emotion evident in her pleading voice.

  “They’re paying for this, Olivia. If you want me home at all, I have to go by their rules. You know that. We talk about it almost every day.” The growing frustration in his tone fills her room as his voice gets louder.

  I leave the hallway to change for a run, their conversation becoming muffled through our shared wall. Although it makes me feel less creepy, the thin walls are going to be a problem.

  “Bringing a girl over is going to suck,” I mumble as I tie my sneakers, then wonder if she has a “no members of the opposite sex in the apartment” rule. I huff at the thought. She may insist that I prewash dishes, but I’ll be damned if I can’t fuck in my own room.

  Grabbing my phone and earbuds, I head out of the apartment toward campus.

  * * *

  “Damn it,” I mutter to myself when I pull open the heavy door, interrupting the baseball meeting already in full swing.

  Coach looks up and frowns in my direction, but continues to talk to the team. If I didn’t waste five minutes this morning pre-washing my to-be-washed dishes, I would’ve made it on time.

  If Olivia had been around this morning, she would’ve gotten a little piece of my mind.

  I grab a seat, but only seem to focus on Coach when he says something important. At least I have that going for me. I can’t seem to let go of the frustration I feel over my current living situation and the effect my tardiness will have on my time here. Her rules may have just fucked my college baseball career.

  “Rough start,” the guy sitting behind me says after Coach dismisses the meeting. I turn to face my new teammate, who sticks his hand out. “Liam Ashford, third base.”

  “Bryson Daniels, short stop,” I say, shaking his proffered hand.

  “Don’t worry about Coach,” he says, nodding toward the empty lectern. “He’ll forget you were late before he sees you again. Just don’t be late for practice, and never miss a game.”

  Sound advice.

  “Thanks, man,” I say, rising from my seat, my mood lifting a fraction. As I make my way toward the exit, Liam follows.

  “You coming to the party Sunday night?” He pushes the door leading out of the complex hard enough for both of us to clear it before it closes.

  “Sunday night? As in the day before school starts?” The extracurricular festivities at La Grande never started until after the month long honeymoon ended at the beginning of each semester. “Don’t the parties start after the first week, at least?”

  He laughs. “Any excuse to party here, man.”

  We descend the steps and begin walking down the sidewalk.

  “Dorms?” he asks, pointing across campus.

  “Nope. I’m in an apartment over on twenty-first.”

  “Alone?”

  “No, I have a roommate. Female, hot as fuck. Has a boyfriend, though.”

  “Don’t get mixed up in that shit, bro. Shitting where you eat is never a good thing.”

  “You’re telling me.” I run my hand over the top of my head. “We just met yesterday, but I get the feeling she’s going to pretty much keep to herself.”

  “Lucky bastard. My dorm mate is an asshole. Well, if you don’t want to hit the party Sunday, there’s another one next weekend,” he offers. “And the weekend after that. Pretty much always a party happening somewhere.”

  “Oh, I’m interested in parties,” I confirm with a wide smile. Hell, I wish I was going to the one on Sunday, but responsibility forces my hand. “I’m only sitting the first one out because I still have to get unpacked.”

  We exchange phone numbers before he takes off toward the dorms. I turn back around to sit on the steps leading into the sports complex. The last thing I want to do is head back to the apartment.

  I pull up my phone and check emails, finding the one from Olivia I’ve been dreading. I wait for Olivia’s emailed list of rules to load, which she was generous enough to send in an easily printable PDF format. Letting my eyes wander, I notice a small memorial garden off to the side of the steps. Bright flowers and a small plaque catch my eye.

  My phone buzzes in my hand, alerting me to another email. Corrected List of Ground Rules. I groan, my mood plummeting straight back to pissed off at the few dozen rules she probably forgot. Before I pull that one up to load, I consider making my own list of ridiculous rules. I wonder how she would feel about “No Wine Wednesday” or “No Shirt Saturday”. I can easily claim religious requirements.

  Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I pull up the list and brace myself for what’s to come.

  I laugh out loud at the structure of it. There’s a header, return address, and the damn thing is color coded by order of importance.

  Reading through the list, I realize most of her requirements are about cleanliness. I’m now certain she’s a germaphobe. The list begins to branch away from her desperate need to keep things clean, making it easy to tell where her added items begin. When I see “No porn/sex in the living room”, I can’t help but laugh. Does she actually think I’d whip my junk out on the couch and rub one out?

  Girls coming over are okay, I just can’t bang them on the couch. I’m not really interested in having an audience, so that rule doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

  The final rule on the list, “No parties of any kind or groups larger than three people”, makes my brow furrow. The apartment is so small, three damn people would be about all it could hold. I can’t seem to withhold a sigh as I walk back to the apartment. Living with Olivia Dawson may be easy on my eyes, but she’s going to drive me crazy.

  Chapter 5

  Olivia

  It’s been several days since Bryson showed up, and I’m beginning to think this roommate thing will actually work out. He’s pretty much kept to himself, and although he hasn’t gotten all of the rules down a hundred percent, he’s trying. The only issue is how thin the walls are. Though it’s unintentional on his part, Bryson wakes me up every morning when he’s getting ready. I can tell he’s trying to be quiet, but I’m a light sleeper and some sounds can’t be muffled. So I lie in bed awake from the second his alarm goes off until I hear the front door close and the lock click into place.

  After he left this morning, I couldn’t go back to sleep. I ended up on the couch watching TV and drinking coffee, which lasted about an hour before I fell back asleep. My sleep cycle has been disrupted for months. I don’t go to bed and sleep for hours at a time like most people. I tend to live from one three-hour nap to the next. I have no schedule, no obligations, and nowhere to be, so I just sleep when I get tired.

  I open my laptop and a second later, the door opens and Bryson walks in. The man is gorgeous. I’ve tried to ignore it, rationalize it, and even deny it, but it can’t be done.

  His tousled dark hair is messy perfection, shorter on the sides and much longer on top. A clean-shaven, strong jaw and plush lips are appealing even in profile as he closes the door behind him. He drops his keys and change into a small bowl he’s placed on the entry table near the front door. Thick fingers reach into his back pocket to pull out his wallet and he casually drops that into the bowl as well.

  Surprise meets his gold-speckled eyes when he sees me sitting on the couch. We haven’t seen each other much since he moved in, so finding me on the couch must shock him. A big, strong hand grips the strap of his backpack as he lowers it to the floor. I watch the movement in awe, unable to resist the sight of his muscled forearm. I’ve always thought the best features on a man are his hands and arms, and Bryson has them in spades. My eyes continue to wander, taking in his thigh-gripping jeans and tight t-shirt until meeting his amused gaze. I look away, embarrassed at getting caught checking him out.

  “He
y,” he says as a grin spreads across his face. He sighs and drops into the armchair. “First day of class. Boring as usual.”

  I blow out a small breath, relieved he didn’t call me out on my blatant perusal, and pull my legs up, tucking them closer to my body. My eyes follow the Sony emblem traveling across the black screen of the TV, unable to look at him. I have no idea why he makes me uncomfortable, but I know it’s my issue and not something he’s done. I fight the urge to get up and go to my room. As much as I want to, I don’t want to seem rude. I tuck the blanket covering me tighter around my body, shielding myself from the discomfort I feel whenever we’re in the same room.

  “When do your classes start? This evening?” He props his sneakered feet up on the edge of the coffee table and pulls them back to the floor at my chastising look.

  “I don’t go to school,” I mumble, eyeing the entry to the hallway leading to my room. I should’ve left when he first walked in.

  “How old are you?” he asks, his eyes studying my face harder. “You don’t look old enough to have graduated already.” Common misconception. I’m a young woman living two blocks from a college.

  I frown in his direction. The last thing I need is to get all cozy with the hot roommate. Just the idea of it makes me uneasy. He waits patiently and the slight lift of his eyebrow lets me know he’ll wait all day if he has to.

  “Nineteen,” I say, giving in. “Twenty in March.”

  “I turn twenty-one in October,” he shares, unprompted. “I’m majoring in business, just in case the whole pro-baseball player thing doesn’t happen for me. What are your life plans?”

  I can’t help the humorless laugh that bubbles up from my throat. “We haven’t known each other a week and already a deep conversation?”

  This is the last thing I want to talk about. I refuse to have this conversation with my own mother, so there’s no chance of getting into it with a man who’s practically a stranger. I look around the room, my mind scrambling to think of some way to divert his attention off of me, but I come up empty-handed.

  “What you’re saying is you’re undecided? On sabbatical? I thought most girls have their entire lives planned out by this point.”

  I close my eyes against his words. I could argue that my whole life is planned out already, but plans change, whether you object to the new direction or not.

  I say the only thing I can think of to shut down the conversation. “My parents are rich, so I don’t have to work.”

  Although this would normally turn most guys off, he seems unfazed by my admission, but I’m unwilling to stick around for more questions. I don’t feel like he’s grilling me for information. It’s more just friendly conversation, ice breakers of a sort to get to know each other better, but share time is over.

  I gather my laptop and bottle of water. As I stand from the couch, the blanket once covering my legs falls away and I immediately regret coming to the living room this morning in my pajamas as Bryson’s eyes linger on my legs. I didn’t take into consideration the inappropriate length of my shorts or the possibility that he would be home before I had the chance to change. I blame the impromptu nap earlier for losing track of time.

  “Jesus,” he mutters, refusing to pull his eyes from my exposed skin.

  Unwanted arousal heats my blood at his attention before shame flushes my cheeks. He smirks up at me, reading the situation wrong. I have to look away when I notice his fingers flex and the tendons in his forearms tighten.

  Without a word, I go to my room, shutting the door once I’m safely inside. Frustrated by my oversight and Bryson’s reaction, I pull on sweats and my hoodie, even though I have no intention of leaving this room. Bryson knowing how much he actually affects me gives him too much power.

  Pacing the length of my carpet, I glance at the clock on my dresser, biting my fingernail. It’s too early, but I have to see Duncan. Annoyance flares inside me as I debate breaking my own rules. Consistency and structure are the only ways I feel like I have control over my life these days, and being unable to stick to regimented times throws both into the wind, but...

  Giving in to the urge, I sit on my bed, open my laptop, and log in.

  I smile when the video opens.

  “Hey, sweet cheeks.” The sound of his sleepy voice makes me smile. “It’s early. What’s bothering you?”

  “I miss you.”

  “You say that every time we talk.” Sadness looms in his eyes, tainting his voice.

  “I miss you more every day. I wish I was there with you.” Right on cue, my eyes well with tears. I wipe them away as they begin to roll down my cheeks.

  “Sweet cheeks,” he says, his features softening. “Please don’t cry. I wish you were here too. I’ll be home soon.”

  “Not soon enough.” My words echo through the speakers.

  “I have to go. Chat soon?” He smiles, and my heart breaks a little more.

  “I love you.”

  Chapter 6

  Bryson

  “What do you mean you haven’t seen her?”

  I take a deep, cleansing breath as Emerson grills me about Olivia. After our conversation on Monday, it became apparent she’s avoiding me.

  “She keeps to herself. I can’t force the chick to hang out.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to hang out because you say idiotic shit like chick when she does see you. You’re never going to find a good woman if you don’t stop being so damned misogynistic. You realize that, right?”

  I want to reach through the phone and shake her, especially since she’s beginning to sound exactly like our mother.

  “I thought you said she was pretty,” she says, digging even deeper.

  I can’t deny my attraction to her, and wouldn’t even try. Hell, it wasn’t until I saw the look in her eye when she noticed me watching her that I realized the chemistry I’ve been feeling wasn’t one-sided. She freaked out and I haven’t seen her since.

  “She has a boyfriend. Poaching girls, no matter how hot they are, isn’t my thing. You know that.”

  Her indignant huff is beyond annoying.

  “Drop the attitude,” I demand. “You know getting involved with her is the last thing I should consider. I’m grateful she has a boyfriend and is off-limits.”

  “I bet,” she mutters, and I roll my head back, my gaze reaching skyward.

  I don’t know if it’s Olivia’s proximity, but I’ve questioned my rules about hooking up with girls who aren’t available more than once—and that doesn’t sit well with me. I’ve honored our unspoken agreement to stay away from each other, and it’s not like I wouldn’t be able to control myself around her, it’s the knowledge that I really don’t want to.

  Emerson starts asking me about the other girls on campus and I force her off the phone. I can’t handle her meddling this early in the morning. Just a few minutes ago, I heard Olivia head back into her room, so it’s now my turn to grab something to eat from the kitchen and head to class.

  I’m taking five classes this semester—two on Mondays and Wednesdays, two on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and one four-hour class on Fridays. I must have been drunk when I made my schedule because sitting and listening to a four-hour lecture every Friday is going to be pure torture; not to mention, its Economics. Even a one-hour lecture would be bad.

  I enter my class, ready for it to be over so I can get a jump on the weekend. Grabbing a seat in the back, I pull out my notebook and the textbook that costs several hundred more than it’s worth—not very economical when a book costs almost as much as a new laptop.

  With ten minutes before class starts, I spend my time watching people enter the classroom. Oregon State has tons of great looking women. I’ve been blessed so far with the female pool in my first four classes this week, and I’m hoping my luck holds up. I’m not looking to get involved with a chick, but I’m not averse to doing a little window shopping, given the opportunity.

  Liam walks in, catching my attention with a quick nod and wave. He stops and talks to
several people before settling into the seat next to mine.

  “You’re stuck in this fucking class too, huh?” He waves to a couple guys I recognize from the meeting last week as they walk in. Business is a common degree for ball players; it was the same way at Eastern.

  “I was just questioning my sanity…” my voice trails off as my eyes linger on the smoking hot woman standing across the room. She doesn’t look like the other girls in class. She seems older, more mature—definitely fuckable. “Damn.”

  Liam follows my gaze to the tall blonde, and my fists clench as she leans over to talk to another girl already seated. When she cuts her eyes in our direction, a devilish gleam in them, I realize she knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s well aware a mere inch of fabric is the only thing keeping her nipples from being visible for the entire class.

  The sway of her hips as she straightens and makes her way over to us entrances me. My cock jumps in excitement, my eyes still glued to the deep V of her cleavage. Some women know how to flirt with a sly smile, and some know how to seduce without even batting an eye. This woman has seduction in spades.

  “Simone,” Liam says, nudging my arm. “She’s a fucking tiger.”

  “Boyfriend?” I ask as she stops to say hi to another guy sitting a few chairs away.

  “Cleat chaser,” he mutters just before she saunters up to us. I shift in my seat and clear my throat when her eyes land square on mine before she diverts her attention to the seat next to me.

  “Hey, Liam.” Her voice is raspy, but I can’t tell whether it’s her natural tone or she’s trying to sound seductive.

  I’m already concerned with how much effort she put in to her appearance for an eight o’clock class, but trying too hard makes me uneasy. High maintenance women aren’t my thing, and I know her full face of makeup and the luscious curls hanging past her shoulders took over an hour to accomplish. Casual, laid back, and spontaneous are more my speed. If I show up at a girl’s house to surprise her with an impromptu date, I want her to be able to throw on some jeans and head out, not wait around while she consults websites for the best shades to wear with certain clothes.