Uncovering Officer Smith (The Discovering Trilogy #2)

by Sheena Hutchinson

  “It’s gorgeous.” My words obviously can’t even begin to do it justice.

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  Those are the last words before we grow silent again, staring at the magnificence before us. The spell is broken as soon as the sun moves slightly lower and the hues shift to a deep red.

  “So, talk to me.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Tell me more about yourself, Becca.”

  “What is there to tell? I’m from Jersey, I came to North Commons on a scholarship, and I have a 4.0 GPA.”

  “That’s not all there is to you. I just want to know more. Ford never really likes to talk about you.”

  “Well, the truth is, I came here to escape.”

  “Escape?” His eyes glance over at me. He’s interested now.

  “My parents – my mother, actually.”

  John leans back on his arm, causing the hood of the car to groan slightly. “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse. With her, it’s all about status. She couldn’t care less about my grades. She only paid attention to what clubs I was in, who my friends were, and what boys I was dating. She just wanted something to tell at the country club tea parties. Completely overprotective, absolute control freak, and the only thing on her resume was her over-the-top, ridiculous party planning.”

  He processes this for a second. “What about your father?”

  “My dad?” I scoff, “He’s non-existent, always working—Can’t say that I blame him. Oh, and I’m totally invisible when Bedford is around. He’s their golden child. When he left for college, it all changed.” I sigh. “My mom became unbearable. I held her sole attention. I needed an escape and school was my focus. I stayed late at the library and barricaded myself in my room. I did homework and extra credit, whatever would keep me busy. Then, when I got the scholarship, it was all worth it. I was able to escape. They had no say and nothing to hold over me.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Huh?” I finally turn to him.

  “Is that why you chose the middle-of-nowhere-New-York? To hide in your room and behind all your books and to continue on to stuffy old law school?”

  “No. I…” I breathe. “It’s because I don’t want to be a ‘Stepford wife.’ I see all my Mom’s friends—Shallow, desperate. I told myself I’d never be one. I’d rather be known for my brains than my beauty.”

  He stares out at the town for a second, the last glimmer of sun falling gently behind the trees before he finally says, “You can try to hide behind all those books, Becca Swanson, but I see you.” He meets my eyes; big, blue, and beautiful. “I’ve always seen you.”

  In this moment, I know I am in love with John Smith.

  Becca woke me up before the sun with something much better. It led to what felt like hours of more fun stuff. We must have passed out afterward because when I open my eyes again, the light is filtering through the open curtains.

  “What time is it?” I grumble aloud as I roll over, reaching for my phone.

  I have two missed calls and three text messages from Ford.

  “It’s like noon, why?”

  I read the few animated text messages. “Oh, crap, your brother is on his way over.”

  “What?” In one swift movement, Becca is on her feet. She’s hooking her bra behind her back when she turns, searching the floor for the rest of her clothes.

  “He was supposed to come over and watch the game. I totally forgot after this morning’s… activities.”

  “Ugh.” Her thin hips shimmy into her jeans and she tosses her shirt over her head.

  Throwing the covers off, I climb to my feet and slip a pair of boxers on.

  She pauses, scanning the room. “Um,”

  “What?” I turn. Becca’s standing there with that determined look again, her forehead crinkled, her fingers in her messy hair, and I want to ravage her again – but I can’t.

  “I can’t find my thong.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “If you find it, will you put it aside for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Please don’t do anything creepy like sniff it or hang it on a chandelier or something.” She smiles.

  I crack up. “Deal.”

  “Okay, I think I have everything.” She tosses her backpack over one shoulder and jingles her keys loose. “I’ll see you later.”

  She leans up on her tiptoes, meeting my lips. I can’t help it when my arms wrap around her waist and pull her closer, deeper. When we pull away, her lips have that adorable pouty look to them. A part of me doesn’t want her to leave. I’d rather have her stay and cancel on her brother. But I let her leave me with a smile.

  Watching her leave, she turns when she reaches the top of the stairs to look over her shoulder. We share a look before she descends.

  A knock comes at the front door before I can even make it into the bathroom to shower. The knock comes again, rapid this time. I swing the door open.

  “Did you forget some—?”

  The door smashes against the wall. The blue eyes I see are not friendly ones. Bedford tackles me. We come tumbling into my apartment. My head narrowly misses the foot of a stool as he climbs on top of me and throws a fist.

  “Was. That. My. Fucking. Sister?”

  I scramble out from underneath him and jump to my feet. “It’s not what it looks like.” My palms are out, attempting to calm him down.

  “Oh, really? Because it looks like my little sister was just leaving your apartment, Smith! I thought we talked about this. What ever happened to bro-code? Does loyalty mean anything to you?”

  “I… I.” Truth is, I don’t know my feelings. How do I look into similar blue eyes and explain my feelings about his very own sister, especially when I don’t know them myself? “She’s …” I try again.

  “She’s what? Tell me how after you promised to leave her alone, I find her leaving your apartment?”

  My shoulders slump. “You’re right.” I’m no good for her. What did I think was going to happen? I’m John fucking Smith, notorious bachelor, self-declared workaholic, and heartbreaker extraordinaire. I can’t get involved or let my guard down. Most of all, I can’t get involved with Bedford’s little sister. She’s too good for me. She is dangerous. She has the power to destroy me.

  He leans into me, pointing his finger in my face. His eyes blaze with an anger I’ve never seen – not even in football. “I will handle her, but if you ever lay a finger on my sister again, I will destroy you.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  Bedford’s blue eyes bore holes through me. “A promise.” With that, he leaves, slamming the door behind him. All that’s left of our scuffle is a crater in the wall from the doorknob.

  I guess I’m watching the game alone.

  I spent another beautiful weekend with John. Monday he stopped returning my calls and hasn’t responded to a single text. I waited hours for him to reply. It’s hard to focus on the beginning of the fall semester and homework, when you are so confused about what the hell could have happened. The hours turned into days and the days are now weeks. I haven’t heard a single thing, and texted him more times than I want to admit. Even I realize I’m looking pretty pathetic. For some reason, I thought I had gotten through to John, the infamous man-whore.

  Don’t get me wrong—I knew what this was. I didn’t go home with him expecting anything but awesome sex. When I woke up in his bedroom the second time, I even asked him if he wanted me to leave. He said no; told me to stay. We went for coffee. He talked about his parents and took me to the roof. John even showed me his favorite spot in Angelica! So, when he just stopped calling me… I’m not going to lie – it hurts. Kills, actually, because it means there was something he didn’t like about me. As I sit here in my living room, staring at the blank document on my computer, all I can think about is him. I’ve had a lot of time to think and I’ve gone over every moment we spent together. The worst part of all is the doubt that one single
man brought to the smart, confident woman I used to be.

  I sigh. “I’m going to text him.”

  Meggie dives across the couch for my phone. “No!”

  “Why not?”

  “Just let it go. You’re only going to look desperate and then feel even worse.”

  “I… I just—”

  We fumble for the phone and it slips from both our hands.

  “No.” She kicks the phone across the wood floors.

  “Meggie!” I holler before giving up and pulling out of the struggle. I collapse on the couch.

  “This is for your own good.”

  In the smallest voice to ever come out of my mouth, I say, “I just need to know why. What the hell did I do? What about all the things he said?”

  She looks at me, tears brimming her eyes, mimicking my own. “I don’t know, Bee. Truth is, you will probably never know. Men are a race all their own. They weren’t created to make sense or call girls back, and most don’t even give a decent orgasm.”

  “You make them sound like the enemy.”

  “Aren’t they?”

  “I’ve hadn’t thought like that before.”

  “You’ve never needed to.”

  “I’ve never felt like this before, Megs.”

  “I know.” She pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry, babe. He’ll realize his mistake eventually. They always do.”

  “I don’t even care about that – at this point – I don’t care if I ever see him again, I just want to know. Why? Why me? Why didn’t he call? Did I do something? Was it me? Why didn’t he just talk to me? Was I not worth a conversation? I… I just want answers.”

  “If you’re not a lawyer, I don’t know what the hell you’re meant for in life.”

  “I don’t know anymore. I have some thinking to do.”

  Her back straightens. “You don’t know if you want to be a lawyer?” She slips into the chair across from me. Letting out a breath, she sighs. “Whoa.”

  “I just need to think some things out.”

  “You’ve wanted to be a lawyer your whole life.”

  “I don’t know which way is up anymore. I really don’t feel like arguing for a living.”

  “Do me a favor, Bee. Don’t make any choices now. Finish your classes here and then pick. Don’t make any rash decisions.”

  I glance up, meeting her eyes once more. “I can’t argue for a living, I have no fight left in me.”

  She nods, pulling me into her arms. The comfort alone slightly relaxes me. Her hair still has that tinge of flower smell to it.

  “I think this calls for wine,” Meggie mumbles on my shoulder.

  “It’s wine o’clock already?”

  “It’s Wine Wednesday!”

  I smile. “Meg, it’s Thursday.”

  “Really?” She glances around, confused.

  “Yes.” I giggle, for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

  “Crap, I missed Spanish again.”

  “You should really drop that class.”

  “You doubt me, Swanson?” She walks into the kitchen.

  “Uh, yes.”

  “Tsk, tsk, no faith,” she states with a shake of her head and fake disappointment.

  “I don’t believe in faith. I believe in hard work and dedication.”

  “I’m sorry, you lost me at ‘I don’t have faith’,” she says from inside the open fridge.

  “Whatever.” I lean back into the couch.

  “I have some bad news,” Meggie calls from over the ledge in the kitchen.

  I twist. “What is it?”

  “We are out of wine.”

  “Oh no, call 911,” I deadpan.

  “I’m serious, Becca. We finished the last bottle last night watching Princess Diaries.”

  I nod. “Good movie.”

  “Becca, focus!”

  “Oh, in that case, go knock on some doors or something.” It is said in total jest.

  “Great idea!” My best friend swings the front door open, propping it with a stray boot before moving to the door across the hall. I wipe my cheeks and run some fingers through my hair before following her.

  Vanessa, the girl from my Spanish class freshman year, opens the door. Dressed in sweats, her hair is one huge knot, she has old mascara under her eyes, and her shirt says ‘No Pictures Please.’ I can’t help but giggle while Meggie continues to ask her for some wine.

  “I only have a six-pack of Bud Light somewhere.”

  “Great!” Meggie shrieks. “Bring it to the game room in ten…” She pauses. “Make that fifteen minutes for you. You have a little something—” She leans over and wipes something from Vanessa’s cheek.

  “White out. I’ve been studying all night,” she tries to explain.

  “Well, girl, you deserve some down time. Game room in fifteen.”

  Leaning against the doorframe, I watch as she continues to knock on the rest of the corridor doors and asks them to bring their alcohol to the common room in ten minutes. She pauses before Tom’s door.

  “Maybe you should invite Clark Kent. He likes you better, anyway.”

  “Why me?”

  “Things are kind of awkward between us now.”

  “Oh, really. I wonder why,” I tease, exaggerating my words slightly.

  “You’re a jerk, Beck-ster. You might want to go put a bra on before knocking or he might get the wrong idea.”

  Glancing down, I see what she’s talking about. My tee shirt is thin, it’s cooler here in the hall, and well—My headlights are on. I fold my arms across my chest and head back to change.

  Ten minutes later, we wander down into the game room. The pool table begins to fill with everyone’s extra liquor and beer, creating a big potluck of alcoholism. Meggie has become the ever-present social butterfly, going around and welcoming everyone. She always amazes me. Her ideas are insane, but they always seem to pan out better than I expect. Where Meggie has a will, Meggie will find a way. When she has something in her sights, there is nothing she will not do to obtain it. I’d like to think I was like that, too, but deep down I know the only aspect of my life I have under control is my schoolwork. Even that is starting to wind down. It seems my homework is getting more harshly graded and test scores are in the low 90’s. The more I try to focus, the more my mind tries escaping it. It always circles back to thinking about John. Because no matter how smart I am, I can’t for the life of me figure out what went wrong.

  “I’d like to thank you guys for coming.” Meggie cuts in front of the pool table, her voice demanding attention. “Now, let’s make each other a drink!”

  There are a few hoots of approval before everyone swarms the table. Cups spread to the masses as a few guys begin setting up beer pong on the Ping-Pong table. Someone hands me a red Solo cup. I glance over. Tom is beside me. He was already in bed when I knocked on the door so I didn’t think he would actually come. I take the full cup from him.

  “Thanks.” I don’t know who is making these drinks, but it is just a mash up of everything on the table. I think I taste watermelon, maybe some vodka, and definitely beer. It’s the strangest concoction one could possibly find, but it doesn’t taste completely bad.

  “You want to play next?” Tom nudges me.

  “What? Pong?” My chin nods toward the table.

  “Yeah.”

  “Nah, I don’t want to make you look bad.” I smile from behind my cup.

  His head falls back as he laughs. “Make me look bad?”

  I let him get it all out because I know in a few minutes I’m going to make him eat his words. “Yup.”

  He leans in closer to me. “This I gotta see.”

  “It’s on, Clark Kent. Let’s do this.” I start walking over to the converted pong table.

  Tom is at my side in seconds, “Clark Kent?”

  “Yeah, the glasses. It was just a joke.” I honestly didn’t realize I said the nickname aloud.

  Our turn finally comes. We approach the table in giggles. I can’t
even remember what he said but it’s hilarious. It must be my second or third drink from Meggie’s bartending concoctions. We begin racking the cups in a triangle formation and fill them up with whatever beer is lying around.

  The two guys across from us snicker to each other before turning to us. “Ladies first.”

  I play coy, smiling at them. “Aw, thank you.” Turning to Tom, I lean close and whisper, “Watch this.”

  My neck cracks from side to side, and I pop up on my toes twice before I assume the stance. I flick my wrist and in one swift motion the pong ball swoops into the middle cup. They look at me, disbelieving, before the one on the left mutters, “Beginner’s luck.”

  “Yeah.” I smirk. “That must be it.”

  Once they pick up the cup and toss the ball back, I square up again. This time the ball lands in the cup directly beside the other. The one with empty hands grabs this cup. I wink at Tom as they roll the ball back once again. Slowly, I manage to get them down to two cups when I mess up my last shot. It bounces off the rim and one of them catches it.

  During their turn, they only got the cup at the very top of our triangle before striking out. Tom’s turn comes. He tries to copy my stance, but his shot is too long. The other team cracks some obnoxious joke before they miss, too. I don’t mind. It will all be over soon.

  I flick my wrist and nab the second to last cup. It appears Tom’s shouting has attracted some attention. I barely even recognized the little crowd beginning to form. Must be this weird watermelon drink. Even with my hazy vision, I manage to end the game with a ball in the last cup.

  Tom screams embarrassingly loud above the other shouts before picking me up and spinning me around.

  “Whoa there, Tommy boy. Spinning and drinking is not a good combo.”

  “Sorry, that was the first game I’ve ever won.”

  I laugh. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, where did you learn to do that?”

  “I have an older brother. You learn things. It doesn’t look so good on a resume, though.”

  His head falls backward, laughing. “Whose next? Who wants to get their ass whooped by my girl?”

  I laugh as they line up. Tonight is going to be a long night.

  I win five or six games. It’s hard to keep count when things start getting blurry. People begin filtering out before I tire of playing pong. Tom mentions something about class tomorrow. It's time I call it a night, too.