by Lexi Ryan
Bailey screams out, and Arrow chuckles. “Think if we started being as loud as them, they would feel as awkward as we do?”
“Knowing Bailey, she’d just cheer us on.”
His eyes shift to the door then back to me, but his annoyance has faded, and now he looks amused. “What year are you, Mia?”
“I’m not. I mean, I don’t go here.” He must not have understood what I meant when I said I was just a townie. I was trying to explain that I didn’t go to BHU.
“Oh, are you visiting? Where do you go to school?”
“Terrace Community College,” I say reluctantly. Blackhawk Hills University is a great school, and I’d love to graduate from here, but I can’t afford it. Unlike Bailey, I’m not willing to strip to make it happen. I don’t judge her for her decisions, but I know my limits. So I’m taking one or two classes a semester at the community college and working on an associate’s degree in criminal justice. “Do you play football too?” I ask just to move conversation away from me. He’s gotta play some sport. That body. Those big hands. Sweet mother of Jesus, a girl could go into shock from an estrogen overdose looking at those hands. My body pumps out the hormones like the survival of the human species depends on giving this man my babies.
“Are you joking?” he asks.
“Um, no. I know Mason’s on the team, and I thought maybe you were, too.”
He smirks, obviously amused by my question. “You don’t follow sports much, do you?”
“Not at all,” I admit.
He nods. “Yeah, I play ball.” He points to the door opposite his own. “So do Brogan and Chris.”
“Are you all friends, then?”
“Oh yeah.” He grins. “In fact, initially Brogan and I were bunking, but Chris couldn’t stand Mason’s busy—er, social life.” He drops his gaze. “Sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Bailey’s your friend. You probably don’t want to know about her new guy’s bedroom activities prior to her.”
I shrug. If that did indeed bother Bailey, she’d have no room to talk. “That’s between the two of them.”
Bailey cries out again, and the headboard thunking grows faster.
Arrow’s eyes cut to the door, then back to me. His cheeks are the tiniest bit pink. “So if you don’t go to BHU, I’m guessing you know Bail from high school?”
“We go back further than that,” I say. “Bailey’s been my best friend since we were four, and I caught her stealing my Barbie from the baby pool on my deck.”
He laughs. “Interesting start to a friendship.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” I say, grinning. “I said I was going to tell on her, and she said I couldn’t and I had to be her friend. Or so goes the story Mom told me. I honestly don’t remember a time when Bailey wasn’t my best friend.”
“Brogan and I are the same way,” he says. “Well, minus the Barbie.”
“I’m surprised we’ve never met before,” I say, remembering from our texts that he’s from Blackhawk Valley too. “I’m guessing you didn’t go to high school at East.”
“Westside,” he says.
Our eyes lock. There’s something about his eyes. They’re not quite brown but not hazel, either. More like the color of rich honey. They’re warm eyes. Kind eyes. But maybe a little haunted. Too mature for his age.
I swallow as his gaze drifts to my lips and lingers there for a minute.
The moment is broken when Bailey screams, “God! There! Yes!”
A few months ago, I accused her of being loud only because she likes the idea of people hearing, and she just laughed, neither confirming nor denying. At this moment, I’m confident in my hypothesis.
Arrow bites back a grin. “You wanna get out of here? Go for a walk and let the porn stars finish their business?”
“Please. I’d love that.”
He opens the door and waves me through. “After you.”
I follow him to the elevator and out the dorm’s side door.
In promotional materials, BHU boasts it has one of the most beautiful college campuses in the country. That might be true. The pedestrian campus is covered in paved walking paths that weave over and around the wooded green hills and between the historic brick buildings.
Autumn is just starting to make her presence known, and a light breeze rustles through the trees, showing flashes of the first red, yellow, and orange leaves.
Arrow cuts his eyes to me as we walk. “So, Mia, that’s a pretty name.”
I laugh. “A guy named Arrow is asking me about my name?”
He arches a brow. “It’s Spanish, right? Does it mean something? I took Latin in high school, so I’m pretty much useless in the foreign-language department.”
“Mia means mine in Spanish.”
“So you essentially walk around with people calling you theirs all the time?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “I never really think about it. It’s just a name.”
“Do you speak Spanish, then?”
Sometimes when people ask me this it feels like a politically correct way for them to ask if I’m Mexican, but for some reason the question doesn’t seem so calculated coming from Arrow. “My mother was born in Mexico, and I grew up with her speaking Spanish at home.” The admission comes with an ache that resides in the center of my heart. I miss that—the sweet cadence of my mother’s voice as she chattered on about her day in her native tongue.
“I always thought it would be amazing to speak another language,” he says.
“So, logically, you took Latin.”
He stops walking and squats to pick up a smooth purple leaf from the ground. He grins up at me as he rubs it between his fingers. “Dad thought it would help me get into med school if the whole football thing doesn’t work out.” He stands and hands me the leaf. “It matches your sweater.”
It’s a redbud leaf—purple and heart-shaped, and probably the sweetest thing a boy has ever given me. “I love autumn.” I keep my eyes focused on the leaf, too embarrassed by my own reaction to risk him seeing what it means to me.
“Football, bonfires, parking by the lake and watching the leaves float on the water in the moonlight.” He swallows, as if the description brings back painful memories.
I instantly imagine experiencing exactly what he described but in his arms, wrapped in a blanket, our bodies pressed close to stay warm.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I used to love the fall.”
“Used to?”
He shrugs and shifts his gaze back to the trail as he starts walking again. I follow alongside him and wait for him to explain. Instead, he says, “You really don’t follow football?”
“Sorry.” To me, following sports always seemed like a luxury reserved for rich people with too much time on their hands. Intellectually, I know that’s not true. Bailey grew up in the same neighborhood I did, and she’s obsessed with sports—well, her obsession is really with athletes and the way they look in their tight pants, but it’s more or less the same thing. “I’ve tried to watch the Super Bowl a couple of times, but I don’t understand anything that’s happening on the field.”
“Do you want to learn?” The melancholy I thought I detected in him when he talked about the season is gone, and now he sounds almost hopeful. It’s cute.
“If I had the right teacher, maybe.”
We’ve stopped walking, and I lean against the side of the library. After his text messages, I expected he’d be more forward with me. He seemed like the type who’d crack jokes all the time, always working to get a laugh. Instead, Arrow’s reserved, and though it’s obvious we’re attracted to each other, it’s almost as if he’s not sure what he wants to do about it.
His gaze drifts to my mouth again and his lips part. He has a great mouth. Full and firm. I’m not sure I’ve ever noticed a guy’s lips before. Or wondered, just minutes after meeting, how they would feel on my skin.
“I want to get to know you,” he says softly.
&
nbsp; That simple line steals my breath. Not just the words. Any guy can say the words. It’s the look in his eyes, as if he really means it. It’s the crease in his brow, as if he’s surprised to feel this way. It’s that he’s looking at my mouth like he wants to kiss me, and he totally could, but he’s talking to me instead. “What do you want to know?” I ask.
His eyes lift to mine and burn into me. “What’s the thing you want so desperately that the idea of having it makes you as sick to your stomach as the idea of never having it?”
I blink at him, because that’s exactly how I feel about singing. I haven’t told anyone, not even Bailey, but I dream about singing my songs on a big stage. I love it so much that the idea of someone giving me a chance to do it for an audience makes my stomach tangle into tight, painful knots.
But I’m not going to be a singer. It’s not practical, and I can’t afford the requisite “starving artist” years. Instead, the second-best choice will get all my energy. I’m going to be a lawyer. Guys like my brother need someone who cares enough to defend them. They need someone who understands that, while the law might be black and white, right and wrong, the real world is not. Law school is expensive, and I’m lucky if I can afford my car insurance, so that’s going to be enough of a struggle. Still, it’s a dream that’s within my grasp. And maybe one that won’t destroy me if I try and fail.
But when I think about never getting the chance to sing professionally, my stomach cramps.
Arrow grins.
“Why are you smiling?”
He gives a lopsided shrug. “Because you have a thing. It’s all over your face. You have something you want with all your heart and soul. Something you want so much you’re scared to have it.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not everyone, Mia. Most people are happy just to survive, to let the days pass. But you’re like me. You want it and you’d fight for it. Now I just want to know what it is.” His gaze drops to my mouth again and he doesn’t step closer, but his body sways ever so slightly in my direction, as if there’s a magnet pulling us together.
I can’t breathe. He’s going to kiss me. I’ve been kissed before, lots of times. But I’ve never wanted to be kissed as much as I want Arrow to kiss me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and shatters the fragile moment to bits. I’m ready to ignore it when Arrow steps away.
“You gonna check that?”
I fumble for my cell to read the text.
Bailey: Sorry about that. We’re done.
When I look back to Arrow, he’s turned away, his hands tucked into his pockets. “That was Bailey,” I say. “We can go back.”
He nods but remains withdrawn. Nice to meet you, Mr. Mixed Signals.
When we make it back to the dorm room, Bailey and Mason are in the living area, snuggled together on the couch in some sort of post-coital bonding that makes me reevaluate their relationship.
Bailey looks at me, then Arrow, then back to me, and wriggles her eyebrows. “And where have you two been?”
Arrow shrugs. “Someone told us about a place where we could go listen to people having really loud, athletic sex. We had to check it out, since that’s our favorite way to relax.”
“Isn’t it everyone’s?” I add.
Bailey doesn’t even blush. She winks at Arrow, and for a second I’m so jealous of her self-confidence, I’d become a thief if it meant I could steal it.
The door to the other bedroom opens, and the guy who steps out does a double take when he sees me. “Mia?”
I frown. “Yes?”
Tousled blond hair and broad shoulders. He’s cute. Handsome, even. If I hadn’t been staring at Arrow for the last half-hour, I might even go so far as to call this guy sexy. He grins and shoves his hands into his pockets. “God, you’re even prettier up close.”
Arrow stiffens, and his gaze bounces between me and the blond guy. “You know Brogan?” he asks me.
“I . . .” I’m not sure what’s happening.
“We texted a little.” Brogan flinches and turns to me, holding up his hands dramatically. “No, we didn’t. Forget I said that. That fool with no game doesn’t live here. I’m Brogan, and totally charming, and not at all a creep.”
Fool with no game. Oh, crap. Oh, no. I open my mouth to speak and have to force the words out past a tangle of emotions. “I . . . I thought you said you were Mason’s roommate?” I say to Brogan.
Brogan gestures to the common space. “We’re all roommates.” He steps toward me and smiles. Charming. He’s so very charming. And so not Arrow. “I’m glad you came. We were gonna grab some dinner. Wanna come?”
Disappointment crashes in around me. Brogan is sweet. Goodness radiates off him. I liked him from his first text, and I like him now. But I don’t want him. How could I when every drop of want in my body has been newly dedicated to Brogan’s roommate, the sexy, mysterious Arrow, who has a thing he wants so much it makes his stomach hurt?
“Let’s go,” Bailey says. “Come on, Mia, it’ll be fun.”
Brogan slides his arm through mine and looks at Arrow. “You wanna tag along, too? Call your girlfriend—we’ll triple-date.”
Arrow
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Mia’s eyes widen and her face pales. She looks as if she’s been blindsided. I know how she feels.
“I’m sorry,” Mia says. “I can’t go to dinner. I really need to do some homework.”
Brogan’s face falls. Dude can’t hide his feelings for anything. “Another time?”
“Sure,” Mia says. I’ve known her less than an hour, but even I can tell her smile is forced. And that’s my fault. I’m the one who screwed this up. She grabs her backpack off the couch. “I’m gonna get going, actually.”
“You’re too good,” Bailey objects in a whine. “Everyone needs to play hooky once in a while.”
Mia shakes her head. “What I need is to ace this test.”
“Are you sure?” Bailey asks.
“Positive,” Mia says. She nods at Brogan. “Nice to meet you.” She doesn’t look at me as she says bye to the group and turns to the door.
When Mia’s gone, Bailey’s gaze locks on mine. I can’t answer any of the questions she asks with her eyes.
Brogan drags his hands through his hair, frustration wiping the ever-present smile from his face. Turning on his heel, he goes into his bedroom and swings the door shut. I catch it before it latches, and follow behind him.
He tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling. “Why do I suck with women?”
“You don’t suck.”
He opens his mouth to reply then snaps it shut again. It seems my best friend is at a loss for words, which I think I’ve seen happen to him once in my whole life. Brogan always has something to say. Always.
“You’ve got it bad, huh?” I ask. I want him to say no, that Mia’s just a girl, but I know better.
He rubs his forehead and blows out a slow breath. “Yeah.”
My gut twists. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Because she’s hot?”
“She’s afraid of geese, and she thinks I’m funny,” he answers, and I get the message. This is about more than a slammin’ body. “She studies in the library,” he finally explains. “I’d seen her there a few times when I was leaving study tables. She tutors high school kids sometimes, and I’ve watched her.”
“Creep much?”
“Shut the fuck up. I mean when I was stuck at study tables and she was a few feet away helping some idiot kid pass Spanish. There’s just something about her. Then when I realized she was Bailey’s friend . . . You know her too?”
“Not really. We met today. She’s”—so fucking special I want her for myself—“nice.”
After a few minutes, everyone’s getting ready to go to dinner, and I make up an excuse to skip it and head to the library. I find her tucked into a corner in the basement, legs curled under her, textbook open on the table.
When I spot her, I have to stop for a minute and catch my breath. B
ecause she steals it. When I first saw her in my room today, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. She’s that kind of beautiful. She has caramel skin, big brown eyes, full lips, high cheekbones dotted with the most adorable freckles, and long, dark hair that falls in soft waves around her shoulders. And her body? If she works at the strip club with Bailey, she’s gotta make a killing. But I already know she doesn’t. This isn’t the kind of girl who’d be comfortable taking off her clothes for money.
It’s hot in the library, and the sweater she wore earlier is draped over the back of her chair, leaving her in a soft gray tank that shows her freckled shoulders.
She lifts her head from her book, as if sensing my appraisal. Our eyes lock, and my stomach flips.
I swallow. “I didn’t know you had something going with Brogan.”
“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”
“I—” I snap my mouth shut. I’m not going to insult her by pretending nothing happened between us today. We may not have touched, but we connected, and if Bailey hadn’t texted, I would have kissed Mia. I still haven’t decided if I’m grateful for or resentful of that text. “Not so much a girlfriend as a girl I’ve been seeing.”
“And does she have a thing?” Mia asks.
“What?”
She cocks her head. “A thing she wants so desperately that the idea of having it makes her as sick to her stomach as the idea of never having it?”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my heart. Right there in the teeth of the woman my best friend has fallen hard for. “No,” I admit. “She doesn’t have a thing. Most people don’t, Mia.”
“Does Brogan?”
I close my eyes. “I couldn’t be best friends with someone who didn’t.”
“You’re best friends.” She chuckles softly and shakes her head. “Of course you are.”
I take the chair across from her, spin it around, and sit. “Mia?” I like saying her name. I like how it rolls off my tongue, how it suits her, and how her lips part just a fraction when I say it. Mia. Mine. But she’s not mine, and any connection I felt to her today is meaningless if she has feelings for my best friend. “What are you going to do? Are you going to give him a chance?”
