Aced (Blocked #2)

by Jennifer Lane

  Happiness warmed my chest. She was definitely a strong woman. I exhaled. “Okay.” We kept looking at each other. I wanted to ask her more about her mother and the rest of her family, but she seemed overwhelmed as it was. Not knowing what else to say, I asked, “How are you?”

  “Tired,” she said, falling back into the cushions. “It’s been a long night.”

  I nodded. I felt exhausted.

  “I can hear my phone buzzing all the way over here.” She pointed at her backpack across the room. “My family’s probably freaking out. But I’m too tired to answer.”

  “Do you want me to bring you your phone?”

  “No.” She closed her eyes. “I just want to sleep.”

  She smelled so good—a heady combination of mint and outdoors. “Then sleep,” I said. I scooted forward to bring the back of my neck flush with the cushion and extended my legs on the ottoman. My heart hammered as I lifted my arms to the side. Would she accept my offer to be her pillow?

  A slow smile spread across her face, and she snuggled down into me, her head on my chest and her long legs lengthened next to mine. I wrapped my arms around her and rested my palms on her back. I felt her lean muscles shift beneath me, and heard her sigh. Over time, her soft breaths began to even out. There was no insomnia for Maddie Brooks tonight.

  My heart about burst with tenderness as she slept in my arms.

  Chapter Fifteen

  WOW, THAT WAS ONE TOUGH PRACTICE—the third in a row that had kicked my butt since Alejandro went back to Baltimore. My quads quivered as I climbed the last stair. For my next apartment, I’d be sure to choose the first floor.

  A delivery notice from a florist was stuck on my door. Squee! Next to a checkmark by the box Sorry We Missed You, the delivery person had scrawled, Left in 3E.

  My excitement vanished. That was Mrs. Marshall’s apartment. The second I knocked on her door, Charles went apeshit. For my next apartment, I’d be sure not to live on the same hall as a yippy dog.

  “Charles, hush!” Mrs. Marshall admonished. An eternity passed before the door swung open.

  As soon as he could, the little dog rushed my feet, weaving between them. He was actually adorable when he wasn’t barking, and I reached down to souse his ears. I looked up to find his owner frowning at me.

  “You shouldn’t go out in this cold with wet hair.”

  “I wore my hood.” I lifted it off my shoulders to show her.

  “Humph.” She pursed her lips. “I suppose you want your flowers.”

  Nah, I just really enjoy you berating me like you’re my mother or something. I paused. Had she seen the news report about my mother? “That would be great.”

  With a flare of her faded turquoise housecoat, she turned back into her apartment, leaving Charles and me to stare at each other. Was I supposed to follow her?

  “You coming?” she hollered. “I can’t lift this heavy vase myself.”

  Heavy vase? The smell of menthol assaulted me when I stepped inside. Charles bounded ahead and vaulted onto the floral print sofa next to Mrs. Marshall. Her apartment floor plan was the mirror of mine, and I soon found her dining room and the enormous flower arrangement spilling over her small table.

  “Whoa.” I circled it, taking in the pinks, reds, and deep purples. I didn’t know the names of all the flowers, but their lush beauty stunned me.

  “Some boy’s got it bad for you,” she said. She scooped Charles into her lap and stroked his wiry fur as she watched the local news on TV.

  I pulled a card out of the small envelope embedded in the arrangement.

  Happy Valentine’s Day

  ~Your Hot Potato

  My grin stretched from ear to ear.

  Mrs. Marshall said, “It’s that Ramirez boy, isn’t it?”

  My smile faded as I turned to her and nodded. Why wouldn’t she assume the flowers were from Jaylon? Maybe because he’d rarely visited my place.

  “He’s bad news. Don’t like those reporters camped outside the building.”

  “Me neither.”

  She scowled. “Makes it hard to go out and let Charles tinkle. Damn reporters get in my way.”

  “At least they weren’t here tonight,” I offered. “Maybe they’ll stop coming around when they realize what a boring life I lead.”

  “Or that you’re never home,” she added. Charles whined when she shoveled him off her lap and began to push herself up from the sofa. It took her a while to get to her feet, and I wondered if I should help. “I’m about to cook beef vegetable soup—Charles’s favorite. Why don’t you stay and have some?”

  I reeled in surprise as she shuffled to the kitchen. She’d never invited me for dinner before…Then it hit me: she’d heard about my mother and was trying to be nice to me. She wasn’t the first person to treat me differently since that news report. Ugh.

  “Thanks so much, Mrs. Marshall, but I’ll just grab something quick in my apartment. I have to study.”

  “On a Friday night?”

  I shrugged. “It never ends.”

  She struggled to reach the upper shelf of her cabinet, and I came up behind her to take down the pot she wanted. I towered over her—she was barely five feet tall.

  “Thanks, dear. What’s your major?”

  Now she wanted to chat? Mean Mrs. Marshall? “Um, biochemistry. I hope to go to med school, if I’m lucky.”

  “I was a receptionist at University Hospital.”

  I hadn’t known that.

  “Back then, all the doctors were men,” she continued. She opened a carton of beef stock. Before she poured it in the pot, she fixed me with a feisty stare. “You better get studying to show those boys how it’s done.”

  I laughed.

  “But come over anytime for some home cooking, dear.”

  Two dears within five minutes. Wha? “Thank you, and thanks for holding the flowers for me. I’ll get out of your hair now.” I lifted the vase with both hands and headed for the door, serenaded by high-pitched barks.

  “Cut it, Charles!” I heard from the hallway as her door closed. Once inside my apartment, I searched for a home for the overgrown bouquet. I nudged some papers aside so I could set it on the coffee table. Without the overpowering smell of menthol—or of kimchi, thank God—I could inhale the fresh fragrance. Alejandro did such sweet things for me.

  The feel of waking up in his arms a couple mornings ago returned. I’d never spent the whole night with any man, and at first I’d felt panicked by his closeness.

  “Hi,” he’d whispered as he gazed down at me.

  “Did you sleep?” I asked.

  He nodded. “It’s past seven—I woke up right before you.”

  “We slept ten hours?” I bolted upright. “Shit! I’m late for practice.”

  “Wednesday’s your morning off, remember? Lucy came in earlier to tell me.” He’d massaged his left arm as he spoke.

  That had been the arm circled under me as we’d slept. “Does it hurt?”

  “I lost feeling in it around midnight.” He shrugged.

  “Alex!” My jaw dropped. “Why didn’t you let go of me?”

  His mouth had spread into a sexy smile. “It was worth it.”

  The memory of that seductive smile and the scent of roses and violets warmed me inside. I whipped out my phone, shrugged off my coat, and wrote a text.

  You do know Valentine’s Day was three days ago.

  Sometimes Alejandro got so wrapped up in studying or exercising that he didn’t respond to my texts right away. I grabbed some Greek yogurt from the fridge and was about to eat my first bite when my phone dinged. I inhaled a happy breath. Was it normal to be this giddy over a stupid text? I didn’t recall feeling this way when I’d started dating Jaylon.

  Yeah, but I won’t let Dane one-up me on the flowers.

  I giggled. Lucia wasn’t the only competitive Ramirez. I hopped into the other room and snapped a photo of the arrangement to add to my next text:

  They’re beautiful. Thank you.
/>   You shouldn’t spend so much on me.

  I returned to the kitchen to eat my yogurt.

  It’s my pleasure to buy you things.

  But does it make you uncomfortable?

  The spoon hovered in my mouth. Was I uncomfortable receiving that expensive flower arrangement? I knew his family was rich…

  I’m eating the yogurt you bought after taking the test

  you helped me study for. I do feel a bit uncomfortable with everything you do for me.

  I want to do something nice for you.

  You’re ALREADY doing the sweetest thing for me,

  believe me.

  What’s that?

  Dealing with the media.

  Brad said they’ve hounded your apartment. I’m sorry.

  They weren’t here tonight. They’ll let it go.

  I hope. Brad said Sec Serv is considering getting

  you a detail, or maybe local police protection.

  No way. That’s going overboard.

  Hey, how was your exam?

  Just think about it. I know it’s rough having protection, but it’s a dangerous world. I want you to be safe.

  Apparently he hadn’t accepted my topic change. But then he texted again:

  My exam went surprisingly well. How was yours?

  Good, but they haven’t posted grades yet.

  Why surprised you did well?

  Been distracted when I study lately.

  My mouth curled into a smile.

  Yeah? What’s distracting you?

  YOU, of course.

  I was hoping he’d say that.

  So what’s your next module?

  Psychiatry. Watch out, Dane.

  A knock on my door startled me. Alejandro hadn’t sent more flowers, had he? Or had Jaylon decided to grace me with his presence?

  Hold on. Someone at the door.

  Be careful, Maddie.

  My eyes widened when I peeked out the peephole. My brother hadn’t visited since he’d helped me move in here last summer.

  “C’mon, Maddie, open up. This is heavy,” Braxton said.

  I opened the door to find him holding two casserole dishes stacked on top of each other. “Food from Nana?” I asked with hope in my voice.

  “Yep.” He handed them to me and stomped inside. “Put the lasagna in the oven. I’m starved.”

  I scowled as he peeled off his winter hat and collapsed on the sofa. His short dreads looked new. “Make yourself right at home, Brax.”

  He ignored my sarcasm and glared at the flowers. “No space to prop up my feet with this monstrosity. They’re from him, right?”

  I decided I could ignore him, too. I set the heavy dishes on the kitchen counter and retrieved some plates. My phone buzzed again in my pocket, and I found several texts from Alejandro, all asking if I was okay.

  My brother’s here. I’ll call later?

  Braxton charged into the kitchen and turned on the oven. I shook my head as I turned it off. “It’ll be faster to heat up individual portions in the microwave.”

  He looked at my phone. “You’re texting Ramirez?”

  “Okay, Brax.” I sighed. “You obviously have something to get off your chest. Let’s talk.”

  “Oh, we’ll talk. But first I’m getting something to eat.” He grabbed a spatula and slid a substantial block of Nana’s lasagna onto his plate.

  “You didn’t have to drive all the way down here to tell me you don’t like Alex. You could’ve texted.”

  He paused with the spatula midair. “I did text you. You didn’t respond.”

  Whoops. He was right.

  “You were probably too busy texting him.”

  Just then my phone buzzed.

  OK

  Alejandro’s short, delayed response made it seem like he wanted to say more. He and I hadn’t discussed my brother other than mentioning the police station protest, and I wondered what he thought about Braxton’s visit. Another text arrived:

  Ocupará mi mente toda la noche, Señorita Arroyos.

  He’d started texting in Spanish from time to time, even though I didn’t speak the language. Nothing Google Translate couldn’t handle. I copied and pasted to read You’ll be in my mind all night long, Miss Brooks.

  “You’re grinning like a damn fool.”

  I looked up to find Braxton scowling at me. My face felt hot. “Maybe I am a fool.”

  “There’s no maybe about it.”

  “Stop acting so sanctimonious. You’re not a PhD yet.”

  “Not that you care,” he mumbled.

  “What?”

  He covered the plate with a paper towel. After punching buttons on the microwave, he spun around and leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed. “You never asked me how my exams went.”

  Exams…what exams? I searched my memory. “Oh! Your…doctoral exams?” He gave a curt nod. “When were they again?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “Sorry, Brax. I’ve not been thinking clearly lately.” Maybe I needed some food to help my addled brain. I scooped lasagna onto my plate. “How’d they go?”

  He whistled through his teeth. “Tough.” He shook his head. “But I passed.”

  “Congrats!” I licked tomato sauce off my thumb. Yum. “So, uh, what does that mean exactly?”

  “My coursework’s done, and I can start my dissertation, hopefully graduate in a couple years.”

  I remembered more about his program as he spoke. “Right. And part of your exam was your dissertation proposal defense?”

  He relaxed as he nodded. The microwave dinged, and I started heating my portion after he’d moved his plate to the little dining table behind my sofa.

  “Did they like your proposal?” I asked.

  “Mof coursch.”

  Thanks for waiting for me. “What’s your dissertation about again?”

  “White supremacy in the Republican party.”

  Oh, no. I zipped out of the kitchen. “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not.” He gave me a hard stare for five seconds before he started laughing. “You’re so gullible.”

  “And you’re an asshole.” I retrieved my warmed plate as he continued laughing behind me. He didn’t stop chuckling until I joined him at the table.

  “What’s a guy gotta do to get a drink in this place?”

  “He’s gotta treat his sister with respect.” I arched an eyebrow before I took a bite. Gooey mozzarella heaven.

  When it was clear I wasn’t going to fetch a beverage for him, he went to the kitchen. My anger dissipated when he returned with two glasses of milk. Nana had always served us milk with dinner, and he continued the habit at age twenty-six.

  “Looks like you just went to the grocery store,” he said.

  I studied him as I took a swig of milk. “Alejandro stocked up my fridge.”

  His fork clanged on his plate. “So it’s true? You’re dating that right winger?”

  “I already told Nana and Gramps I was.”

  “How can you be attracted to him, Maddie? Don’t you know his dad just slashed food stamps? How can you like someone who absolutely hates the poor?”

  I sighed. “I already told you I don’t care about politics.”

  “That blows my mind, too! How can you stick your head in the sand like that?”

  “I’ve been busy. You don’t know what it’s like to be a D-one student-athlete.” Braxton had been a top high school basketball player, but he hadn’t pursued a college scholarship. He’d claimed athletes in revenue sports brought in so much money that the universities should pay them salaries on top of tuition. Since that didn’t happen, he refused to be a “slave” to the white man.

  “So you don’t follow politics,” he said. “But you have to know his dad’s a total poseur.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve never met President Ramirez. But I like Lucia.” And Alejandro. A lot. “She’s become a good friend. She’s helped me.”

  “How?”

  I looked down at m
y plate. “This semester has been difficult. I, um…” I glanced up at him. How would he take the news? Would he judge me? “I…have clinical depression.”

  His eyes darkened. “Says who?”

  “Dr. Valentine, my sport psychologist. She’s pretty cool.”

  “She’s white, right?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “How can she possibly understand what you’re going through if she’s white?”

  Oh, Braxton. “Rez sees her for an eating disorder. Are you saying Dr. Valentine needs to have an eating disorder in order to help her?”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?” This eating disorder talk made me hungry. I wished Nana would send food down every week.

  “Because she’s part of the white hegemony that can’t wait to slap a mental illness label on black people.”

  “But I’m not mentally ill. I’m depressed. Dr. Valentine said depression can run in families, so maybe you’ll get it too.”

  He scowled. “It’s not contagious like the common cold. And I’m not depressed.”

  “Well, you might be one day. Dad seems to get down sometimes—do you know if he’s depressed? Is there a family history of depression?”

  “Will you shut it with all the questions?” he roared.

  Stunned, I leaned back in my chair. He shot up from the table and marched his half-eaten lasagna back into the kitchen.

  I followed him and watched him stretch some plastic wrap over his plate before sticking it in the fridge. What was his deal? “You okay?”

  “I was hoping to spend the night—I need to talk to a Highbanks professor about my research tomorrow—but that’s obviously a bad idea.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t want me here.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “I’ll go back to Cleveland.” He made a beeline for his coat hanging by the door.

  “Wait! It’s too cold. What if your car breaks down? Drive back tomorrow, when it’s light.”