“You can’t buy me off with ice cream no matter how fucking good it is, Cricket.”
Cricket?
“We’ve got unfinished business,” he added. He reached across the counter and snatched the paper bag with my bra inside, shoving it into his messenger bag before I could stop him. “I’ll see you around.” And with that, he walked off, devouring the ice cream like he devoured me on the night of my birthday.
— TRACE —
6. SNOW BOOTS FOR SCHOOL BOOKS
August 30, 2016
IS TRACE STONE TRADING IN HIS SNOW BOOTS FOR SCHOOL BOOKS? By National Sports Network
Rumor has it that Trace Stone has abandoned his off-season training at the Blockhouse facility in Tahoe, and that he’s returned to the East Coast. He couldn’t be reached for comment, but there has been gossip that he’s been sighted around his hometown of Cockeysville, Maryland. The question is, why? Stone grew up in Maryland where his parents still live, but he hasn’t been a resident there since he started competing in the X-Games four years ago.
Jamie Brooks, a fellow snowboarder, gave a possible explanation. “I overheard him telling Josh, the manager at The Blockhouse, that he was going to take a break from training for a while. He mentioned that he might go to college or something.”
Stone has never kept it a secret that he’s been taking online courses while he trains and travels, but is it possible he decided to leave snowboarding to finish his education at an actual university? And if so, where would he choose to go? Fans that attend schools near ski resorts just might get a nice surprise this semester when they discover Trace Stone sitting at a desk next to them.
“I don’t know why he’d bother with school,” said Seth Jones, another fellow snowboarder. “His family is rich. He’ll never have to work a day in his life. If I were him, I’d be spending all my time shreddin’ the gnar, bro.”
=========================
I couldn’t believe I was friends with guys like Jamie and Seth. Total douche bags. Thankfully, I never confided in them, so they had no idea what my plans actually were. Otherwise, they would have sold every secret I had to the media for the five minutes of fame they couldn’t earn on their snowboards. That was the last thing I needed—two disloyal dickwads and a media frenzy fucking everything up. It already sucked major donkey ass that I’d been recognized in my hometown. It was only a matter of time until my anonymity on the UMD campus was a thing of the past, too. I had to put off discovery as long as possible because that kind of attention would hinder my plan. Hence the need for a baseball cap, sunglasses, and large classrooms where there was no possibility of my name being called out for a roll call.
There was a time not so long ago when I craved the limelight. Things had certainly changed since my accident. The irony wasn’t lost on me that I was getting plenty of attention, only I didn’t want it now. I didn’t crave the limelight anymore. What I craved was the company of a certain girl who made it clear she craved my complete and total non-existence. And I honestly had no idea why she felt that way. I might have gotten pretty drunk the night we met, but I remembered plenty about our time together, and I couldn’t think of a single thing that would have caused her to run off and not even address the fact that she was wearing my wedding band.
It had only taken a few weeks of disastrous training in Tahoe to realize that I needed to make a change. My knee felt like a million bucks, but no matter how many hours I spent in the gym, my brain was a couple thousand miles away wondering about my runaway Juliet. I had no focus for training, and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. In the back of my mind, I worried that no matter how good it felt, maybe my knee wasn’t strong enough. Every time I threw a trick, there was that small worry that my body might betray me again. I never used to have that fear before. The uncertainty was a constant buzz in my head, and I knew it was stupid to force things I wasn’t ready for. If I tried to make something happen that I wasn’t fully invested in, I’d just get hurt again.
Maybe I just needed some time off to get my head in the right place. Maybe I needed a change of scenery so the yearning for boarding would return. Or maybe I just needed to see Harlow and get some closure on the fucked up situation that was our one night together. In the meantime, I could spend the next couple of months knocking out a couple of classes at UMD. I was close to earning a degree anyway, why not take advantage of some time off while I was figuring things out? Hardcore training clearly wasn’t an option for me right now, but studying was.
So I followed her to Maryland to get some answers. And some focus. And maybe a little perspective.
Yesterday was the first day of classes, and I was on my way to the one class on my schedule that I was really looking forward to. It was the only class I’d managed to get into that Harlow was taking. Maybe it was wrong that I used my father’s connections to find out what her schedule was, but I knew she’d never tell me on her own. And since she was avoiding me, I had to find ways to make sure our paths crossed. Creepy? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely. We were legally married, and we had to decide what we were going to do. That couldn’t happen if she was determined to avoid me.
And what was with all the hostility she had for me? I know for a fact that she had a good time dancing with me at the club...and then more fun in my bed...and the shower...and the window ledge that overlooked her beloved fountains. That night was pretty fucking amazing, and no amount of hangover haze was going to make me forget that. But something happened to change her feelings the next day, and unfortunately, she wouldn’t tell me what that something was. I couldn’t fix something when I didn’t know what the problem was.
If she hated me as much as she acted like she did, then she should be jumping at the chance to talk to me and get an annulment to our marriage.
So the question was, why was she avoiding me?
I entered the School of Public Health building. I found the lecture hall and did a quick scan of the room, easily finding Harlow in the front row. Some of the students who were already seated had laptops out—supposedly for note taking—but Harlow had a notebook and pen on the desk in front of her. There was something innocent and unassuming about the simplicity of it that I liked. There was an empty seat next to her, and I jogged down the stairs to claim it as my own. I sat next to her, dropping my backpack at my feet. Her attention was focused on the notebook in front of her, and just like in Vegas, she didn’t look up to see who had moved so close to her personal space. I glanced over to see what she was writing.
1. Proofread article for Diamondback
2. Pick up food for Couch Cat
3. Buy a new bra
4. Mail out new p——
“Who is Couch Cat?” I interrupted, her pen leaving a long scratch across the paper where the next letter should have been.
Her eyes were slow to find me, almost as if she wished what she was hearing was a mistake. Harlow stared at me in disbelief. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.
“Taking HLTH 377, Human Sexuality, with the infamous Dr. Robin Sawyer. I needed an elective course, and this looked like a fun one.”
“You’re taking this class?” Her eyes were wide in disbelief.
“Yup. Isn’t it lucky we’re both in it?” I grinned. “What are the chances?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “I doubt luck had anything to do with it.”
“We can be study partners,” I suggested, ignoring her comment about luck. “You know, since we’ve already had sex and everything.”
A look of panic flashed across her face and her mouth hung open.
“So…yes on the study partner thing? Because I have some great ideas—”
“Not happening,” she snapped. “In fact, I’m probably going to transfer to a different class.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Harlow. There is a wait list 150 people deep for this class,” I pointed out. “And there are only 120 seats in the room. This is the most popular class on campus.”
“So?” Harlow was not impressed,
and I could see her scanning the room, determining the closest exit.
“This is the class everyone wants to take. It’d be wrong not to take advantage of the fact that you already have a spot in it.” I leaned onto my desk so that I invaded her personal space even more. She didn’t back away.
“What’s wrong is that you are somehow in this class.” She jammed her finger into my chest. “And sitting next to me.”
“Ouch, Cricket. What did I do to you?” I rubbed my chest and gave her a wounded look.
Her gaze met mine again. “You know exactly what you did to me.” Her eyes dropped to my hands to see that I was still wearing the wedding band. I wasn’t quite sure why I had put it back on.
“I certainly didn’t do it alone,” I argued. I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my mouth.
Harlow took a deep breath in and then let it out slowly. “This is why we can’t be in a class together,” she said, leaning over to get her backpack. She started to put her notebook inside.
I reached over and grabbed her arm to stop her. “What are you doing? You can’t leave.”
“Watch me.” She pulled her arm out of my grip.
“You’ll miss all the free porn. The professor uses it in class.”
She looked at me again and paused a minute to consider what I said. “No, he doesn’t.”
“The class is called Human Sexuality, and he shows videos. What else would you call them?” I challenged.
“And is that supposed to make me want to stay? I don’t even want to be in a regular class with you let alone one about sex.”
I still hadn’t figured out what changed in her attitude since Vegas to make her dislike me so much, but to be honest, I was kind of digging the challenge.
“If you stay, I’ll give back what you left in my hotel room.”
Her mouth pursed as she bit the inside of her bottom lip, weighing the desire to get her bra back against the desire to get as far away from me as possible. It may be just a bra, but sitting through a class was a small price to pay to get back a piece of clothing that would probably cost her $40 to replace.
“I’m not going to go through an entire semester of a class just to get my bra back,” she finally said.
“Stay for today and it’s yours,” I bargained.
Dr. Sawyer entered the room, and the chattering all around us abruptly faded.
“Fine,” Harlow agreed, realizing that leaving the class now would cause a scene. “But I’m transferring out, and you better not follow me.”
She sat back in her seat and glared toward the front of the room as class started.
Sitting next to an angry Harlow Ransom was like standing at the top of a mountain. A steep and dangerous slope with so many possibilities, so many ways to wipe out, so many ways to catch a thrill. Who knew what kind of ride it would be?
I grinned. I did love a good challenge.
— HARLOW —
7. IT’S OFFICIAL
August 30, 2016
THE SIN CITY CAT By Harlow Ransom
When Harlow Ransom screws up, she goes all out. Her motto? Go big or go home. Harlow doesn’t make trivial mistakes that can be easily swept under the rug of life. She makes epic blunders that promise to destroy her plans for the future. Why just botch an opportunity when she can completely shatter her dreams? A sham Vegas wedding coupled with a night of kinky sex with a stranger? That’s certainly not the kind of behavior employers expect of reputable journalists, and it’s not the kind of behavior that would gain her father’s approval.
Her only hope is that no one ever finds out.
So far Harlow’s done a good job of keeping the situation very hush-hush. Unfortunately, her sisters, Willow and Marlow, know that something strange happened the night of Harlow’s birthday, and they are talented at information gathering. It’s only a matter of time until the Sin City cat claws its way out of the bag revealing all of Harlow’s dirty secrets.
“If I could relive that night and just head back to my room after I watched the fountains, I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Harlow said. “I wish I’d never met Trace.”
She sounds genuine, but this reporter isn’t buying it. If Harlow is so eager to change what happened that night, why is she constantly dreaming about what happened, reliving each naughty moment as often as possible?
“I do not relive those moments,” Harlow argued. “I think about that night a lot because it was a mistake and I’m embarrassed by it.”
Sorry, Harlow, but we’re not convinced. There’s no way that flush on your cheeks is from embarrassment—that’s the glow of a woman who remembers sexual satisfaction.
=========================
Trace had a smug look on his face when class ended.
“That was worth it, wasn’t it?” he asked.
My cheeks hurt from laughing so much. Now I could understand why the class was so popular. The professor was hilarious. It was an amazing class, and I was going to be sad to have to let it go, but I had to. I didn’t want to be in a class with Trace. I didn’t want to be in anything with him.
“Come on,” Trace said when I didn’t answer right away. “I saw you laughing. You loved it.”
I shrugged as I stuffed my things into my backpack. “Maybe,” I conceded.
I stood to leave, and Trace was right in front of me. He was so close that I bumped into him. After an hour and fifteen minutes of listening to a lecture about sex, touching Trace, even accidentally, brought back vivid memories of the night we spent together. Slick bodies, tangled limbs, lips burning a path across bare skin. Brushing my hand across my forehead, I took a step back to remind myself to let those memories go.
“Want to go have lunch with me?” Trace asked.
“Look, Trace...”
“She remembers my name!” he interrupted me. “That’s a step in the right direction.”
I shifted from foot to foot. I hated being rude, but I didn’t know what else to do. I wasn’t used to making mistakes, and it seemed the more I pushed him away, the harder he held on. “I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but I can’t go to lunch with you. I’m sorry, but there can’t be anything between us.” I hated that he was so charming. But charming was a distraction. Charming made me do stupid things that could totally derail my life. Maybe I already had.
“I like it when there isn’t anything between us. As I remember, you liked it, too.”
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? Act like an adult.”
“You mean like a married adult? Been doing that for a month, and I’m pretty good at it,” he said, holding up his hand.
I grabbed his wrist and shoved it back down where no one could see the ring he wore, although I don’t know why I did. It’s not like anyone was paying attention to us, or that they would know I was the one who put the ring there. Or that they would give a shit that I had.
“Cut it out. It was a funny joke in Vegas, but you have to let it go,” I scolded him. “It’s weird enough that we go to the same school. I mean, like really weird. But coming to my work and taking the same class as me...quite frankly, it’s starting to freak me out.”
“Our marriage is no joke, Cricket,” he said, pulling an envelope out of his messenger bag. “In fact, it’s pretty official if you ask me. Here’s your copy.” He shoved it into my hand, and I took a moment to open it and read the paper inside.
This is to certify that the undersigned Justice Nathaniel Burke
did on the 29th day of July, 2016 join in lawful wedlock
Tracey Lawrence Stone of Cockeysville, Maryland
and Harlow Ethel Ransom of Berkley, California
with their mutual consent, in the presence of Joe Esponito
and Martin Lacker who were witnesses.
It was an official-looking marriage certificate that was even signed and notarized. There was a flickering of déja vu when I read the words, but since I didn’t even remember signing the paper, I wasn’t sure what seemed so familiar to me.
“Sorry ab
out your middle name.” Trace grinned.
“Sorry about your first and middle name,” I retorted.
“Touché.” He laughed, and I tried to give the paper back to him. “No, keep it,” Trace said. “I have the original.”
My eyebrows furrowed. “Why would you bother keeping it?”
“Throwing it away doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
“Yeah, I know. But you don’t seem like the kind of guy to scrapbook about stupid stuff like bogus weddings in Vegas.”
Trace tilted his head to look at me. The room was empty, and we were in the lecture hall all alone. “You do realize that we are legally married, right?”
A bark of laughter escaped and I expected Trace to join in, but he didn’t. “No, we’re not. Vegas weddings are just a sham. Getting married in Vegas is just some ridiculously stupid stunt that tourists do. It’s not real, we just met each other that night. You can’t get legally married to a stranger in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Are you serious? You don’t remember much, do you?”
“I remember plenty,” I countered indignantly.
“Do you remember celebrating your birthday with dancing and drinking with me at the bar?”
“Yes,” I said in a way that told him even though I wasn’t rolling my eyes, I wanted to. “And I also remember every time I tried to say goodnight to you and leave, you asked me to marry you so I’d feel guilty and stay for another drink.” I bit back a smile at the memory. It had been cute and endearing at the time, but I wasn’t going to let him know that. I didn’t want to give him a reason to think I was interested in him. Even if a tiny part of me was. That tiny party was a danger to my future and had to be kicked out of the proverbial bed.
“I didn’t force you to stay. You wanted to. You just needed a good reason,” he volleyed back. He crossed his arms, and a smirk lifted his mouth in annoying confidence.
He was right. I had enjoyed the flirting game immensely. At the time, it had been obvious we were attracted to each other, but it had been more fun to succumb to those attractions when a game was involved. I liked when he begged me to stay.
Hitched (Hearts of Stone Book 2) Page 5
