Major Renovations (Ritter University #1)

by Vanessa M. Knight

  ~»ΨΡ«~

  Chapter Eleven

  Ski

  SKI FLIPPED a burger on the grill and took another sip of beer. Dinner at nine at night— hell, half past nine. Not something he usually did. Not good for the body. Not good for training. And with football and wrestling, he was always in training.

  Heaven forbid he didn’t make weight. He had to stay between one eighty-four and one ninety-six. Otherwise, he’d have to wrestle in a different weight class and his coach would have a shit-fit. And when coach was pissed, the whole world knew about it. Shit rolled downhill, and the wrestling team was at the bottom of that brown-sloped stank-pile.

  Not that he’d complain tonight. His stomach needed real food. The small bag of corn chips he inhaled while playing Xbox wasn’t enough for anyone. He was hungry. He had two burgers searing on the grill, one for him and one for Samantha. A burger and a babe. Not a bad way to end the day.

  He’d gotten so involved in the video game, blowing shit up, shooting his friends. He loved playing online. Even though he was on campus alone, he could play with his brothers where ever they happened to be. And somewhere around eight, Ryan had joined the fun.

  Too bad the frat brother was such a dick.

  Ski had tried to be nice— at first— but then he knifed Ryan in the back over and over again. And he’d enjoyed every single time. Bastard. That’s what Ry got for asking about Samantha again.

  Well, asking about implied an innocent concern for her well-being. Actually, he didn’t ask about Samantha, he asked if Ski had given her his pie and if she’d… um, reciprocated. His language wasn’t as G-rated, however. Justifiable kill streak right there. Little did Ryan know that Ski gave the pie to Samantha’s dad. He would have loved that shit.

  Ski flipped the burger, flames shooting around the meat when grease hit the fire. Figuring he could leave them unattended for a minute, he set down his beer and went in the back door to the kitchen. He grabbed the bag of buns, and checked the refrigerator for condiments. Ketchup, pickles, mayo, relish, jalapeños. He left them all out on the counter— she could pick what she wanted on her burger. She definitely needed something to eat. Between the gurgling stomach and the hollow eyes, she was a walking, talking zombie, complete with gray skin. The poor girl needed food and a long-ass nap.

  He could use a few hours’ sleep himself. It had been a long day, full of ups and downs. Although he could barely remember any of the downs. The best up was when Samantha apologized. He’d needed that. He hated to admit how much.

  The whole thing surprised him. After a week of silent treatment and overall detachment, he’d figured she hated him. He didn’t see any other option. But tonight, between the apology and the questions about Mandy, there was interest. Whether she’d admit it or not. There was. He couldn’t help but smile as he grabbed a pickle slice from the jar and stuck it in his mouth.

  Why the hell did it matter so much?

  And it did. Dammit. It mattered. She mattered. Even though he’d spent the last week trying to pretend she didn’t. Now he just needed to matter to her.

  Music blasted from his phone speaker. Who the hell would call this late? He looked down at the screen. Ryan. What the hell did he want? Probably to cry about the spanking he took online. Well, maybe he’d learn not to talk shit about Ski’s woman. He smiled. My woman. For the first time, there was a glimmer of hope.

  Ski swiped the screen and brought the phone to his ear. “If you say one thing about pie, I swear, I’ll kick the shit out of you.”

  “What the fuck, Ski?”

  Wait— “What?”

  “Something you forget to tell me?”

  What could Ski have forgotten to tell him, except… shit.

  “I’m a mentor this year for new business majors. Guess who I have, Ski? Guess.”

  “I was going to tell you.”

  “So, this isn’t some major fuckup by the admissions office.”

  “Nope.” Not a fuckup by the admission office. A major fuckup by himself. Maybe, that remained to be seen. Changing one’s major junior year was a big risk. But wasn’t this the time to take risks, in college?

  “Shit. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because, well, shit.” Ski really should have told him, but he was having a hard time grasping the reality of it for himself.

  “Yeah— shit. Have you told your father?”

  “Nope.” That conversation would be ten times worse than this one, and this one wasn’t exactly like kicking an extra point.

  “Well, if the mentors have the list, then the deans have it. Your father’s going to find out.”

  Ski snapped his head back against the cabinet. “I thought I had more time. Don’t those lists come out the week before the term?”

  “The mentor liaison is leading some exploration trip through Kenya starting next week, so all assignments needed to be done this week.”

  Gowno. Ski really thought he had more time. He’d put off talking to the med school dean, but now he’d know. He’d figure out Ski wasn’t enrolled in medical school. He wouldn’t be in any of the classes. The dean would notice and call Ski’s father.

  And Tata… He’d be so disappointed. So hurt. Shit.

  Not that it mattered. With all the strikes against Ski, it was only a matter of time before he disappointed his father. Clunky hands, lack of passion— Better to get it over with now, rather than wait till later. The black sheep was never going to be a heart surgeon.

  His mother would pray for his soul. His father would pray for his future. Both were going to freak.

  “Thanks for the call, Ry.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay, man?”

  “Yeah.” Ski was okay. Not great, but okay. And Samantha was the reason. Without that small shred of hope, he’d be lost right now.

  “Call if you need reinforcements.”

  “Sure, thanks.” Ski disconnected. He had to tell his father tomorrow, before he heard it from anybody else. Rumors traveled fast on this campus, and sometimes the message was distorted, as if everyone was communicating through two cans and a string, not the 4G everyone really used.

  The light from the back patio caught his eye. Dinner. He didn’t have time for the classroom drama right now. He had to make sure Samantha was fed and he just wanted to spend some time with her. Alone.

  He’d deal with his father later. He’d deal with the fallout later. He’d deal with everything later. Much later.

  Tonight he’d focus on her. Tomorrow he’d deal with the pooch-screw that was his life.

  ~»ΨΡ«~

  Chapter Twelve

  Sam

  SAMANTHA TOSSED the last bag of trash in the dumpster. Tomorrow she’d work on staining the deck and installing the new sliding glass door— and put the last wall sconce up by the front door. But tonight, she was done.

  Thank goodness. The smell floating from the backyard was killing her. Hamburgers. Hickory charcoal. The smoke was wrapped around her head, with a bulls-eye on her nose. Hell, she could’ve smelled roasted skunk and she’d swear her mouth would water at this point. She grabbed her tools and the floodlight, dumping them in the back of her truck.

  “Come and get it,” Ski yelled from the back yard.

  Samantha locked up the truck and followed the scent. Drool built in her mouth and she ran a hand over her lips. No salivating in front of Ski. No matter how hungry she was.

  Yeah, because salivating in front of Ski was all due to hunger.

  Ski stood over the flames and the smoke of the grill, big metal spatula hanging from his finger. He looked amazing. Although, a man making her food always looked good. Too bad it didn’t happen very often.

  “Let’s head inside.” She smacked a mosquito on her arm. Damn bloodsuckers.

  “What? You don’t want to share your burger with the lightning bugs?”

  “No thanks. I’ve been keeping the mosquito population in fresh blood all day. I’ve done more than my yearly donation to mosquito welfare.”

&
nbsp; Ski’s lips curved into a smile as he closed the lid on the grill. He grabbed the plate of cooked food and walked into the kitchen. “Mosquito welfare, huh?”

  The kitchen’s overhead light pierced Samantha’s retinas as she held open the door. The counter held plates, buns and a handful of condiments. “The counters are so clean.” She ran a hand down the length of the metal.

  “Soap and water works wonders.”

  “It’s just, last time I saw this kitchen it was covered in plaster dust and grime. I figured you’d need a biohazard service to clean up all the frat-goop and brother-slime.”

  “Frat-goop and brother-slime is no match for a sponge and these muscles.” He flexed his arms to the side, the muscles bulging beneath his shirt. “Anyway, it wasn’t that bad.”

  “Not that bad? When we first showed up there were pizza boxes shoved in the corner and beer bottles lining the floors. It was like the special alcoholics’ edition of Hoarders.”

  “By the end of the year, the house gets a little ripe. But I’m here, we don’t need a service. I got skills.” He opened the bag of buns and pulled one out to put it on the plate in front of her.

  “So, you clean.” She opened the bun and slathered it with mayonnaise. She poured a handful of jalapeños on top.

  “And I cook.” He slid a burger onto her hill of peppers. “Do you want some burger with your jalapeños?”

  “Do you want some eye roll with your cliché?”

  He popped a jalapeño in his grinning mouth and fixed his own burger. He had a great smile. Great… lips. They were probably soft.

  Her lips burned just thinking about them on hers. Thoughts like that would get her in trouble. But the thoughts were so damn hot. Hands traveling down her shivering body as his lips merged with hers. Back and forth. His fingers finding their way to her— foundation.

  Heat travelled down her spine and swirled in that foundation, tickling all of her girlie parts. Not good. Not good at all. She probably shouldn’t imagine or— have thoughts. Not when she was in a house with him. Alone. No one and nothing to stop her from acting out those delicious thoughts.

  Her body ached. How long had it been since she’d had someone lay her… foundation? Six months. A year? Somewhere between there. Granted, she’d leveled her own foundation more than a time or two since then, but it was a hell of a lot more fun with a buddy who didn’t need batteries.

  And what a fun buddy Ski would be. Too bad he wasn’t her type. She liked men from the real world. Not stuck in this high school spinoff called college. College was a pit stop. A break before they entered real life. And she was immersed in real life already. She needed someone who wasn’t afraid of reality.

  And not the Jersey Shore kind of reality. The work nine-to-five and care for your family kind. The kind that came from losing a parent or living up to parental expectations. The kind of reality that kept you up nights with worry.

  Here at Coddle University, reality was postponed while big, strong wanna-be men tried to discover what they wanted to do with their life. In the real world, there wasn’t a choice. He wasn’t in that real world.

  At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

  He picked up his plate and grabbed two sodas and a stack of napkins before ushering her through the darkened house. Her team really had done a lot of work cleaning the grunge-infested space. She hadn’t been exaggerating. Bottles, boxes, and food had been stuck in crevices throughout the house.

  Food. Actual food. There’d been a green and black covered burrito-looking-thing behind a loose panel in the wall. How would that even happen? How does a burrito get behind a wall? How could they live in filth? She didn’t understand.

  Ski opened a door at the end of the hall and elbowed the light switch. The multiple ceiling fan lights sprang to life. Wood floors. Dark oak wainscoting on the walls. And two giant TVs hanging on opposite sides of the room.

  Not one spec of dirt. Not one piece of garbage.

  Ski sat on the closest couch and put the sodas and napkins on the coffee table.

  “Those are some big TVs.” She dropped to the brown leather couch next to his and set her plate down. “I didn’t know a room this nice existed in this building.”

  “We have a few nice rooms. We keep it this way so the TVs don’t learn what pigs we really are.”

  “Frontin’ for the flat screens. You wouldn’t want them to stop working because they’re so grossed out.”

  “That would be tragic. We always keep this room locked. It’s off limits. Only for the brothers.” A hiss and fizzle came from the soda when he pulled the tab on the can.

  “I’m not a brother.” Peppers dropped out of the bun as she lifted it to her mouth. Hot. Spicy. Heaven.

  “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I would,” she said after she swallowed, “but I’m afraid no one would believe me. It’s so clean.” She picked up a pepper and stuffed it back in her burger.

  “It’s only because I’m the only one here. Wait till the fall, this room will be pretty bad.” He tilted the can back to his lips. “So, why aren’t you in college?” Ski propped his feet on the coffee table.

  She hated that question. Like she was somehow less because she wasn’t pursuing a piece of paper. Not everyone needed college. She had her father’s company. She couldn’t walk away and leave. She’d watched her father work harder and harder over the years, never stopping. She had to step in. It wasn’t just the heart condition. It was everything. But no one understood.

  She shrugged. “Why are you? You don’t need a college degree for the UFC.”

  “UFC?”

  “WWF? NFL?” She waved the burger at him. “Wherever you’re planning on flexing those arms for your thousands of adoring fans,” she said and took another heavenly bite.

  “I’m flattered you think I could make it in the UFC. But really, is that all I am to you, a brain-dead troglodyte?”

  She nearly choked. “Troglo-what?”

  “Troglodyte. Commonly known as a Neanderthal. And just so you know, I don’t need college for my imaginary life in the UFC, but I do need college for my real life as a doctor. People tend to get twitchy when their doctor hasn’t gone to med school. Not to mention the criminal charges.”

  “Med school?” Why did she feel like she’d slipped into another dimension?

  “That’s the plan.” He sighed as he picked up the med school applications sitting on the coffee table and dropped them back into a heap. “Well, was the plan. Sort of.”

  “Sort of? Don’t sound so excited about it.” She wiped her fingers and sifted through the blank forms. Not even a name was written at the tops.

  “I don’t know. Ever since I was able to hold a rattle, I was expected to be a doctor. Hell, my first rattle was in the shape of a stethoscope. But I was always expected to be a surgeon, like my dad. But I can’t seem to enter one field on those forms. My hand freezes… and then… Never mind.”

  Heavy silence settled over the room, the hum of the spinning fans the only noise. Expected to be a doctor. She never thought she’d have anything in common with Ski. But here they were, both fighting the life plan their fathers’ had laid out for them, probably before they were even born.

  “My dad wants me to run his company.” She picked at the burger on her plate.

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

  “Yeah. But he wants me to do it permanently.”

  “And that’s not what you want.”

  She opened her soda and took a drink. Is that what she wanted? Shit. What she wanted didn’t matter. “I don’t know. I don’t think I was ever given a choice. No one ever asked. It was just expected, so here I am. But no, I don’t think it’s what I want.” Did she say that out loud? She hadn’t admitted that to anyone.

  She’d avoided saying the words out loud because then she might have to face the truth. And how do you tell your father you want something other than what he’s built with his bare hands? How do you walk away, when you know h
e’ll work himself into an early grave?

  “What do you want?”

  “Honestly? I apprenticed with an electrician last year and I loved it. Creating light where there is none, powering a home. It was amazing.”

  “Then do that.”

  “I’m the daughter of the woman who left him. His ultimate let-down. And I remind him of it every day, just by breathing. I can’t walk away.” Red crawled up her face. Way too much sharing. Soda and exhaustion. Not good. It was like high-fructose corn syrup-infused truth serum.

  “He told you that?”

  “No, but I can see it in his eyes.” She sighed. She’d come this far, she might as well tell him everything. “He misses her, and he tells me all the time I look just like her. There’s this sad longing stare he throws my way, when he thinks I’m not looking. It kills me. I can’t just walk away. His health is failing and he’ll lose it all.”

  “Why don’t you talk to him?” He dropped his feet from the table and stared at his hands. “Although, I’m not the best resource on fathers.”

  “So, would your dad be disappointed if you don’t become a surgeon?”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Well— What do you want?”

  “Want? I don’t know. But see these hands?” He showed her his broad palms, and then the backs, with their large knuckles. “These are not the hands of a surgeon. Large. Bulky. What’s so funny?”

  Large hands. That meant large— okay, not going there. She thought fast and said, “I can’t picture a big guy like you with tiny bird hands.” She frowned as Ski’s face fell. Damn, she didn’t want to hurt him. She laid a hand on his arm, sending fire tingling up her own arm at the heat of his skin. “That’s a compliment.”

  “If I’m not a surgeon, what am I?”

  “An ER doc. A pediatrician. A gynecologist.” She laughed as his mouth turned up at the corners. That smile. Num. Those lips just melted her insides. “You’ll do whatever you want to do.”