Nerdy Little Secret

by Aarons, Carrie

  I sip my beer, leaning against the wall at the first college party I’ve ever been to.

  Actually, this is probably the first party I’ve ever been to. As I said, I wasn’t big into them in high school, and going to community college and caring for my sick father didn’t really lend itself to getting drunk underage in the last two years.

  When Martin insisted we go to this party, I was ninety-five percent against it. Really, I was going to stay in and study. Maybe watch a few episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm, maybe order myself a burrito from the local Mexican takeout place.

  But then they’d tossed a beer in my face, Martin all but bullied me to come check out this girl he’d been hooking up with, and Paul claimed he needed advice on how to get a girl from his statistics course to give him the time of day. As if I had any relationship advice of value.

  Really, I think they wanted a designated driver to the party off campus, but it felt kind of cool to be included.

  Though, I was thoroughly uncomfortable. The guys outlawed any of my outfit picks, which included a Battlestar Galactica T-shirt, and another long sleeve that depicted the best scene in Jurassic Park. Instead, they made me wear my darkest jeans, which were tighter than the pairs I’d normally opt for. And then Rodney loaned me a dark maroon T-shirt that clings to my chest and biceps. I look like every other guy in here, and it’s kind of strange.

  But at the same time, I’ve felt the eyes of some of the girls following me from room to room. It’s a welcome surprise. Not that I have time for that, of course.

  “There she is, there she is.” Martin taps me rapidly on the arm, and I settle my pretty much full beer in the other.

  I’ll be their responsible one tonight, since I am really not into this party. My eyes swing to the way he’s pointing, and there is a curly-haired blonde, maybe five feet, curvy, dancing with her friends.

  “She’s cute, man. What’re you doing over here with us?” I smile at him.

  Martin shrugs. “I don’t want to come on too strong, ya know? We’ve hooked up a handful of times. But I think I should play it cool.”

  I roll my eyes. “Why do people always say that? If you like her, make it known. Guys who play games rarely win, especially if the girl is as great as you say she is.”

  “Man, what do you know?” Rodney whines, because statistics girl has been flirting with another guy all night.

  I lean farther back into the wall, smug because these tactics of love some guys play are just plain dumb. “And how’s that going for you? You know, if you just go over and talk to her, you may hit it off. You may decide she’s not your type. She may want to go home with you at the end of the night. But instead, you’re going to stand over here, criticizing me.”

  “Yo, you guys have to see this!” Paul runs up to us, motioning us out of the room and into the grand hallway of this house we’re in.

  It’s a typical college party house, the kind you see in movies. Enormous, probably housing at least ten or twelve guys, and it looks like a bunch of guys live here. There is barely any furniture, the fridges, three of them, are all filled with beer, and the entire place is set up for one thing: partying. There is also a grand staircase out of a Hollywood mansion when you walk through the front door, but of course, this one has a two-story beer bong set up and the walls are littered with posters of naked girls.

  Above my head, jeers and shouts start. The crowd at the bottom of the stairs looks up, and a girl teeters there on the railing, all but falling over. She’s probably going to smack her head on the floor below and crack it wide open, with how she’s swaying over the bannister.

  “Who dares me to ride it down?” she screams, and the voice hits my spine like ice water.

  It’s hazy and dark in here, but if I squint, I can make her out. Jolie.

  Her legs dangle over the railing as she sits atop it, mile-high shoes strapped to her ankles. She’s wearing a white scrap of cloth over her round, perky breasts, and an equally small piece of black cloth is barely covering her butt cheeks. All of those beautiful brown waves are thrown back as she laughs, and the air around her is as carefree as she is.

  If she wasn’t about to break her neck, I’d say she just about looks like the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. She’s mesmerizing, and she knows it, though she has no idea I’m standing in the crowd about to watch her attempt this drunken stunt.

  And oh, is it ever drunken. The camp counselors would occasionally sneak bottles of liquor around a campfire on the Sunday switch-over when our cabins weren’t filled with campers. But I never saw Jolie this crazy, this recklessly under the influence. Glancing around, and listening to some of the whispers rising up, this appears to be a typical thing.

  People start to chant, do it, do it, do it. So she swings another leg over, and before my eyes, begins to ride down the bannister.

  I calculate the distance, my eyes flitting back and forth between Jolie and the bottom of the stairs.

  She’s going to shoot right off the end of the bannister and into the wall. Her fate is decided in some kind of bone break, and as she starts to gain momentum, I’m throwing morons out of the way. My worry and panic is accompanied by the hyena laughs and shouts of encouragement from the idiots cheering her on, and I’m nearly at the bottom of the stairs as Jolie’s momentum sends her off-kilter.

  I watch it, her expression, as it changes from glee to fear. She knows what is about to happen. At the last moment, I fling my arms out, catching her. We go tumbling back, my shoes barely hanging onto the floor as her inertia rebounds into me. But I tighten my arms around her, refusing to let her fall or be hurt.

  She gasps in my ear, her body going stock still, as my back finally collides with the wall. I forget that anyone else even exists around us as her eyes meet mine. There is a flicker of recognition through the haze of the alcohol she’s consumed, and her lip turns down in a frown. It’s not at me, but more at … the situation? I wish I could take her outside, or somewhere private, and ask her why she does this kind of thing.

  And then she’s moved out of my arms, the limbs feeling empty without her in them.

  “Good thing this dweeb was here.” Some beefcake grabs her by the arm.

  Jolie willingly stumbles into him, giggling and batting her eyelashes. “I can handle myself.”

  “Bet you can.” He leers at her chest.

  She’s all but forgetting I’m standing here, or that I just saved her from a trip to the emergency room. Christ, what am I doing? Every time I go out of my way for this girl, she shows me just how much she appreciates it.

  Which is zero.

  Jolie Kenner is nothing but a selfish party girl looking for her next adrenaline rush. And if she wants to fail out of school, break bones in the process, or act like an idiot with guys who certainly don’t respect her, then I am not going to get in the way anymore.

  I walk away without a backward glance, and she must not care to even follow, because I don’t hear her calling me or feel her pull me back to talk.

  “Get your girls, or don’t, but the sober bus is leaving,” I tell the guys, who are standing there staring at me with their mouths hanging open.

  “Don’t think we’re not talking about this.” Martin nods his head like a stern father figure.

  Yeah, I didn’t think I’d get off the hook about this one. Too bad I have no intention of bringing up Jolie ever again.

  12

  Jolie

  My fingers twist the white straps of my bikini until they’re tied tight and I’m able to flip onto my back without flashing the entire Salem Walsh University pool.

  Christine and Maddy lie next to me on identical navy loungers, burning their skin the same way I am; as only girls in their twenties with no signs of wrinkles yet can do.

  “Can you even believe that Kylie is a billionaire? Like, of course, she looks like that and has a buttload of money.” Maddy pouts, lying on her stomach but propped up on her elbows reading some trash magazine.

  Christine thumbs
another page of her thriller, and I can practically feel her eye roll. “Her looks come from plastic surgery and her money comes from never having to struggle for anything. She didn’t have to take out loans to go to college, save paychecks to buy clothes from Urban Outfitters, or fill her car with gas using her last twenty.”

  I keep my mouth shut, because I never had to do any of those things either. It sounded so cliché, but sometimes when Christine talked about rich people never struggling, I wanted to snap back at her. Sure, I didn’t know what it was like to struggle for money, but I knew what it was like to be ignored. To be raised by nannies. To be sent to expensive camps during the summer because my parents would rather vacation in the South of France without me.

  I knew what it was like to be unfairly judged simply because your parents had deep pockets. I’d had to hide a lot of myself from these two, even if they were my best friends. I never wanted Christine to talk about me the way she was talking about that celebrity now.

  And not struggling just because you had money? If she only knew what I was going through. Yes, it was because of my own stupid actions, but money didn’t solve all problems.

  “Damn, he’s a snack.” Madison whistles low in her throat, interrupting my thoughts.

  All three of us turn to look at the muscular back powering through the water. The swimmer strokes effortlessly, almost gliding across one of the Olympic lanes of the pool. He looks so out of place, considering most everyone, including the guys, are just here to flirt, show off, and see each other in little to no clothing.

  “Jeez, he’s like Michael Phelps,” Christine exclaims.

  “Or Ryan Lochte. He’s hotter.” Madison nods, never taking her eyes off the swimmer as he flips against the wall and swims back down the lane.

  “But a liar,” I add, because the guy did lie pretty badly.

  Not that I’m one to be giving moral judgment about liars.

  “He looks pretty tall. I would give that a climb,” Christine says appreciatively.

  We all watch him as he swims, back and forth, back and forth, his hair glistening in the sun. There is something familiar about him—

  Just then, he finishes his swim, pulling himself up out of the pool and not bothering with the steps or ladder. The muscles in his arms as he pushes up onto the concrete, the way his abs flex as he stands …

  Holy hell. It’s Mick.

  This moment, right here, is one of the most satisfying moments I’ve ever had. Because Christine and Madison are practically panting, and I can cross my arms and be smug. Not that they know what he is to me, but they are drooling over Mick. My Mick, the one that, at any other time I’d introduced him, they would have called nerdy and not my type.

  I’ve known all along how freaking sexy he is, not that it’s the only thing that matters, but I mean, come on, it feels good to be doing the horizontal hula with a guy who is severely attractive.

  Not to say I’m not drooling just like my friends. With the way his auburn hair is slicked back off his face and the water is dripping off his lean but chiseled body. And those swim trunks are swollen in a particular area, one that sports the biggest cock I’ve ever seen. Everything south of my waist begins to tingle, because I know just how well he can use it. Christ, I’m so turned on by this guy.

  “Wait a minute. Isn’t that the guy who stopped you from almost breaking your neck the other night?” Maddy lowers her sunglasses.

  “What?” I guffaw, because I sincerely have no idea what she’s talking about.

  Christine rolls her eyes, her big straw hat not obstructing them at the moment. “Of course, you don’t remember. Were you that blackout? You decided it’d be funny to slide down the stair bannister, and basically almost busted your face into the hardwood floor. If Michael Phelps over there hadn’t helped you, you’d have been in an ambulance.”

  “Wait, isn’t he also the same guy we saw in the Pub? The one you hugged?” Madison points out, and I really want to drown her in that pool.

  “I don’t—” I’m about to throw them off the scent, but Christine is already hooked on it.

  “Actually, yeah … you’re right. Who is he, Jolie?”

  They’re both staring at me, but all I can process is that Mick was at that party the other night, and came to my rescue. That was the second time since he showed up at Salem Walsh that he’d done that. First, with the tutoring, and now this? And both times, he’d had absolutely no reason to. Now even less than before, with all of those flippant words I’d said and how I’d treated him.

  I’ve always been looking for the perfect Prince Charming, and the truth is, he’s right in front of me. Except Mick is a brainiac wrapped in tinfoil instead of suits of armor, and hell, isn’t that just the most romantic thing you ever heard?

  He deserves so much more than what I’ve been giving him. He deserves apologies, better treatment. He deserves better than me.

  Still, I can’t let this go on for one more second. “I have to go.”

  I grab my bag, pull on my hat, and start running after Mick, who is halfway down the sidewalk outside the pool now.

  “Mick!” I yell, trying to catch up with him.

  He doesn’t turn, and I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t hear me or because he’s choosing not to. Either way, I trail him, my flip-flops smacking the pavement.

  When I get close enough, I grab his elbow, stopping his progress. “Hey, Mick.”

  An annoyed sigh flairs his nostrils. “What do you want, Jolie?”

  His iciness takes me back a bit. “Um … I just … saw you back there at the pool.”

  “And what, didn’t want to come to say hi with your friends right there?” Hurt flickers in his stunning green eyes.

  My heart blanches. “No, I didn’t realize it was you until one of them pointed out the swimmer. I would have said hi, but my friends were too busy drooling over you.”

  That compliment doesn’t even faze him. “Okay.”

  I blink, knowing he’s about to walk away any second. “I’m … thank you for the other night. And I’m sorry. I feel so embarrassed, and I would have called sooner to thank you—”

  “But you were so blackout drunk that you didn’t remember.” He finishes for me.

  The shame in my cheeks is a hot, glowing red. “Yes.”

  There is nothing else I can say. I had no idea it even happened, that I’d done something so dangerous. It doesn’t surprise me, I’ve seen the videos and heard the stories of what I do when I’ve had too much liquor and can’t remember. It’s never made me question myself before this, but with Mick standing there like an ugly, tarnished mirror, I can’t help but feel ashamed. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this anymore, that I’d get my head on straight and stop being so irresponsible. And yet, I’d just played right into that narrative the other night.

  “I’m really sorry. I had a bad day, and I was just trying to cope with that. I … uh, I failed my biology quiz.”

  Mick frowns, but doesn’t say anything.

  “Thank you, really. My friends said you basically saved me from a trip to the hospital. You’ve been so kind to me, and I’ve been a total bitch. I was horrible, Mick. I’m truly sorry.”

  I know words are just words, but I hope he can see the sincerity in my eyes.

  “That’s too bad about your quiz.” I see a flicker of compassion on his face.

  “Can I just take you out? For a meal, a drink? I want to make this up to you. I owe you something. Please, Mick, let me do something nice for you.”

  I see it in his eyes, the no that is right on the tip of his tongue. So I cut him off.

  “Please. Let me take you to one of my favorite places in town. You haven’t tasted fried catfish like this before.”

  He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But let me change. I can’t very well wear a bathing suit to a restaurant.”

  I have to hold my tongue as he walks away, not knowing if he’ll actually show up when I text him later, and wanting so badly to tell him I�
��ll help get him out of that wet suit.

  13

  Mick

  Why am I a sucker for this girl?

  I’d all but sworn her off three nights ago, and now I’m sitting across from her at a restaurant. She got me with the catfish, and I don’t know how she knew it was one of my favorite things to order on the rare occasion I got to go out for dinner.

  I feel like a total moron, giving into her so easily. But when she said she failed her biology quiz, and I know it’s because I wasn’t tutoring her, and the predicament she’s in well, my heart just caved. I’m an idiot, I know it.

  But the catfish does look really good.

  We’re sitting at some seafood shack right on the beach, about thirty minutes from Salem Walsh’s campus, and it’s picturesque. The waves are just feet from our rusted, cracked, wooden picnic table, and the whole place smells like salt and fish-fry. The sun is slowly descending in the sky, not sunset colors yet but close to it, and I’m sipping on the freshest lemonade I’ve had in well, maybe ever.

  “It’s good, right? Like really good?” Jolie looks at me expectantly, hoping that I give her any shred of acknowledgment for bringing me here.

  I’ve been pretty cold thus far, denying her request to pick me up and instead taking my own car. I don’t need to be stuck in the same front seat on the ride back if things get awkward. And what kind of guy wants the girl to pick him up anyway? It’s bad enough that Jolie won’t introduce me to her friends, I don’t need her chauffeuring me to dinner. I say dinner, because this is definitely not a date.

  “Yeah, it’s good.” I turn my head toward the waves.

  “Are you thinking about trying out for the swim team?” she asks, eagerly trying to start a conversation.

  I don’t look at her. If I look at her, I’ll have to admire the pretty short-sleeved white sundress she’s wearing, and things won’t end well for me. She’s too beautiful against even my hardest heart.