by Caisey Quinn
Shocker.
“Dude, you look like you’re thinking about murdering someone. Care to share?”
His eyes don’t meet mine when he answers. “Nah, I’m fine.”
Whatever. I’m not his mommy or his babysitter so I move on with my life. Austin starts spouting some bullshit about claiming the brunette cheerleader so I tell him to get real and reach over O’Brien to land a solid thump on Austin’s arm. O’Brien shoots me an irritated glare and I grin innocently.
Landen O’Brien is his own brand of crazy, that’s for damn sure. But he’s a striker, and in my experience, they’re all kind of nuts. And since he’s the striker and I’m the goalie, I figure it’s best to hang out on his good side. No use getting Captain Rage-y Pants good and pissed off before letting him kick balls at my head.
My phone buzzes with a text alert and I glance down to see a message from Lucas Taite. Apparently there’s a party tonight at the house Blackburn and a few of the upperclassman share. Thank goodness. I was trying to figure out how in the world I was going to show O’Brien a good time and get him to lighten up a little.
He seems even more on edge than usual, as if he expects a tripwire to be waiting for him at every turn. I’m in the middle of texting a few of my female options for the evening when the circus act that is welcome to college begins to wrap up. Before I have time to even tuck my phone away, O’Brien is up and mowing a path through the marching band.
What the fuck?
Apparently people from Colorado are nuts. Though he mentioned being an Army brat so maybe all the moving around prevented him from learning any of the acceptable social behaviors necessary for functioning properly in society.
“O’Brien,” I call after him, noticing a few of the other guys side-eying us suspiciously. They all see him at practice—they know he’s a time bomb.
Glancing up ahead of where he’s moving to I see a wide-eyed blonde who looks like the zombie apocalypse is upon her.
Tick, tick. Boom.
Oh good, so he’s like a stalker or something then too. That’s great.
Go to college, they said. Meet new people, they said. It will be fun, they said.
They were full of shit is what they were.
“O’Brien! Christ, man,” I yell, horse collaring him from behind before he can run after the random chick.
“She hates me,” he mutters under his breath. “I came all this way for her and she fucking hates me.”
Now see, if I was the cry on my shoulder kind of guy, I’d inquire further about the obviously doomed situation the poor man is in. However, I am me.
“Forget her. Let’s get some booze for Taite’s party tonight and see about getting ourselves laid by women who don’t run like hell when they see us coming, shall we?”
O’Brien shrugs, a strange look in his eye that makes me question if dude has any prior felony offenses I should be inquiring about.
“Stop-N-Shop will sell to us. Let’s go.” I thump him on the back as we head out of the arena. Oh to hell with it. I might as well ask. We live together, after all. “So…that chick a friend of yours or did she just forget to renew the restraining order?”
O’Brien gives me an irritated look. “We dated…sort of. In high school. When I lived in Georgia.”
Speaking of girls from high school, Kelsie Trenton is attending college here as well and I owe that girl a few orgasms. Or a text, at least. I fire off a few lines inviting her to Taite’s party.
“Ah. So that was peaches.” Commenting on the scent in his truck had nearly brought me face to face with his violent side earlier so I decide to drop it. “Looks like she doesn’t want to get back together. Tough break, man.”
God I hate awkward conversations about this shit. I’ve never seen a guy so worked up over a chick. Personally I find it pointless and irritating. Why all the stress? There are a million of them out there. Hell, panty droppers swarming from every direction basically surround us. Is the poor guy vision impaired as well?
Walking with the human equivalent of a caged bull, I decide then and there to use my most essential skills and abilities to help a brother out. I text Kelsie a reminder to bring along some hot friends to Taite’s party tonight.
Landen O’Brien needs to get laid. Like yesterday.
“Can we go?”
I’ve only been at Southern California State University, SoCal I’ve learned it’s called, for one week since I signed up for early move in. Classes don’t even start until tomorrow. My roommate moved in early as well, a gorgeous but very introverted blonde named Layla.
I like her—at least I think I like her. She’s kind of hard to get to know, then again, maybe I am too. Up until now she’s seemed really sweet though so I’m trying not to take out all my trust issue bullshit on this innocent chick from Georgia. But her aquamarine eyes are wide with panic in the middle of freshmen orientation and I’m questioning her sanity at the moment.
She seems desperate to leave even though we just got here.
One second we were discussing smokin’ hot athletes being introduced during orientation and the next she’s bolting upright out of here seat like she’s been electrocuted.
“Huh?” Maybe I misheard her. The entire arena is bursting into song, singing the alma mater, which I had every intention of learning.
“I need to go, now,” she repeats and nope, I heard correctly the first time. Her gaze is unfocused and she teeters left. She did something similar when we were getting coffee earlier. I can’t remember seeing her eat today. I make a mental note to grab a pamphlet on Anorexia at the Student Union next time I’m there.
Holy mother…if she passes out I don’t know if I’ll catch her in time. I grab my purse and both of our WELCOME TO SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA STATE UNIVERSITY bags and sling them on my shoulder.
“Sure, let’s go. You all right?” Girlfriend pales six shades, and I wish I had a cheeseburger or something to give her.
“I’m fine. Just not feeling so well.”
That much is obvious, but I just shuffle behind her as we make our way through the crowded aisle. We’ve just reached the end when she turns in the opposite of he direction that I expect. At first I think someone from the marching band has called her name, but then I see him.
Day-um. Six foot several inches of lean muscled dark-haired soccer player is calling her name and looking at my roommate like she’s something to eat and he’s a starving man.
Suddenly I’m the one who’s hungry.
I freeze, watching the drama unfold and kicking myself for being selfish enough to wonder why no man’s ever looked at me the way he’s looking at her.
What’s even more alarming is that she ignores him. Layla takes off like someone has screamed ‘Fire!’
I gape at the broken man-boy, who looks utterly destroyed, before taking off after her.
Did she not hear him? ‘Cause I gotta say, if that perfect male specimen was mowing down a marching band and calling my name, I would’ve jumped his fine ass like a spider monkey on crack. Well, the old me would have. I’m turning over a new leaf and all.
“Um, Layla?” I quick step it in my knock off McQueen ankle boots the best that I can. “Was that fine piece of soccer hotness just calling your name?”
She doesn’t look at me as she responds. “Huh? No, I doubt it.”
She picks up the pace and so do I. Pretty sure half the female freshman population just saw him. Girl’s nuts if she thinks I really believe she didn’t. I watch her facial expression closely in an attempt to figure out why she’s lying to me. We haven’t met anyone else yet. Who would I tell?
Finally she cracks. Sighing, she glances in my direction and offers a quiet “Maybe.”
I nod. “And you’re running like your panties just caught fire because…?”
“Because,” she says, looking like she’s having a difficult time swallowing. “Because I do not want to see him.”
Uh huh. She can sell that lie somewhere else because I ain’t buying it.
“Listen, Speedy. You’re gonna have to slow down a little. These boots ain’t made for sprintin’,” I inform her. She sighs but thank the gods of fashion, she slows a little.
“I kind of know him, or I used to, a long time ago.”
“Uh huh. Looked like he was pretty interested in a reunion.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not,” she snaps.
Whoa. Girl does have some gusto then. I’m kind of glad to see it—she appears so frail, it’s good to know she’s got some chutzpah underneath. I also kind of feel like I’ve been slapped on soccer boy’s behalf.
I let her be, give her what seems like much needed space to gather herself when we get back to the dorm, but when she lies down across her bed, I lower myself onto mine.
She fidgets with her dark purple comforter, tracing the swirly floral pattern with a finger. I figure I’ll just wait her out. She’s got something to say, and I’ve been where she is. Hurt, caught off guard, deeply wounded. I recognize the look and I think of the many many nights I spent wishing I had someone to talk to, someone who would listen and not judge me, and I can’t leave her like this. Even if she doesn’t want to talk at least she’ll know she’s not alone.
“He was just a friend,” she breathes out.
“But…” I prompt because that was not a friendly look he was giving her. That was a I’ve been roaming the Sahara for years and you are my tall cold glass of water look.
“But it had the potential to be more. A lot more. And then he moved away.” She shrugs like this isn’t a big deal. But I can tell by the way she chews her lip that it is. “And now he’s here.”
I lean forward propping on my elbows. This is an interesting development and I’m not sure what to make of it. If I saw someone from my high school here, ex or no, I’d either hug them or flip them off—depending on who it was. Unless it was Eddie. If Eddie shows up I’ll run, kind of like my roommate did. God, I hope soccer boy isn’t a domineering asshole like Eddie.
I have to ask. No one ever asked about my bruises or the missed school or why I dropped out to get my GED.
“Layla, I have eyes. You were trembling with… rage or fear or something. Did he hurt you?”
I hold my breath while waiting for her answer.
“No,” she shakes her head, but her eyes are saying something different. Whatever happened between them, there was definitely some serious pain involved. Thankfully, she clarifies before I hunt his hot ass down. “Not like you mean, but yeah. Um, I thought it was more than it was… more than friendship. Turns out he had a girlfriend in Colorado, where he was from. And he went back to her and that was that.”
Whew. Okay, that sucks. But I know from experience that it could’ve been so much worse.
“What a dick,” I say, surprised by her immediate giggle. She has a sweet laugh and I realize in that moment that she really doesn’t laugh much.
“There’s maybe a little more to it than that. But I don’t even know all the details for certain, and it’s exhausting to think about. I just can’t believe he’s here.”
The bright red word Stalker appears bright behind my eyes.
“Oh shit. Do you think he might be stalking you or something?” I feel my chest constrict at the possibility. “Should we tell someone?”
Layla sighs and turns her eyes to the ceiling. “Um no, I don’t think so. I think he might have failed to apply to any other schools besides this one and UGA, where we were supposed to go together so…”
Hmm. That better be all it is. If soccer boy gives her any hell I’ll just have Tony come break his legs. Can’t play soccer with no kneecaps.
“So here you are, both of you.” Some stupid childish part of me, the one that still loves butterflies, breathes life into the possibility of this guy actually being like a real life Romeo or some shit. Maybe he’s here just for her—to win her back. Or maybe the universe just wants them to be together. “It’s like fate or something.”
“No.” Layla shakes her head frantically like I’ve suggested we kick a baby out the window. “Not fate.”
Well, so much for that little fantasy. “Fine. I don’t really believe in any of that anyway. But at the very least maybe you guys could talk, and he could explain why he went back with that other girl—”
“No.”
“Okay, well, it’s kind of a small campus and—”
“Corin.”
“Okay, okay,” I relent, ending the interrogation by holding my hands up in surrender. “But can I ask one more question?”
She huffs a little like a miffed kitten and leans back on her throw pillows. “If you must.”
I try to contemplate how to phrase this. I never had many female friends and the ones I did worked for Eddie so they were a little more crass on this particular topic than I think Layla is capable of handling.
“Did he, I mean… is he the one?”
Her face twists in confusion. “The one what?”
“You know, the one. The one who took your v-card.”
“Oh my God, no. I’m still carrying that particular card, thank you very much.” She rolls her eyes and I fight off a smile. She’s a virgin. An honest to God, live in the flesh virgin. It’s like someone paired us together as a joke. I lost my virginity at fifteen and never looked back…until this past summer.
“Well, was he like your first kiss or something? Cause I gotta tell you, the way you ran out of there…”
She doesn’t answer so I begin to fidget. If talking about kissing makes her blush like this, we really have absolutely nothing in common. Suddenly it feels like it’s going to be an extremely long year. And I feel…dirty in comparison.
“Layla?” Her eyes are closed, and I’m wondering if she’s trying to play dead. “Layla Flaherty, roommate of mine, at the very least you are going to give me some juicy details about making out with that beautiful hunk of man meat.”
She shakes her head. “Can’t.”
Whoa. “You guys never even kissed? Seriously?”
The man-child looked like he was going to bust out a machete and hack a bloody path to her if need be. Several marching band members likely have no idea how close to death they probably just were. How in the hell could he be so intense about someone he’d never even kissed?
“Wow. But he looked so—”
“I’ve never been kissed. By him or anyone.”
Okay, her blushing about sex made me feel a little dirty but knowing she’s never been kissed makes me feel like I was raised smack in the middle of Sodom and Gomorrah, which in a way, I guess I kind of was.
I can’t help it. I practically fly off the bed, slamming my head into a shelf above my bed and knocking several pictures down. Rubbing my wounded head, I glare at the shelf feeling like it snuck up and attacked me. Then I turn to Layla and assess how truly gorgeous she really is.
Petite facial features in perfect proportion, straight blond hair the color of spun gold, light smattering of freckles below her clear blue green eyes. She’s like a Ralph Lauren ad come to life. Stick her on a sailboat and she’s hired. And no one ever even kissed her in eighteen whole years? It doesn’t even make sense. I tell her so.
“You’re like a…” I struggle to think of something equally as rare. “Unicorn,”
Her eyebrows shoot up immediately. “What?”
“Layla, holy hell. You’re eighteen, gorgeous, and no guy has ever kissed you? It’s not even… I mean, it doesn’t even make logical sense. Especially since classes haven’t even started and a ridiculously hot guy looked more than ready to climb over an entire marching band to get to you.”
My words must remind her of him, because her gaze fades from the present and focuses on something far away.
She looks so…sad. My heart breaks a little for her. This girl deserves to be kissed. And I’ve intruded enough on her privacy. Knowing I wouldn’t be at all comfortable discussing my past the way I’ve pretty much forced her to, I sigh and stand to give her some space. “I am going to leave you be—fo
r now. But tonight, there will be parties. We will be at these parties. You will be getting kissed at said parties if it’s the last thing I do.”
I’m about to head into the small common room attached to our bedroom when she calls after me. “Hey, um, thanks for leaving with me. I know I was kind of intense.”
I smile at the apology in her eyes. This girl couldn’t be intense if she tried. “No problem. That’s what friends do.”
I leave her, feeling extremely pleased to have realized that we are, in fact, friends.
A few hours later Layla stumbles out of the tiny closet we call a bedroom looking like a rumpled mess.
“I’m all done in the bathroom if you want to shower,” I tell her as she blinks her eyes into focus.
“Is that a hint?” She glances down at herself, and I grin.
“Um, actually it’s a direct order, but I thought I should phrase it nicely since we’ve only been living together a short time.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Layla, the goal is to get boys to want to kiss you. Though you could go as you are and pretend to be wasted and I’d probably have to fight them off you.”
She snorts out a laugh. “You’re hilarious.”
Thank goodness for social media. I’ve already found the goods on the best party closest to our dorm. “There’s a party within walking distance of campus. We’re going. A cute boy is going to kiss you before the night is over. Here.”
I toss her my favorite red dress and she eyes it cautiously. “I thought you wanted me to get kissed. Not raped.”
Oh wow. Poor thing. With the khaki shorts and cotton tops, she kind of dresses like an Amish housewife going on safari, a cute one, but still.
“Ugh, this is going to be harder than I thought.” I roll my eyes skyward. “Wear tights under it, if you must.”
A half-hour later, she’s showered and trying to cover the dress I loaned her with a cardigan sweater. Lord help this child. She has more sweater sets than any eighteen year- old girl should. So at least one.
We compromise and she wears leggings and flats. I can only work so many miracles at a time.
