Breaking the Plan: Mill Street Series #1

by Calla, Jessica

  After revisiting Sailboat Sexcapades and helping Ollie deal with his masturbation issue, I was feeling a little randy myself and couldn’t wait to go flirt with some football players at the frat house. Since it was still warm out, I pulled a short khaki skirt and a tight V-necked NJU Football T-shirt out of my closet. Instead of flip flops, I broke out the strappy sandals. My boobs behaved in a tight, basic bra, which gave me a smooth look, and the skirt was short enough that, combined with the heel on my sandals, my legs looked super long. I left my hair down, letting it fall as it wanted, and painted my lips a deep, rosy pink.

  I needed to get my thoughts away from Oliver and onto a hot, athletic, football body. Soon. Because getting to know Oliver was making me feel like I didn’t know myself.

  Not that I minded.

  But it was confusing, and I didn’t want to be confused. I knew who I was and what I wanted, sort of, and my roommate’s boyfriend didn’t fit into that picture.

  I always made it a point to have a female friend with me at these parties, and recruited Rachel, a floormate from our freshman dorm, to come out. Rachel Gallo was gorgeous—a tall, redhead—but she was a little quirky. For one thing, she was always late. Always. For another, besides the fact that Rachel had a car and her family lived local, she didn’t share anything about herself, with anyone. Vi and I decided that she had a secret superhero life.

  She offered to drive me to the party. On the way, she asked about Violet and the big break up with Oliver. “What do you think happened? They’ve been together forever.”

  To me, that was exactly the reason people should break up. Being together forever sounded like a drag, especially at twenty-one. “Maybe that was the problem.”

  Rachel tsked. “I guess that explains her IG post.”

  I froze. “What IG post?”

  As Rachel parked on the street outside the frat house, I repeatedly prayed: Please don’t let there be an Instagram post. She tapped her phone screen, and sure enough, Vi’s smiling face lit up the dark car.

  Vi was laughing and her eyes were closed, a mug of beer in her hand. Some European-looking dude was kissing her cheek. They looked like they were in a bar. The caption read: Had the best time last night! Thanks, Tobias #ViandBi.

  Oh no. They even had a hashtag? Not that “Olivyn” should judge.

  “Tobias looks cute,” Rachel noted, looking down at the screen.

  I didn’t care about Tobias, but with that one picture, I knew my entire night had shifted from potential-hook-up-with-a-football-God to caretaking Ollie. He’d be a mess if he saw that post.

  “Fuck.” Without a word to Rachel, I opened the passenger side door and stepped out of her car.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, trailing me. “I thought Ollie and Vi broke up?”

  “They did, but Ollie wants her back.” I didn’t feel like explaining that this stupid picture would send him into a downward spiral that may end up in the emergency room. Or that I was steaming mad at Vi for posting something so insensitive, even if it was done innocently.

  When we reached the house, Rachel and I promised to keep an eye on each other. I set an alarm on my phone to go check on her in a half hour. Of course we were late, and the house was packed. She headed toward the keg, and I headed toward Josh, whom I spotted at the other end of the room talking up some sweet-looking co-ed.

  “Hey!” I yelled over the music. I gave the girl a “one-second” hand signal. I didn’t want her to perceive me as a threat. I just needed to find Oliver.

  Josh leaned close and I yelled in his ear. “Ollie?”

  He stood up, shrugged, then went back to the girl.

  Everyone was moving in some way or another—dancing, squeezing through the crowd, mingling—but there was only one skinny body I needed to find. I texted him.

  Me: Where are you?

  I checked every room. No sign of Ollie and no return text. Maybe that was good.

  When I looked around and noticed the disgusting bull horns on the wall, I remembered the house. I’d been there before. There was a basement.

  I wiggled through the crowd, ignoring the “what’s up, girl” comments, and found my way to a door that opened to a staircase. Voices carried up the stairs, revealing it as public domain, so I headed down.

  Scanning the dark room, I spotted Ollie. I finally exhaled seeing that he was in one piece, talking to some chick in the corner. He looked taller in the basement, maybe even a little broader as he leaned against the wall. His jeans hung nicely, and he’d switched his usual button-down out for a long sleeve Henley.

  He talked to a short brunette, who looked like Vi. When he smiled at her, his perfect lips turning up at the corners, my knees went weak. Ignoring my overactive hormones, I watched him in my role as his new caretaker. His casual demeanor made me think that maybe he hadn’t seen the post. I was about to creep back up the stairs and get on with my mission of finding someone to get off with when he yelled across the room.

  “Bella!”

  Busted. I hated when he used that nickname. By “hated,” I meant “loved.” Stupid Oliver had twisted me all up inside. I spun toward him and waved. He leaned closer to Vi Clone and whispered something in her ear. They tapped on their phones.

  Weaving through the people, I made my way to the corner. Vi Clone looked me up and down—I was used to women doing that—and said, “Hi.”

  “What’s up?” I asked, looking between them.

  Vi Clone squinted and held up her phone. “I’ll let you two talk. Text me when you’re free, Ollie.”

  “Sure thing,” he said as he watched her walk away.

  When he refocused on me, I lifted my eyebrows. “You hooking up?”

  “Why not, right?” He held his plastic cup to his lips and took a giant gulp, emptying its contents.

  Uh-oh. I could tell from his tone that he was heading off the rails. “What’s going on, Nerdilicious?”

  “Nothing. I’m perfectly fine, Taryn. In fact, I’m more than fine.” He crumbled the cup and tossed it onto the floor behind him. When he crossed his arms and stared at me, waiting for me to say something, I was fairly certain he’d seen the post.

  “Have you had a lot to drink?” I asked.

  “Only one.”

  Well, that was good. “So…you seem… I don’t know…unsettled?”

  He held a hand to his chest. “Me? Gee, why would I be unsettled?”

  Now I was sure he’d seen it. “It’s just a picture of some guy she’s never going to see again after a few more weeks.” I didn’t add that I thought it was insensitive of her to post it, even though I did.

  “Really? Because she looked pretty happy. You know, Vi and Bi? Why not have a fuckfest over there in Vienna with asshole music people?”

  I held up a hand. “Whoa, big guy. Settle down. You know that’s not how Vi is.”

  “Maybe now that she’s gotten rid of me, that’s exactly how she is. You said it yourself—I was the only one she’d had until she left. And last time I saw her go out, she was in your dress and a pair of heels, flirting with some jerk at The Study.”

  His dark eyes pierced into mine. I crossed my arms, unsure how to handle the accusatory nature of his comment. Maybe I was misinterpreting, but it sounded like I was being blamed for something. “What are you trying to say, Oliver?”

  He shrugged. “All I’m saying is that she learned from you, and you’re the best. Who’s to say she’s not fucking that guy right now?”

  She learned from the best? Violet had been a saint for three years, and the one night I’d tried to cheer her up and give her some confidence, he slammed me for it?

  I leaned close and annunciated the words: “You’re. An. Asshole.” Then I spun on my heels and rushed through the people. I felt him following as I climbed the stairs, but I didn’t turn around. A few hours ago, he had been asking for my advice on how to rub one out, and now suddenly I’m a slut again?

  “Taryn,” he yelled behind me. “Wait.”

  I gave
him the finger over my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” he yelled.

  Ignoring him, I scowled at the crowd to move out of my way as I rushed through the house.

  “You okay, sweetheart?” someone asked.

  I waved up a hand and beelined for the exit. At the door, I turned and saw him coming up behind me, pouting and looking like he’d die if he didn’t reach me.

  “Bella!” he yelled.

  When he got close, I slammed the door to block him. I wasn’t sure where to go, so I started walking down the sidewalk in the direction that had the least amount of people. My phone buzzed against my hip.

  My girl code alarm. Rachel. Damn it. I couldn’t leave her hanging.

  Texting her as I spun around to go back to the party, I collided with a blue Henley.

  “I’m sorry,” he said before I even looked up. He took my elbows in his hands.

  I twisted out of his grasp, walked around him, and started back to the frat house.

  “Are you going to talk to me?” he asked, on my heels.

  “Are you going to fuck off and stop following me?” I asked in the same tone.

  “No.” He said the word matter-of-factly. Like I had been crazy to ask.

  My phone dinged with Rachel’s text, telling me she was fine. Still, I had to go back. Anyone could have picked up her phone and said she was okay. I stopped walking and texted her that I was outside and coming in to check on her.

  Oliver circled his stupid body around mine to stand in front of me. When I met his gaze, I almost cracked. He felt bad. It was written all over his face in the way his dumb brown eyes watered in the corners and his puffy bottom lip shook. It was the same look he’d had sitting with me on Violet’s bed the day he found out she was leaving.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Fine.” I pushed past him again.

  He followed. “Are you still mad?”

  Clenching my jaw, I squeezed my phone, resisting the urge to hit him over the head with it. When I spun around, he nearly collided with me. “Am I mad?” I poked him in the chest. “You bet your skinny ass I’m mad.”

  His look of sadness was replaced with something else—fear, maybe—as he took a step back, his eyes wide. “I didn’t mean it like it sounded,” he said, holding his hands up.

  “Yes. You. Did.” I turned toward the house again, speaking over my shoulder. “You know what? I’m sick of this back and forth with you. You act like we can be friends with the whole honesty pledge and being all nice at dinner, but then you fall back into ‘Taryn’s a slut’ mode. So which is it, Ollie? Am I your friend, or am I some slut who ruined your girlfriend?”

  I picked up my pace. He jogged past me, cutting me off in front. “Wait.”

  My cheeks heated as my anger stewed to the surface. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not even a slut. Not that my sex life is any of your damn business.” Good thing it was dark outside because I must have been beet red. “You seem to think I’ve screwed every guy on this campus, but that’s not the case. Anyway, so what if I like sex and I do it safely and consensually?” My hands shook, and I was mad at myself for explaining. “Just…fuck you.”

  Instead of running away, I waited, crossing my arms and avoiding his gaze. The nighttime air chilled me, so I rubbed my hands over my arms.

  Oliver sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said again, this time in a low, slow voice.

  I glanced at him.

  “Honestly? You’re right,” he said. “I did think you slept around a lot, and I hated that it was so easy for you to do that. I thought Vi would want to do that too.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

  He continued, “My heart is broken, Taryn. I’m so fucking sad and confused. You’re the only one who’s honest with me. You’re the only person who makes me feel…”

  I froze, hearing my own heartbeat. “Feel?” I whispered.

  “Feel happy. Alive.” He reached for my arm, his warm touch jolting through my body. “Sane. Please forgive me.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Ollie cleared his throat. “If we’re being completely honest, what I’m really scared about is that I like you, and I’m trying to be in denial about that. And that stupid Instagram post had me all freaked out.”

  He liked me? I wasn’t sure what that meant, and I didn’t know if I wanted to figure it out. Ollie was my best friend’s ex. A couple of weeks ago, I’d have never given him a second glance. Now I was here, fighting on a sidewalk with him like I was his girlfriend. “I like you too, Oliver. I never didn’t. But I never did either.”

  “Same.” He huffed, flashing a slight grin. Then he touched his nose and held up a finger—a motion I’d begun to recognize as his nervous tic. “Question. How many guys have you slept with?”

  I smacked him on the arm and started walking again. “Shut up.”

  “I’m curious,” he said, trailing me. “You can’t tell me your number after you practically watched me flog my log earlier?”

  I tried really hard not to smile but failed. “Five.”

  “Holy shit, you slut!” he teased. A passerby gave us a dirty look.

  I gasped and smacked his arm again. “Five in three years? I could practically be a nun with those stats.”

  “Ha,” he said, slowing the pace as we strolled back toward the party. “Then we won’t talk about my stats or you’ll be sending me to the monastery.”

  I knew he’d only been with Vi. “It’s different when you find someone you love.”

  “I guess so.”

  We walked in silence until we got to the front door of the frat house. “I have to go check on Rachel,” I said. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” He pulled out his phone. “I can see if that girl from before wants to hang out.”

  I tilted my head, trying to picture him with Vi Clone. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s not,” he said.

  “Did you drive here?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “If you’re interested, I’ll find someone to look after Rachel, and then you and I can pick up Chinese and head back to Mill Street. I was going to teach you about classical music so you can show an interest in Vi’s chosen path.” I’d thought of the idea earlier.

  “You still want to help me after I slut-shamed you?”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If I don’t help you, who will? God knows you need it.”

  He sputtered out a laugh. “Thanks.”

  “Honesty, right?” I held up my phone. “Let me settle Rachel. I’ll be right back.”

  Inside, I found the official designated driver, Diane, whom I knew never drank, and told her that Rachel was on the loose. She agreed to check on her periodically and came with me to find her. Rachel was perfectly fine, hanging with a group of girls around the keg. I promised I’d call her the next day and left her in Di’s hands.

  For the first time in a long time, I left a frat party sober, without a guy hanging over me, and, despite my horniness, I was perfectly fine with that. Oliver waited for me outside, looking like an adorable, pathetic puppy.

  He did need me. And maybe I needed him a little too.

  Chapter Six

  Oliver

  Back at the apartment, Taryn changed into sweats and put her hair in a ponytail. She spread the Chinese food on the coffee table while I gathered the silverware and napkins.

  We sat on the floor of the living room, eating and listening to classical music. “I didn’t know you were into classical.” I thought it was cute that Taryn used the wooden chopsticks that came with the food instead of a fork.

  She shrugged. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Oliver.”

  I smiled, shoving some pork fried rice into my face. With my right hand out of commission, I’d had trouble not only jerking off but eating like a human too. “How’d you get into it? Vi?”

  “No, not origina
lly. But she was the one who taught me the finer aspects of it.” Taryn twisted her fingers around the chopsticks and scooped up a mound of rice in one fluid movement. The way her fingers moved, tipped with her pink nails, mesmerized me. “What kind of music do you like?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t listen to much of today’s music.”

  “Too busy studying the Constitution and crap?” Again, she scissored her chopsticks, grabbed a piece of chicken out of a box, and lifted it to her lips.

  “Something like that.” I shook my head to clear it and pointed my fork at her. “And the Constitution is not crap.”

  “I didn’t say it was.” She took a sip of her Diet Coke. “If you don’t listen to today’s music, is there a music of yesterday that you like?”

  “I grew up on Rat pack stuff—Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, Jr.” When she put down her soda can and twiddled the sticks around her fingers again, I had to ask. “How did you learn how to use chopsticks like that?”

  When her ponytail slid over her shoulder, she flung it back into place. “My parents worked double shifts a lot, so I lived on takeout. One day I asked the delivery guy for a lesson and he gave me one.”

  I’d never spoken to a delivery person besides the normal greetings. “What do your parents do?”

  “They clean office buildings. Started a company about ten years ago. Went bankrupt. Now they…freelance…I guess you’d say.”

  “How come I didn’t know anything about you before?” It was meant to be an internal thought. Somehow it made its way out of my mouth.

  “That I don’t come from money?”

  I shifted positions as I opened a carton and peeked in. “No. I mean…I don’t know. Anything, really, about your life.”

  “I try not to advertise.” She smiled at me. I smiled back and waited for her to continue. “We did okay. Between my early morning bakery stint and their overnights cleaning the offices, we got by fine.”

  “You probably didn’t see much of each other.” The thought made me sad. I knew she was an only child, like me.

  “Not really. I can’t imagine you saw much of your parents either, with them being partners at the firm.” She peeked over the carton of General Tso’s.