Looking to Score

by CoraLee June

  “Is that why you’re...picky about food.”

  “It’s why I’m picky about my entire life. It’s why I moved here. It’s why I stopped partying and started dieting and took a fuck ton of hours to graduate early.”

  Oakley seemed to chew on my words for a bit. He stared at me intently, his eyes penetrating my soul. His prolonged silence let my insecurities run wild. He was probably thinking that he was an idiot to trust his image and career with someone who fucked up her own so badly. Oh God, he probably didn’t want to be with me anymore either, because how could he risk having someone find out about my past and have that reflect poorly on him? Not that it mattered, we couldn’t be together anyway, but maybe this was what was going to actually convince Oakley of that.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized.

  This was it, this was where he was going to tell me that he’s sorry, but he can no longer work with me. Running all the way to Texas didn’t erase my past; I was never going to be able to leave it behind.

  “I understand,” I said solemnly. “I’ll work with Dr. Haynes to get you a new publicist as soon as possible.”

  “What?” Oakley asked, bewildered. “I don’t want a new publicist. I’m sorry that I was such an ass.”

  “Huh?” I not-so-elegantly mumbled. Now it was my turn to be confused.

  “You worked so hard, completely turning your life around. And then you got stuck with me. I almost got you fired from your internship, and then I have been dragging you to bars and after-parties,” he said genuinely. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “And I’m done partying.”

  I blanched. “You’re done?”

  “Done. If I had known how uncomfortable they made you, I would have never suggested it to you. It all makes sense now.” He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in for a hug, and I let him. It felt good to be comforted in his arms. It was a relief to stare the thing that had been haunting me for the last few months and feel...grace.

  “Is it too soon to ask to see the video?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “Too soon, Problem.”

  I pulled out of Oakley’s arms and looked up at him. I wasn’t sure what we were supposed to do next. Was this the part where we had the awkward conversation about last night? “Listen, Coach wants us watching tape this afternoon, but I’d like to see you again this week.”

  I swallowed. “I’d like to see you too.”

  Oakley beamed as if he’d never been happier. “A real date?”

  “A real date,” I conceded. There was no going back now. Last night, Oakley stole my body. Today, he stole my heart.

  21

  Oakley and I walked back in the direction of the university together, hand-in-hand until we came to the point where we had to go different ways. He pulled me into a quick hug and planted a soft kiss on the top of my head. I inhaled the clean scent of his soap mixed with his spicy cologne; it was exhilarating. Oakley was the one to release his arms first so that he could tilt my face up to his. He kissed me greedily, and I fully lost myself in it. When he ran his tongue over my bottom lip, I parted my mouth, allowing him to completely take over.

  I brought my hand to his chest and gently pushed while also taking a step back to put a little bit of distance between us. He groaned his disapproval at the sudden absence of my mouth on his. If I didn’t stop him, we were going to end up getting down and dirty right here in the middle of the sidewalk. As much as I didn’t want it to end, Oakley had to get to the stadium, and I was still his kickass publicist after all.

  “Go watch footage and strategize or whatever you do when you watch tapes,” I teased.

  “I’ll text you later, and we can talk about where we should go on that date.”

  He planted one last quick kiss on my lips and then turned to head toward practice. I watched him walk away for just a moment, taking the time to appreciate how good his ass looked in his jeans. Plus, staring at Oakley’s butt gave my legs time to recover from being turned to total mush.

  I was on cloud fucking nine. I had the best orgasm of my life last night, I had come clean and told Oakley everything, and he still wanted to date me and let me be his publicist. Which meant I was going to graduate early with killer recommendations and a hot boyfriend. I practically floated the rest of the way home, thinking about how awesome I was and how great my life was going.

  And then my cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Miss Matthews, I know it’s a Sunday, but this call couldn’t wait.” I grabbed my chest. My mentor sounded angry, and I wasn’t ready to hear why. “There are photos of you and Oakley at a party.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Holy hell. Last night hit me like a sledgehammer. We were practically grinding on one another. I didn’t even have to see the photos to know that it probably looked really bad. “The lack of professionalism is really concerning, Miss Matthews. I can’t in good conscience give any sort of recommendations if you consistently cross boundaries with your clients.”

  Shame crept up my neck. It was almost worse than disappointing my parents. Dr. Haynes was a huge deal in our industry. “You’re supposed to be learning right now. This could be a massive stepping stone for your future, and you’re blowing it. Either you hold yourself to a higher standard or give up. We can’t keep working this way. It is starting to reflect badly on me, and unlike you, I actually care what people think about me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I sputtered.

  “Me too. We’ll have a formal meeting tomorrow. I suggest you manage the social media portion before then.”

  He hung up, cutting me off, though I wasn’t sure what I could possibly say. My thumbs moved lightning fast to check the damage, and the moment I saw the photos and accompanying speculation, it felt just like the streaking incident all over again.

  The photo was hot. We were lost in one another, his hands were cupping my ass, and my lips were pressed against his neck. Every muscle in his arms was flexed. His eyes were locked on me. I knew better. It felt so fucking good at the time, but I knew better, and I let it happen anyway.

  I started frantically swiping through the photos, not that it could really get worse than that. But I had to know what was out there so I could get in front of it. Oakley was tagged in picture after picture with me in various compromising positions. I landed on one picture, and it took me about three seconds to process the fact that the girl draped all over Oakley wasn’t me. What the actual fuck? When did he even have time to take this?

  I didn’t even care.

  I felt like I was going to puke. My entire world was falling apart, again. And it was all my fault. Again. I was going to get fired tomorrow from the best opportunity I ever had. I wasn’t going to graduate early, possibly not even at all. There’s no way I would get another PR internship at this school. Probably not at any other school either. My boyfriend? I didn’t know, was he even my boyfriend? Whatever he was, there was photographic evidence of another girl with her tits pressed tightly into his chest while she kissed his cheek. After that picture, he sure as shit wasn’t my anything. I quickly screenshotted the post in case it disappeared. I’ve watched enough episodes of Cheaters to know to save the evidence.

  I had to sit down. I took a few steps, looking for anywhere to sit. I couldn’t find anything, so I sat right in the middle of the sidewalk and brought my hands to my temples, using my thumbs to rub out the tension. Coeds went around me like I wasn’t even there. I was trying so hard not to cry or vomit right there on the sidewalk. Is this what a panic attack felt like?

  I tried to breathe in and out. I was gasping for air, but it was like my lungs couldn’t fully expand. I was just panting without relief. Oh gosh. This was why I couldn’t get distracted. This was why I couldn’t relax for even a second. I was toxic. I was fucked up.

  “Amanda?” A soft voice broke through my panic. Slender arms wrapped around me, and I was yanked up off the ground. My roommate stared at me. Her red hair was a wild mess of curls, and her eyes were full of concern. She decided what to do in
a split second. “Let’s get you inside, okay? Let’s go home.”

  I wordlessly let her guide me up to our apartment. She didn’t ask me questions; she was just there. It wasn’t until I was sitting at our kitchen island with a cup of tea in my palm that she spoke up. “Panic attacks are such a bitch. Do you feel the warmth of the heat from the cup on your palm?” she asked. I drew what little energy I had to my sense of touch.

  “Y-yes,” I croaked.

  “Do you see my crazy ass outfit?” she then asked, her voice growing more and more animated with every syllable. On the street, she treated me like a wild animal, approaching cautiously. That caution was fading now. My eyes took in her purple jumpsuit, and I smiled.

  “What are you wearing?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

  “We aren’t talking about me. Can you hear the cars outside?” she asked.

  I listened to the traffic on the street outside our building, various honks and purring engines could be faintly heard. “Yes,” I replied, this time my voice stronger.

  “Great. What happened down there?”

  I let everything spill. I told Shelby everything. About why I was in Texas. About my fears about food.

  About Oakley.

  “So what if you fucked him? You’re an intern. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “It is if I want a good letter of recommendation.”

  “You and I both know that your father is going to hire you. You honestly don’t even need to finish your degree. He’s got that privileged nepotism process,” she assured me, snorting.

  “But I want to earn it,” I stammered.

  “Do you? Because it seems like you really just want to prove you’re perfect. I don’t think it was ever about this internship.”

  I cradled my head in my hands. Was she right? Was that what all of this was about? I really needed to call my psychic for a tarot reading.

  My phone buzzed, and I saw Oakley’s name. Without thinking, I picked up my phone and threw it across the room, not caring if it was completely destroyed. I didn’t need it, and I didn’t need Oakley either. Shelby looked at me, a little surprised, but mostly calm.

  “Amanda?” she asked, going back to her more cautious approach. “It’s okay. You are going to be okay.” She came and sat on the floor right in front of me in what I now knew was the lotus pose, her legs crossed with her toes on her thighs.

  “Take a deep breath with me,” she said when I didn’t respond. “Breathe in through your nose and breathe out slowly through your mouth.”

  I followed along with her breathing exercises, and she led me through some basic stretching poses until I did actually start to feel better. Or at least more grounded. I couldn’t change what I did in California, and I couldn’t change what happened last night. The only thing I could change is how I react to it. I learned that from my favorite manifestation video.

  “Thank you for being there for me, Shelby,” I said, my heart absolutely overflowing with love for her. One minute I was raging, the next I was giggling, and now I was about to start ugly crying over how much I loved my roommate. Emotional trauma is weird. Thank Zeus Shelby was so understanding, and also the only one who was seeing me like this.

  Just as I was getting a handle on myself enough to go check the damage I did to my phone, there was a knock on the door. It started off slowly, but became louder and more insistent. Then I heard Oakley’s voice.

  “Amanda! Amanda are you home?” he shouted.

  Shelby went to the door to tell him that I didn’t want to see him and to leave. I heard them go back and forth before I stood up and went to the door.

  “It’s fine, Shelby. He can come in.”

  Oakley pushed past her and wrapped me up in a hug. I was surprised by the gesture. “I came over as soon as I could. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  I turned away from him to stare at the cracked device on my floor. Okay, so maybe throwing it was a tad melodramatic, but I’m allowed to have my moments. “Fuck,” he cursed. “Dr. Haynes emailed me, and I saw the photos.”

  I pulled fully out of his hold and looked up at him. I didn’t even want to know what I looked like. I was a sobbing, sweaty mess and hadn’t showered since last night. I just wanted a warm bubble bath to wash away the mistakes of the last day. “I told Dr. Haynes that I absolutely refuse to work with anyone else. I made Coach write a letter stating how well you’re doing. I also”—he paused to pull out his phone—“had every guy on the team reach out to accounts with the photos of us, and they offered signed merchandise to anyone willing to delete them. I think Dale has a date with a stage five clinger as a result of it.”

  My mouth dropped open in shock. “Wh-what?” I couldn’t even process it all. “Why? How?”

  “You cleaned up my image; I want to protect yours,” he said softly. He stepped closer, and I breathed in his scent. My heart was melting for this guy. I had him all wrong.

  “I don’t even know what to say…”

  “I’m sorry. I really like you, okay? Let someone else be the solver for once.”

  I reached up, planning to kiss him, when something else crossed my mind. “Who was the girl hanging all over you last night?” I asked. The timing was bad, and I sounded like a jealous idiot, but considering I had a panic attack in the middle of a busy sidewalk, this was the least of my concerns.

  “Uh, that would be you,” Oakley replied with a confused chuckle.

  “No. There was a photo last night. Some girl was pressed all up against you.”

  Oakley looked confused, so I instinctively went to whip out my phone with the evidence. My hands searched my pockets, then remembered that I had thrown it. Shit. That was stupid for so many reasons. I bent over to pick up my phone and found that it still worked, the screen was just cracked. At least something was going my way tonight.

  I navigated to the photo and held my phone up to his face. “This girl. Who is she? Why is she kissing you?” Why did I sound so damn jealous? I was going to blame the shrillness in my voice on my roller coaster of a night.

  Oakley looked at the picture and laughed. Was this man trying to get murdered tonight?

  “What the hell is so funny?” I snapped.

  “One, you’re insanely cute when you are jealous. Two, she was just a random drunk girl. Her friends dared her to come get a picture with me. I overheard them telling her to pinch my butt, so I made sure to keep it out of grabbing range. I thought she was just going to give me a hug, but she went in to kiss my cheek at the last second.”

  Oh. Okay. I felt really dumb.

  I folded myself back into his chest. “Oakley? Can you stay with me tonight?”

  “Anything for you, Solver,” he said as he easily scooped me up and carried me to bed.

  22

  I could count off the top of my head three conversations that made me cringe.

  The first conversation was when my mother told me about sex. I was eleven years old and had gotten my first period during a math test. I was wearing white jeans like the badass middle schooler I was. The entire class knew, and when I got home, my mother threw me a period party.

  Yep, a period party.

  She made us eat tomato soup. She also had a vagina piñata and filled it with pads. It was seriously traumatizing to beat it with a baseball bat. Then, she dragged me kicking and screaming up the stairs so she could tell me about the birds and the bees. I’d already known the mechanics of sex thanks to health class, but after four Bloody Marys, my mother felt like she needed to give me the nitty gritty.

  “Anal is painful, Amanda,” she’d said. “Even if he begs, don’t do it. You’ll never be the same, and the pain isn’t worth it.”

  I’d scrubbed the conversation from my mind while keeled over with cramps. It was terrible.

  The second worst conversation was when I had to explain to President Gentry why I was buck naked on his lawn. Listing the amount of Four Lokos I’d had seemed appropriate at the time, but I still felt a twinge of secondhand embarra
ssment every time I thought of it.

  But the third worst conversation? It was happening right now. “So what is this?” I asked with my heart pounding. Defining the relationship was like getting an annual pap smear: No one really wanted to do it, but it was necessary. If I had to compare this conversation to having Dr. Johari’s hands up my tunnel of doom, I’d say her tender touch and the feet stirrups were preferable.

  We were lying in my bed, my head nuzzled into the crook of his arm that was holding me tight. It was the darkness of the room that gave me the courage to even ask in the first place. Not being able to see Oakley’s intense eyes, especially when I looked a hot mess, was definitely a plus.

  Oakley shifted onto his side. He turned to look at me as he adjusted his arm so that he could rest his head on it. I closed my eyes and breathed in slowly as I waited for him to answer. Now that everybody knew just how close we had gotten, I felt like I could finally admit to myself how much I wanted this. Wanted him.

  “I like you a lot, Amanda.” He paused, and I waited for the but that always seemed to follow that statement. “I know I said that I’m not a relationship guy and I don’t have girlfriends. But...”

  Ah. There was the but. I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high, but this seemed like it was going in a good direction. A good but. Like a superhero’s ass in spandex kind of but. I gave in to the flood of excitement, and my whole body started to tingle.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you. When I’m not with you, I want to be. I feel like I can talk to you about anything, and I’ve never felt this comfortable with anyone. Plus, you’re hot as hell and fuck like a goddess. I can’t stand the thought of you being with anybody else. I want you to be mine.”

  Well, put me in spandex and let’s save the world.

  “That was quite the romantic speech,” I replied. “I’m just not sure if I’m sold yet. I need some convincing.” I wiggled. I knew he was packing some impressive morning wood under these sheets, and I wasn’t against telling Oakley junior gooooood morning.