[No data]

by May, McKinley

  I step inside Targon's, a steakhouse way too pretentious for my personal taste, and give the hostess my name. She leads me through the dimly lit space to a corner table for two. My mother's already waiting, her stoic demeanor causing my shoulders to stiffen.

  "Hi, Mom." I hang my cross-body on the chair and take a seat.

  "Alexandra," she says as she glances up from browsing the menu. Her eyes rove over my face and she makes a small tsk sound. "You have a blemish. Are you using the cream I gave you?"

  And the ceremony of criticism has officially begun.

  I clench my teeth together. "Yes."

  "You need to put it on twice a day," she orders, vision still honed in on the two small bumps on my cheek. "I don't believe you're using it as instructed. You wouldn't be breaking out if you were."

  Wouldn't I?

  I'm running on an average of five hours of sleep per night, stressed as shit from my rigorous classes, and greasy pizza is a staple for my weekly all-nighters. Pretty sure any normal person would get a pimple or three under those circumstances.

  Of course I don't explain this to her—I want to, but I can't blow my shot right off the bat. Getting on my mom's good side is crucial for this evening to go the way I planned.

  I force a smile and promise to upgrade my skincare regimen to her liking.

  "How are your courses? Your grades?"

  "Fine," I answer. "I have two exams on Thursday, so I—"

  My phone buzzes to life on the table, cutting me off. A picture of Weston pops up and I quickly hit ignore.

  Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough.

  "Who is that?" my mother pries.

  Who's Weston?

  I pick at my thumbnail, a multitude of responses jumbling my thoughts.

  Oh, just this dude I'm sorta dating.

  This guy I'm currently having the most confusing feelings about.

  This boy who's gone from a complete pain in my ass to one of the most significant people in my life in a very short amount of time.

  "He's nobody."

  Probably not the best answer to deflect her suspicion.

  "Alexandra." Dark eyes squint in my direction, no crow's feet to be seen. "I hope you're not letting a boy get in the way of your studies."

  I employ every last one of my ocular muscles to stop my eyes from lurching skyward. "I'm not. He's my lab partner."

  She opens her mouth to admonish me once more, but our waiter approaches and saves me the scolding.

  "What can I get you ladies to drink?" His chipper gaze falls on me. "Ma'am?"

  "Bud Li—" The beer order starts to fall involuntarily out of my mouth; I've been spending too much time on the street perpendicular to this one, evidently. My mother looks horrified, the waiter looks perplexed, so I amend my mistake. "Um, Bud...Buddy? What do you suggest, buddy?"

  Not my best save, but it works as he starts reciting the detailed drink specials.

  After ordering some wine I can't pronounce, I chew on my lip, trying to determine the most casual way to bring up the topic I want to discuss.

  Lucky for me, my mom takes care of that part.

  "Do you have all your letters of recommendation figured out? The application opens in May. I would hope you've been preparing properly."

  "Uh, well." I reach for a roll and tear off a chunk. "I wanted to talk to you about that."

  She raises a thin brow and frowns—her version of asking me to continue.

  I stuff the buttery bite into my dry mouth. The thermostat in this joint is set to arctic temps, but there's a thin layer of sweat prickling at my skin.

  Yeah, I'm freaking out over here.

  I don't scare easily, nor do I consider myself a push-over wimp, but I'll admit it. My mom intimidates the crap out of me.

  I swallow the bread and just blurt it out.

  "I'm not applying to medical school this cycle."

  The fury that overtakes her is both instantaneous and palpable. Her jaw clenches and her puckered expression is even more exaggerated than usual, almost as if she's sucking on a sour lemon.

  "If this is your idea of a joke, I don't find it amusing."

  "It's not," I insist. "I'm serious."

  "I don't understand."

  "I'm still going to finish my Biology degree, but med school isn't something I want to commit to right now."

  "What is this about? Are you saying you want to take a gap year?" Her nose turns up at the term. "Your sisters didn't feel the need to take a gap year. It's a frivolous waste of time."

  "I'm not talking about a gap year." Reaching behind me, I remove the pamphlet from my purse. "I was thinking about applying for a program here next year. I toured it with a friend last weekend and it was really impressive." I slide the brochure in her direction and begin my prepared speech. "Their credentials are top-notch, their professors are industry professionals, and—"

  "Arts Academy?" She huffs with disgust as she reads the title. Placing two fingers on the slick paper, she pushes it right back to me, averting her eyes like merely looking at it will taint her further. "You want to forgo your doctorate education for Art school? Absolutely not."

  "Well, it's not your decision to make," I contend, finally getting some punch behind my words. "It's mine."

  "I don't want to discuss this any longer." She clasps her hands together, her tone resolute. "Your actions are impulsive and you haven't thought this through."

  "This isn't impulsive," I argue. "It's not as if I made this choice in one day. I've been questioning medical school for as long as I can remember. This isn't a spur of the moment, emotionally-driven thing. I've put a lot of thought and research into this."

  "Apparently not enough, because your decision is a poor one. Not only that, it's frankly embarrassing."

  Damn.

  I assumed her reaction would be negative, but she's crossing a line here.

  "The only reason I agreed to meet you tonight was to inform you of my 'embarrassing' decision. If you aren't willing to hear me out, I might as well leave." I push my chair back noisily and stand, anger pulsing in my bloodstream. "Why can't you just be a mom for one freaking minute and support me? Would it kill you to take off the white coat and treat me like a daughter instead of a direct reflection of yourself?"

  My mom doesn't have a chance to respond because Buddy the waiter is back, his uncomfortable expression revealing he caught some of our familial dispute.

  "Here are your drinks."

  He sets the crystal glasses down. His eyes bounce from my empty chair up to me awkwardly. "Er..." He holds out a basket overflowing with fresh rolls. "More bread?"

  "Sure, thanks." I snatch the basket with one hand and my glass of wine with the other. I pour the drink down my throat in one gulp, smacking with satisfaction as I nod at Buddy. "Not bad."

  Turning back to my mom, I flash a poisonous smile. All the intimidation I felt earlier has been replaced with pure disdain for the woman sitting across from me.

  "Thanks for the drink, Mother. I have to go now."

  And with that final note, I spin on my heel and storm off.

  Is my exit a tad dramatic?

  Hell yes it is.

  I never claimed I wasn't one to make a scene.

  My vision is clouded red as I brush past staff and customers in a rage-fueled haze. In two minutes flat, I find myself on Dublin Drive.

  Plopping my ass on a bench, I start shoveling the bread into my mouth in a pissed-off fashion.

  I look like a rabid animal, using my teeth to tear at the food all angry and ferocious-like. Any other location and people would be giving me the stink eye or speed-walking past in fear, but that's what's nice about a street like this—there's so many drunken shenanigans occurring at all times, nobody blinks twice at anything off-kilter.

  And it's not like I'm gonna be recognized, anyway.

  It's Tuesday night during Mid-Terms, so the chances of me running into somebody I know are slim to none.

  I mean, who the hell goes out part
ying during Mid-Terms?

  23

  Partying during Mid Terms is the fucking best.

  Less crowds, no bar covers, and more drink specials to entice students to leave the confines of the campus libraries and take a break downtown.

  The crew and I are heading into our second bar of the night when I spot Lexie just down the road. She's cradling a basket of rolls, chowing down on that bread like it's her last supper, and I'm not surprised one bit.

  I guess I've grown accustomed to her Lexie-isms in all their strange glory.

  Girl is weird, but I like it.

  I veer off from my friends, leaving them with a disingenuous "Catch you later".

  "Slow down, Lioness," I instruct as I walk up behind the bench she's camped out on. "You're gonna freaking choke to death."

  She twists her head around, meeting my gaze with a loud grunt. "Of course you're out tonight. I should've known."

  "You know, when places say BYOB, they mean bring your own beer, not bread. But I like your style."

  I crack a smile which she returns, although I notice it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

  She holds out a roll in offering. "I stole it from Targon's."

  After taking a bite, I raise my brows at her admission. "You have a habit of swiping things?"

  "First time offense," she admits with a shake of her head. "This was done for dramatic effect. I'm definitely not a regular when it comes to criminal activity."

  "Good to know. Targon's, huh? You were on Stockholm?" My eyes glide down the length of her classy dress. "What were you doing there?"

  "Meeting my mom for dinner."

  The irritated vibe she's giving off makes sense now.

  "How did it go?"

  "About as good as you'd expect," she mutters with a snort. "I got in trouble for my horrific break-out. And that was the most pleasant part of the short gathering, so take from that what you will."

  She points to her cheek, and I squint to make out a pair of minuscule bumps. I legit almost crack up at the thought of someone referring to that as a break-out.

  "Oh yeah. Not surprised she pointed that out. It's all I can focus on." My words exude pure sarcasm. "Absolutely hideous."

  I shoot her a teasing grin and she starts laughing. That laughter morphs into hysterical chortles, and then suddenly there's a steady stream of tears pouring down her face.

  What the fuck just happened?!

  "Holy hell, Lexie. I was joking, babe." I immediately round the bench and take a seat next to her. "You're fucking gorgeous."

  "It's not that. I know you're kidding." She takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, but the waterworks are showing no sign of stopping.

  "Hey. Come here." I grab the empty basket from her lap and toss it on the ground. Wrapping both arms around her, I pull her tight against my side. It's the first time she's let me touch her in for-fucking-ever, but I'm not concerned with that right now.

  "It's okay, Lex. I got you," I reassure her. Rubbing my hands up and down her back, I do whatever I can to comfort her.

  I'm just gonna be honest here—I am not one for tears. Crying chicks freak me out, and I'm usually planning my escape the moment I see a quivering bottom lip or eyes filling up with moisture.

  But not with Lexie.

  My chest tightens, this odd as hell protective instinct hitting me straight in the gut. I don't wanna run away. I want to make her feel better.

  "Tell me what's wrong, baby," I mutter softly against her ear.

  Hiccups and sniffles are prevalent as she rehashes the convo she had with her mom. Lex actually told me about her med school decision a few days ago, but I didn't know she was bombarding her fam with the news already.

  "And here's the worst part," she continues with a huff. "I didn't get a chance to tell her what program I'll be applying for. She didn't even bother to ask. She saw the word 'art', and that was reason enough to instantly shut it down."

  "Maybe she needs time to process everything. Give her a few weeks and maybe she'll come around?"

  My rose-colored prediction has Lexie shaking her head.

  "She's going to fight me tooth and nail. But her threats are gonna fall on deaf ears because I've made up my mind. I'm doing this no matter what she says."

  With the heels of her palms, she rubs away the last of her tears before giving me a sheepish glance. "Sorry I'm blubbering my eyes out to you. I'm just beyond pissed. And I totally have that disease where I cry when I'm mad."

  "Don't apologize. You have full permission to cry on my shoulder whenever you want." A half-grin lifts one side of my mouth. "Next time, warn me in advance and I'll bring tissues."

  "But your shirt works just fine as a tissue," she teases as she gently tugs at my collar. Biting down on her lip, she offers me a tiny smile. "I really do appreciate you listening, Weston. Thanks. But I'm done venting for the night. I want to forget the last half-hour and focus on something else. Anything else."

  "Alright." I squeeze her shoulder. "Where do you wanna go?"

  Confusion flickers in her lime green gaze, the color vibrant and metallic from the moisture. "What?"

  "What are we gonna do to get your mind off of this?"

  She takes a quick peek behind her. "Aren't you out with your friends?"

  "I was, but I bailed. We were celebrating one of Diego's Quarter Birthdays."

  "Seriously?"

  "What? You don't celebrate Quarter B-days?" I roll my eyes sardonically. "Diego's really into them. He's 20 3/4 today."

  "Oh, Diego." She barks out a laugh. "It's sort of a smart move, if you think about it. Quadruple the presents!"

  I shake my head. "Pretty sure that was his initial thought, too, but we didn't fall for that shit. He gets presents on his actual date of birth, and we give him quarters the other three celebrations. I gave him 75 cents today. Dude got to ball out at the gumball machine."

  I stand, raking my fingers through my hair. "Now what's on the agenda, Barbie? What do you wanna do?"

  She ponders it for a sec before her face goes guilty. "Is it cool if it's not super exciting?"

  "Sure, whatever. If you wanna study, we'll study. If you want me to watch you study, I'll watch you study." My forehead creases. "I mean, I'd rather fucking not, but you're in charge."

  "No school work. I swear," she says as she crosses herself for good measure. "Here's the plan. Location: My apartment. Attire: Stretchy pants. Activity: Binge-watch TV until our eyes go crossed. And on the menu for the evening meal..." Her brows wiggle up and down. "Six bags of movie-theater butter popcorn mixed with gummy worms and chocolate chips."

  She gives me two thumbs up, nodding her head encouragingly as I let out a chuckle.

  "Weird flex, but okay." I grab both of her hands, pulling her upright as I flash a bright smile. "That's exactly what we're gonna do."

  "Home sweet home!" Lexie announces as she leads me inside her place. She flips on the light and squats down to remove her heels. "The complex is kind of ancient, but Rayne and I love it here. Not an obnoxious neighbor to be found. Total rarity in a college town."

  I grin as I kick my sneakers off. "You better thank your lucky stars you're on the opposite side of Windhaven as The Treehouse. We get a noise complaint every damn weekend."

  Her airy laughter rings out between us. "I believe that."

  I watch with amusement as she tosses her keys on the glass coffee table and they slide right off.

  Before I've had a chance to check out the apartment, Lexie beckons me towards the first door on the right.

  "I'm gonna change, but you can come in."

  Don't mind if I do.

  When I step inside, I catch the slightest glimpse of her unzipping the elegant dress. She pulls down the metal zipper, the smooth curve of her lower back revealed just as she disappears into the bathroom.

  I hear the muffled sound of a sink turning on and take the opportunity to observe my surroundings.

  The room is pure Lexie—girly, creative, and a pinnacle of organi
zed chaos. The unique decorations appear homemade, her affinity for color is on full display, and, least surprising of all, it looks straight out of a freaking Better Homes and Gardens magazine.

  It's basically Barbie's brain in bedroom form.

  I walk over to her desk where a planner's spread open. My eyes skim over the color-coded entries before settling on one that has me grinning ear-to-ear.

  Meet w/ Weston for Lab Report! :)

  That's right.

  Exclamation mark and smiley face.

  She fucking likes me.

  The bathroom door opens and my snooping comes to an abrupt halt.

  Lexie emerges from the en-suite wearing black leggings and a tiny purple tank-top. As she drags a makeup wipe across her face, she nods towards the bed. "Is it okay if we watch in here? My mattress is loads softer than the couch."

  "Yeah. That's cool."

  That's what I say out loud, but the only thing that's running through my mind is shit.

  How the fuck am I gonna lay in bed with her and keep my hands to myself?

  It's gonna be damn difficult.

  "Great. Your job is to pick your favorite episode of Friends and get comfy." She tosses me the remote before rubbing her hands together with a wicked smile. "And my job is to prepare the bucket of goodies. I hope you're hungry."

  The bucket of goodies expands from its original 3-ingredient list to every type of candy, chip, and cracker in her pantry. It's a nauseating, albeit freakin' delicious mixture of empty-calorie goodness that takes us over three hours to even put a dent in.

  The giant bucket's also causing me distress, and not in the gastrointestinal way you'd assume. The container's situated between my legs, and every time Lexie reaches for a handful, her forearm grazes my inner thigh.

  Dangerously close to my dick.

  When she accidentally rubs against my bulge, I bite down on my tongue so hard I taste blood.

  By 1 a.m., we've watched twelve episodes of the show, I'm still sporting a hard-on, and Lexie's had enough screen time for the night.

  "My eyes are officially crossed," she states as she grabs the remote and clicks the TV off.