She Wants It All: Book Three of the Sheridan Hall Series

by Jessica Calla

  She Wants It All

  Sheridan Hall Series, Book Three

  Jessica Calla

  Copyright © 2017 by Jessica Calla

  Cover Design: Anita B. Carroll, Race-Point Design

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  First Edition Published May 16, 2017, by BookFish Books.

  Second Edition Published March 1, 2018, by Jessica Calla.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Calla, Jessica

  She Wants It All

  ISBN-13 978-0-9998714-4-7 (e-book)

  ISBN-10 0-9998714-4-7 (e-book)

  Created with Vellum

  For the #amediting crew.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Preview

  Acknowledgments

  SHE DREAMS IN COLOR

  Also by Jessica Calla

  About the Author

  Prologue

  That cringeworthy encounter…

  Dave

  The redhead’s the flirty one tonight.

  With the lighting on the stage, I can only see the first few rows, but it’s always the same girls. Sometimes the tall blonde takes the lead, sometimes the redhead. The five or so of them are always there—always in the front singing along, dancing, and drinking. Every time The Randoms perform.

  It’s fucking awesome.

  When we’re on stage, I lose my mind. I’m not Dave Novak, the car-less, mediocre New Jersey University college student disappointing his parents and draining them of resources. I’m Dave Novak, star performer. Object of focus for the groupies and the redhead in the front row. Lead singer of The Randoms, once deemed “the best cover band in the tri-state area” by a local critic. Even though half of NJU comes to The Study on the nights we have a gig, none of the student body notices me on campus. Why would they? I’m mediocre Dave. Here on stage though, I’m in charge and demanding their attention.

  The stage is where I’m most at home, and I’m not shy about owning it. The groupies? They fuel my fire. Tonight, maybe in honor of the redhead’s interest, I go hard. I belt out the lyrics as I move back and forth across the stage. Behind me, the guys pick up on my energy and play to the crowd. I sing like it’s the last time anyone will ever hear my voice. Gripping the mic, I belt out the high notes. Under the heat of the lights, sweat drips from my forehead and burns my eyes. I squeeze them shut, feeling the music and sensing the restlessness of the crowd.

  When I reach the chorus, I open my eyes again and move to the front of the stage. The crowd goes crazy. I hold the mic out to the booming sea of darkness. They yell the chorus back at me. Everyone knows the song. Everyone loves it. But I’m the only one who can sing it exactly like the original.

  I catch the redhead’s eye, and she holds my gaze, shouting out the lyrics with me. During the guitar riff, I move to Tuck’s drum set and place my mic on the floor. Then, I pull off my shirt.

  When I move to the front of the stage for the next chorus, I toss the redhead my sweaty shirt and sing right to her. She wiggles into it, pulling it down over her skimpy top. The ladies energize, especially the redhead, when I’m half naked. Turning my back to the crowd, I head toward Chip, Bryce, and Tommy, my best friends and guitarists, and sing a line next to each of them. The girls reach for us, and I have no doubt that, thanks to me, the guys will be hooking up tonight. You’re welcome, fuckers.

  I jump up and down for the last few lines of the song. Tuck, my cousin and drummer, gives me a strong, steady beat to end it, and on the last crash of his cymbals, I fall to my knees on the floor, center stage.

  The crowd goes wild. As I stand and catch my breath, Tuck throws me a towel. “Break, right?” Chip, Bryce, and Tommy look to me too, waiting for my decision.

  Sweat flies off my hair, and I rub the towel over it. “One more. For the redhead. She’s on fire tonight.”

  Bryce points his chin in her direction. “Let me take lead.”

  He wants her tonight. I can make that happen.

  We end the set with a party tune that always gets everyone moving, and I let Bryce dominate the front of the stage. Despite his best efforts, at the end of the song, the redhead is still looking at me.

  The lights go out. Leaving the instruments, I murmur into the mic, “Be right back.” Then I jump, landing in the crawl space that makes up the backstage.

  I find my backpack with all my crap inside, grab the clothes, and make my way to the bathroom. The guys in line try to talk, request songs, and compliment me. More importantly, they let me cut the line.

  I change my shorts. When I move to the sink, Dolch, the resident assistant from my dorm, appears next to me. “You guys are owning it.”

  “It feels good tonight.” I splash water on my face, cooling myself off. It rolls down onto my chest.

  He hands me a paper towel. “I bet being you feels good every night. You banging the redhead?”

  I laugh. “You noticed her too?”

  “Impossible not to the way she was flashing those tits at you. She practically crawled onto the stage. Is that what life’s like when you’re in a band?” He scowls and waits, but I don’t answer. “I don’t know why I’m paying websites to match me with women. I should invest in singing lessons.”

  No argument there. He’s probably right.

  He watches me yank a clean shirt over my head. “Some of the basement people are here. I’m glad to see them out together.” Dolch is pretty hands off as an RA, but he’s been concerned about the basement gang. We all have.

  “Meg is here?” Megan, my new friend, is roommates with Maggie, who is the hottest girl in the world and the only woman I’m interested in at NJU. Tuck thinks I could get Maggie’s attention with minor effort on my part. Even Meg has said Maggie’s current boyfriend doesn’t stand a chance next to me. But I know they’re wrong. Not only do I not date other guys’ girls, but Maggie is the one person I’m not sure I can land. The girls I get are easy. Maggie doesn’t even know I exist.

  Dolch talks to me through the mirror. “Meg and some of her friends.”

  My heart thuds, louder than anything in the crowded bathroom. My nerves are become more jittery than when I’m on stage. “Fr…friends?”

  Dolch can’t mean Maggie. Not my Maggie. She’s not the typ
e to hang out in bars. Of course everything I know about her, which is next to nothing, I learned from second-hand gossip and personal observation. She and the boyfriend pretty much hole themselves up in Sheridan Hall.

  Dolch passes behind me, fighting his way to the door. “Yeah. Ben, Juliet, and Chase.”

  When he finishes his list, I relax. No Maggie. “I’ll go say hi.”

  It’s not that I don’t want to see Maggie. But I have a serious issue with my vitals when she’s around. Like I get all twisted inside and dizzy. The mere mention of her makes me feel high, then the world seems to blur, and I lose whatever little sense I have. I sat behind her and her boyfriend in class last semester and couldn’t even manage a “hi.”

  As Dolch weaves a path to the door, I run my hand through my longish hair and follow him. Back in the pub, I can relax. I’m a rock star again, and I’m greeted by a drunken cheer. With a pat on the back, Dolch wishes me luck for the next set and disappears. I stand on my toes and look around. I can’t see Meg, but Ben is at the bar on the far end of the room. Where Ben is, Meg is sure to follow.

  I weave my way to them when the redhead blocks my path. Bryce scowls at me from behind her. I catch his gaze and shrug. I can’t help that she wants me and not him. Lead singers always get the girls.

  “Hey, Dave.” She looks down at her shirt—my shirt that she’s still wearing—and pushes out her tits for me to examine. “I’m keeping this.”

  I smile. “It’s yours.”

  She rises on her toes and whispers in my ear. “I’m yours. If you want me.”

  Her blonde friend reaches between us and hands me a shot, which I down right away. The redhead smiles up at me, waiting. She’s cute. Tipsy. I touch her chin. “Sweetheart. Come on. You girls know I’m off the market.”

  “So you keep saying. Who’s the lucky girl, and why is she never here?” Her mouth turns down in a dramatic pout.

  I let go of her chin and wink. “I don’t kiss and tell. See you for next set?”

  “Oh fine.” She huffs then turns back to Bryce, who’s ready and waiting.

  I think about her question as I make my way toward the bar. Who’s the lucky girl? In my head, it’s Maggie, and I can charm the fuck out of her with a smile and a song. But in real life, Maggie’s way out of my league and tends to put me into cardiac arrest.

  Tuck thinks I’m turning into a chick, that I’m wasting my freshman year pining away for her and not going for it. But that’s not it. It’s more than that. Ever since November, when a psycho broke into Sheridan Hall and killed Frank O’Leary, a fan of The Randoms and Meg and Maggie’s neighbor, I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf when it comes to my life. Especially when it comes to women and how I treat my body—and theirs. Life is precious. Cliché, but true. NJU students learned that first hand, the hard way. Whether the dream of Maggie ever comes to light, or some other girl piques my interest, I’m sick of hooking up with no meaning behind it.

  Another girl blocks my path and hands me a shot as she gushes about my performance. She looks familiar, but I can’t place her. A big dude standing with her grabs my arm. “Great set!” I take the shot, thank them, and then walk by. The band has to be back onstage in about five minutes, and I want to say hi to Meg.

  Sure enough, when I find Ben, Meg’s tucked neatly in front of him. “Hey, Basement Girl.” I lean down to kiss her cheek, ignoring Ben’s glare. “You guys are awesome for coming out. I know the weather is crap.”

  Ben fakes a smile my way. “You sound great.” I’m used to guys giving me the cold shoulder. In his defense, I am flirting with the girl he digs.

  “Thanks,” I tell him, then turn to Meg. “I love being on stage. Later, I’ll introduce you to some of the second floor people. Did you see Dolch?”

  “Not yet,” Meg says. “Juliet and Chase are here. Oh, and Maggie’s somewhere.”

  My heart goes into overdrive at the mention of her name. I rub my sweaty palms on my shorts and take a quick glance around. She must be close by—they always hang with each other—but I don’t see her long, beautiful blonde hair, or her gorgeous body, anywhere. And I don’t see her goofy, Buddy Holly-looking boyfriend either. “Great,” I squeak. A bead of sweat falls from my temple at the thought of Maggie watching me perform. “Um, I better get back. I’ll catch you later.”

  I have to get back to the safety of the stage, where I’m in charge and in control, before I see her and turn to a pile of mush. I can’t let Maggie meet mediocre Dave.

  As I take a few steps backward, Meg looks past me and her jaw drops. I turn to see what she’s looking at, and my shoulder slams into a body.

  A gorgeous body topped with long, beautiful blonde hair.

  I cringe as Maggie hits the floor. Oh my fucking God. Tripping over myself, I reach down to give her a hand. And end up poking her in the face. Her blue eyes widen with a mixture of horror and amusement.

  No words come out of my mouth when I open it to apologize. Mostly because I’ve never seen a prettier face. Every single time I see Maggie, I think the same thing. She’s perfection. A Goddamn angel in the middle of New Jersey, now with her perfect ass on the dirty floor of a bar.

  She grabs my forearm, and my skin sizzles under her grip. As I straighten, she loses her footing again, but I manage to pull her up. When we’re standing, I look down at her hand, still attached to my arm. Her nails are painted pink.

  She lets go of me and smooths the front of her short dress. I watch her examine her legs, covered in tights and knee high boots. When she looks back up at me, I focus on the little dark mole near her lips, which are also painted pink.

  She grins, and I stand there like an idiot, sweat beading on my brow, my heart thumping louder than Tuck’s drum set. I can’t believe I knocked the girl of my dreams into a puddle of beer sludge.

  “Hi,” she says. It’s one simple word, but it stops me from breathing.

  Behind her, Tuck’s waving at me from the stage. Luckily, we have another set, and I have an excuse to escape before I do something stupid again. I think about the redhead and her friends, how in a minute I’ll own the room again. Girls will throw themselves at me, and I’ll be able to blow them off with one word and leave them smiling. It’s only the blonde with the beauty mark who turns me into a blubbering idiot.

  Actually, blubbering would be good. At least I’d be making sounds. Instead I’m suddenly a mute. Without managing a word to Maggie, I step toward the stage, my stage, my safety.

  I push thoughts of Maggie aside. What she makes me feel—how my body reacts to her, how my brain shuts off—is not based on real life. She’s a fantasy I’ve safely built in my mind, knowing that it can never, ever happen. But in my reality, I still get to be a rock star, and the world is my audience—at least for tonight.

  Chapter 1

  Maggie

  The second floor of Sheridan Hall is nothing like the basement. The narrow hallway houses rooms on both sides, and most doors are wide open. Music plays and people laugh, darting back and forth in and out of rooms, as I make my way down the hall. Despite the activity, the institutional white walls of the second floor dull in comparison to the color of Chase’s mural that covers ours downstairs. Up here, everything is smaller and older, like it’s all shoved in an attic. Even the floor creaks with each of my steps. Two flights up and I’m in a different universe.

  A couple of girls walk by and say hi. I smile and wave, though I don’t know anyone up here, except Chase’s artist friend Tina, and Dolch, the resident assistant. It seems everyone knows the basement crew since Frank’s death.

  About halfway down the hallway, I stop in front of room two-zero-seven and fluff my hair. The Miami sun brightened it, and I’m happy with the natural highlights. I look down at myself for final approval, running my hands over my jeans and pulling them lower over my sandals. Then I check to make sure the tank under my pink ruffle shirt covers my boobs. Satisfied that I look decent enough, I lightly tap on the door and wait. One word plays through my mind: Awkw
ard.

  This is all Meg’s fault. She needed a ride and now I have to go on a date with Second Floor Dave. Stupid roommate.

  I still remember her whiny voice. Come on, Mags. I would do it for you. I scowled on the other end of the call, thinking of a way to say no. Don’t you think he’s cute?

  Cute? More like insanely hot and legendarily sexy around these parts. My only problem with Dave is my self-imposed moratorium on all things male. But when Megan started begging and throwing her love at me, how could I say no? She’s my roommate—I had to help her out—but she’ll be repaying me big time.

  In the meantime, I’m about to offer my escort services to Second Floor Dave who, if the rumors are true, will have me sweet-talked and in bed within the hour. I love Meg, but I hate her for messing up my anti-romance campaign. I have a plan and boys are no longer a part of it. This is going to be a disaster.

  I knock a little harder and clear my throat.

  Dave flings the door open and freezes. His big eyes blink once at me, and I see what Megan means when she insists they “twinkle.” I didn’t believe her, but now I’m mesmerized by the brown and gold, with flecks of green and blue. Wow. I make a mental note to discuss the eye twinkling with Megan.

  “Hey.” I bite my lower lip, nervous because Dave’s looking at me like he’s hiding a body in the room behind him. “Sorry to bother you. Um, I wanted to let you know that I…we…we’re back from Miami.” I point down the hall, trying to indicate to the basement and my friends.