Legacy_A New Adult College Romance Page 13

  It’s a Monday — a rainy one, at that — and after my two morning classes were done, I slipped into Skyler’s room and crawled into bed with her, taking solace in watching other romances play out on the screen.

  “I mean seriously, whose bright idea was it to make a day to single out the already miserably single?” I pout.

  “Oh, stop,” Skyler says quickly. “Last year, Valentine’s Day was the best day ever to you.”

  “Yeah, well,” I say, reaching for our half-eaten bowl of popcorn. “That was because I had not one, but two guys fighting for my attention.”

  The words slip out before I have the chance to stop them, and I freeze, eyes wide with the realization of my admission. Skyler knows about Grayson, obviously. She knows he won me in the bid auction right before Valentine’s Day last year. But what she doesn’t know is that her boyfriend at the time had also given me a pep talk backstage before the auction. I was nervous as hell, and Adam made me feel like the most wanted girl on campus.

  He always has made me feel like that — wanted, desired — and not just for my looks.

  I sigh, something between longing and frustration washing through me in a tumbling wave.

  If Skyler catches on to me mentioning two guys, she doesn’t say anything. So, I continue talking, hoping to keep her from asking who the other one was.

  “How is it that Valentine’s Day is in four days and I don’t have a single option?”

  I don’t know why I’m even complaining about not having a Valentine’s Day date. Maybe it’s because I know the Alpha Sigma boys are having a dance, and maybe I assumed I’d be at that dance with Adam.

  Then again, I never would have thought he could touch me the way he did and then disappear on me.

  That longing twists harder toward anger, and I toss a kernel of popcorn in my mouth to keep from growling.

  I should be focusing on me. That’s what Adam said, right?

  But maybe that’s exactly why I want a date for Valentine’s Day. Because I don’t want to do what Adam thinks is right, not after he made me call his name with his head between my thighs and then hasn’t talked to me for a week.

  A week.

  It’s petty, I realize, that I want to get his attention, to make him angry, to make him talk to me out of jealousy if nothing more. But I can’t help it.

  Adam brings out the worst in me, just as he does the best. It’s a dangerous, messed up kind of tango.

  Skyler starts in on how she’s not surprised I don’t have a date, considering how crazy my schedule is with my major. But before we can get too deep into the conversation and figure out a solution to my dateless problem, the door swings open, and Jess flies in like the Tasmanian Devil in a tornado of rage.

  “OH MY FUCKING GOD I’M GOING TO KILL SOMEONE!”

  My instinct is to shield the popcorn from her, like she might come after it next since she’s already thrown her hoodie across the room. “What the hell?”

  Jess paces, her face pink, hair mussed. “Greg. Fucking Greg.”

  “What did he do?”

  “It’s what he didn’t do,” Jess says, flopping back onto her bed.

  Skyler and I just exchange glances, waiting for her to continue. When she doesn’t, Skyler clears her throat.

  “Uh, care to divulge, J-Love?”

  “I’ve got a really bad case of the Blue Bean, ladies. A major Violet Vulva.”

  I just blink, thinking maybe it’s just me who doesn’t understand. When I chance a glance at Skyler, her brows are pinched together tight, her expression just as confused as mine.

  Jess peeks over her boobs at us, sighing and throwing herself up to sit when we don’t immediately react.

  “Blue balls!” she screams. “I have blue balls. Like, fucking bruised, swollen, black and blue balls.”

  I suck my lips between my teeth, fighting back the laugh that wants to break free. Usually, it would be no problem to laugh with Jess, but she looks more than a little frustrated right now.

  Skyler peeks at me, and then holding back her own laugh, she squeaks out, “Would you like me to rub them for you?”

  I break down, laughing so loud I’m a little embarrassed at the sound of it. Skyler cracks up when I do, tears streaking down her face as Jess tosses pillows across the room at us. One of them whacks Skyler in the head, which makes me laugh harder.

  “Witches!” she yells as we burst into another fit of laughter.

  “Sorry,” Skyler says first, clearing her throat. I’m still trying to gain composure. “Sorry, Jess. Tell us what happened.”

  “No. Fuck you.”

  “Wait,” I say when Jess covers her face with her sheets. “Does it really hurt?”

  “Yes, fuckhead, it really hearts. I’m so worked up I’m pretty sure putting on sweat pants is going to make me orgasm.”

  “Well shit, let me at least put on Magic Mike or something,” Skyler says, flipping through the channels.

  Another pillow flies toward us.

  “I hate you,” Jess wallows. “What am I going to do? Like seriously, I’m going to kill him. Murder him. Hang him from the Omega Chi Beta roof.”

  When I ask her to explain what happened, Skyler and I both sit and listen attentively — half because we want to be there for her, and half because I personally find it fascinating as hell. Jess is a man killer. The fact that a guy left her hanging without an orgasm? It seems impossible.

  And yet, he did.

  Her frustration grows into a whine as she explains that he was finger banging her when his roommate walked in, and instead of telling him to get out, Greg stopped messing around with Jess and started playing video games with his roommate, talking about getting a pizza and this week’s intramural game.

  With her still there.

  Ouch.

  “Ugh!” Jess says, punching her pillow just as Erin and Ashlei walk into the room. “My pussy is so swollen right now I’m pretty sure it’s hanging out the side of my thong.”

  “Ew! What the fuck, J-Love?” Erin asks, grimacing. That causes another roar of laughter from me and Skyler.

  “Apparently we missed something,” Ashlei muses.

  “You don’t even want to know, Lei,” Skyler says.

  Erin and Ashlei make themselves comfortable, Ashlei climbing into bed with Jess to play with her hair, and then the conversation switches with just one question to the most dreaded topic of conversation this semester.

  Kip.

  “Has Kip asked you to the dance yet?”

  Erin stares at Skyler, the question silencing all of our laughter like a splash of water to a match flame.

  I watch my Big, my heart twisting at the sight of her white face. I’ve tried to get her to talk about the whole situation, to tell Erin she needs out, but Skyler has always been good at shutting down when she’s hurting.

  If she doesn’t talk about it, the pain doesn’t exist, right?

  “Uh, no…” Skyler finally answers, swallowing.

  “What about your date last Sunday? He didn’t ask then?”

  “That wasn’t a date. I taught him how to paddle board, that’s all. And no, he didn’t ask. And I haven’t talked to him since.” Skyler answers atomically, like a robot set to respond to demands.

  “Why not?”

  Skyler’s eyes skirt to mine, and I smile, trying to give her comfort.

  “I don’t know. I may or may not have left his place without saying anything. And then he texted me and I didn’t answer. And then he didn’t show up for class Thursday, so I tried texting him and acting like everything was cool, but he didn’t answer me. I think he’s pissed. I don’t blame him.”

  “What the hell?!” Erin asks, clearly upset, but Ashlei speaks over her, asking, “When was this?”

  Skyler’s eyes flick from Erin’s to Ashlei’s, and she seems to decide Ashlei is the safer one to answer.

  “Last Sunday is when I saw him. I texted him Thursday after class.”

  “Aren’t the A Sigs on their retr
eat thingy?” Ashlei asks. “You know, how they disappear every spring semester with the new pledges?”

  “Holy crap, I didn’t even think of that,” Skyler says, and my stomach drops as the same thought passes through me.

  Could it be that’s why I haven’t heard from Adam?

  Every year, the Alpha Sigs disappear with their new pledges, finishing their initiation process. They return after about a week or so, throwing the New Member Bonfire to celebrate the new brothers.

  It makes sense…

  He’s the president. If they’re on that retreat, he would be leading them. And if they all had to surrender their phones, I imagine he would stay off his, just to set the example.

  But could he not have told me before he left?

  “I haven’t seen Adam since last weekend now that I think about it…” I murmur, and Skyler nods, but then she snaps her head in my direction, one brow quirking up.

  Shit.

  She’s probably wondering why the hell I would care that I hadn’t talked to Adam in a week. We’re just friends in her eyes, after all, and she doesn’t even know the half of how deep our “friendship” runs.

  “See?” Erin says, taking the attention off me. “I bet he’s not mad at you. He probably disappeared not too long after you left that day.”

  “Maybe. Ex, I don’t know about this anymore,” Skyler breathes, and I perk up, hopeful that she’ll tell Erin what’s really been on her heart.

  Tell all of us, really.

  “I feel like he’s going to get too caught up… I’m really starting to learn a lot about him and he’s asking a lot about me. It’s getting serious — and fast.”

  “Good,” Erin says quickly. She stands, and with that motion, it’s like all the power shifts in the room again — right back into the palm of her hands. “That’s exactly what we want, isn’t it? The faster and harder he falls, the more devastated he will be and the more he’ll want what we had back. What we had was simple, true, uncomplicated,” Erin says, her eyes lighting up, a small smile reaching her lips. It falls quickly as she shakes her head, as if she’s afraid to submit to the feeling. “After the mess you leave him in, he’ll be begging for that back.”

  Fuck.

  I wince, and for the first time, the respect I’ve always had for my Grand Big wanes.

  It’s not fair what she’s asking Skyler to do, and I reach under the covers, squeezing my Big’s hand to let her know I’m there. I can’t get her out of this mess, but I can at least be there for her, let her know she’s not alone.

  “Okay,” Skyler manages, her voice strained.

  Erin goes on, talking to Skyler about the importance of the presidency and knowing how hard it is to make sacrifices along the way. I think it’s all complete bullshit, especially since I’m supposed to fill that role one day and have absolutely no desire — at least, not now.

  So, of course, my thoughts drift to Adam.

  My stomach flips with the first thought of him, the realization that he maybe wasn’t being a complete asshole and ignoring me all week. Half of me can’t wait to see him, to see if he texts me as soon as they’re back, if I see him at the bonfire. The other half of me can’t stop replaying what Erin said last week.

  “A real man would never make you question what you mean to him.”

  I wish I could talk to Skyler, take her mind off Kip and Erin and ask for her advice. She has been through so much with guys, and she knows how Adam is in a relationship. If anyone could help me untangle the knots in my stomach, it’s her.

  But even as the thought passes through me, I know it’s selfish — and the timing couldn’t be worse.

  I can’t talk to Skyler about him, about us — not now. With the Kip and Erin drama surrounding her like an Army set to attack, the last thing she needs is to hear that I’m in love with her ex-boyfriend.

  And that I was even when he was hers.

  With that realization, I button my lips, holding my tongue with the resolve to just wait. Wait to see what he says, to see when he comes back, to see why he didn’t tell me he was leaving in the first place.

  It’s all I can do.

  Sit and wait.

  I hate this game.

  GROWING UP AS THE middle child, competitiveness has always been a part of who I am. I was always working to stand out, to not be ignored or forgotten. It was easy for my parents to forget about me, with having an incredibly smart oldest daughter and an incredibly athletic youngest one. I was still there, excelling at nearly everything I did, but it was nothing my parents cared about.

  So, when my internship was extended, my parents beamed like it was the first solid thing I’d ever accomplished in my life. Dad bragged about me at the country club over winter break, saying I would be the best event planner in south Florida, and Mom took me shopping for more amazing outfits to help me feel as great on the outside as I did on the inside when I walked into Okay, Cool.

  But if they could see me today, I know they’d be disappointed.

  It’s Wednesday, which usually means everyone is in great spirits. We’re halfway to the weekend, the hardest meetings of the week are done, and for all intents and purposes, it’s a good day of the week. But today? Well, today feels a hell of a lot like a Monday.

  “Do you have that report on Kiki Kween’s athletic apparel line yet?” Kimberly asks, swinging into my cube like an unwanted, buzzing gnat.

  I sigh, still tapping away on my keyboard and not even glancing up at her. “Working on it now.”

  “It was due to me EOD yesterday,” she says, using the acronym for end of day like it makes her more powerful. She checks her watch. “And it’s already three.”

  “I’ll get it to you.”

  There’s no use in telling her that Holly assigned me two other, more pressing tasks since we last divvied up the responsibilities for the Kiki Kween account. Or that I’m on my period, cramping like a sonofabitch and trying not to die. None of it would matter to Kimberly, and the last thing I’d ever do is admit any kind of weakness to her.

  Instead, I aim for indifference, like I don’t really care that I missed a deadline that she made after we were assigned the account.

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  Kimberly rolls her eyes, a frustrated huff leaving her bright pink lips as she stomps away. When she’s gone, I let out my own sigh, slumping back in my chair before closing my eyes and rubbing my temples.

  It’s been a hell of a week.

  Between my classes and the internship, I’ve barely had time to eat. Add in the fact that Erin has been extra demanding since she became president, expecting more of me as her right-hand woman, and you could say that I might be in six feet of water with no heels to get me high enough to breathe. But this is who I am, and this is what women like me do — we push, we work hard, and we don’t make excuses.

  Even when we really, really want to.

  I let my hands fall from my temples, palms smacking my skirt-covered thighs before I reach into my purse for two more Midol. I pop them in my mouth, chasing them with a swish of water, and then I nearly spit it out when I glance up at the source of the new shadow over my desk.

  Brandon.

  I somehow manage to swallow the pills, though they feel dry in my throat despite the water. Brandon’s brows are pulled low over his fierce eyes, one hand clutching a stack of papers as the other rests calmly in the loose pocket of his robin’s egg blue slacks. Those slacks hang way too deliciously on his hips, his all-white dress shirt buttoned up to his neck, the top button left undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  I’m checking him out. Blatantly, unapologetically. I can’t help it. His dark skin contrasts with the light colors in his outfit choice, and the way he’s looking at me is a cross between anger and desire. Anger wins out, the tiny flash of want slipping from behind them as he drops the papers to my desk with a thwap.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Church.”

  “Do you know what these are?” he asks, ignoring
my greeting.

  Immediately, all the blood drains from my face, another cramp rolling through me. I’m pretty sure it’s not the crimson tide’s fault this time.

  “I…” I stammer, picking up the papers and flipping through them. I recognize some of the reports, ones I’d worked on with Kimberly, including our first assessment of the athletic line. There are also countless emails from her to him, all with my name as the subject. I furrow my brows. “Well, sir, it looks like some of my reports from—”

  “From the accounts you’ve been assigned to this semester? Yes. There are also countless emails from Kimberly to me, with explicit, color-coded mistakes you’ve made. From typos in a report to missing deadlines and everything in-between.” My stomach drops as his eyes grow colder. “I’ve received at least three every single week.”

  My jaw pops open, but I clamp it shut again, swallowing down the urge to curse her name and rip her greasy hair from her skull.

  “Sir, I apologize if Kimberly has been bothering you with this. Holly has had me working on a lot of different projects, outside of the ones Kimberly and I have been assigned to work together on, and I—”

  “I don’t want excuses, Miss Daniels. What I want is to not have to open an email with your name as the subject line from her ever again. I don’t care what that takes on your end, just make sure it happens. I’m the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. I don’t have time to read emails about an intern not doing her job.”

  Heat climbs up my neck, tingeing my cheeks as I press my lips into a thin line. “Yes, sir.”

  Brandon’s jaw ticks at that, but if it affects him the way I mean for it to, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he turns on the heels of his designer, leather shoes, and I watch his muscular back until it disappears around the corner.

  My stomach rolls again, this time with a new kind of sickness, and I let out a long, pained sigh. I’m not sure if it’s because of my period, or if it’s because every possible chance I’d held onto that Brandon might come back to me, that he might let his wall down and let me back in, just disappeared into a cloud of smoke, but I’m done.

  With Kimberly, with Brandon, with the whole fucking day.