Faking It: A Small Town College Bad Boy Romance

by Hunter Rose

  I change out of Maxine’s dress and into my nightclothes. My phone is in my bag, and I grab it to see I have two missed texts. The first one gives me absolute chills when I read it:

  I absolutely adore your smile. When can I see it again?

  The heat from earlier is back as I read his words. I tap back:

  I’m free on Thursday, can’t wait to see you. :)

  He answers back right away:

  Great, I’ll pick you up at 7pm. :) :)

  Two smiley faces! I throw myself onto the bed in a pure Trace state of bliss. I can’t stop looking at the text he has sent, but then remember I have another message.

  The last message is from Jordan:

  Where are you? I stopped by your house earlier, but you weren’t home. Call me.

  I toss my phone onto the dresser and decide to call back in the morning. My mind is occupied by Trace: memories of him driving me to the marina, speeding through the ocean waters on a glorious boat, kissing under the starry sky, him kissing me again on my front porch steps. I remember every little detail, and then I remember the flowers at my front door.

  Did Jordan see those when he stopped by? I pick up my phone and search my contacts for his number.

  On the third ring, he finally answers.

  “Hello.” His voice is groggy as he yawns into the phone.

  “Hey, Jordan, sorry to wake you. Listen, what time did you come here tonight? Were there flowers here?”

  “Wait, what? Nessa, slow down. You’re talking a mile a minute,” he says, yawning again.

  “Were there flowers at my doorstep?” I repeat, drawing out each word.

  “Uh, yeah, maybe. I don’t know.” Sleep is still imminent in his voice.

  “Jordan, wake up!” I screech into the phone.

  “Damn, Vanessa, what?”

  “Were. There. Flowers. At. My. Front. Door. Step?”

  “No, there weren’t any flowers. Happy?” He is less irritated, now awake and coherent.

  “What time did you stop by?” I ask.

  “I don’t know, around nine.”

  “Okay, thanks Jordan. Sorry to wake you. You can go back to sleep.” I begin to hang up when I hear his voice.

  “Wait, who sent you flowers?”

  I pull the phone back to my ear. “I don’t know. The note didn’t say.”

  “Who do you think?”

  “I don’t know, but someone who knows where I live.”

  “It’s probably Trace just playing with you.” He laughs into the phone.

  “No, I was with him all night.” I cringe when I say the words, knowing this tidbit of information will not bode well with Jordan.

  “What? I don’t like him, Ness. Something isn’t right about him.” His voice rises an octave.

  “It’s okay, Jordan. Go back to sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow in class.” I hang up on him, then fluff my pillows to settle into sleep. Throwing my phone on my nightstand, I picture Trace’s lips on me again.

  The sound of my alarm blaring at the highest setting possible wakes me. I throw my arms over my eyes and groan. Not a morning person, I usually hit snooze a dozen times before finally rising.

  After a while, I drag my lazy ass out of bed and head into the shower. Not long after I’m showered, dressed, and fed, I wait around for Maxine so we can drive to school together. My car had gone to its final resting place in the junkyard, thanks to Maxine’s father.

  Maxine emerges from her room, much as a rock star would. With a smile, she drops her sunglasses onto her eyes from the top of her head.

  “Ready? Oh yeah, how was your date last night?” she asks, as we head out the door.

  We pile into her car and head off towards the college.

  “Oh, Max, he was great,” I say in a dreamy, sing-song voice, crossing both arms over my chest.

  “I saw the flowers. Did he get them for you?” she asks, driving like a bat out of hell through the streets. She’s always driving as if she’s the lead car in an Indy 500 race.

  I grab the “oh shit” handle and say, “Actually, I don’t know who the flowers are from.”

  She halts at a red light and turns to face me, lifting her sunglasses. “Are you serious?”

  “The note said ‘you are mine’. That’s it.”

  Maxine squeals when I reveal the mystery of the flowers. “Are you serious? How exciting.”

  “I don’t think so. This secret admirer or whatever knows where we live,” I say, as she throws her sunglasses back over her eyes.

  “Oh, it’s probably Jordan. That boy is obsessed with you.” She continues driving.

  “I called and asked. He seemed pretty clueless.”

  “Jordan is always clueless.” She snickers.

  “That’s not very nice.”

  “Oh Ness, puh-lease. That boy wouldn’t have a clue if it slapped him in the face.”

  “He is nice.” I try to defend Jordan, but she’s right: he’s a total ditz.

  “Now, Trace . . . that’s nice. He’s so hot, Nessie.” She seems sure to throw every one of my nicknames into the mix today.

  “He is hot, isn’t he? Maybe a little too hot?”

  “No! What does that even mean?” She shakes her head back and forth as she pulls into a parking space at the college. “I’ll catch you later, hun.” She loves to call everyone anything but his or her actual name.

  I smile, grabbing my bag from her car. Shutting the door, I wave to her, then head off in the opposite direction towards the quad, before heading off to class later in the day.

  After spending an hour studying in the student center, I meander through campus, walking toward the lecture hall for my class. Jordan and I met in Statistics last semester, and we decided to take Algebra II together this term. I cross the lawn and take in the heat of the Florida sun as I head to the grand building. Our college campus really is stunning; when I saw the brochures back in Ohio, I knew this was the place I wanted to attend. Palm trees create just a touch of shade. The architecture of the campus buildings makes them appear old-school and genuine. The school is nestled along the coast of the Atlantic Ocean, in one of the most prestigious cities in the country, and when I read about it, I knew this was the school for me, if only because it represents a completely different lifestyle from the one I knew growing up. I really needed a change. Plus, they had an awesome poetry department here.

  Jordan waits in our usual seats, and I enter the seminar room, just before Tony does.

  “So, do you know who sent the flowers yet?” Jordan asks, grabbing his bag and pulling out his books.

  I shake my head. “Uh, no.”

  “Bet it was Tony.” Jordan points his finger in Tony’s direction, a few rows down from us.

  “I think you’re just pulling names out of a hat at this point.” I say with a smile.

  “Didn’t you say he asked you out a while back?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Well, maybe he’s pissed off you turned him down?”

  “So he sent me flowers?” I bite the inside of my thumbnail and lean in closer, so no one hears me. The kid is making a valid argument. I’ve told no one about my run-in with Tony at the party. Has he been leaving me notes?

  “Hey, stranger things have happened.”

  The teacher enters the room, and we settle in for the lecture. I glance over at Tony, who is seated a few rows away, and recall the details of him asking me out.

  It had been a few months back. We were leaving class one day, and he had pulled me aside.

  “Vanessa, right?” he had asked.

  “Yeah. Hi.” I had stumbled, and he had grabbed my arm to catch me before I fell.

  He had gotten right to the point after introducing himself. “So, I was wondering if you would like to go out sometime.” I had been paranoid of dating at that point. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, with his sandy blonde, surfer hairstyle and honey-brown eyes. A foot taller than me, he had the body of an athletic god. He had shuffled his weight from foot to foo
t, and I had debated whether to give him a chance.

  Afraid to throw myself out there again after the debacle during my senior year of high school, I had clutched my books tighter. I had left my small town in Ohio and moved to Florida, wanting to never look back again.

  Tony had seemed genuine, but a fear had settled into the pit of my stomach.

  “I’m sorry, Tony. I’m just not ready to date.”

  He had looked at me, shocked for a moment. Positive he had never been rejected, I had walked away.

  Following me, he had pressed the issue before I had told him I wasn’t ready. He had asked if I was dating anyone, and then he’d asked about Jordan.

  Tony hasn’t even noticed me since that day, not until the party the other night. I’m sure I had hurt his pride, but a boy like him probably has women lining up at the chance to date him. Alcohol had most likely been involved in that episode between us at the party. However, what if?

  After class is dismissed, I turn to Jordan. “Are you still giving me a ride home today?”

  “Yeah. I have to run a few errands, but I’ll be back to pick you up by four.”

  “Okay, I’ll be here.” I smile and walk away towards the library to work on a paper for American literature that is due soon. Jordan heads off down the hall, and Tony catches me right before I enter.

  “Hey. Did you have fun last night with Trace?” he asks, smiling at me.

  “Yeah, it was okay.” I try my best to feign indifference.

  “You do know he’s a man-whore, right?”

  “Man-whore?” I ask, never having heard the use of this word.

  “Uses girls for sex, and when I say sex, I mean some kinky shit. He isn’t serious about you.” He leans against the wall, waiting for a reaction.

  “Well, maybe I’m not serious about him.” I wink and walk through the doors of the library. Yes, Tony’s words hurt, but I try to forget them. Trace has a wild past, but I still can’t escape him. My thoughts are drawn to him, same as my body is whenever he is near. Although, I wish I could have asked what he meant by kinky.

  I take a seat and have a hard time focusing on my paper. My thoughts combine in my head into a kaleidoscope of images of Trace, Tony, Jordan, and Hailey.

  So many people have told me Trace isn’t a stand-up guy. I need to heed the warnings and try to stay away from him, but I don’t know if I can. The butterflies beat hard in my stomach whenever someone mentions his name.

  At around four in the afternoon, I head into the parking lot, looking for Jordan. He pulls up in his little red truck, and I hop in and fasten my seatbelt.

  “Thanks for the ride, Jordan.”

  “Not a problem. Did you get any work done?” he asks, turning down the road away from the college.

  “Yeah, a little,” I moan.

  Upon arriving home, I notice our front door is ajar, and I glance at Jordan.

  “Is someone here?” he asks, noticing the door.

  We exit his truck and walk up the front porch steps.

  I push the door open as slowly as possible. “Hello? Maxine, are you here?” I call into the house. The door opens wider, and I gasp.

  Oh my god.

  Jordan comes up behind me and pushes his way inside.

  “Holy shit, Vanessa.”

  The house is destroyed. The couch is turned over, and trash is everywhere. Our TV is smashed and lying on the floor. The lamp is on the floor, too, shattered. Every cabinet in the kitchen is pulled out, their contents lying all over the place. We walk through the house, checking for anything that may be missing. I open the door to my room and tears well up in my eyes at the sight. On my bed, my pillows are shredded, and the covers are on the floor. The word SLUT is written in red paint on my mattress.

  Turning to Jordan, I smash my face into his chest. He grabs his phone and calls the police, as I reach for mine. Maxine answers in seconds, and I tell her the short version of the break-in.

  Jordan and I sit on the steps to wait for the police and Maxine to show. They arrive at the same time, and I begin to wonder about their response times. Maxine flies out of her car and rushes to the front door. She bangs the door open and raises her hand to her mouth.

  “Oh my god, Vanessa.” She turns back after seeing the disastrous state of our house.

  “I know.” I stand up and grab her into a hug. Her bag hangs low on her arm. She reaches into it to grab her phone and make an urgent call.

  “Daddy, please come over. The house was broken into, and the police are here.”

  The police are questioning us when Maxine’s father arrives. He rushes to Maxine and pulls her into a hug.

  “Okay, girls, I don’t want you staying here tonight. Not until I can install a better security system.” The sizable crease in his forehead thickens as he turns to step inside the house.

  Maxine and I nod, and I pull out my phone to check the app we have for our work schedule. It’s interactive and has a message board we can post to if we need someone to pick up our shift. Playing the sympathy card, I explain our situation in the message. A few seconds after I post the note, my phone rings.

  “Hello,” I say into the phone.

  “Are you guys okay?” Kristine yells into my ear.

  “Yeah, kind of.” I explain the story, and she agrees to work for me. After thanking her and hanging up, I glance over at Maxine, who is talking to the police and her father.

  Jordan places his arms around me and wraps me into a hug. “I hate to leave you, but I have to head to work,” he says.

  I smile at him and let him know that we will be fine.

  After Jordan leaves, I make my way over to Maxine and her father.

  Mr. Hart faces me and asks sincerely, “Do you have any idea who could have done this?” His light brown eyes study me with sympathy.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “It’s okay. The police will find who did this.” He wraps his daughter into his arms again, then places a hand to my shoulder. I give him my best big-girl smile.

  After the police have left and Maxine and I have packed a bag, her father says, “Now, if you want, you can stay with us.”

  “No daddy, it’s okay. We’re staying with a friend of ours,” she says, winking.

  With a quirk of my brow, I just smile as her father says his goodbyes.

  As he drives away, I turn to Maxine and ask, “Um, where are we staying?”

  “I called Darren, and he said we can both stay at their house.”

  I roll my eyes to her. “Does Trace know?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. They’re at the beach. Wanna head there?” She throws our bags into the trunk of her car.

  The beach isn’t busy on a weekday. The sun hangs low in the sky, and a light breeze shuffles the sand beneath our feet.

  What an ordeal today has been. I’m getting nowhere, trying to figure out who is leaving me notes. Now, add breaking into my house to the list. I’d be lying if I didn’t say this all scares the bejeezus out of me. Maxine and her father are certain we will catch whoever has broken in. But what if we don’t? Is there someone after me? And if so, why? My thoughts immediately turn to him. Him, who ruined me in high school. Him, who was my one reason for leaving Ohio. No, it can’t be him.

  I spot Darren coming towards us in his green swim trunks. His brown hair is wet from the ocean and drips onto his shoulders. He has a nice body, but Max can definitely do better. She rushes over to him and wraps an arm around him. As he hugs her, he asks, “Are you guys okay?”

  “I think so. Thank you for letting us stay with you,” she says, releasing her hold on him.

  “Sure thing, babe.” He smiles.

  “Yeah, thank you. Are you sure it is okay?” I ask, hoping we won’t be a bother.

  “Oh yeah, we have plenty of room. I already told Trace, and he agreed.”

  He has a hint of a southern accent that he acquired from living in Texas. He moved here for college; that is where he met Trace and Tony.

  I glance at the sho
reline and see Trace out in the ocean. With his surfboard and a smile, he rides a wave into the sand. He looks so sexy, strong, and in control. All of my bad feelings evaporate when I see him.

  11

  Trace

  I wade my board further into the sea. Lining up the perfect wave, I paddle as fast as I can. My board is sturdy as I hop on top to ride the crest.

  The wave breaks, and I pump the board with my feet to get more time on it. When the ride ends, I glide off my board. Surfing relaxes me, and I love the ocean.

  When I learned that Darren wanted Maxine and Vanessa to stay the night after their house was broken into, I knew I had to remind myself about this bet. She is great and all, and sure, I’d love to just fuck her, but now things are progressing so fast. I don’t know what to make of everything.

  I’m glad they are safe and that neither was home when the vandalism took place. This type of crime doesn’t happen too often in Palm Beach, but with the help of Maxine’s father, they’ll catch the criminals.

  I look to the shore and see Darren talking to Maxine and Vanessa. Vanessa is in jean shorts that show off her sexy, tanned legs and fine features. A tight, baby-doll tee wraps snugly around her breasts. I swim toward them, then grab my board and trudge through the shallow water to make my way to shore. Drying off and walking to Vanessa, I find myself just staring at her beauty.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, pulling her body to mine.

  Maxine goes into every detail of the break-in.

  “And then, whoever broke in wrote the word ‘slut’ on Vanessa’s bed in red paint.”

  I cringe when I hear Maxine’s words. Vanessa’s eyes drop to the sand and she kicks at a shell. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I turn her to face me. My mind muddles as I look her square in the eyes. “Is this true? I didn’t know. I thought it was just a random break-in.”

  She raises her head and stares deep into my eyes. “This is awful. I feel horrible about everything.”