“You’re probably right.” I don’t know what else to say. If what she said is true, it won’t matter whether he remembers me or not.
“And word is, he’s made the rounds more than once,” she continues.
“What do you mean, rounds?” My eyes blink several times as I try to imagine what that means. I think I know, but I don’t want to be right.
“Dang, roomie. Have you been living in a nunnery?” She shakes her head. “He’s done a lot of dating.” She speaks slowly like that’s supposed to help.
I open my mouth. Close it. My heart is pounding. I’m way out of my league. Which is what you want, I tell myself. “No, I haven’t lived in a nunnery.” Not quite. My home life is sort of throwback to the seventies. “When life was laid back,” my uncle has said on more than one occasion.
Her brows pinch together. “Are you a virgin, Rose Hansen?”
My face heats up. “So, what if I am?” What’s the big deal? I’m sure lots of people are virgins. Besides, the only boy I wanted to give myself to is the son of the man who killed my parents. That knowledge kind of takes the romance out of everything.
“I’m blown away.” Gina scrunches her hair and walks in a circle. “I mean wow, wow, wow. This is serious. I’ve never been friends with a virgin.”
“Sheesh, get over yourself, it isn’t like I have a contagious disease.
“You’re right, it isn’t, but it might be worse.” Tonight, Gina’s wearing a black bustier attached to a tutu. It’s lacy and hooks in the front, with long black bow ties under her chest. Black leggings and her ankle boots complete the outfit. Her eyes are lined in black again, and her hair is everywhere, but flawlessly placed. She looks gorgeous, but something feels off.
I wish I could be so daring. She’s got me in a red sheath dress. My legs are bare, and I’m wearing red strappy heels. I’m an inch taller, but Gina and I wear the same size clothes and shoes. This outfit is bolder than I’ve ever been. I glance longingly at my ballet flats. “Okay, I get it,” I say, crossing my arms, covering my cleavage. “You’re shocked. Whatever. Let’s go to this party already.”
She grabs my arms and looks directly in my eyes. Hers are twinkling with surprise, shock, and maybe disgust. “Wow,” she says again, this time smiling.
“Wh-when did you do it?” I ask, glancing down at her tutu.
“I was fourteen.” Her voice trembles slightly.
I look up. “I-I…” A part of me wants to tell her about my tattoos. How I got my first when I was fourteen, and what each of them means. That I get them because on the anniversary of the day my parents died the pain is too strong, and I can’t breathe until a needle is piercing my skin a thousand times a minute. I want to tell her that I can’t visit their graves, that I see a therapist the same as she does. I get the feeling she would understand. But at the last second, I chicken out. “I think we have to do what’s right for ourselves,” I add quietly.
She laughs, her face filled to brimming with genuine joy. “If you could see your face. Someday you’ll tell me what you actually meant to say.”
I nod, relieved. “Yeah, someday.”
She grabs a tissue and blows her nose, then picks up her purse. “I’ve got to hit the ladies. Meet by the elevators in two?”
I’m about to agree but decide against it. “Are you sure you’re up for going tonight?”
“You’re joking?” She plants a hand on her hip and pops a knee.
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.” I glance at my hands, nervous. “If you aren’t feeling well.”
“Elevator. Two minutes. Bring your party face.”
10
You Gonna Be a Lush
Rosie
Tonight’s party is by invitation only. The card in Gina’s hand is fancy, printed on thick paper, and embossed. Gina is taking me as her plus one. It’s being held at another fraternity. I forget the name. She got the invite from some guy in her Biology class.
The party theme? Heaven or Hell.
I should’ve known that fancy dress was code for ostentatious.
When we arrive, a guy takes our invitation and directs us to a sitting room. All the guys are in suits and ties, except the pledges; they’re wearing black pants and black bow ties. No shirts. And they’re carrying around silver trays of sparkling cider.
“This party is lame.” Gina is leaning back in a plush love seat, and I’m sitting next to her. She rests her head on her hand and closes her eyes.
“Total snooze,” I agree, though I’m too nervous to be bored. All I can think about is seeing Cole.
The décor in the sitting room is luxurious. The furniture is black leather. The carpet is white, and the curtains are black and white. Greenery—plants, shrubs, and trees—are spread throughout the room, and paintings—Van Gogh, Klimt, and an artist I don’t know—are hanging on the walls. A black grand piano is off to one side, and a guy in a tux is playing “Suite No. 2” from Romeo and Juliet. There’s even a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
People are milling around, chatting quietly. One guy appears to be asleep. The whole scenario reminds me of a party from the book The Great Gatsby.
“Where’s everyone else?” I ask, and immediately regret it.
Gina raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got it so bad.”
I pretend not to know what she means and shrug. “Is this fraternity for the wealthy kids or something?” I whisper.
“I guess. If this is how they party, then I don’t want to be rich.” Her right leg is bouncing up and down. She’s antsy.
A clock on the mantle says eleven twenty-nine.
“Should we get out of here?”
“Yeah.” She looks around the room in disgust. “Snooty and boring. Eesh.” She stands, and I’m about to follow, when a guy in a tux walks in.
He’s handsome in that someday-I’ll-be-a-senator way.
“My name is Sam. I’m the president of the Alpha Kai’s. If you’ll please follow me.” He turns and walks from the room.
Everyone rushes forward. Excited whispers fill the room.
“What’s happening?”
“Where are we going?”
Gina and I follow the crowd.
“Should we duck out? It looks like he’s leading us past the front door,” Gina says.
I’m curious, though. “Let’s see where he’s taking us.”
Sam takes us past the front entryway, through the kitchen, and then opens a door.
“Welcome to Hell,” he says with a grand flourish. A huge grin lights up his dark brown face.
Several girls squeal with enthusiasm. It’s like a herd of elephants clomping down the stairs.
Gina and I exchange a look.
Loud music is pumping below.
Without a word to each other, we make our way down.
At the bottom is a thick black curtain. I push it open and can hardly believe my eyes.
“This is more like it!” Gina hollers.
A disco ball sends sparkling lights around the room to the beat of the music. There are girls in bikinis dancing around poles on small circular stages. Their movements are slow and seductive.
In the center of the room is a dance floor. Hundreds of college kids are jumping up and down, partying like there’s no tomorrow. To the right are small round tables. Couches shaped in a C are nestled around them. Behind the chairs is a bar. Shirtless guys are whipping up drinks. The room is packed. And I wonder why they kept us waiting around upstairs for so long.
Like the last party, the music, the energy, and the idea of drinking push away the pain that’s constantly dwelling in my soul. It’s too loud to feel anything but the beat.
I glance at Gina. She is swaying, and I get the feeling being here pushes away whatever sadness she harbors as well. Since I consider her my friend, I decide then and there we need to get to know each other better.
A pretty boy with blond highlights, wearing only red boxers, sticks a tray in my face and smiles. “Jell-O
shot?”
Surprised, I step back. “What’s in it?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.
He leans in and whispers in my ear. “Heaven.”
My face heats up, and I have no idea why. But I figure I’ll give it a try. He hands me a cup filled with blue Jell-O. I don’t know what to do with it.
Gina grabs a yellow one, tips it, and squeezes the contents into her mouth. She shakes her head, and swallows. “Yummy.” She tosses the empty cup on the tray, picks up another, and does it again.
“Give it a try,” the guy says, smirking at Gina.
I’m still hesitant until Gina adds, “It’s filled with booze.”
I can’t help the smile that breaks over my face.
The mostly-naked guy and Gina laugh. “I guess I should’ve led with that,” the guy says.
My mind is reeling, ready for the gooey warmth that comes with the strong liquid. I tip back the small cup. The contents fall into my mouth, and I swallow. “Mmm. Good.”
“Have another.”
I take a red one and tip it back. “It’s like candy.” And I do a third.
The music changes to a song I know. My body sways on its own.
“The best kind of candy,” Boxer Guy says. “My name is Doug, by the way.” He sticks out his hand and I shake it.
“Hi. I’m Rosie.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Someone shrieks, and we turn. Gina has jumped on one of the stages and is moving her backside against the pole. The scream must’ve come from the girl Gina kicked off.
I’m a little horrified.
“Your friend’s name is Gina, right?” Doug asks.
I search his face. He’s watching her, a strange look on his face. Then he clears his throat. “I’ve heard about her. Gina’s a party girl.”
He hasn’t said anything that isn’t true. Obviously, she likes to have fun. But, for some reason, the way he said her name makes me want to lock him up and throw away the key. “What did you hear?”
He turns to me. “Oh, nothing. Hey, you want another shot?”
The alcohol buzz hasn’t hit me yet. “Sure.” I tip it back.
Doug moves closer and runs a hand along my waist. My heart jumps into my throat. His hand on my body does not feel right.
“Go refill your tray, grunt!” The command has come from behind us.
We both jump.
Doug turns toward the voice, and I follow.
It’s Cole, dressed in a black suit, a crisp white shirt, and a black tie. I melt into a puddle on the floor.
“Don’t be a jerk,” Doug seethes.
“I’ll be whatever I want. You, on the other hand, are to be nothing more than a waiter.”
“That girl’s a tease. I didn’t do anything she didn’t want—”
Cole rams his hand into Doug’s throat. “Finish that sentence and you’re out.”
Doug coughs and sputters. “Jerk. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.” He grabs at his throat and stalks away.
“I can’t wait to talk to your lawyer, tell him about the tests you aced but didn’t study for, the side job you’ve got running, and the—”
“Jerk!” Doug shouts again between coughs.
“Yeah, I’m a jerk. Remember that the next time you think about getting handsy.” Cole shakes his head when Doug flips him off before disappearing into the crowd. Then he faces me and his expression changes. Softens. “Stay away from that guy. He’s messed up.”
“I will.”
We study each other and I imagine two assassins sizing each other up before going in for the kill, but that isn’t quite right. It’s more like a hunter sizing up his prey. Thoughts of his teeth grazing my neck, his hands pulling me to him—
“Hey,” he says, moving closer.
I don’t respond right away.
“Want to dance?” He’s so close I have to tilt my head to see his eyes.
Cole, I think, remembering the boy I used to love.
His father killed my parents. He’s evil because his dad is evil.
He’s made the rounds with all the girls at college.
I tell myself to run and run fast. But the Jell-O shots have kicked in. My veins fill with blissful indifference. I’m drowning in the balminess.
My mind changes its tune.
Cole didn’t kill my parents.
A man this beautiful cannot be evil.
He’s made the rounds… “Tell me what that means,” I blurt. My face gets hot because I’ve said the words aloud. I’m scalded with mortification.
He chuckles. It’s low and sexy, meant only for me. “Are we talking the meaning of life or something else?” He’s smiling. His perfect lips, framing perfect teeth, attached to a perfect face.
“Oh,” I blush hotter.
He’s so close to me I can feel his breath on my face. Sweet. And I wonder how many shots he’s had. Whether his lips taste like lemon, or strawberry. Orange or lime. My fingers touch his lips. I’ve been waiting forever to kiss them. The succulent bottom and the soft top. I imagine they’ll feel like a pillow, or a cloud.
Hell has beautiful scenery, I think, my body moving up, placing me on a collision course with his lips.
“You never called,” he says, interrupting my drunken haze.
I pull back. “Um, yeah, sorry. I don’t have a phone.”
His fingers are touching my arms, scorching a trail. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“With you?” I ask, unable to tear my eyes from his face. My hands are on his chest. I’m not sure when I put them there, but they feel like they’re in exactly the right place.
He chuckles again. “You’re new to all of this, aren’t you?” His eyes roam around the room.
“It is that obvious?” My words are slurred.
“Come on,” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist. My mind tries to panic. This is not a good idea, it screams. I ignore it. My body wants to be near Cole. Touch him. Embrace him.
11
She’s As Broken As I Am
Cole
Rosie is so drunk I have to carry her to my Jeep. She keeps touching me, almost like she’s making sure I’m real. It’s sweet and I can’t help but feel protective of her.
She also is mumbling, but it’s incoherent.
If I didn’t care about her, I’d be completely turned on.
I buckle her in and drive. Her dress is hiked up to her hips, revealing way too much. Or not enough. I try to be respectful, but the girl is stunning. Every magnificent inch of her.
“Where are you taking me?” she mutters, her head flopping from side to side.
“My place,” I answer, and put a hand in hers.
She tightens her fingers around mine, places her other hand on top. “I’ve missed you Cole. I’ve missed home. I miss my mom and dad. Remember when I was going to marry you?”
The last part makes no sense. Marry me? I don’t recall that conversation. But the idea that she ever considered her and me together in that way does something to my insides.
“Shot. Blood everywhere.” Tears fall to her cheeks as she babbles.
“I’m so sorry.” I can’t even feel sorry for myself, or mad at her for the way she’s completely ignored me the last seven years. There’s so much pain rolling off her I can feel it as if it were my own. She’s as broken as I am. We need each other whether we can to admit it or not.
She laughs, and I’m surprised until I understand why. There’s a guy standing on the curb, peeing into the street. “Gross,” she says.
I chuckle. “Hold tight.” I place my arm across her body, protecting her. Make a right and pull into my apartment complex.
“You live here?” she asks when I open the door on her side.
“Yep.” I unbuckle her, and she falls against me, her cheek on my chest.
“You smell good. Mmmmmm. Cole. Cole. Cole.” Her voice breaks, and she’s crying again. “Why?”
“Can you walk?” I ask, clearing my throat. I haven’t shed a tear since my dad di
ed, and even then it was out of relief. A little sadness too, for what could’ve been. But seeing her cry, recognizing all of the sadness in her, is choking me up.
Rosie wraps her arms around my neck. “I left without saying good-bye. I shouldn’t have done that. But you stopped calling.”
I want to tell her my dad made me. Instead I lift her into my arms. “Hang on.”
She weighs next to nothing. Her body settles into my arms. Her head lying against my shoulder. She snuggles her face into my neck, and I feel the wetness of her tears. Every ounce of resentment I still harbored vanishes.
My apartment is at the top of the stairs. When I reach the landing, I set her down so I can unlock the door. She keeps her arms around my neck.
Evan walks out of his apartment, a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. “Looks like you got your hands full, bro. Want some help?”
“Nah, it’s all good.” I lift Rosie into my arms and carry her into my apartment, shutting the door with my foot. At least I think it’s going to shut.
“What’s her name?” Evan asks from behind.
“It’s Rosie,” I say, annoyed he’s followed me in.
“She’ll break your heart all over again. I thought you were going to blow her off.”
“Get out,” I growl, annoyed.
Rosie takes a deep breath and sighs; her lips press against my neck. There are so many things I want to do to her right now. Instead I carry her into my room and lay her on my bed.
“Whoa, she tramped it up tonight. No more Lard Rose, huh? Look at those legs. And that butt.” He drops the end of his cigarette into his empty bottle, his eyes raking over Rosie’s body. It’s obvious he’s on something else as well as alcohol.
“I’ve asked you nicely once. Don’t make me ask again.” My nerves are shot, and my patience is gone. I won’t have him talk about her like she’s a piece of meat.
I walk out of my room and into the kitchen. Grab a water and twist it open. Evan follows me. Sets his empty bottle on the counter and grabs himself a new one from my fridge. He’s shorter and less broad than I am. He’s also a senior and a two-time kickboxing champion.
Kissed by a Rose: A Dead Roses Novel Page 6