Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)

by P. Dangelico

  “Ohhhhhh. Alice, you’re in love with him.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe? Probably? I think I might be. Don’t tell Dad yet.”

  When she doesn’t say anything I get a little worried. “Ma?”

  “Promise me something?”

  “Yeah…” I reply, already wary of what’s coming.

  “Love with everything you’ve got, but never forget yourself.”

  “Why would you say that?” I’m almost a little offended. Does she not trust me to take care of myself?

  “Because I know you. Because when you’re in, you’re in a thousand percent. And you’ve never spoken of a boy this way before.”

  It’s seventy-five degrees and sunny on Christmas Day, the sky completely cloudless. And surreal––Christmas lights and palm trees should not go together.

  Reagan has been summoned to his parents’ house. He begged me to go with him, but I’ve had enough of the Reynolds’s house of horrors to last me a lifetime. I’m sure they were ecstatic when he told them I was having Christmas at Aunt Peg’s.

  “The turkey is almost ready.” Aunt Peg leans further out of the kitchen window. “Wheels! Did you hear me? The turkey is almost ready. Time to get cleaned up.”

  The macaw squawks.

  “I’m comin’!” he bellows back.

  “Men,” she says, her matte peach-colored lips pursing. Her perfectly blown-out hair swings as she crosses the room to place a breadbasket full of assorted rolls on the table, which is all set up for the meal with Christmas-themed plates and linens. The entire trailer is decorated.

  I smile. “What does he do out there?”

  “He loves his plants. He just loves ’em. Growing some fancy hybrids, says they could be medicinal.”

  Through the glass sliding door, I watch Wheels bending over a bench to sink his hands into a terra-cotta pot.

  “So––tell me all about him,” she intones, her excitement palpable.

  The idiotic grin I can’t seem to shake should be a good indication. “He’s…nice.”

  Aunt Peg frowns. “Nice? You can do better than that.” Joining me at the table, she sits and arranges her red silk caftan while she waits for me to elaborate with a dimpled smile.

  I grab a piece of bread out of the basket and munch on it. “He’s amazing. He’s kind and funny and…he’s the best.”

  She smiles encouragingly.

  “And…and he’s going to medical school next year. And I’ll be here, focusing on getting my degree…” The thought of not seeing him every day makes my stomach hurt. And then there’s Jordan. She’ll be taking classes with him. Best not think about it now, or it’ll ruin my appetite.

  “His parents are wealthy and not very nice.” I smooth my napkin. “Not that those two things go hand in hand. I’m just saying that I’m pretty sure they don’t approve of me.”

  The back door slides open and Wheels comes up the ramp. “I’m getting cleaned up. Gimme fifteen minutes.” He disappears into the bedroom and Aunt Peg levels me with an intent stare.

  “I’m going to say something to you that my mother, your grandmother, God rest her soul, should’ve said to me if she’d ever imparted a kind word, which she never did because she was a religious zealot and an all-around mean person––” Peg leans in, expression solemn. “Fuck more, worry less.”

  A burst of choking laughter hurls out of me. “Aunt Peg!”

  “It’s the secret to a happy life.” She grins brightly. “And good skin.”

  Peg’s skin is flawless porcelain perfection.

  A knock at the front door gets the macaw squawking. We both lean to the left so we can see out the glass picture window. Sunglasses on, hands shoved in the pockets of his gray trousers, Reagan stands patiently.

  The sight of him makes my hopelessly devoted heart skip a beat.

  Aunt Peg’s ginger eyebrows nearly reach her hairline. She stands. “Oh, yes. He looks like a real nice guy.”

  I bite down on my cheek to stave off a grin while she goes to answer the door.

  Two hours later, we’re all sporting food babies made of turkey, stuffing, and candied yams, and surfing a tryptophan high. My aunt loves to cook as much as she loves to eat and it shows.

  The sun has set and the tiny white Christmas tree lights Aunt Peg has strung around her trailer cast a romantic glow. Under the table, Reagan held my hand throughout dinner. When I asked him about his unexpected arrival, he only said, “I couldn’t take anymore.”

  “Coffee, anyone?” I can hear Peg call out from the kitchen, where she’s arranging coffee cups on a tray.

  “None for us, thank you,” I answer.

  “Decaf for me, doll,” Wheels adds.

  When she returns with the tray, she says, “If Jennifer could see you now. She’d be so proud of you, Alice.”

  The mention of my mother stiffens my posture. “Alice looks just like her mother, Reagan. Her birth mother,” she corrects herself. “She was such a beauty. Billy and I grew up next door to her so I knew her all my life.”

  “Billy is my dad,” I whisper and Rea squeezes my hand, sensing my discomfort.

  “If I recall correctly, they were maybe ten and twelve when they became inseparable. Then of course in high school they became sweethearts. But when your grandmother died, well…after that, Billy was always over there, helping out.”

  My palms are getting clammy. I can feel Rea’s attention on me, and the last thing I want is his pity, one of the many reasons why I never discuss this with him.

  “…but he seems happy now with Nancy,” I hear Peg say, having tuned her out for a moment.

  “Yes, they’re very happy.” In the silent pause, I glance at the cable box. “It’s getting late. We should get going.”

  After a lengthy goodbye, and many promises made to visit soon, we thank my aunt for the fantastic meal and head back to Reagan’s place. Dallas is in Houston visiting his mother––no, I’m not kidding. And the Petermans are home with their parents.

  “I have something for you,” he says as I’m pushing my skirt off my hips. It stops me short, takes me by surprise. We had agreed no presents because I couldn’t afford anything.

  “We agreed no presents,” I remind him.

  He throws his dress shirt in the hamper and the sight of his bare chest and the V descending into his unbuttoned and unzipped pants almost has me forgetting why we agreed.

  “You agreed,” the sneak claims. “I just stayed silent.” Naked, he closes the distance between us and wraps me in his arms. If the goal was to distract me, then he succeeded brilliantly. The sight of his beautiful body never gets old.

  He pulls a small gift wrapped box out of the dresser drawer and hands it to me.

  “That’s not fair,” I murmur while I unwrap it slowly to reveal a brand new iPhone X.

  “Merry Xmas, babe.”

  “I didn’t get you anything. I feel terrible.”

  He kisses me, relentlessly hard, until I’m forced to look up into his face. I watch his throat work, his lashes lower, and his forehead pucker in deep thought.

  “I’ve got everything I need right here.”

  New semester, new class with Marshall. This one called Documentary Film and Video Production. Same group of students. I take my usual seat, and smile when I spot Morgan coming up the aisle to take the one next to me.

  Who’s conspicuously sitting three rows down and over and flirting with a new girl? That’s right, Shady Simon.

  He notices me watching him and his fake smile drops faster than an R. Kelly album off the Billboard charts.

  Marshall e-mailed me to meet her in her office after class. The email was vague and frankly does not bode well for my reel getting submitted for the internship. As bummed as I am about it, I’ve had time to prepare for the worst. And between finals, the holidays, and basking in the afterglow of epic sex, I can’t seem to muster the energy to be upset about it.

  “What happened with you guys?” Morgan whispers as Marshall begins her lecture.<
br />
  “He turned out to be a major douche is what happened. All he talked about was himself and then he asked for head at the end of the date.”

  Morgan makes a gagging gesture and I snicker.

  “I always thought he was a little shady,” she says out of the side of her mouth.

  Eye roll. Am I the only one that didn’t see this? “I wish you would have told me and saved me the trouble.”

  “You wouldn’t have listened.”

  And then I realize…she’s right.

  As soon as class ends I head to Marshall’s office. A few feet away, I hear the indisputable sound of two people arguing, the voices escaping through her cracked open door.

  “It’s unethical. She’s banging one of the guys. That’s how she got access to them. It’s not fair to the rest of the people submitting…” Simon’s voice is sharp and combative.

  I’m actually surprised he would speak that aggressively to Marshall.

  “––and who knows what other special favors she’s gleaned from her relationships,” he continues.

  Who the heck is he talking about?

  “I’ve researched the matter personally, Mr. Lewis. Whatever your beef is, I assure you Miss Bailey was given permission by Coach Becker through merit. Furthermore, she owns the equipment with which it was shot and she incurred all the expenditures…I see no reason not to let her reel be included.”

  That mutherf…I push the door open with fire shooting out of my eyes and ears.

  Marshall is sitting behind her desk, leaning back in her chair, with her hands casually laced on her lap. As casual as her posture is, her expression is entirely different. On the opposite side of her desk, standing, Simon levels me with a look of pure contempt.

  “So this is where the complaint came from?” I exclaim, completely flabbergasted. “He’s using his friend’s access to a professional editing machine, and he has the gall to accuse me of having an unfair advantage?”

  Marshall’s irritation turns on Simon who suddenly looks sheepish. She lets him sweat it out with a full minute of uninterrupted silence.

  “Your reel will be included, Alice. Now can you please shut the door. I need to explain the definition of unfair advantage and ethical practices to Mr. Lewis.”

  “I can’t belieeeeve I didn’t see what a miserable piece of shit he is. I should have known. I really should have. That date was a major sign.”

  I pace in circles in my tiny dorm room. No space to do much else.

  “The date?” the beautiful man lying on my twin bed with his skilled hands tucked under his head says.

  “Yeah, that date. The one I will forever regret.”

  I stop pacing and look him over. He dangles his feet off the side as he stares up at me with his eyes blazing and a tiny smirk lifting one side of his mouth.

  “What are you thinking right now?” I ask. “You have a weird look on your face and I’d like to know what this means.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes, honestly. I just found out I was almost gaslighted out of a chance to work with James Cameron. I would like to know what my boyfriend thinks.”

  Ooooh, shit. Did I say boyfriend? Out loud? I halt, wide-eyed, waiting for him to either get weird, or give me a thumbs-up.

  “You just handed me the perfect excuse to beat the shit out of him. I’ve been looking for one and you just dropped it right in my lap––say that again.”

  “That I was nearly robbed by Shady Simon?”

  “No, the boyfriend part.”

  “Oh.” I crawl on top of him, straddling his lap, and in zero to sixty, his dick gets hard under his sweatpants. I lift the elastic waistband and stick my hand under, palm his shaft. “Is that okay? That I call you my boyfriend?”

  His eyelids get heavy and his nostrils flare. He wraps a hand around my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. A face-holding, to-die-for, we’re-officially-a-couple kiss for the ages.

  “You better. Otherwise we’re going to have a problem. Now, be a good girlfriend and take off your panties.”

  “Aye aye, captain.”

  Chapter 27

  Reagan

  The distant sound of a phone ringing wakes me up. It takes me a while to realize that it’s mine. Alice is already sitting up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes when I fumble around and somehow manage to turn the lamp on. As soon as I glance at the screen of my iPhone and see the name, my stomach drops and blood rushes in my ears.

  It’s Foz calling. Which can only mean this is about Brian. “Hey, Foz,” I say, my voice cracking from disuse.

  “Reagan…” My name hangs in the air, suspended for what feels like an eternity, implying everything and saying nothing. A sharp pain spears my chest.

  “What is it, Foz?” I say louder this time, force out the words. It’s impossible to take a full breath. I know what’s coming. I’ve prepared myself for years, rehearsed it in my head a thousand different ways. At least, I thought I did. Because it doesn’t feel any easier right now.

  “It’s Brian,” he finally offers up, confirming what my gut was already telling me. “I’m sorry, man. I’m…I’m really sorry.”

  The pressure gets to be too much. The dam breaks. My body goes limp, my head falls into my hands, and tears fall down my face.

  Alice

  It takes me forever to get Reagan dressed and into the Jeep. It’s like he checked out. He cried in my arms for ten minutes and then he just checked out.

  Located downtown, I drive to the police station very slowly. Not only do I not know where I’m going, but I’m worried about Reagan. All he’s done is stare blindly out the passenger side window for the past twenty minutes.

  At the station, we check in and the officer manning the desk tells us the detective handling the case will be out shortly. Reagan’s face pinches in confusion. Otherwise he remains silent.

  Detective Mahomes, an attractive black man probably in his late forties, inspects the both of us closely as he greets us. Then he escorts us down the hall to his desk and gestures to two empty chairs next to it.

  “Have a seat,” Detective Mahomes invites, and we fall into the chairs opposite him.

  “I don’t understand why I’m even here,” Reagan remarks. He still sounds out of it, not like himself. “Foz Whitaker identified the body, right?”

  Mahomes nods. “He did. He was at the scene shortly after I arrived.”

  “Then why is this a case? He overdosed. End of story. My brother has…” Catching the error, Reagan pauses. “Had a long history of drug use.”

  The detective places his forearms on his cluttered desk, his face set in a pensive frown. “Mr. Reynolds, this is a homicide. Your brother was murdered. He didn’t overdose.”

  Reagan jerks back, his face a mix of shock, anger, and confusion. “Murdered?”

  I do my best to hide the same emotions that come over me. He’s not a faceless victim. This was Reagan’s brother and someone I’ve met. Someone I wanted to know better. Whatever I’m feeling, however, needs to take a back seat to whatever Reagan needs. And right now, it’s my support he needs most. Reaching out, I take his hand and lace our fingers together on my lap.

  “Yeah.” Mahomes exhales deeply. He looks genuinely troubled by what happened; a person who still cares about helping people. “Stabbed eighteen times. His girlfriend found him in an alley a block away from tent city…We caught the guy. Another tweaker. He confessed to everything.”

  “Why? I-I don’t understand. Was he trying to protect his girlfriend? He got cut a few months ago trying to protect her.” The words tumble out of Reagan’s mouth barely audible.

  “He wanted your brother’s sneakers and your brother wouldn’t give ’em up.” Mahomes stares back flatly. Like he’s seen too much stuff he’d like to unsee. “The perp was wearing them when we caught him.”

  Other than a blink, Reagan’s expression is completely blank. “Can I see him?”

  Mahomes makes a face. “You sure about that? He got kicked in the face pre
tty badly.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Reagan answers.

  Reagan

  Staring in the bathroom mirror, I retie my tie for the third time. Then I determine it’s too wrinkled to wear, take it off, and chuck it in the garbage pail. It lies next to a used condom coiled like a snake. It was a shitty tie anyway.

  I hate green. I’ve told her I hate green a thousand times, and she continues to buy me green clothing.

  It was in my stocking this Christmas. The one that should’ve been hanging next to Brian’s but wasn’t because my parents cut him out of the family. I’m glad I walked out. I wish I’d cut them off. Or threatened something, anything, to make them think twice. I wish I’d been stronger then, but it wasn’t so easy without my trust fund to fall back on. Not as easy as it will be after this funeral today.

  “Almost ready?” Alice’s sweet voice cools my anger. Leaning against the doorframe, she pushes her sleek, dark hair behind her ear and inspects me in the reflection of the mirror.

  I don’t know where I’d be right now without her, without her steadfastness holding me up. I’ve never had that before––someone keeping me together. I wish I didn’t need it but I do and it scares me that she may find out. I’m not strong the way she seems to think I am. If I was, I wouldn’t have been doing the shit my parents have dictated all my life.

  “Yeah.”

  “No tie?”

  Turning to face her, I place a kiss on her soft lips because I need it. I need to touch her. “I don’t have a good one to wear.”

  She blinks in confusion. “You have like…thirty ties in your closet. I’ve never seen so many outside of a department store.”

  “My mother bought me those.”

  “Oh.” She looks away for a moment. When her attention returns, she tilts her head and looks me over. “No tie works for you.” She gives me a soft smile, her big eyes fixed on me. “We should go. We don’t want to be late.”