Gah, we’re getting personal, and part of me can’t resist it. It’s a place to pretend we might just have something special, and I want to trust SA; I do. His poetry is revealing…
I loved a boy once. He moved to Texas for college.
Do you still see him? Email him? Text him?
SA is poking a little hard.
Another text comes in. Never mind. I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to think about you with him. Then, What was his name?
I laugh out loud.
Luka.
Luka with his shaggy brown hair and cigarette burns on his arms. We started off as friends, but nights were lonely at the group home and soon we were sneaking into each other’s room, talking about our hopes and dreams. I loved his crooked smile and shy glances. I don’t know that our emotions were the kind of love that’s forever, but he was my friend, and I trusted him. We fumbled through sex, and while it was never the way I’ve read about in books, it was enough.
My eyes widen at the next text.
I only want you.
My fingers clutch the phone as I type out a response.
Is that what this is then? A way to woo the girl you can’t have?
No response.
WHY did you leave that letter if you aren’t going to tell me who you really are?
A hard, rapid series of knocks sounds on my door, making me yelp. It’s past eight and visiting hours ended a while ago. In fact, the hallway’s been eerily quiet tonight, an almost expectant air in the stillness. I frown and type.
Hey, someone’s at my door. Weird, right, this late?
He doesn’t reply right away, and I feel antsy about the knock. I set my phone down and look at my black booty shorts and camisole—not exactly how I want to greet someone.
“Who’s there?” I call out, but all I get is a whole lot of silence.
I look through the peephole, but no one’s there. Anxiety drifts over me, giving me goose bumps. I’ve been more cautious since the hit at school, especially since no one knows who it was. According to Trask, there aren’t any cameras in that part of the gym. Of course not.
I bend down to my hands and knees to see if I can see feet or a shadow, but it’s only the bright white lights of the hallway. I consider calling the resident assistant but quickly dismiss the idea. It’s just a knock, right? I could text Wyatt, but he said earlier he was headed out to grab dinner with some guys from the baseball team. I think he’d come up to my floor if I asked, even though visiting hours are over.
Still…
There’s no one there. Someone probably just knocked on the wrong door, realized it, and moved on. Maybe it was for Camilla.
Yet, I can’t stop myself from pacing the floor, feeling that anxious pit in my stomach expand. I stop in front of the door and soon it’s not just a door; it’s the woods at night.
Another knock then “Ava!” The voice is male and low and instantly recognizable.
I fling the door open, relief washing over me.
“Knox! What are you doing here?”
My eyes run over him. He’s still in football practice clothes, his hair damp and pushed back off his face. I swallow at his roped forearms and tanned skin, the sculpted muscles beneath his pants.
I cock my hip against the doorframe.
“Got done with practice, was just around the corner. Thought I’d come over and check on you, see how your head is. Plus, you might need me.”
Need him?
“Someone knocked on my door a few minutes ago—it wasn’t you?”
“Nope, but I can guess who.” He looks down the quiet hall, studying the closed doors. He even walks to the end of the corridor, opens the stairwell door, and checks it out. I notice he’s carrying a duffle bag. Weird.
“Who would you guess? Also, what’s up with the duffle? You planning on sleeping over?”
“May I come in? I can explain.” He leans against the edge of my doorway, and he’s wearing a cocky grin. It’s so different from how he is in class that I feel disarmed.
I cross my arms. “Why the heck is King Shark standing at my door asking to come in?”
He smirks. “Trust me, Tulip, you’re going to need me.” He holds up the duffle bag. “I have supplies.”
I arch a brow. “Color me intrigued.” I do a sweeping motion. “Please, come in.”
He waltzes inside, running his eyes over my small room, taking in the twin bed against the wall and the small dresser that come standard with the rooms in the dorm.
“You need to decorate,” he says, looking around.
I scoff. “Yeah, my neighbor Camilla has these cute twinkle lights up around her bed. I haven’t had time.” Or the money to burn. “Trust me, this is plush compared to my room at the home.”
He turns to face me. “A girl like you deserves pretty things.”
I frown, shoving that comment away, something I’ve learned to do well with him. “What’s in the duffle? A cute lamp? Some posters?”
He gives the room one last look. “No time to waste with small talk. These need to be filled stat, and I suggest changing out of that white shirt and putting on pants.”
What?
He opens the duffle and pulls out a bag of multi-colored balloons.
“Are we going to have a party? I’ll call Wyatt and Piper.” I’m joking. I’m not in the party mood.
He darts a look at me. “Prank night at Arlington. Wyatt didn’t tell you?”
I shrug. He’s spotty in the dorm, plus he’s on a different floor.
“It’s an annual thing, and I heard this afternoon that it might be tonight. Seems it’s a secret until it happens then all hell breaks loose.” He pauses. “Hijinks are about to ensue, and if someone knocked on your door, that might have been code for Get ready. Unless you want to hide under your bed and hope for the best…”
I rear back. “I was born ready, and I have heard of prank night. Even the staff gets involved, right? Or at least they let it slide as long as we clean up? Guess it slipped my mind since I’ve never lived in the dorms until now.” I eye him. “Thank you for paying for my room. I don’t think I ever said that the day in the auditorium.” Because things got a little hot and heavy. “I’m going to pay you back someday.”
He pauses in his handoff of a wad of balloons. “You don’t have to. Here, you take these and start filling them.”
“Bossy Shark,” I murmur as he drops half the balloons in my outstretched hands then rushes into my tiny bathroom.
I follow, and he’s in the small shower with the cold water on, his hands filling up a pink balloon.
“Take the sink. Don’t fill them too much—we don’t want them to burst.” He grins widely, and I blink, gaping at the football player in my shower.
“You’re like, really into this, aren’t you?”
“Less talking, more filling, Tulip. I came to help you and we’re gonna kick ass together, you feel me?” He flicks water in my direction. “Get to work.”
I like this side of him. “You participate every year?”
“Nope. This is for you.”
This is for you.
I let that settle and file in his dossier to savor when he’s gone.
A few minutes later, we’ve collected a pile of about fifty balloons, and he’s placing them back in his duffle with careful hands. I’ve got damp splotches on my camisole and his shirt is soaked and sticking to him, catching spray from the faucet.
“How many do we need?” I ask.
“All of them. This isn’t a night you want to be shorthanded.” His eyes drift over me, starting at my legs, lingering on my chest before coming up to my face. “Babe, as much as I like seeing you in booty shorts, you need to change. I’m talking sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. Tennis shoes might be a good idea so you don’t slip.”
I gape again. “How bad is this going to get?”
Another wide grin.
I shake my head. “You are crazy. Fine, fine, let me change.” I march over to my dresser, pull out a
pair of leggings, and pull them on over my shorts. When I turn around, he’s watching me, eyes low and heavy. “This work?”
He clears his throat. “Anything works on you.”
There’s a clatter out in the hall as if something metal has hit the floor.
I yelp, nearly jumping off the floor. “Is that the start? What was that noise?”
He walks over to me slowly, puts a finger to my lips. “Don’t be jumpy. I won’t let anyone hurt you. We got this, babe.”
My heart flies. Holy shit, he’s touched my lips! I feel a sudden rush of heat, and I must be crazy because my mouth opens and I nip at his finger. “Don’t call me babe, Shark. I’m the least babe girl there is in the whole world.” And Chance called me that.
He lowers his hand slowly. “Don’t call me Shark and we have a deal.”
“Fine.”
“I’m not giving up Tulip. I like it very much.”
“Didn’t say you had to.”
His gaze lands on my mouth. “Good.”
The moment is broken when another clatter comes from the hallway.
He walks back to the door.
“What’s the signal?” I say, secretly hoping he shushes me again.
“We’ll know it when we hear—”
HONK!
A blaring air horn slices through the silence, loud and irritating. “Oh shit!” I yell, adrenaline pumping.
He grabs the duffle and puts a few balloons in my hand. “Follow me,” he says, and then he inches the door open.
We enter the hall, and he’s crouched down to make himself a smaller target. I instinctively follow close behind.
“Use me as a shield, got it?”
I nod, feeling the heat coming off his back, tracing my eyes over his broad shoulders—
Ugh. I’m about to get into a water war, and all I can think about is a guy.
The hallway is as quiet as a church on Sunday.
“I’m starting to think the prank is you making me think there’s something going on.” I peek over him to get a better look around and see a cluster of girls several feet away.
A huge water balloon bursts on my chest, and I sputter.
“Booyah! Nailed one!” calls a female voice as a group of underclassman girls run toward us from the end of the hall, flinging balloons.
“Hit ’em!” calls Knox, and I return fire, hitting the floor instead of the gaggle of girls. Dang. How did I miss all of them?
“Your aim sucks,” he groans, and I glare at him.
“I’m just warming up. Give me a minute—”
Another one hits me on the cheek, water drenching my face and sliding down my throat.
“You know, we could just hide in my room,” I call out as I lob another one and it bounces off the wall. One of the girls picks it up and throws it back at us, hitting Knox square on the head. I bite my lip to stop the giggle.
He was looking at me, caught unaware, and well, it’s funny. He wipes water off of him. “We could hide in your room if you want.”
I shiver. There was…a little bit of heat in his voice.
I pick at a piece of purple balloon stuck to his face. “No, I think I like seeing you getting clobbered with water balloons by a bunch of girls—”
One flies past us, splattering on the floor. “True. We can’t let these whiny underclassmen beat us.”
I pick up another one, and just when they’re about twenty feet away, I sail it across and it splats on Camilla’s pretty blonde head. She just darted out of her room wearing a bemused expression and got in the way. I grimace, wishing I’d hit someone else. She’s not exactly rude to me, just withdrawn.
Knox nails two of the girls, which slows them down, but there are only two of us and several of them, including a group of guys who’ve suddenly shown up.
We run down the hall to see another group approaching from the opposite direction, throwing balloons at us and at the group behind us. Shit, stuck in the middle. Apparently, it’s a free-for-all.
“In here!” Knox yells, yanking open the door to a maintenance closet near the stairwell.
We dive in and shut the door, hearing balloons burst outside.
He glances down at my water-soaked camisole.
“I told you to change. Your nipples are hard.”
I elbow him. “Eyes on my face, football player.”
He stares at me. Frowns.
“What?” I ask.
“How are your knees and elbows?”
“Good.” They are better, nice and scabbed over and itchy, but they don’t hurt.
He exhales and gets a grim look on his face.
I sigh. “Knox…don’t. I’ll be okay.”
I don’t want to dwell on it, and I don’t want him losing friends over me either.
There’s a long silence as we stare at each other.
He scrubs his face and looks away from me. “I’m sorry about the auditorium—”
Someone out in the hall screams and giggles, cutting him off. “Let’s just have fun, okay?” My chest twinges and I rub it before dropping my hands.
“What’s wrong?”
I look away from him. “Nothing.”
“Who’s in your locket?” he asks softly. I glance back at him and pop it open, and he leans in to study it. “Tyler?”
I nod. “He’s all I have.”
He tucks a strand of hair over my ear. “Yeah, I get it. It’s Dane for me.”
“Catch them!” someone exclaims from the hallway.
“I’m allergic!” another girl yells.
“What the hell—” Knox says just as a white and black furry arm reaches under the door, claws extended as it pats around the floor.
“Holy cats! That is a cat, right?” I ask. “What on earth is going on out there?” Ludicrous statement, considering the mayhem.
He opens the door, and a small striped feline darts into the closet, gives us a scathing hiss, and then hides behind a mop bucket.
We lean past the door and peek out. People—and cats—are dashing everywhere.
I frown. “Why involve innocent animals? Geeze.”
Another water balloon hits me in the side of the head as we venture out. “Dammit!” I yell at whoever threw it, but they’re already running away.
“Ava! Knox! Follow me!” shouts a familiar voice. It’s Wyatt as he runs past, arms full of balloons.
We dodge people as we catch up with him, taking the stairwell. Girls and guys with water guns chase after us while Knox throws balloons at them, beating them back until they shut the door. Nice job, QB1.
We rush down to Wyatt’s floor and enter the hall, where I come to a halt, slipping a little on the water. Holy white hell. There are no cats, but a white powder coats the wet floor and walls. Flour?
The lights suddenly go out and I scream.
A tall frame pulls me close. “I got you,” Knox says. “Get on my back.”
I climb him like a monkey, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his waist. Well, at least I’m not thinking about the dark anymore. He runs down the hall, and I don’t even know how he can see except for the few windows at the end that allow a little bit of moonlight in.
“Where are we going?” I press my face into his neck, hoping he’s not aware that I’m totally smelling him.
“Wyatt’s. I figure he went to his room. I know the way.”
He fumbles around, opens a door, and darts inside, setting me down on my feet.
Sure enough, Wyatt is in the middle of the room, holding flashlights. He tosses one to Knox, who catches it. He laughs, looking at us before focusing on Knox. “Knox, didn’t know you did prank night.”
“Came as Ava’s backup. Didn’t think she’d like being surprised.”
“Yeah, it would have been nice if you’d told me.” I glare at Wyatt, and he grins and waggles his eyebrows.
“What’s the fun in that?”
“A friend would have, jerk,” I grumble.
He snorts. “I meant to but
time got away from me at our baseball dinner.”
Uh-huh. Jagger.
The lights blink back on, and suddenly a Bluetooth speaker in Wyatt’s room explodes with a familiar tune by Rick Astley. It blares out in the hall as well.
“Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you…”
“Someone hacked all the speakers,” Knox says, shaking his head, his face incredulous. “This thing gets nuttier every year.”
“Seriously, is the entire building being rick-rolled?” I exclaim. “I’M IN HELL!” Wyatt and Knox start laughing, and I join them, saying, “It’s fun, okay, it is, but this song…it’s driving me bonkers.”
“Let’s get back out there,” Knox says with relish as he grabs a handful of balloons. He’s way too pumped for this, but I’m feeling it too—as long as he’s with me.
“One, two, three…” he yells and pulls the door open then we rush out.
HONK!
The air horn blares again, and everyone in the hall freezes, wails of disappointment coming from every direction.
I look around. “What’s going on?”
“Prank night is over. I repeat, prank night is over,” is the announcement that comes over the loud speakers. It’s a female voice, probably Miss Henderson, the dorm mom. “Please grab a mop, broom, or stray cat and put the building back together. If everyone will return to their own floor, we’ll get this place back in shape. If you don’t return Arlington Hall to pristine condition, this will be the last prank night allowed and all underclassmen will blame you forever. And please, oh please, will whoever hacked everyone’s speakers turn off Rick Astley? I can’t even think with that on.”
“Dammit!” Wyatt says. “That wasn’t nearly long enough.”
We laugh, saying goodbye as we head back up the stairwell to my floor. Sure enough, Miss Henderson is standing there, her hair everywhere, out of its usual little bun. Even her shirt and jogging pants are soaked. She tilts her head toward a cage. “Put the cats in here. In the future, please don’t bring small animals.” Her voice is stern. “They could have been hurt, and I do not approve. In fact, I plan on writing up those involved. If you know who’s responsible, please let me know.” She picks up one of the smaller cats and rubs its head, giving us all side-eye. A few of the girls giggle and she glares at them. “I believe I counted six. I want them all rounded up and safe.”
Dear Ava: Enemies-to-lovers Standalone Romance Page 18