Bad Reputation

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  Her eyes held mine, intense, serious and deserving of honesty.

  “Last night wasn’t about the interview.”

  It wasn’t what I intended to say, and judging from her face, it wasn’t what she expected to hear.

  “What was it about?”

  I shrugged, trying to appear casual. “Us.”

  “Us?”

  “You. And me.”

  A blush spread up from her neck to her cheeks, highlighting her delicate features.

  “You know what, Joey? If you worked half as hard at being sincere as you do at being obnoxious…someone like me might be willing to give you that interview.”

  I shot her a lopsided grin. “How about we forego the interview, and just get to know each other instead?”

  “How about you let me go, and I don’t press charges?” she countered.

  I released her wrist. Slowly. Reluctantly. Finger by finger, sliding the back of my hand along her bare forearm. Her breath quickened, and I leaned in, breathing the seductive scent of her and letting my lips brush her throat. She shivered, then put a hand on my chest and pushed.

  I felt the loss of contact—both emotional and physical—more acutely than I wanted to admit.

  “Why won’t you tell me your name?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

  “Why would I? So you can use it against me?”

  “How could I do that? Why would I?”

  “Because you like to be in control.”

  It was a statement that cut straight into me.

  Yes, I wanted to say. I don’t just like it, I need it. Because if I don’t have it…bad things happen.

  I managed to let out a chuckle. She wasn’t laughing, though. I tried to draw her back into me playfully, but she didn’t bite.

  “Who doesn’t like a little control?” I countered.

  “Sane people.”

  “You’re telling me you don’t have a controlling bone in your body?”

  “I like to be in charge of me,” she informed me. “I don’t need to be in charge of other people.”

  “So you want to be dominated?” I teased.

  “No!”

  “Liar.”

  There was a beat of silence as we gazed at each other.

  “Why are you so mean?” I asked.

  “Why are you so whiny? And annoying?”

  “It’s a coercion tactic.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “It’s not working.”

  Damn, I liked her.

  “Hmm. If you’re not going to be swayed by my whining, and you’re not falling for my good looks…then I’m fresh out of tricks.”

  “Good. I don’t particularly like tricks.”

  “What do you like?”

  “Nice guys.”

  “Mean girls always like nice guys.” I sighed.

  “All girls like nice guys.”

  “Wait. You don’t think I’m nice?”

  “You’re not nice. And I’m not mean. And before you suggest it again, I’m not an angry girl, either,” she stated.

  “I guess that means you’re still giving me a ticket and no interview?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m giving you two tickets. And I’ll make you a deal about the interview”

  “What?”

  “What to which part?”

  “Both!”

  She grinned. “I’m giving you one ticket for parking like a tool.”

  “Oh, c’mon!” I groaned.

  “And another for parking like a tool for too long.”

  “Fine,” I said. “But rest assured, I’ll get you back for this.”

  “For working?”

  “For writing me an unwarranted ticket.”

  “Two tickets,” she reminded me. “Both well deserved.”

  She pretended not to notice my amused expression as I watched her write out the second ticket in quick, firm strokes. She ripped off the paper, tucked it into my shirt pocket, and smiled sweetly.

  “Now about the interview,” she said. “Here’s my offer. You tell me my name, and I’ll sit down with you.”

  “Stacey,” I said immediately.

  “No.”

  “Ginger.”

  “No.”

  “Jane.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Give me a hint.”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  “Fine. The internet won’t help you.”

  “That’s more like a warning than like a hint. Give me another.”

  “I’m working!”

  “Helen.”

  She climbed onto her bike and flicked her hair over her shoulder.

  “Olivia!” I called. “Allison! Rachel!”

  “No, no and no!” she yelled back.

  I watched her until I couldn’t see her anymore.

  Now I had something to prove. And I never back down from a challenge.

  * * *

  I drove lazily across campus, slowing even more when I spotted the parking enforcement office, located at the edge of the large driveway at the front of the college. I pulled into a spot in front, grinning as I centered the truck right between the white lines.

  I sauntered into the office with my usual, charming smile in place.

  “Hey there,” I greeted.

  The middle-aged woman behind the counter shook her head without even looking up from her crossword.

  “Whatever your excuse is, I’m not buying it. You did the crime, you pay the fine.”

  “I’m here to pay it, actually,” I replied.

  “You overdue?” she asked.

  “Nope. I got the ticket five minutes ago.”

  That got her attention. She paused with her pencil in her mouth and eyed me speculatively. I held the ticket out to her and she took it slowly.

  “Well that’s a first,” she told me. “You frat boys are usually the last to pay. Half the time we have to send Gerald out to collect.”

  “Gerald?”

  The woman used her pencil to point across the room. A big man, balanced on a tiny wooden chair and dressed in a security uniform, grunted at me.

  “Gerald,” the attendant confirmed.

  I laughed. “I don’t think you’ll need him to chase me down. I’ve got a credit card here already to go.”

  I pulled my wallet out of my pocket, tapped the gold card on the counter, and held it out to her. As she reached for it, an idea crossed my mind, and I didn’t loosen my grip.

  “Problem?” she asked.

  “No problem,” I said confidently. “Just a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “The girl who gave me the ticket. She’s a pretty redhead. You know her?”

  “No names,” Gerald announced from his corner.

  “I’m paying my ticket,” I reminded him. “I just wonder—”

  The big man cut me off as he stood up. “Then pay it. No names.”

  I sighed, and decided it wasn’t worth losing the use of my limbs. I’d track her another way. I paid my fines and dragged myself back out to my truck.

  “How can one girl be so hard to pin down?” I muttered as I resisted an urge to peel out of the parking lot.

  * * *

  Exhaustion finally crept its way in.

  On autopilot, I made my way to the roadside motel where I stayed every Sunday afternoon, and requested room 101 as I always did.

  I willed my mind to go blank, and I nearly succeeded.

  Then I saw that my cell phone was blinking at me from the nightstand. For one moment I thought it might be the girl, changing her mind about seeing me of her own free will, and I lost control again.

  I let myself imagine her face, a little rueful and a little pink from embarrassment as she left me a message, apologizing for turning me down in the first place. My daydream stretched out, and I could almost see her lips, whispering the word sorry in a sultry voice. She’d be twisting a piece of that gorgeous hair around one of her fingers, and she’d smile a grateful smile as I told her that it was no
big deal. I would talk to her, confess my feelings, confide my past, share the parts of myself I’d kept locked up for too long. And she’d respond accordingly. She’d kiss me. Softly at first, then with increasing intensity.

  I shook off the jolt of desire that threatened to overwhelm me, and forced myself to open the phone, before it could play out into what I was sure was a much larger fantasy.

  My dad’s message was short, but his irritation came through, loud and clear.

  “Joey. The clock is ticking.”

  My own temper flared, and I fought down an urge to call him back and tell him what he could do with his metaphorical clock. My reaction surprised me. My dad’s priorities were usually my priorities, and vice versa. For the first time in long time, I felt like maybe he was wrong. Maybe business wasn’t as important as he thought.

  I stared down at my phone, feeling more than a little put off, and was struck by an idea. I scrolled through my address book and selected a number.

  “Hi, Fern,” I said when my neighbor answered on the first ring.

  “Joey!”

  She sounded happy to hear from me. I suppressed a smile. Fern and Felicia—the sibling set who lived two doors down—were forever on my case to pay attention to them, and in spite of my protests, they were persistent in trying to charm me.

  “You know how you always want to come over and use my pool?” I asked.

  “It’s bigger than ours,” she told me.

  “Uh-huh. We Foxes are all about going big or going home.”

  She giggled. “Are you inviting us over to test out that motto?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I need a favor. And I was thinking that after you do it, I could invite you over for a dip in our excessively large pool.”

  “Name it,” she replied.

  I sighed in relief and outlined my plan, emphasizing my father’s role in needing to know who the girl was, and downplaying my own desire to figure it out.

  “No problem,” Fern agreed quickly, and told me that she’d call me back as soon as she’d set everything up.

  “The sooner the better,” I reminded her, and reiterated my school schedule as well.

  “Don’t worry your pretty head,” she said. “I wrote it down. And I’ll make sure it happens. We’ve been dying to swim in your pool.”

  An unfamiliar, bubbling sense of hope was sitting in my gut. I stared up at the ceiling in my room, then I curled up with a satisfied smile and slept like the dead for five hours.

  Tucker

  By the time I got home and untucked my hair from the ball cap that topped off my abhorrent uniform, my head was aching from trying not to think about Joey. I climbed into bed, stuck my head under my pillow, and grumbled to myself about him.

  The way he treated his little entourage of women made me mad. The fact that he had an entourage made me madder still. Between Amber and the nameless girl from my dorm…he was definitely a creep.

  A creep who managed to get you all hot and bothered today with a little more than single touch. A creep who made you forget his creepiness long enough last night to have one of the best make-out sessions of your life.

  The unbidden thoughts made my face redden.

  He is a creep.

  And not my type at all.

  Except for the feel of his hands. And that soft bit of emotion in his eyes. The one that he thought he was hiding so well.

  He was dangerous.

  Yet you felt compelled to cut him a deal for an interview?

  “Phone!” Liandra called out cheerfully from across the room.

  I groaned and rolled over on my bed. “I’m napping.”

  “You sure you aren’t gonna get it? It could be lover boy,” she teased.

  My heart thumped in my chest. What if he’d already found out my name? What if it had been as easy as an internet search? I kept a low profile, left my name off the Greenleaf website, but that didn’t mean I was impossible to find.

  “What’s wrong with your face?” Liandra asked, interrupting my internal monologue.

  I reminded myself that she didn’t know the full extent of what had happened.

  “Nothing. But I am never speaking to that particular boy again,” I grumbled.

  “Touchy today, aren’t you?”

  “Overly cheerful today, aren’t you?” I countered.

  Liandra laughed. “Not all of us got toasted last night. You should’ve heard yourself snoring.”

  “I had one shot and one beer,” I replied. “It was your stupid painkiller that did it.”

  “Lightweight.”

  “Jerk.”

  My phone buzzed again and my roommate grinned. “Persistent, isn’t he?”

  “It’s not him,” I said, and brushed off a twinge of disappointment as an unknown number flashed on the screen.

  “So answer it,” Liandra told me with an eye roll.

  “Good afternoon, Greenleaf Gardening,” I greeted in a formal voice. “How can I help you?”

  “Good evening,” corrected an equally formal, but young and feminine voice on the other end.

  I glanced at my watch and realized that it was already five o’clock.

  “Hello? Are you there, miss?” said the voice on the other end.

  I cleared my throat. “Sorry. I lost the connection for a moment.”

  “I’m calling on behalf of Gretchen Fox. My employer picked up your pamphlet on Friday, and she would like to book your services for the coming week.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “Did you have a particular day in mind?”

  “Er…Monday?

  “Tomorrow?”

  “If it’s not too soon.”

  “Sure. How does ten a.m. sound?”

  “Fine,” the woman said. “It’s a smallish job. Just some hedge trimming. But the Foxes will pay you cash enough to make it worth your time.”

  “Great. I’ll just need to get Mrs. Fox’s address, and I’ll plug the details in, and we’ll be all set.”

  “One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Who should I tell them is coming?”

  “Tucker Greenleaf.”

  Liandra tapped me on the shoulder and I waved her away. She made a face and I ignored her as I entered the contact information into my computer. Liandra flapped her hands in front of my face.

  I covered the phone and hissed, “Stop it.”

  “Tucker…”

  I held my hand up irritably.

  “Fine,” she grumbled.

  I recorded the last of Gretchen Fox’s employee’s instructions, then hung up.

  “For crying out loud!” I shouted. “What are you doing?”

  She slapped a Trans U newspaper down in front of me.

  “Read this,” she commanded.

  I scanned the paper quickly. It was weeks old, and nothing stood out. There was an article on genetically modified food, and something about an expansion at the college, and a little blurb about the upcoming student election. I raised an eyebrow at my roommate.

  “What?”

  Liandra made an exasperated noise. “Read the article about the expansion. Out loud.”

  I sighed. “Plans continue to shift for the brand new Fox Kinesiology Wing here at Trans U.”

  “The Fox Kinesiology Wing,” Liandra repeated.

  “So?”

  “So…who are you doing work for tomorrow?”

  “Gretchen Fox,” I said slowly. “But so what? It doesn’t mean it’s the same Foxes. And even if it is, who cares?”

  “Read more,” my roommate suggested sweetly.

  “This expansion is being built with the generous donation provided by Gretchen and Holland Fox.” I paused. “Okay, it’s them. But I still don’t see why it matters.”

  “More,” Liandra insisted.

  I sighed again and went on. “The philanthropic couple has been quoted as saying the new wing is a salute to their son. Although he acquired his kinesiology degree elsewhere, the prodigal son has returned home, and is glad t
o be completing his supplemental certificate in Sports Rehabilitation right here at Trans U. In three months, Joseph Fox with be pleased to cut the ribbon himself at the opening ceremony.”

  “Joseph,” Liandra said empathetically. “Joey Fox.”

  “Dammit,” I muttered. “I think I’ve been outmaneuvered.”

  Liandra snickered. “More like outfoxed.”

  I groaned, and tossed my phone back onto my bed.

  “Help me,” I begged.

  “Sorry, friend,” my roommate said. “I’ve got a take-home exam to finish and then I’m heading out for a visit with my sister. I won’t be back until Monday night. Too late to help.”

  “Dammit.”

  The rest of the night was going to crawl by.

  Monday

  Tucker

  I rolled over in my bed, glanced at my phone and groaned when I saw it was time to get ready.

  “Nooo,” I said to the empty room.

  For the past fourteen sleepless hours, I’d mentally tried out every excuse—any excuse—to avoid doing the job at the Fox residence.

  Homework. But I was totally caught up.

  My ankle. But I’d ridden my bike for four hours the day before; it really did feel okay.

  As a last resort, it occurred to me that Liandra might take pity on me, come home, and go on my behalf. I had typed up a complicated text at 3:00 a.m., and stared at it for an hour before realizing how truly crazy I sounded.

  Now that the morning was here, I wished that I’d sent it.

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed and gave my ankle a final once over, hoping for a twinge. But it wasn’t swollen at all, and the unattractive bruise on my foot had already faded to a lovely shade of greenish-yellow. I rolled it around a few times, then stood up and stepped into my work clothes.

  I told myself I didn’t care that my bulky shorts and baggy T-shirt were my least flattering outfit. Then I told myself in an even firmer voice that it was better that I appear as unfeminine and as homely as possible in Joey Fox’s presence. I tucked my hair into two tidy braids, laced up my steel-toed boots and headed out the door before I could change my mind.

  I had made a mental list of the reasons to avoid taking the job, and I had to confront the first one as I headed over to the dorm parking stalls. The stark white hybrid van made me cringe. I had made an awfully big deal about not driving to Joey. But the reality of gardening and pruning and lawn care is that it requires a certain amount of supplies, and those supplies have to be transported.