Bad Reputation

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  I shrugged. “Who knows? The clean half is mine.”

  “Uh-huh. No roommate tonight?”

  “Nope. And I wouldn’t have invited you in if she was going to be here.” I blushed as I quickly added, “Not for that reason.”

  “Are you sure she’s not here? She could be under that pile of clothes,” Joey joked. “Anybody home?”

  He picked up a pair of questionably clean jeans and shook them. A piece of yellow scrap paper floated out onto the floor.

  “A clue!” Joey whispered in a mockingly excited voice.

  “You’re a big nerd,” I told him, as I grabbed the paper and read it over. “It’s just a note. It says that Liandra couldn’t find her cell phone.”

  “And she’s assigned us the mission of finding it?”

  “Not exactly, but I’m sure she’d appreciate the effort.” I smiled. “I’ll dial, you listen for the ring and search through her stuff.”

  “Do you really think she’d want me rifling through her underwear?”

  “Probably not. And she probably wouldn’t want me to give you her number either.”

  “Oh?”

  I shook my head. “She just doesn’t like you, I’m afraid.”

  “She doesn’t even know me,” Joey protested.

  “No, she doesn’t,” I agreed. “But she thinks she knows guys like you. And that’s enough.”

  “And what exactly did a guy like me do to a girl like her that makes her hate us all equally?”

  “He married her. Then knocked up his secretary.”

  He tilted his head to one side thoughtfully. “Hmm. And what did a guy like me do to a girl like you?”

  “Same thing.”

  Joey frowned. “He knocked up his secretary?”

  Then I did something that surprised me. I laughed. So hard that I thought if I didn’t contain it, the girls whose room was beside ours might start banging on the wall. I covered my mouth with my hands as I tried to hold it in.

  “She wasn’t his secretary,” I managed to get out in between giggles. “She looked more like a hooker, actually. And God help him if she got pregnant.”

  Joey tapped his chin. “See, now I’m insulted.”

  “Why?”

  “Because your roommate thinks that I’m the kind of guy who’d sleep with a hooker.”

  “Who knows what a guy like you would or wouldn’t do?” I teased.

  He grinned. “You know what we need right now?”

  “If you say a hooker or a secretary…I’m leaving.”

  “Well, I was going to suggest a hooker dressed as a secretary, but I’m assuming that’s out of the question, too.”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  “So what we need instead is tea.”

  “Tea?” I examined his face and decided he was being utterly serious.

  “Tea heals all wounds,” he assured me.

  Then Joey made himself comfortable on the floor—the one bare surface in the room besides my bed—and I became very conscious of how small the space was. Joey sat between the beds with his back pressed against the cluttered computer chair, and his hulking body took up nearly the whole width of space. No matter where I chose to sit, we would somehow wind up brushing against each other.

  I stood at the edge of the room awkwardly.

  He looked up at me and shot me a dimpled smile.

  “Tea,” he said firmly.

  “Hmm. Not that I’m doubting you, but how many times do you know of—personally, I mean—that tea has healed the broken heart of a girl whose boyfriend slept with a hooker?”

  “Is your heart still broken?”

  I sighed, too tired to lie. “I didn’t think it was, but then I saw Mark, first at that meeting with the city officials, then again in the bar that night…” I trailed off with a red face as I remembered what else happened that night in the bar.

  Joey smiled crookedly. “In that case…maybe you do need more than tea.”

  With a swift movement, he reached for my legs and dragged me onto his lap. I wiggled in protest for just a moment before deciding that it wasn’t worth the effort. Joey’s lap was a perfect fit. His arms circled my waist in a way that was familiar and intimate, and far more than friendly, and I rested my head on his chest so that he wouldn’t be able to see how much I liked it.

  “This is your idea of something more than tea?” My voice wasn’t much louder than a whisper.

  “It’s called a hug,” Joey told me. “Heard of it?”

  We sat that way for a long moment, and when Joey spoke again, it was a soft rumble into my hair.

  “So. Mark. You saw him again. And he looked good enough to forgive?”

  “No. I mean, yeah, he looked good. Grown up. Different than when we went out.”

  Joey stiffened. Was he jealous? I smiled at the thought.

  “So you forgave him?”

  “No. I just wasn’t expecting it to hurt like that,” I admitted.

  “Do you want me to kick his ass?” Joey offered.

  “Kind of.”

  “Name the time and place.”

  “How about after the city approves my improvements?” I suggested. “That way he can’t hold it against me.”

  He hesitated, then said, “Done.”

  Joey’s fingers traced the line of my spine. When they found the back of my neck and dug into my hair, I couldn’t stifle a gasp. He drew my head back and leaned down to give me a feather-light kiss. He pulled away, slid his hands under my arms, lifted me like I weighed nothing, and when he set me down again, I was straddling him.

  I was hyperaware that we were alone in my room, and there was a bed right there. Liandra wasn’t going to be home any time soon. Every muscle in my body ached with longing. I wanted to bury my mouth in his, to let him be right about spontaneity still having meaning.

  His warm palms skimmed my hips, then settled just above my tailbone. My shirt rode up, just a little bit, and Joey’s thumbs kneaded the exposed skin.

  “This spot, right here,” he groaned. “I think it’s my favorite.”

  At that moment, I panicked, maybe because he’d taken the time to find a favorite spot.

  “Do you treat all your friends this way?” I asked.

  “My friends?”

  “You said we were going to friends.”

  “Shit. I forgot.”

  I slid from his lap and straightened my clothes. “Do you still want that tea? I should probably grab it before curfew.”

  “Curfew?” Joey’s face dropped and he groaned. “Great. What time is it?”

  “Don’t be dramatic. The dorm maintains midnight curfew so we don’t disturb each other at all hours of the night.”

  “I’m not being dramatic,” he replied. “I just realized I’ve missed my own.”

  “You have a curfew? The mighty Joey Fox?” I mocked.

  “Now who’s being dramatic?” he replied. “My dad has specific, detailed rules that he expects me to follow or—”

  “Or what? He’s going to ground you?”

  “Something like that.”

  I read his face and then I groaned. “Oh my God. He takes away your allowance, doesn’t he?”

  Joey met my gaze steadily. A deep red flush crept up from underneath his shirt. I watched in fascination as it moved from his sternum—exposed by the V-shaped collar line—to his neck, then up to his cheeks.

  At first I thought he was embarrassed, but then I realized that what he actually was, was mad. The stiff set of his jaw, the dark look in his eyes and the clenched fists gave it away.

  “Are you okay, Joey?”

  “I know you said you had a tough time growing up…but what’s your relationship like with your parents now that you’re an adult?”

  It was an innocent question. A normal question. But it froze my tongue to the roof of my mouth.

  “Because mine is way more complicated than it should be,” Joey went on, not noticing how still I’d gone. “My mom is nice. Maybe even too easygoing. My dad, on the ot
her hand, makes me angry. Even talking about him pisses me off sometimes. But I owe everything to him, so it’s hard for me to deny him when he asks me to do things. He can be a controlling bastard. He works hard, and sometimes it seems like that’s all he does. The one time I went around him and tried to do things my way, everything went to hell. He’s never let me forget that. Or the fact that he dragged my ass out of it. And nothing I’ve done since has ever been quite right. Is it ever like that for you, too?”

  I took a deep breath, looked him in the eye, and forced myself to answer honestly. “My parents died a year and half ago. It was a fire. Around the same time I found about Mark.”

  “That’s—” Joey ran a troubled hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Tucker. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. “Yes. You’re usually oh-so sensitive.”

  “I’m serious,” he said. “I’m babbling about my crap when your crap is just as bad.”

  “That’s just life.”

  “Life is crap?” he replied with a grin.

  “Pretty much. You go through it and hope to come out clean on the other side. And I do know how you feel about your parents. My dad wasn’t exactly a picnic, either. And my mom never did much to help herself out of the situation. She stuck all of her hopes for a better life on my shoulders.”

  “Which explains why you’re so damned tough.”

  “You mean why I run away from my problems?”

  “Taking on a city and this project is your idea of avoiding conflict?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I mean in my personal life.”

  “Do you wish you’d stayed with Mark?” Joey asked.

  “Hell, no.”

  “Then I think you’re doing just fine.”

  “So…I don’t need tea after all?”

  He winked. “Tea can never hurt.”

  “Right. Do you have a specific request, your highness? I believe our kitchen has a vast selection.”

  “How about chamomile?”

  “Let me see what I can do.”

  I made my way to the shared kitchen area and started digging through the cupboards in search of chamomile. As I set up the cups with one tea bag each, and plugged the kettle in, my mind wandered.

  Joey Fox, playboy extraordinaire, son of Gretchen and Holland Fox, local millionaires, is sitting on the floor in my room. Waiting for a cup of chamomile tea.

  I was so distracted that I didn’t even notice as the water began to boil and the kettle let out a shrill whistle. I jumped a little at the sound.

  I filled the cups quickly, grabbed some cookies from an open package with Liandra’s name on it, and placed everything on a plate so I could carry it all easily back to my room.

  “Here you go,” I called quietly as I pushed the door open. “Chamomile and cookies…”

  I trailed off as I realized Joey was no longer sitting on my floor. He was lying on his side with his back to the wall. On my bed.

  “Joey?” I whispered.

  He didn’t stir. I put the plate down on the floor and leaned over him.

  “Joey,” I said a little more loudly.

  Except for the rise and fall of his chest, he remained still. I watched the rhythmic movement of his breathing, and it made me sleepy, too.

  You are not thinking about climbing into bed with that boy.

  I shook my head, thinking that my subconscious sounded an awful lot like my roommate. I glanced over at her bed. No space there. I looked down at the floor. No way was I lying down there.

  “What other choice do I have?” I wondered out loud.

  I didn’t even bother to acknowledge the logical part of my brain that argued against my conclusion.

  I sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed beside Joey’s knees and waited for him to notice. He shuffled just a little closer to the wall, as if he knew that I was there and that he had to make space for me.

  Probably because he’s used to having to make room for girls in his bed.

  I pushed aside the jealous thought forcefully and stretched my body out beside his, careful not to touch him. After a few moments, Joey murmured something in his sleep and put an arm around me. I went utterly still, barely breathing. I was sure that any second he would wake up and realize he was wrapped around me. Instead, he stroked my arm lightly and parted my legs with his knee. I stifled a desire-filled moan that threatened to rip from my throat as he settled himself intimately against me, and wondered how the hell he was making me feel this way while he was still asleep. My whole body was on fire, and I didn’t think that I would ever be able to go to sleep myself.

  I lifted his heavy arm and rolled over so my back was pressed against him instead. It was no less of a turn on, but at least I was able to inhale carefully and relax slightly. Pretty soon, my breaths matched the rhythm of his perfectly, and I drifted off, utterly content.

  Wednesday

  Joey

  A soft buzz against my leg woke me up.

  Shit. My phone.

  I started to stretch, and met with resistance. It took me several seconds to register where I was, and why I was stuck in place.

  Shit. Tucker.

  I inhaled deeply, dragging the soft vanilla scent of her hair into my lungs and holding it there.

  My arms were wrapped around her and she was pressed against me firmly, each soft curve hugging my body. In her sleep, she wriggled a little bit closer, and my body lit up.

  “Oh, God,” I groaned softly.

  Her perfect hair was loose. The red tresses fanned out across my arm, building a heat that matched its radiance.

  The girl was getting to me.

  Has already gotten to me.

  Her passion. Her drive. Her sense of humor. Her beauty. Even her temper. Goddammit.

  I examined the curve of her profile. Asleep, her features were relaxed. Deep auburn eyelashes caressed the hint of freckles on her face. Her lips were plump, and begged to be explored.

  But I’d promised her friendship.

  Would it be so bad if it was something more? Would she think it was so bad?

  Last night, I’d felt a shift. A line had been crossed, turning this from a favor for my dad—with the convenience of physical attraction—into something more. I didn’t know exactly when it had happened. Maybe it was our shared discontent.

  I didn’t know the details of what her dad had done, but I hated him for making her life hard. I resented her mom, too, for making Tucker carry all that responsibility. I knew how it felt to carry a burden like that. I also hurt on her behalf, knowing her parents had died so suddenly. Even if they’d betrayed her, she would still feel the loss acutely. I’d felt that pain myself, with Beth.

  Beth.

  Thinking her name usually brought her face to mind and it usually slammed me with guilt. When I closed my eyes at that second, the only image that came forward was Tucker.

  I opened my eyes and stared down at her, both intrigued by and terrified of what that signified.

  My phone vibrated again, somehow seeming more insistent than before. I disentangled my body from hers and slipped my cell from my pocket.

  Shit. Dad.

  He was not going to be happy with me when I told him I couldn’t sacrifice Tucker and her project in the name of business. God only knew what he was going do.

  Tucker stretched and rolled onto her stomach. Her shirt crept up, exposing a penny-sized, cherry-red birthmark on the small of her back. I ached to kiss that tiny imperfection. Instead, I pulled the shiny mass of hair off her neck and pressed my lips against her neck. She shivered, and sighed softly. I forced myself to sit up.

  If I didn’t leave—right that second—I wasn’t going to be able to control myself.

  My eyes raked over Tucker’s body one more time before I slammed down hard on the answer button on my phone, and growled into it under my breath.

  “Just a sec.”

  I eased my way out into the hall and closed Tucker’s door carefully.

  I�
��ll make it up to her.

  I tiptoed to the stairwell, where I was less likely to disturb any of the dorm inhabitants.

  “What is it, Dad? I’m in the middle of something.”

  “Does that something happen to be a girl?”

  Coming from anyone else, the question might’ve been a joke. From him, it was a frosty criticism.

  My reply was equally cold. “That’s not exactly any of your business.”

  “I think it is. You didn’t come home last night. Did you really think I wasn’t keeping tabs?”

  “I was doing some charity work.”

  “I’m sure you were. I’m assuming this little sleepover in a girls’ dorm isn’t directly related to the research I asked you to do.”

  An unsettled feeling crept into my body, and it translated into an embarrassing quaver in my voice as I asked, “How do you know where I am?”

  “Have a look out the window.”

  I slunk over to the window at the end of the stairwell, and peered past the same plant I’d pushed aside to catch a glimpse of Tucker running across the commons a few days earlier. My truck, glinting silver in the early morning light, stood out in the otherwise empty parking lot. A hulking figure leaned against it. He raised a meaty hand and gave me a casual wave.

  “Joey, meet Pete. His current assignment is to bring you to me. Quickly.”

  “His assignment? For Christ’s sake, I’m your son.”

  He’d already hung up.

  Pete pointed up at me, then tapped his watch.

  “I’m coming,” I grumbled.

  With a final, regretful glance toward Tucker’s hallway, I hurried down the stairs.

  * * *

  Pete stoically ignored my biting comments as he drove.

  “You follow me all the time, or just on the odd occasion?”

  Nothing.

  “Do you watch me sleep?”

  No response.

  “What did he put in the job description? Babysitter? What’s the going rate for spy work nowadays, anyway?”

  He didn’t even crack a smile.

  When we finally pulled into a parking lot beside a run-down apartment building, I grinned at him

  “Er, Pete? You’re very handsome, in an I-ate-a-puppy-for-breakfast kinda way. But you’re just not my type.”