by Kayt Miller
I wince. I knew she was going to bring him up.
“Even his name….” Tayler rolls her eyes.
“Hey! There’s nothing wrong with his name. He can’t help that. He was born with it.”
“It’s not his name that bothers me.”
Here we go. This is where she launches into a fifteen-minute diatribe on why my crush on Bryant Falco is stupid. I know it’s stupid, but it can’t be helped. It was love at first sight. When he walked into my three-dimensional design class last spring, he looked around the room like he owned the place. When his eyes met mine, he smirked and made his way to my table. After sitting right next to me, he turned, gave me a devastatingly handsome smile, and said, “Hey.”
Bam. Love.
Then he kept sitting by me, even though there were plenty of empty seats about and lots of attractive girls in the class. But he sat by me. Now, even though we don’t have any classes together this semester, I still try to pop in to see him when he’s working at the sandwich shop on Welch Avenue. I do my best to bump into him whenever possible, and I drag Tayler along with me. “We can’t help who we love, Tayler.”
“You don’t love him.”
Why does she do that? “You don’t know what it’s like when it’s just the two of us.”
I think I picked the wrong time to say that, because the sip of coffee she just took ended up all over our table and me. “Fuck. You did not just say that bullshit.”
Grabbing napkins, I do my best to wipe the dark liquid from the front of my white tee. Of course I wore white today. “It’s true.”
“And by alone, you mean the one and only time you two worked on a project together?”
I’m starting to feel picked on here. “We’ve hung out.” No, we really haven’t. I’ve seen him at Cy’s a couple of times, and he’s had a beer with me. Technically, I approached him and drank my beer as we chitchatted. He’s nice. He’s always very jovial and sweet to me. I don’t know why Tayler is so down on Bryant Falco. “He’s the perfect man for me.”
“Okay, first off, there’s no such thing as a perfect guy.”
“Dylan is pretty perfect.” That’s her boyfriend. They’ve been together since junior year of high school and live together in an apartment on the east side of Ames.
“No, Dylan is definitely not perfect. Nobody is.”
“But he’s perfect for you.”
Tayler shrugs.
“What? He is.”
“Dylan’s fine. But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.”
“Look. I’m not naïve. I know the chances of Bryant Falco liking me back are slim to none, but for once in my life, I’m doing my best to think positively. Even if we end up as friends only, I’m okay with that, because I’d rather have him in my life than not.”
“You say all the right things, dearest friend, but I know you. You’re going to be heartbroken the first time you see him with another girl.”
“Wow.” I gather my garbage to throw it away as I leave the Hub. “You have no faith that Bryant will ever see anything in me. Hell, you probably don’t think anyone will like me as more than a friend.”
“No. I didn’t say—”
I hold my hand up to stop her from talking. “That’s okay. I get it.” I feel the burn behind my eyes and nose that always precedes tears. But I’m not gonna do it. I refuse to tear up in front of Tayler. “I’ll die alone. Me and my thirty-six cats.”
“Stop it.” She tugs on the sleeve of my tee to keep me from leaving. “You’re just trying to make me feel bad.”
I halt because it hits me like a ton of bricks. Turning back slowly, I look at my beautiful best friend. Her long auburn hair practically sparkles, it’s so shiny. Her perky little nose dotted with freckles that are obvious since she barely wears makeup. She doesn’t need it. Then there’s her petite body. She’s never been bigger than a size four. When she was, she thought she was fat. Ha. That’s a joke.
“I can’t make you understand how I feel about Bryant, but you’re supposed to be my best friend. You’re supposed to support me even if failure is inevitable. That’s when best friends come in handy—that’s when they come to the rescue. But you don’t even think I have a chance with him. Why is that? I’m not hideous.” I look down at my big T-shirt and leggings with the tear in the knee, then back up at Tayler. “I’m fat. I know that. Some guys like a little meat on a girl’s bones.” I haven’t met one of those unicorns yet, but maybe someday.
“Bryant isn’t one of those guys.”
“How do you know?”
“Because, my sweet, delusional friend, if Bryant wanted you, he’d have already made a move.”
Oh. Wow. It stings like a thousand wasps getting me all at once. “I see.”
“No, you don’t. Guys like Bryant don’t do girls like you.”
Fuck. That hurts. One tear leaks out, but I don’t give a shit. “Stop.” I hold up my hand again. “That’s enough.” Sniffling, I turn away from her.
“Quinn, wait. I didn’t—”
I ignore her and walk out the door. I’ve got to process this. I need space from the one person I thought I could count on.
Chapter Six
I needed and wanted space, but maybe not for this long. It’s been almost a week since our fight, and Tayler hasn’t tried to call me once. Nope. No voice mails, not a single text. I haven’t contacted her either, because I know Tayler Sorenson, and if I call now, she’ll want to rehash everything that we argued about. All of it. And I don’t want to hear how I’m not the kind of girl guys like that way. I mean, I already knew that. I’ve heard it pretty much all my life thanks to my brothers. Heck, even my dad calls me “my chunky monkey.” Ugh. Such a terrible nickname. I don’t have the heart to say anything, because for him, it’s not offensive. My mom’s favorite endearment is “pleasantly plump” because she and I have the same body type. She obviously doesn’t have the negative self-image that I do. She’s lucky. But those parental expressions are nice compared to some of the things I’ve heard in the past. My older brothers were particularly cruel growing up, calling me “thunder thighs” and other mean things.
Listen, I’m not feeling sorry for myself, I swear. I’m just trying to make my point. I know I’m no man’s ideal woman. But I’ve read enough books and watched enough reality television to believe there’s someone for everyone. Mine may not be Bryant, I get that. I’m not naïve. But if I don’t put myself out there, how will I ever know for sure? She knows me better than anyone. I’ve had crushes before, and she knows I get over them, eventually. So why is Tayler making a point about this guy now?
It’s been nearly a week since our fight at the Hub. Since then, I decided I was going to do something I’ve never done when it comes to Tayler: I’m going to wait her out. It’s going to have to be her who contacts me. And when she does, it’d better start off with an apology. In the meantime, I’ve been doing my thing: going to class, studying, working up the courage to apply for jobs, and I’ve decided to hang out with my new roommates. Tonight, we’re going out for Thirsty Thursday. It’s what we college students call the night we all go out and drink too much. It’s also the night bars such as Cy’s Roost have drink specials like two-dollar pitchers of crappy beer. I know, hangovers make Friday classes almost unbearable, but I need to get to know my roommates, and having a drink—or three—with them is one way to do it.
Speaking of which, I look at my clock. I’ve only got thirty minutes before they’re off to the bar. I jump off my bed and search my little closet for something decent to wear. Generally I wear oversized tees and either jeans or leggings. Scanning my closet, I don’t see anything that inspires me, so I search for my black V-neck tee and black jeggings. For those of you who haven’t heard of those, they’re jeans that stretch like leggings. The best of both worlds.
Crawling around on my floor, I find my black Converse sneakers underneath my bed along with some pretty scary-looking dust bunnies. Scary because I think I just saw one s
kitter away from my hand. Shiver. After sliding on my shoes, I pick up my small crossbody purse that’s just large enough to hold my cell phone, a debit card, and some cash. I stop in my tracks when I catch a glimpse of my face in my mirror. “Shit.” I didn’t do a thing with my hair or makeup. Instead of that, I took forty minutes to paint my nails. I did the Converse sneaker nails. So cute.
Peeking at the clock, I see I’ve got a few minutes to spare, so I pull out the tie in my hair, brush it, and put it back up into a knot on top of my head. Looking at my little bit of makeup, I swipe some mascara on my lashes and a soft pink lip gloss on my mouth. Looking in the mirror one last time, I shrug. “As good as it’s ever going to get.”
Upstairs, I meet my roommates hovering near the front door. Correction, my roommates and Kara. Great.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” says guess who.
“Knock it off, Kara,” snaps Patsy. Looking at me, she smiles. “You look good. I like the all-black ensemble.” Except she pronounces “ensemble” like she’s French. It makes me laugh.
One by one, the girls start to make their way out the door. As we move, I hear Kara muttering something to Susanna. “She could have at least done her hair.”
“Shhh,” says Susanna. “Leave her alone.”
“Why?”
“Just… she’s nice.”
“Fuck nice. She’s—”
“Enough!” shouts Robbi. “Stop being a bitch to her, Kara, or you can go home.”
“Yeah,” Kat agrees. “If you can’t be nice for once, go home.”
“Fuck you,” mumbles Kara.
But, sadly, she doesn’t leave.
“Who’s turn is it to buy the next pitcher?” asks a drunk Robbi.
“Mine.” Sliding out of our big booth, I hold up two fingers. “Two?”
“Two!” shouts Susanna. “And get some fries.”
I shake my head. Cy’s serves bar food most days, but I know for sure they aren’t serving food tonight. They never do when they know the bar is going to be wall-to-wall people.
“They don’t serve food when it’s like this.” I point to the sea of people.
Susanna gives me a sad face as I begin the long trek up to the bar. There’s only one here at Cy’s Roost, and since this place is packed due to the beer specials, it takes me a while to weave through the hordes, but not nearly as long as it’s taking me to get served now that I’m at the bar. Being short is not in my favor right now. I’m waving my arm like a maniac to get the attention of one of the bartenders when I hear my name.
“Quinn!”
Turning my head to the right, I hear it again but from my left. Rotating my head toward the voice, I smile when I see him. Bryant. Quick as I can, I squeeze past several people until I’m next to him. “Hey.”
Bryant chuckles, and it’s so adorable. “This place is insane, huh?”
“It is. I’m supposed to be getting beer for my roomies, and it’s taking forever.”
Before I can say another word, Bryant has flagged down a bartender. Leaning close to me, he whispers, “What do you need?”
My God, his breath just hit my right ear. It made my skin pebble with goose bumps. I even got a whiff of his breath—minty. His cologne is subtle but manly. My goodness, this guy.
“Hello. Earth to Quinn.” He chuckles again.
“Oh.” I flush bright red. “Sorry. Two pitchers of Light, please.”
I watch as he leans over several people to order my beer. In no time, he’s got both pitchers in his hand along with an empty glass. Then he says, “I’ll follow you.”
“Oh, okay.” I start the long walk back, but this time, he’s right behind me. And I mean right behind me. He’s bumped into me several times, and I’m not going to lie, it felt amazing each and every time.
When I get to the table, the girls are all huddled together, laughing.
“Finally, Jesus,” Kara grumbles. “Where’d you have to get it, China?”
She really is a bitch. Without another word, Bryant sets the pitchers down on the table. Turning to me, he asks, “Mind if I join you?”
Oh hell. “Of course not.” I quickly slide into the booth, and he follows close behind.
“Hey,” says Kara with a fake-ass smile. “Who’s your friend, Quinn?”
“Oh, right.” I giggle like a dork. “This is Bryant.” I point to him. “Bryant, these are my roommates.” I pause for a second and point at Kara. “Well, not her.”
Bryant leans forward with his hand out to her. “Bryant Falco. What’s your name, not a roommate?” Then he chuckles. It sounds stupid.
“Kara,” she says sweetly. “Kara Becker.”
I stare in stunned silence as she places her hand in his. It stays there for a long time. When he gives her hand a squeeze, it feels like he just squeezed the hell out of my heart. What the ever-loving—
“Quinn!” shouts Kat from across the table. So, like two feet away.
“Yeah?”
“Did you hear from those hot Brits again?”
“Yeah, like that’d ever happen.” Kara snorts.
I look at Kara and see she still has her hand in Bryant’s. Giving their hands the evil eye, I turn to Kat. “I did, actually.”
I know, I know. I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone about the second phone call, but, well, I can’t let Kara get away with her snide remarks.
“What?” squeaks Patsy from the far end of the table. “When?”
“The next night.”
“The night of our powwow?” asks Kat.
“Yeah. Another late call. Three in the morning.”
Kat asks, “Was it both of them?”
“No, just one. The one who made the call the first night.”
I watch Kara open her mouth, but I jump in first. “He called to apologize for waking me up and for the wrong number.”
Robbi asks, “So, what’d you say?”
“That it was okay. I don’t know. We talked for a while. I found out a few things about him.”
Susanna joins the conversation. “Like what?”
“He’s a rugby player.”
“How do you know that?” Kara snaps.
I quickly glare at her, then answer, “He was in a gym. There was a team logo behind him, so I asked him what it was.” I decide to add more. “There were other guys working out around him.”
“Rugby?” asks Bryant. “Where is this guy from?”
“He’s British,” responds Patsy.
Bryant has taken an interest now. “Is he professional?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. He looks like he could be a professional athlete. His body, I mean.”
“Jesus. Do you guys really believe this shit?” Kara spits, crossing her arms in front of herself like a petulant child. What the hell is her problem with me?
“Fine. Here.” I pull the phone out of my little purse. Searching the FaceChat for recent calls, I find his number. Without another thought, because beer has given me courage, I hit the Call button. My roommates have squeezed in closer. If Kat could crawl onto my lap, I think she would. Turning on the speaker, we hear it ring once, then twice. When it rings a third time, I assume he’s not going to answer. Just as I’m about to hang up, I hear him. “Quinn. Love.”
Thank. Fuck.
He’s lying on white sheets. His hair is messy, and he’s shirtless. I can see more of his tattoos from this point of view. “Hi, Cooke. Did I wake you?”
“You did, love. Turnabout’s fair play, eh? Where are you? It’s noisy. Are you in a pub?”
I snort. “A bar. I’m with my friends. They didn’t believe me when I told them about your wrong number. They thought I made up the whole Maxwell Quinn debacle.”
“Debacle.” He chuckles, and it sounds sexy and sleepy. “I’d call it kismet rather than a debacle, love, because I met you.”
“Oh.” That was nice.
“God damn it, Quinn. Let us see him.” Kat’s bouncing in her seat.
“Right.” Talking to Cooke, I
tell him, “I’m turning the phone so you can meet my friends.”
“All right. Only fair after me mates the other day.”
Without another word, I hold my phone up so everyone can see him. I start with Bryant. “That’s Bryant. Then Patsy.” I skip Kara. Ha! “Then there’s Kat, Lindsay, Robbi, and Susanna.” I pull the phone back to face me.
“Who was the blonde? You didn’t mention her name.”
Of course he noticed that. “Oh, that’s just Kara.”
I feel the phone being wrenched from my hands. I’m gobsmacked that Kara just took my phone. “Hi, Cooke was it?” Kara preens. “You’ll have to forgive Quinn. She’s very rude. We’re used to it, though.”
Cooke sounds surprised. “Oh?”
“Yeah, we barely tolerate her. She—”
I reach over and grab my phone from her hands. Without another thought, I end the call. I’ve had it with this girl. I tried to keep my mouth shut, but no more. “Kara,” I say loudly. “I have no idea what I ever did to you, but I’m only going to say this once. Back. The. Fuck. Off.”
“Or what?” She sniffs. “You going to sit on me?”
When Bryant chuckles, that’s it. It’s like a stab in the back with a bowie knife. So, I turn to him. “Let me out, please.”
“Quinn,” he starts.
I give him my best glare. “Bryant. Let. Me. Out.”
He quickly slides out of the booth, and I follow him. Stepping away from the table, I move as fast as I can toward the back door. Thankfully, the place has thinned out a little, so it’s not a struggle to get through the crowd. When I’m nearly at the back door, I hear Patsy or one of them yelling my name, but I ignore them. I need to go home. I want to be by myself.
Stepping out onto Hayward Avenue, I turn north. When it meets up with Lincoln Way, I take a left just as my phone rings. I look down and see the FaceChat icon flashing. Without thinking, I press the button to answer. “Hello?”
“Quinn?”
My goodness, I could listen to him say my name forever in that pretty English accent. “Yeah?”