They spend hours talking, digressing too many times to count into national politics that impact Florida.
I try to absorb as much as I can. Thankfully, they don’t mention me running for office again, because I’m not sure how long I can gracefully accept what has to be teasing on their parts.
I’m so lost trying to follow their conversation right now that I’m not even sure if a search and rescue team with GPS could ever find me. Intellectually, I know I’m not a stupid person. But I feel out of my league now.
Way out.
Not-even-playing-the-same-sport out.
By the time Carter glances at the time and starts making what are obviously the motions to get us up and moving back to our dorm, I’m utterly in love with Susa.
Worse, I know she’ll likely never be able to love someone like me. She deserves someone with drive, ambition.
Someone who doesn’t feel lost and clueless.
Someone like Carter.
I’ve dated a couple of times between high school and now. Yes, I’ve already lost my virginity, thank you very much. I’m not a total noob when it comes to relationships, even though none of the three girls I slept with ever dug deeply into my heart in a way I could say was “love.” It was more a case of we went out, they wanted to do something…and I did.
I was actually relieved when they broke it off with me, because it meant I didn’t have to do that dirty work.
When I watch and listen to Carter and Susa, I can perfectly envision them together, a true political power couple if ever there was one.
Except as I pay attention to Carter, I can also see hints that Susa’s more into him than he is her.
Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part, who knows?
There’s no small measure of mixed parts relief and regret washing through me when Carter turns to me and offers a smile as he pats my thigh. “We should think about heading back to the dorm. It’s after eleven.”
I nod. “Oh, sure. Yeah.” This evening spun past me in a flash.
“I had fun tonight, guys,” Susa says. When I look, her gaze is fixed on me.
Heat races through me and I nod. “Me, too.”
“Same time tomorrow, then? We have plenty of leftovers.” She smirks so much like Carter I’d wonder if they were related if I didn’t know they aren’t. “Bring your laundry tomorrow.”
“That’s right,” Carter says to me. “Time for you to start making good on that.”
“Sure.” I don’t mind. It’s more time I can spend with Susa. And it means it’s money I don’t have to spend on the washers at the dorm.
Like hell will I complain.
I don’t know when the “we” of me and Carter became a threesome, but I can’t say I totally mind it, either.
Maybe I’ll let Carter drive us in the Snot Box tomorrow.
Hey, I’ll take all the chances I can to look as good as I can to Susa.
* * * *
“Well, she seems nice,” Carter says as I drive us back.
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t really have to do my laundry if you don’t want to.”
“No, a deal’s a deal.” I opt to joke around with him. “Unless you’d rather have the blowjob.”
He laughs, an easy, relaxed sound. “That’s a hard choice, right there. Don’t tempt me too much. It’s been a long damn time.” But he lets the joke fade into a comfortable silence broken only by my radio playing a local rock station.
We’re almost all the way back to the dorm when he speaks again. “What do you want to do for your birthday?”
That’s six weeks away. This first week of classes, I’ll be lucky if I can remember to take a shower on a daily basis.
Then again, with Susa to look good for, that might not be so difficult after all. “I don’t know. I really hadn’t thought about it. Why?”
“I’ll take you out. My treat. I mean, twenty-one, that’s a cool birthday. I’ll drive. Get you home safe. Unless you’re supposed to go home to see your family or something.”
“God, I hope not,” I mutter. I finally realize my mother has yet to call or text me since I’ve been in Tampa. I’ve texted her at least once a day since moving in, knowing if I don’t, it’ll piss her off.
She’s allowed to ignore me, but the converse doesn’t apply.
Never has.
“That sounds like a story,” he says.
“Just a continuation of what I told you already.” I think about his offer to go out. “Okay, yeah, sure. I’d enjoy going out with you. Thanks.”
“We can even ask Susa if she wants to come with, if you want.”
I bite my tongue not to jump all over that. “Oh, sure. Yeah, that’d be fine.”
“Or would you rather celebrate it on a Friday night?”
My birthday’s on a Thursday. But come to think of it… “Yeah. Let’s do that.” I pull into our dorm building’s parking lot.
“I’ll even take it easy on you the next morning. We’ll walk instead of run.”
When I look, I spot his smirk. “You’re a real pal, big brother.”
He grins. “I try.”
I can’t go to sleep yet. Long after Carter’s turned off his lamp and presumably rolled over to go to sleep, I’m perusing information from links in the class syllabus with my earbuds in as I listen to music.
This isn’t my only class this year, but I know it is, by far, my favorite.
Even though it’s only our first day of classes.
Carter makes it enjoyable—Susa makes it perfection.
It’s after midnight when I shut my laptop down. Even with the earbuds in, I hear Carter. He had a nightmare last night, waking me up, but I cleared my throat and he immediately awakened.
Tonight’s noises on a scale of one-to-ten sound like an eleven, making last night’s maybe a one. Ripples of gooseflesh sweep over me as I listen. It’s a low, guttural moan, pained, worse than anything I’ve heard from him so far.
Sitting up, I remove my ear buds and realize he’s also sobbing.
My pulse spikes. This feels…bad.
Really bad.
I clear my throat and set my laptop on my desk, but whatever demons have Carter locked in their grasp are pretty damn strong tonight. I get up and walk around the bookshelves. He’s on his stomach, the sheet tangled and twisted around his legs. One pillow is on the floor, the other is over his head.
I keep my voice soft, not wanting to startle him. “Carter, it’s okay. Wake up.”
His whole body tenses as he freezes, seems to catch his breath, then he starts softly sobbing again, more controlled now. In relief that he’s awake, or because of his nightmare, I don’t know. Yet I can’t bear to simply walk away from someone so obviously in pain.
I walk over, grab his pillow from the floor, and sit next to him, holding the pillow in my lap and laying a hand on his back, between his shoulders. He’s drenched with sweat.
After a minute, he’s calmed himself. I draw my hand back when he rolls onto his side to face me. Even in the dim light, I can see how haggard he looks.
“Thanks,” he hoarsely says.
Lamely, I set his pillow on his bed. “You dropped this.” I don’t feel right simply getting up and leaving without making sure he’s okay first.
He sits up, and it puts our faces close, but I don’t pull away. “Thank you, Owen. I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“I wasn’t asleep yet. I was on my laptop. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you sooner.” I make a mental note to start leaving one earbud out so I can hear him.
He slowly nods and finally meets my gaze. In the dim light, his brown eyes look nearly black, and the haunted expression on his face tugs at me.
This is a man who’s been through hell and just relived it.
“You don’t have to do my laundry,” he finally says. “I have a feeling I’m going to be putting you through hell this year.”
“I don’t mind.” I offer him a smile. “I moved here from Hell. This is like a vacation. And I�
�ll make you a deal in return.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I’ll do your laundry as long as you promise to ride to Orlando with me any time my presence is requested.” I offer him my hand. “Deal?”
He looks at my hand for a long moment before taking it, squeezing, but like he’s reluctant to let go for fear that his nightmare might suck him down again. “Deal,” he says.
* * * *
We walk the next morning. Carter’s not limping as badly as our first day out, but I can tell he didn’t sleep well, even after the nightmares. We set out early, while it’s still relatively cool, and none of our pod mates are up and moving yet.
“Tell me about your mom,” he says as we head west along a sidewalk.
“That’s a weighty subject.” But I talk, mostly because Carter asks me pointed, insightful questions during our walk. By the time we make the turnaround to head back, I realize I’ve told Carter more about my dysfunctional family—including my father—than I’ve ever told anyone else.
Ever.
Never before have I ever had anyone I trusted as much as Carter, someone who is utterly beyond the reach of my mother’s influence.
I never felt any freedom growing up, even at school. I made the mistake once in ninth grade of confiding to a kid I thought was my friend. I’d talked about wishing I could at least go visit with my father.
Never did I suspect my mother even knew the kid’s mother, but within a week I was getting the cold shoulder from Mom. It made me practically frantic trying to figure out what I’d done wrong so I could atone for it.
She let me twist in the wind the better part of two weeks, my step-father no goddamned help whatsoever, before she icily informed me that if I’d rather live with that worthless sonofabitch—because god forbid we use his real fucking name—then I could call him up and have him come get me. Which he probably wouldn’t do, because if he wouldn’t pay child support, why would he even want me?
Which, of course, led to me tearfully begging to stay and apologizing for even saying anything about it to my friend.
Also led me to not trust anyone for years.
Not with stuff like that.
Damn sure not my mother.
Hell, two of the three girls I dated, I never told her about, including the girl last year.
To this day, I’m still not sure which pissed my mother off more, that I’d wanted to go visit my father, or that I dared talk about him to someone else without her permission. Not that it matters, I suppose.
“It sounds like your dad escaped,” Carter notes.
“Yeah, but he was no angel, and I say that as an adult looking back. But, no, I don’t think he’s not the monster my mother tried to make him out to be, either.”
“It’s good you’ve gained some perspective.”
“Especially at my age.”
“Do you have any contact with him?”
I shrug. “A little on Facebook. Not openly. Because even though my profile’s locked down I wouldn’t put it past someone to tell my mother if they saw me interacting with him just to score points with her and my step-father.”
“Sounds like a charming woman,” he drawls.
“Thing is, she can be. She can come off looking like the world’s greatest mother. To the point that it would sometimes make me feel like maybe I was crazy. Maybe there was something wrong with me. Then I’d remember things she said or did and realize, no, it’s not me, it’s her.”
“I take it you don’t plan to return to Orlando after you get your law degree?”
“Hell no. I think I’ll probably stay in Tampa. I still have years to worry about that.”
He shrugs. “Never too early to start planning.”
I unlock the front door of our building and hold it open for him. “Still wanting to get me elected, huh?” I hope it comes out snarky and teasing.
Yet he pauses, meeting my gaze. “Why can’t you believe what we see in you?”
My face heats. Fortunately, I can blame it on the pace of our walk and the heat. “I just told you about my mother.”
He pats my shoulder. “Let’s grab our showers and get some breakfast, buddy.”
I follow him inside and wonder not how long I can put up with Carter and his nighttime terrors, but how long he can put up with me and my daytime ones.
Chapter Eleven
I like to joke—privately, with Carter and Susa—that I am a pet who arrived mostly pre-trained. The first time I make that joke is on that Tuesday afternoon, when Carter and I return to Susa’s.
We bring our laundry with us. Carter is the one who suggested we take the Snot Box today, because it’s easier to get the baskets in and out of the back hatch, rather than wrangle them into the trunk of my car.
Logic, yo.
But I grab his basket and carry it downstairs for him, stacked on top of mine, despite him offering to carry his own. We’ve both stripped our beds and it doesn’t escape my notice that there are two extra sets of sheets—tightly folded, because even his dirty laundry is stored neater than mine—in Carter’s things.
When we reach the Snot Box, he opens the back hatch for me. Once I have the baskets and laundry detergent stowed, then he does something that totally surprises me—he hands me his keys.
“Come on,” he says as he heads for the passenger door. “You know the way.”
I scurry around after him, opening the door for him. He’s still limping more than he was yesterday and it’s the least I can do for him. “You serious?”
“Yeah.” He grins. “Unless you’re too embarrassed to be seen driving the Snot Box?”
I’m feeling a little humbled that he’s actually trusting me enough to let me drive his car. “No, I’ll drive.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
I close the door for him and wonder if it’s his pain making him hand this off to me. I know he takes a couple of medications, but I don’t know what, and of course I haven’t pried. That’d be fucking douchey. I saw him taking something not long before we left today and he’s definitely moving more stiffly this afternoon than he was this morning.
When I get behind the wheel I realize my legs are longer than his. “I need to adjust the seat and mirrors. Sorry.”
“That’s fine.” Carter settles back in his seat and I notice him wince.
I don’t mention it, because he seems to be the kind of guy who doesn’t want to be fussed over too much in the light of day. Despite the traffic, we make it to Susa’s place about twenty-five minutes later, and I hurry around to the back hatch to grab our stuff before he can.
Susa greets us with a smile and holds the door for me, directing me to the utility room. Even though I wanted to put them in the baskets and carry them, too, Carter’s carrying the bottles of soap and fabric softener, because he’s stubborn and he’s Carter.
“I don’t mind if you want to wash my clothes with yours,” Carter says.
“That’s fine. Makes things easier.”
He hesitates in the utility room doorway, leaning against it. “Look, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I don’t really expect you to wash my clothes all year.”
It’s almost like there’s a worried tone in his voice. I expect he’s concerned about last night, but honestly, it doesn’t freak me out. He’s the most honest person I’ve had in my life.
Ever.
I turn, wanting to lighten the mood. “I expect you to teach me how to do it the right way. I’m a well-trained pet. I just need a little fine-tuning in some areas, that’s all.”
That earns me a hearty laugh and a smile that makes me feel good deep down inside. When he laughs at me, it’s never cruel.
That’s something I’m not used to, and I think I’m going to come to enjoy it a lot.
“Okay,” he finally says, still smiling. “We’ll whip you into shape. I just wanted to spare you fingering my briefs, is all.”
“Hey, fingering your briefs is a small price to pay to have a wingman to help me face
my mother. I’m getting the better end of this deal, trust me.”
Once I start the first load and I join them in the kitchen, Susa gives us a formal tour of the house. Now that we’re not worried about Kendall showing up out of nowhere, or distracted by cooking and conversation, we can all relax. She doesn’t have much in the way of furniture. A desk in one bedroom that looks out on the pool lanai, some boxes stashed in the second guest room—which doesn’t have a bed—and a king-sized bed, nightstand, and dresser in the master bedroom, which also looks out on the pool. She has a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, but the cable box and DVD player sit on the dresser under it.
She has a hot tub and a large pool on a screened lanai, and the small backyard is surrounded by a tall privacy fence.
I start to think about her skinny-dipping, then immediately shut that thought off when I realize it’s threatening to give me a hard-on that I won’t be able to easily hide in my shorts.
“Not going to take on a roommate?” Carter asks when we return to the living room.
“Don’t need one. Daddy bought me the house, and my trust fund has more than enough in it to keep me going for several years. By then, I’ll be earning a living as a lawyer.” She smirks. “And if something was to happen, I’ll just call Daddy.” Her smile fades. “I’m careful with my money. I’m not stupid. I know how lucky I am, and I am not about to squander what I have. He’s been teaching me how to manage my money since I was five and started getting an allowance.”
We head to the kitchen. I take over heating our dinner while Carter perches on one of the barstools and he and Susa talk more politics. They don’t cut me out of the conversation, but honestly, I’m having fun just listening to the two of them. Since I’m only reheating stuff and putting together a salad, I don’t really need to focus on what I’m doing like I did last night.
Before we sit down to eat, I transfer the first load of clothes from the washer to the dryer and start a second load. It feels very…domestic. Despite Susa’s obvious money, she doesn’t come off as pretentious, and neither does her house, despite how much it’s obviously worth.
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