Sarah slid into the booth across from me with a big smile. “Hey, Josh! Wow, you guys left early Sunday morning.”
I nodded. Not much to say to that.
“Were you hung over?” she asked.
“Nope. You?”
“I still might be.” She laughed. “Things got a little crazy, huh?”
“A little,” I agreed. A little was right. I’d definitely done a lot crazier. Drinking and passing out at someone’s apartment didn’t rate high on my crazy scale.
“So anyway, I think I have your shirt.” Her brow furrowed. “The red one? It has some sort of stain on it or something.”
This confirmed my original thought—she didn’t remember everything. We’d ordered late night Chinese food, and somehow when she opened one of the little mustard packets, it squirted all over Derek’s shirt.
“It’s actually Derek’s. You got Chinese mustard on it.”
“Oh, okay.” She laughed. “In that case, I’ll wash it and give it back to him in class. Speaking of class, I should probably get going.” She stood, but seemed reluctant to leave. Biting her lip, she said, “Hey, do you want to go out next weekend?”
I hesitated for a second, and she nervously adjusted the strap on her backpack.
“Or if you’re busy—” She said the words in the rush.
“I’ll talk to Derek and see if he’s up for it,” I said slowly. “Maybe we can meet up again.”
Her face fell, but she quickly masked it with a smile. “Of course. Sounds good. See you later, Josh.”
Sarah was cute, and it was my shitty luck that when a chick asked me out, I felt honor bound to refrain. Despite the fact that women were supposed to be equal to men, equality didn’t exist in the dating sphere. If I wanted a date, ninety percent of the time I’d have to ask the girl out. Sure, sometimes girls would give you hints that they wanted a date, but it was rare they would put themselves out there. I could count on one hand the number of girls who’d asked me out, and I’d been on a lot of dates.
It didn’t really matter, though. Truth be told, I wasn’t interested in Sarah anyway.
I drummed my fingers on the table. It wasn’t worth it to go home before my first class of the day, but I had nothing else to do on campus. I could stay here and eat more doughnuts, but I’d already had four, and a croissant. So I got a refill on my coffee and left.
My phone chimed in my pocket and I pulled it out, cupping my hand around it to block the glare of the sun so I could see who was calling.
Fuck. It was my dad.
My thumb hovered over the ignore button, but a second before it would have gone to voicemail, I answered it. I hadn’t spoken to him since I’d come back to school after Christmas, which had been weeks ago. I could only put it off so long. Might as well get it over with.
“Josh.” His tone was surprised. Who the hell was he expecting? “I didn’t think you’d be awake this early.”
“Then why did you call?”
“I was going to leave a message.”
“Okay, what’s the message?”
“Mackenzie’s fifth birthday is coming up.”
“Okay.”
“We’re having a party—”
“I can’t make it.”
“I didn’t even tell you when it is.”
The date didn’t matter. It could be my turn to scrub toilets in the Beta house with nothing but a toothbrush and my bare hands and I wouldn’t use this as an excuse to bail on bathroom duty. And that’s saying something. Ever seen how filthy the toilets get in a frat house with twenty guys? Let’s just say a hazmat suit might be your safest bet.
“I’m really busy this semester. You know, with classes and everything.”
I waited for the normal parent questions. You know, how are classes going? Shit like that. But nope. My dad ceased giving a fuck when I moved out. When I’m under his roof, he rides my ass, but when I’m gone? Outta sight, outta mind.
“Joshua.”
That was all he said, like I was eight years old again, like him saying my name was supposed to get me to fall in line.
“Dad,” I said back in the same tone.
“Look, son”—he was getting angry—“it would mean a lot to your stepmother if you would come.”
I snorted. I’d shared a house with the woman for years, and she’d never taken any interest in me. So I wasn’t buying that. I didn’t know what the deal was now, but it sure as hell wasn’t so we could have a happy little family reunion. My dad was happier without me there, with his new family—Laura and Mackenzie. They were a perfect trio.
He sighed. “Just promise me you’ll think about it. I’ll email you the details.”
I scowled as I tucked my phone into my pocket. Most stuff rolled off my back. Except my dad. He was a perpetual knife stuck square in the middle of it.
I wanted to go home and crawl into bed, but if I did that, I’d miss the notes for next week’s test in my civil war class. The me from two weeks ago wouldn’t care. But I was responsible now. Or so I kept telling myself.
My phone chimed, signaling an incoming email, no doubt the details for the little family get-together. He had his perfect family now, even more so with me out of the house. So why the fuck was he trying to bring me back into the fold?
The rage that accompanied any interaction I had with my dad coursed through my veins. My fingers curled into a fist, crushing the empty coffee cup in my hand, and I suddenly felt like punching something, anything, like the brick wall of the building next to me. I wasn’t a violent guy, but what could I say? My dad brought out the best in me.
…
Bri
“You get it? A porcupine!”
The crowd around me laughed. The guy to my right snorted, causing the girl across from me to convulse so hard tears ran down her face.
I had no idea what was so funny. Even though I was sitting in the center of the group, I’d missed the joke, only catching the punch line. I was too preoccupied for stupid party humor.
But I laughed anyway.
I gestured as if I needed another drink and excused myself, even though my cup was full. By some miracle, the single bathroom in Casey’s apartment was unoccupied, and I closed myself in. The alcohol went down the drain. I should probably drink it, but I was never one to drown my troubles in fuzzy navels. When I was seven, my foster father hit the bottle a little too hard, and the memory of listening to his slurred lecture on propriety and temperance stuck with me. He always was a great storyteller. I never got to hear the end of that particular speech, though, since he face-planted through the glass coffee table. He lost two teeth and got within half an inch of having a shard of glass in his left eye.
That was the last story he ever told me. They put me in a new home after that.
Casey had been right—Brett didn’t want to come to her party. In fact, he didn’t even want to see me. He’d canceled his weekend visit altogether, saying something had come up at work so he wouldn’t be able to drive down Friday night, and since I had plans Saturday night anyway, he’d just stay home.
I never thought I’d say this, but maybe there was something to be said for a more social personality. Like Josh. True, he was a bit over the top, but I wouldn’t mind if Brett were a little more like him—if a smile appeared more readily.
Josh always seemed to have a smile on his face. Except when I did my best to remove it. Guilt pooled in my gut. I could stand to be a bit nicer to him.
I stared at my empty cup and frowned. Holy crap. Why was I thinking about Josh? And did I really just compare Brett and Josh? There was no comparison. The two were nothing alike.
Which I guess was kind of the point. Josh was the exact opposite of the kind of guy I dated. But was that necessarily a bad thing? Lately, I’d been questioning my choice in men. This was the third weekend in a row Brett had stood me up. Enough was enough. I obviously had fallen off the bottom of his priority list, where I’d been the last few months.
Looking in the mirror, I ran my hands th
rough my hair. I had to face the inevitable. God, I hated confrontations, but the good news was I wouldn’t have to break up with him in person, since he never bothered to see me anyway.
I sighed and left the bathroom. I shouldn’t end a nearly two-year long relationship over the phone. It just wasn’t right. But he’d left me no choice.
I rounded the corner and almost ran right into Casey.
“There you are!” she said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
I frowned. I’d only been in the bathroom a few minutes. “What’s up?”
“We’re going to play Battle of the Sexes.”
“Really?”
She grabbed my hand. “That’s not lame, is it?”
I shrugged. “What do I know about lame?”
She laughed. “True. This is a party full of grad nerds. Anyway, we need another player. Will you join the girls’ team?”
“As opposed to the boys’?”
“Are you okay?” She cocked her head and studied me. I normally wasn’t one to throw out sarcastic comments.
I pasted a smile of my face. “Fine.”
“Sure?”
“Just…trouble with Brett,” I admitted. I’d wait until after I’d broken up with him to tell her. I couldn’t bear it right now if Casey looked happy at the news.
Casey gave me a sympathetic look, saying nothing. Despite her recent comments about Brett, I knew she didn’t like to see me upset.
I didn’t like change. Brett was stable; he was safe. I knew what to expect with him. He’d graduated and gotten a good job. Life with him would be secure, even if it wouldn’t be fulfilling.
And that was a crappy reason to stay with someone. A therapist would say that I stayed with Brett as a result of my unstable childhood experience in the foster system. They’d be right, but that still didn’t make me like change any better.
“It’s okay,” I said, attempting a smile. “He’s busy, and I need to work on my paper for Dr. Ewing’s class anyway.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Don’t remind me. I’ll be doing that tomorrow, too. Want to meet at Perky Patty’s and work together for a few hours?”
I murmured noncommittally. Tomorrow might be a stay-in-my-pajamas type of day, an eat-ice-cream-out-of-the-carton kind of day. That phone call to Brett was not going to be easy.
She linked her arm with mine. “Come on. Enough talk about school. Let’s go kick the boys’ asses.”
Chapter Five
Josh
The heavy bass of the music from the party room vibrated the loose change sitting on my desk. What had started out as a small private party had quickly escalated. There had to be at least a hundred people at the house, in addition to the brothers. Someone had procured a few kegs and after a quick run to Kroger, I’d whipped up a batch of my secret drink. Now I set out a stack of cups and nodded at my contribution to the impromptu party.
Other than my sparkling presence, of course. It wouldn’t be a party without that.
The upstairs had cleared out a bit, so I headed down to the party room. Brad and Luke were dominating the beer pong table, as usual. A few girls I didn’t know were dancing with each other in the middle of the room. The back door was open, letting in the frigid air. Several people were just outside the door smoking, and two kegs were entrenched in a pile of snow left over from last week’s snowfall. That was the one great thing about winter—kegs stayed ice cold.
I pulled a drink and looked out at the bonfire, which was raging. If I were a little more sober, I’d probably be worried about the height of the flames—they were easily as tall as the house—but I’d ceased caring about anything about an hour ago.
My brother Troy tapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, man, will you hold a leg?”
Two girls were attempting to help a third do a keg stand, and failing miserably. They dropped one of her legs, and she came crashing down in a fit of giggles.
I nestled my cup into a snowbank and cracked my knuckles. “Have you ever done this?” I asked them. The question was just a formality. I could tell they had no clue what they were doing.
They shook their heads and kept giggling. I laughed and looked over at Troy. He grinned and shrugged.
“All right,” I said and got into position. Troy and I each lifted a leg while one of the girls held the tap. The other used her phone to record the whole thing.
Christ, I thought for a fleeting second. I hope these girls are of age or smart enough not to post that shit on Facebook.
She started coughing after about four seconds, and we put her down, a lot more gently than her friends had.
Troy shook his head. “That wasn’t worth the effort.” My thoughts exactly.
“It was my first time!” the girl protested, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. “How long can you do it?”
“Troy’s all talk,” I said. “His record is only like twelve seconds.”
The girls looked impressed, which was not my intention. Someone had to educate them, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be Troy. Might as well be me.
“Take a leg, ladies,” I said.
Forty-four seconds later, a personal record had been set. It might even have been a record for the house. I was way too classy to keep track of things like that, though.
As I wandered back into the house, I was definitely feeling those forty-four seconds. I hadn’t done a keg stand since…I couldn’t remember. Maybe freshman year? That made my showing even more impressive.
Back up in my room, I checked on the punch and found it almost gone, so I mixed another batch, blinking several times to clear my vision enough to see my measuring cups. The guys gave me shit, calling me Betty Crocker for my stash of “baking supplies,” but that was part of the secret. You couldn’t just throw shit in a cooler and expect it to taste good. It took me almost a year to figure out the exact ratio of the ingredients. Time well spent.
I didn’t have enough of everything though, so I needed to adjust the proportions of the recipe. After several minutes of attempting complicated math in my head—impossible after a forty-four second keg stand—I gave up and just poured everything in. By now everyone was mostly drunk anyway.
After the finishing touch of dumping half a bag of ice into the cooler, I grabbed my guitar and went back downstairs, planning to bypass the party room and go out to the bonfire. Just after I stepped outside, though, the girls from the keg found me.
“Hey!” one of them said. I didn’t know any of their names.
“Hi,” I said.
“Can you show us how to shotgun a beer?” They held out a six-pack of Bud Light.
I hesitated. I could hardly see straight as it was. “Troy can probably show you.”
They started giggling. The tallest one—was she the one who did the keg stand? I’d held her leg, and I couldn’t even tell you—said, “He did, but something tells me you can do it better.”
When they put it that way, how could I not do it? One of them even produced a knife to puncture the can. I set my guitar aside and wiped the knife on my jeans before stabbing the can, making a quarter-sized hole. Then I put it up to my mouth and popped the top. Two seconds…three, tops. Done.
“Wow,” the tall one said. “You’re really good at that.”
I smiled slowly, like in slow motion. It took my lips longer to spread in a smile than it had to shotgun the beer. God, I was drunk. “It’s a gift.”
“It sure is,” the tall girl said, looking me over.
“I’m going out to the bonfire if you want to come.” I hadn’t planned on hooking up tonight, and this girl was definitely hitting on me, so I didn’t know why I said it. Force of habit, I guess.
It was weird for me, but since I’d been dealing with this academic probation shit, I hadn’t been in the mood to date. There were the girls at Thirsties last week, and now this tall girl, who had legs that went on forever. They made me wish for summer weather and short skirts instead of this God-forsaken blistering cold.
But even thoug
h I could appreciate them, I didn’t necessarily want to date them. It wasn’t like me. I wasn’t going to think about it too deeply, though. Not that I was even capable of it right now.
The tall girl smiled. “Sure,” she said, but then her friend poked her and whispered something in her ear. She sighed. “Actually our ride is here. Maybe another time?”
“Sure.”
“Give me your number, and I’ll text you so you’ll have mine.”
I rattled it off, and the girls left to catch their ride. Seconds later my phone buzzed with a text. The trouble was I didn’t even know her name, so what was I supposed to save her number as? Tall keg girl? It didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to call her anyway.
They’d left the knife, which must have been from our kitchen, and the rest of the six-pack. I considered for half a second, then shrugged. Might as well. I shotgunned two more beers and stuck the knife’s blade into the ground before continuing out to the bonfire.
See how responsible I was? Now no one would cut themselves. I’d probably forget all about retrieving the knife tomorrow, but whatever. Priorities.
Luke and Brad were there, along with Cori and Amber. Either they’d finally lost at beer pong, or Cori and Amber didn’t feel like watching anymore. Either way, I was glad to see them.
My foot got caught on a root or something, and I almost ate it. Luckily I caught myself before my lucky guitar went flying into the fire.
It was an old Epiphone, the first guitar I’d ever had, actually. My dad had refused to buy me one, thinking it was just another whim of a twelve-year-old boy who already had a stockpile of expensive sporting equipment and art supplies—you name it, I’d tried it. I had hobby ADD back then, and my dad was willing to buy me whatever just to shut me up. By the time I’d asked for a guitar, though, he’d had it. So I spent several weeks mowing the neighbors’ lawns to save up enough money for a beginner guitar that cost around a hundred bucks.
Even though I’d since gotten more expensive guitars—Fenders and even a Gibson—I still preferred my worn Epiphone. Of course, my Gibson was safe at my dad’s house. I’d be crazy to bring a two-thousand-dollar guitar to a frat house.
Wanting More (Love on Campus #2) Page 4