by Lane Hart
“Exactly!” Skyler giggles. “Don’t you worry you’ll break something in here or get it dirty?” she asks, sitting up straight on the sofa.
“Nah. Ty’s doesn’t give a shit. He’s so rich he can just replace whatever we break,” I tell her. “Also, we have a housekeeper who comes three times a week. You really think three messy football players could keep this place clean?”
“Oh, so you’re a, um, a football player too?” she asks when I take a seat on the loveseat that makes an L-shape with the sofa.
“Ah, yeah,” I answer, rubbing the back of my warming neck in embarrassment. I’m more of a fooball bencher since I don’t really get to play.
“That’s cool,” Skyler tells me. “Not that I know any positions other than quarterback, and that Graham was a runner or something when he played in high school.”
“I’m a quarterback,” I admit. “Well, third-string, so I don’t get any playing time, but that’s my position. And Graham’s a running back. Ty is a tight end, so we all play offensive positions.”
Skyler blinks at me and then says, “I hear the words coming out of your mouth, but they sound like a foreign language.”
“Sorry,” I tell her with a chuckle.
“If you keep saying them while I’m here for the next few weeks, then maybe I’ll start to acclimate or whatever.”
“Maybe,” I agree. “So, did you bring a swimsuit? We have a really huge pool out back.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder toward the back door.
“Um, no,” she says with a shake of her head, her face looking a little pale. “I don’t really swim.”
“Seriously? Not even when it’s roasting outside?”
“Um, yeah. Not really a fan of water,” Skyler replies in a rush. “Would you mind showing me which room I’ll be staying in? I’m sort of beat from the flight and all.”
“Ah, sure.” I get to my feet, still a little confused about what she has against pools. “It’s right up the stairs. You’re gonna be staying in Graham’s room.” On the way up, I grab her luggage so that she doesn’t have to carry it any further. I still can’t believe she walked all this way with it.
“But where will he sleep?” she asks, following me up the staircase.
“On the sofa,” I reply over my shoulder.
“No. No way. I can’t take his bedroom. He’s going to be going to class and needs to rest. I can sleep on the sofa.”
“You’re here to help Graham,” I remind her. Walking into his room that’s filled with trophies and awards, I flip on the light switch and turn to face her. “You should get your own room. Especially since you’re the only girl in the house now.”
“Are you sure?” she asks while chewing on the corner of her lips nervously.
“Oh yeah,” I assure her with a smile.
Already, I can tell that Skyler isn’t like anyone else I’ve ever met, and not just because she doesn’t know about my family’s money. She seems kind and caring, unlike most of the narcissistic girls we go to school with. If I had to guess, I bet those characteristics lead to people walking all over her and taking advantage of her, like Graham.
It’s great that Skyler’s here to help our friend and roommate, but I plan to make sure he doesn’t use up all of her goodness.
Chapter 4
Skyler
I’m in Graham Lawson’s bedroom.
Holy crap, I’m gonna be sleeping in his bed!
Too bad he won’t be sleeping in it with me.
His roommate said that Graham will be crashing on the sofa in the living room while I take his room. That doesn’t seem right. Maybe I can convince him to just let me have the sofa. Besides, he’s the one who should be well-rested for classes if he’s going to pass.
Despite what some people who went to school with us thought, Graham isn’t dumb. He’s actually really smart but just has a problem concentrating on one thing for too long. I’m pretty sure he was even diagnosed as having Attention Deficit Disorder, or ADD.
I’m walking around, looking at the pictures of him and his friends on his dresser mirror when the voice I remember all too well suddenly says, “Hey, you’re here!” from behind me, nearly scaring the piss out of me.
“Hey,” I reply when I turn around to face him. God, he’s even sexier in person than I remember. He’s bigger, more muscular in his arms and chest, and his dark hair is cut close to his head, making him look tough and dangerous. I’m unable to form another word before he tosses his arm full of books on the bed where they bounce, and then he’s suddenly there, right in front of me, hugging me so fiercely that my feet momentarily leave the floor.
“You look exactly the same!” Graham says when he sets my feet back down on the ground and pulls his arms away. “Thank you so much for coming.”
It takes me a moment to catch my balance since my head feels like it’s spinning. And great, of all the times he would hug me, it would be now, after I walked miles in the heat and am in desperate need of a shower and more deodorant.
“Ah, sure,” I tell him.
“You can unpack your things in here. I’ve cleared out a few drawers,” Graham says when he goes over and opens the top dresser drawers. “Oh, and I keep my keys on top of here. You can borrow my car anytime since I’ll be walking back and forth to campus.”
“Thanks, but I don’t have a driver’s license,” I admit. Wanting to avoid having a conversation about why an almost twenty-one-year-old isn’t capable of getting behind the wheel of a car, I quickly continue. “And I don’t need to sleep up here in your room. I can sleep downstairs. You’re gonna need to get lots of rest…”
“I’ll be fine on the sofa. You’ll make sure I’m ready for my classes, right?”
“Ah, right,” I agree. “So, which ones, I mean, what courses are you going to be taking?”
“Well, there wasn’t much left to pick from,” Graham says before he goes over and sits on the bed to pick up the textbooks. “The first one is World Geography.”
“Good. That should be pretty easy,” I tell him, taking a seat next to him on the bed just because I can. God, he still smells the same, like masculine heaven.
“What else?” I ask, to keep him talking to me.
“Ah, let’s see,” he says as he reaches over for the stack of books. “Oh, Sociology.”
Okay, that doesn’t sound so bad so far.
“Then I know you’re, like, great at math and all, so I picked Intro to Statistics, since I failed it the first time and have to have it to graduate.”
“Right,” I agree.
“And then finally, there’s a business class on, like, career planning or something.”
“Wow, so you’re taking Geography, Sociology, Statistics, and a business class every day, five days a week?”
“Yep,” he answers with a nod.
“For eight weeks?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s a lot, Graham,” I tell him honestly. “I mean, I would probably struggle to handle this course load in the crammed summer session. You’re probably going to have hours of reading assignments every night.”
“I know. That’s why you’re here. To make sure that I stay on track and get everything done,” he says.
“What are they requiring for you to stay on the team?” I ask.
“A two-point-oh GPA,” he says, which sounds pretty lenient.
“And what’s yours right now?”
Graham looks away and blows out a breath. “You’re gonna think I’m an idiot.”
“No, I’m not,” I assure him. “You just hate going to classes and would rather be out on the football field, that’s all.”
Finally, he softly says, “One-point-eight.”
“Okay. I’ll enter that in the formula to figure out what grades you need to bring it up.”
“You can do that sort of math in your head?” he asks.
“No,” I reply with a smile. “There’s a tool online. I’ll need the total hours of coursework you’ve completed and all too
.”
“Sure,” he says. “I really appreciate you canceling your summer plans to help me. If anyone can get me through these classes, it’s you.”
“I’ll try my best,” I promise him. “But you’re gonna have to put in one-hundred percent of the effort.”
“I know,” he says.
“You can’t miss a single class, so you can’t party every night.”
“Tonight’s the last one for a while,” he agrees with his signature breathtaking grin. “Are you gonna come hang out with us at the pool?”
“I don’t think so.” I feel awkward and goofy enough, just around Graham. Throw in a few dozen more people and water deep enough to drown in, and I may have a panic attack.
“Come on. It’ll be fun,” he says, getting to his feet.
“I-I don’t have a bathing suit.” That’s actually the truth. I don’t even own one.
“Look, I know you can’t swim or don’t like water or whatever because of the accident, but if you come hang out with us at the pool, you may like it more than you think.”
“How did you know—” I start to ask.
“We grew up in the same neighborhood, and I talked to you almost every day for four years,” he reminds me. “I do remember a few things about you.”
“Oh,” I mutter.
“Think about it, okay?” Graham says, making his way toward the door.
“Okay,” I agree, even though my decision has already been made.
There’s no way I’ll ever be able to dip a toe in their pool.
Chapter 5
Tyson Pratt
“So, where’s your tutor or whatever?” I ask Graham over the music of the sound system as we hang out by the pool, sipping on ice cold beers, and waiting for our guests to arrive.
“She’s upstairs unpacking,” he answers.
“Did you know she walked all the way from the airport?” Charlie asks.
“She doesn’t like cars.”
“Odd, but okay,” Charlie says. “Is she coming down to swim with us?”
“Nah, I doubt it,” Graham answers. “Skyler’s still just as shy as she was in high school, and I forgot that she doesn’t like water...”
“What do you mean she doesn’t like water and she doesn’t like cars?” I question him.
“I don’t think she can swim,” Graham explains. “And when she was little, she nearly drowned in the Card Sound.”
“Jeez,” Charlie mutters.
“That still doesn’t explain why she doesn’t like cars,” I point out, thinking this girl sounds crazier and crazier by the second.
Graham’s jaw clenches, and he glares at me before he lowers his voice and says, “She nearly drowned because her psycho mother drove off the bridge with her in the back seat, trying to kill them both.”
“Holy shit,” Charlie mutters. “That’s awful.”
And boy, do I feel like a complete jackass now.
“Yeah,” Graham agrees. “She was only like seven or eight. Some fishermen in the sound saw it happen and were able to save Sky, but not her mother.”
“But wait, how do you know her mom did it on purpose?” I ask.
Graham sighs in annoyance, like he doesn’t like talking about this shit. “Because everyone heard that Sky told the police that her mother was talking crazy, telling her not to be afraid of dying and shit before she veered off the side of the bridge.”
“Wow,” Charlie says. “Was she psychotic or something?”
“People said she was schizophrenic or whatever. I don’t know,” Graham replies. “It’s not like Sky ever talked about her.”
“Can you imagine? The person who brought you into the world and is supposed to care for you, tries to kill you instead? How does a kid handle that?” Charlie asks.
“No clue. At least her dad seems like a good guy,” Graham replies. “Anyway, just be nice to her while she’s here, okay?” He looks between Charlie and me. I don’t think he’s just concerned about us running off his tutor, but that he actually cares about her.
“Yeah, of course,” I tell him. I haven’t even seen the girl yet, but it sounds like she’s already dealt with enough shit to last a lifetime. While I was a kid playing flag-tag and catch with my dad, she was struggling to survive.
“I’m gonna go see what Sky wants for dinner,” Graham says before he gets up and tosses his towel over his shoulder to head back into the house.
“You got to meet her?” I ask Charlie.
“Yeah. She’s cute. And nothing like Meg Griffin,” he tells me with a grin.
“You like her,” I accuse.
“Well, sure. Did you miss the sob story?” he asks.
“No, I think you liked her before the sob story.” Then, curious, I ask, “How cute is she?”
“Not your type,” he mutters with a roll of his dark chocolate eyes.
“So, I have a type? And you think you know it?” I ask him, since I wouldn’t say that I go for one particular type of girl.
“Ah, yeah,” Charlie huffs. “We’re friends who have lived together for three years. You like the wild girls that are covered in ink, have crazy blue or purple hair and nose rings. The attention whores like you, who practically have ‘Up for anything’ tattooed on their foreheads.”
“Wow,” I say with a bark of laughter, since that does pretty much sum up all the girls I’ve slept with in college. In high school, I dated Amber, the cute, shy brunette who could easily blend into the crowd for two years, and then she broke up with me when we went to different colleges. So, I figured that if the good girl couldn’t be trusted to not break my heart, then I may as well have some fun with the bad girls.
“Am I wrong?” Charlie asks.
“Nope,” I reply with a shake of my head.
“You like the ones who are freaks in bed,” he adds.
“How would you know what they’re like in bed?” I ask, since we’ve never been with the same woman as far as I know because of the bro code.
“My room is right next door. I can hear them through the wall,” he grumbles. “And you.” With a smirk, he asks, “What the hell was that one last week doing to make you scream like a bitch?”
“That wasn’t me, that was her,” I quickly lie while my face heats up in embarrassment. There’s not much I haven’t done in the bedroom. I’ll try anything at least once. I just had no idea that when Rita said I could fuck her any way I wanted, if she got to return the favor, that she meant it in every sense of the word and would fuck me the exact same way. A week later, and I still haven’t figured out how I feel about that dildo. “And if it bothers you so much, you should get some earplugs. Or switch rooms with Graham,” I tell Charlie, since Graham’s room is at the other end of the hallway on the opposite side of the house.
Clearing his throat, he says, “Whatever. It’s fine.”
I know my best friend is attracted to women and has slept with plenty, but for the past few months, he hasn’t been bringing anyone upstairs, preferring to get drunk and pass out alone.
While I don’t know for sure what’s going on with him, I know that something is definitely up, more than just his normal concerns that people only like him for his mountains of money.
Like he said, Charlie and I have known each other and lived together for three years. We’re close. So close that I’ve occasionally caught Charlie throwing wood for guys in the locker room. It’s not like I could ask him on the chance I’m wrong. Plus, that would effectively be admitting that I had looked at my friend’s junk.
So, for the time being, I’m content to pretend like I’m oblivious to his bisexual inclination until he’s ready to talk about it. If I had to guess, he’s afraid to say anything to Graham or me because he’s worried about what we will think. I can’t speak for Graham, but I don’t care who Charlie’s attracted to as long as he’s happy, and I doubt our roommate would either. The problem is, I don’t believe Charlie is happy. Therefore, if he thinks Graham’s tutor is cute, then I’m all for the two of them hitt
ing it off. Unless Charlie’s just crushing on the new girl to avoid owning up to his interest in men…
Chapter 6
Graham
When I get back up to my bedroom to check on Skyler, I’m not all that surprised to see her sitting cross-legged on my bed reading one of my new textbooks that is open in her lap. Her fingers on her left hand absently play with her long, chestnut-colored braid that’s draped over her right shoulder, and her lips move rapidly as she reads to herself silently. It’s weird because she’s exactly the same bookworm that I remember from high school but yet there’s something…different about her. Before, I used to think that she was cute in her glasses with a few scattered freckles over her nose, but now, three years later, sitting on my bed, she seems more feminine and less childlike. She’s…pretty, in a uniquely adorable way.
“Hey, Sky?” I finally say, causing her head to pop up.
“Hi,” she replies.
“Are you hungry? We can order a pizza or something before everyone gets here.”
“Whatever you want.” She responds as I expected because she’s always bent over backward to make other people happy, even if it means making herself miserable, like coming here to help me during her summer.
“No, you have to decide what you want,” I tell her.
“Anything is…” she starts to say, but I lean my shoulder against the doorframe with my arms crossed over my chest to wait her out.
“I’ll stand here until you decide.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to…I can fix myself something.”
“You’re my guest, and I want to feed you,” I explain. “How about pizza?”
“Pizza is fine.”
“Toppings?”
“I can pick anything off,” she says.
“Toppings?” I repeat.
“Just cheese?” she asks, sounding unsure like she wants to make sure that’s okay.
“Are you sure?” I ask.