River was close enough for her to once again take in that mesmerizing scent emanating from him. It was disorienting. She needed a clear head to deal with Darryl. Without thinking she pushed him back.
“Ooof!” he grunted, grabbing his lower ribcage that was more red than ever.
“Oh, River. I’m sorry,” she cried, forgetting about Darryl as her hands reflexively rose to soothe the sore spot she had just pushed away.
It took a moment of soft touches to realize she was only making things worse. Once again, she took in the scenario through Darryl’s eyes, and thus, eventually her parents’. Her fingers gliding along he hills and valleys of River’s rippling abs. The bruises on River’s face and body. The wine stain covering her dress. At least the skirt wasn’t hitched up to her hip anymore.
Dear Lord, what am I doing?
She pulled her hands away and frowned at River as though it was his fault she was in this predicament. He just gave her that impish grin of his.
Time to salvage what little dignity she could.
“Thank you for escorting me home, River. I’m fine now.” She made sure that the undertone of you need to leave, now! was quite clear.
He gave her one long, assessing look.
It was barely noticeable, but she nodded in reassurance. She was fine. She watched him give Darryl one last glance that communicated some nonverbal, man-to-man Morse code that she was actually fully cognizant of, even if she couldn’t quite fully translate it.
“Goodnight Bonita,” he said, those green eyes leaving an impression on her that she wouldn’t soon forget. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
Dammit, River!
She knew he was referring to French Literature. He knew he was referring to French Literature. Darryl had no idea he was referring to French Literature. And River knew damn well that Darryl had no clue that he was referring to French Literature.
Her irritation with him returned.
Fortunately for him, she had bigger fish to fry right now. She watched River as he ambled off, long enough to make sure that he was actually leaving for good. Then she turned all her angst on Darryl.
Darryl West, son of Congressman Benjamin West, soon to be Senator Benjamin West.
“So you were just on your way back to Harvard Law and you thought, why not make a stop in New York to drop in on Bonita unannounced?” she said, resting a hand on her hip as she glared at him.
“I would have thought you’d be happy to see me. I know I was busy interning all summer so we didn’t get to spend much time together. And heaven knows you did your best to avoid me, coming up here to New York right in the middle of it. So yes, I did decide to stop by and see you, for all the thanks I get.”
He was getting angry. He had this annoying habit of turning things back on her, as though it was her fault that he showed up out of the blue with no warning. Was it any wonder she’d be annoyed?
Technically, they were sort of dating. Her parents certainly kept throwing him at her. His parents kept throwing him at her. Darryl kept throwing himself at her. Darryl’s father, being one of the most important parishioners at her father’s AME church, was always around, son in tow. People just assumed the two of them were an item, something Bonita was growing increasingly unsure of.
Darryl was handsome, like a leaner version of Morris Chestnut. . He was also smart. He’d gone to Harvard undergrad and currently attended Harvard Law. He was tied to an influential family, his father being a Congressman and his mother being from one of the wealthier black families of Baltimore. He was a “prime catch” according to all sources. He had even put in a year in the Peace Corp in Namibia.
Something about him just never made Bonita comfortable. Maybe it was because he was too perfect. She always felt a twinge of guilt about not appreciating his interest more because of that. Who wouldn’t want a man who was perfect?
“I’m sorry, Darryl. Of course it’s nice to see you,” she said tightly, forcing herself to smile.
She saw him visibly relax. She breathed her own sigh of relief.
“Frankly, I don’t know why you decided to leave D.C. so soon.”
“I had a job,” she said, once again annoyed.
Darryl gave her a patient smile, reaching out a hand to stroke her face. She instinctively shied away from it. He ignored it.
“Bonita, you know you don’t have to work. You’ve got your college fund.”
“Yes, and that’s for college,” she reminded him. “Maybe I’d like to actually have some money of my own to do things.”
“What sorts of things would you be doing up here?” he asked, frowning. She felt the tension coming back in the air.
“I don’t know, things. I’m in New York for heaven’s sake. I should be living a little.”
His eyes fell down to her dress and she found her arms crossing over the purple stain again.
“Well, obviously you’re already getting involved in…things,” he said, the condemnation coming back into his voice.
He came closer to her and once again she found herself pressing her body against the wall of her dorm to avoid being too close to a boy. This time was much less enjoyable than the first.
“Just remember Bonita, you have your parents’ reputation to consider. I don’t think it would look too good for the future Senator of Maryland to be attending a church where the pastor’s daughter is known to wander the streets of New York with shirtless men. People might get the wrong idea.” He leaned in closer, almost whispering. “If I didn’t know you so well, even I might get the wrong idea.”
Bonita felt a distinct threat underlining that last sentence and she pushed Darryl away. “Like I said, he was just escorting me home. He only took off his shirt to—you know what, I don’t even know why I’m explaining myself to you. You can tell my parents that my reputation is still firmly intact.”
He stepped back with a chuckle, and she realized the possible double entendre of what she had just said. She looked away with embarrassment. Then she got angry.
“I’m tired. I’m going to bed, and you need to go to Harvard. Goodbye, Darryl.”
She twisted around to face the door to Clark Hall, hoping he would just leave so she could retrieve her ID card in privacy. She felt his presence lingering behind her, not making a move. She sighed, then as inconspicuously as possible, she pulled her skirt up and unclasped the safety pin holding her student ID. She quickly tapped it against the reader and flung open the door, closing it behind her without looking back.
Once it was firmly closed, she fell against it, realizing that she had been holding her breath the whole time.
10
River woke up in pain. The hangover was mild compared to the ripple effects of last night’s fight. He lightly touched the side of his face and winced as a shot of pain rewarded him for it. That was no surprise since he could barely see out of that eye.
He pushed the covers down his bare chest. Sure enough there was an ugly purple bruise covering at least three of his abs. Another touch told him what he already knew: it was gonna hurt for a while.
All the same he rolled out of bed, wincing as the spinning of his head added its own little solo to an orchestra of things that were wrong with his body. When the world came to a standstill, he pushed himself up off his mattress and walked over to his laptop.
First things first. After Bonita’s exit last night, Deirdre had ranted and raved until River had finally told her to shut up, offering to pay for the damn wine glass as he quickly ran out to follow Bonita back to her dorm. Fortunately, it was his last year at Pierre, since he didn’t think she’d ever be hosting again and if she was, River sure as hell wouldn’t be invited back. All the same, he sent $200 to her PayPal account. The broken glass was partially his fault after all.
He thought back to Bonita’s little outburst and smiled. The girl had spunk. Half the people there wouldn’t have had the guts to tell Deirdre to shut up.
Bonita had a boyfriend though. River had no reason to be surprised. Al
l anyone had to do was take a look at the girl to see she would obviously be taken. Still, he had sensed a certain lack of interest on her part. And since there was no ring….
Thinking about Bonita made him think of that ruined yellow dress. It was a shame, since it had certainly worked so well with her spectacular figure. He sat there, staring at the computer, then smiled and took care of another little piece of business, before heading out.
All’s fair in love and war, Darryl.
“What the hell did you let Jeff do to your face?”
River gave a tight smile then winced when the pain hit him again. He reached out to fist bump his old friend Reggie, aka Reginald Harrison III, supreme disappointment to Sr. and Jr. Unlike most Gascony alumni, Reggie hadn’t put in for Harvard, or Pierre, or Yale or any of the other Ivy Leagues, opting instead for Pratt Institute where he could more liberally dabble in his real passion in life.
River and Reggie had been friends since middle school, going through their dark rebellious period, then falling out with one another for very specific reasons prior to their senior year of high school. It was River who had, quite rightfully been the one to reach out the olive branch at the beginning of sophomore year of college. Now they were probably closer than ever.
If Reggie had been heavyset during their old school years of black eyeliner and ripped clothes, he was downright obese these days. Even now he sipped on something neon green through a straw from a Big Gulp cup as he took in River’s face. He was dressed in a large Star Wars t-shirt and cargo shorts. In an almost ironic twist, his grooming was impeccable. He had a goatee that was neatly trimmed and brown hair that was actually styled to the point of hipsterness, with the sides cut close and the top, gelled to stylish perfection.
“I certainly hope you didn’t get that on Tiffany’s account. I mean, the chick is bangin’ but, well you remember what she used to be like. I just wish I could see what you did to Jeff,” Reggie laughed.
“You heard about the fight?” River asked in surprise.
“Reggie is all seeing and all knowing, my friend,” he responded, then laughed again. “No seriously, you think that shit doesn’t trickle down from the ivory towers to every Gascony alumn in the city? Speaking of which, I heard Deirdre got a mouthful from some normie. Please tell me she was at least cute, and if so, feel free to hook your boy up.”
River shot Reggie a dark look that his friend immediately picked up on. “Okay I’ll take that as a yes and a no. My hands are officially off. Does this mean I finally get my chance with Tiff?” he asked jokingly.
River relaxed and laughed along with his friend. “Screw the party, man. Just tell me what I want to hear?”
“They loved your stuff, man,” Reggie said, shifting the topic back to what River had come to see him about. “You got a gift for producing a quality product, my friend.”
River looked searchingly at his friends face, analyzing his expression to see if it conflicted with the words coming out of his mouth. “Seriously?” he breathed. “Don’t fucking play with me on this one.”
“River, you know I’d be the first one to tell you to fuck off, especially since you went all Captain America on my ass. Look at you; no wonder Tiffany was all over you.”
“Can we stay on topic here? What specifically did they say?”
“Specifically they said they want more. Give them the whole shebang and you’re golden.”
River eyed him speculatively.
Obliviously picking up on his friend’s doubt, Reggie got serious. “Listen man, I wouldn’t bullshit you, especially about something like this. Just be prepared for the fallout if anyone finds out.” He grinned.
River stared hard at him a moment longer as he absorbed what he was hearing. Then he blew out a deep breath. He could handle the fallout. He was Richard Wright’s son after all. He was used to fallout.
“Thanks man,” River said shaking his head, still in disbelief about the turn his life was about to take. “I honestly don’t know how to thank you for hooking this up for me.”
“How about setting me up on a date with your mom,” Reggie said, reverting back to his old crass self. “That yoga body….whoa, man.”
River shot a light jab into his arm. “First of all, she’s still in India, finding herself or some shit. Second, I think your Mountain Dew-drinking ass would be better off taking lessons from her, asshole.”
“Ouch, man. That stings,” Reggie said with mock offense, then brought them back on topic. “Frankly, I don’t know why you’re making your life difficult by going down this road. I mean your dad owns—”
River shot him an annoyed look.
Reggie just laughed. “I get it, I get it. What’s a Gascony alumn without daddy issues, huh?”
11
“What’s new, Pussycat?”
Bonita rolled her eyes as she slid into her seat next to Marianne that Monday.
“Just when I was getting attached to Tulip, with you and that yellow dress,” Marianne said, giving Bonita a teasing grin. “Then I saw kitty had claws, rawr!”
Marianne hooked the fingers of her right hand at Bonita with a laugh.
“Please don’t tell me you’re giving me the nickname Pussycat,” Bonita said, giving her a wary look.
“Oh, I would never be that lewd. I am a lady after all,” Marianne said laughing. “But I do have to admire your feline ways. Poor Deirdre will never be the same.”
Bonita laughed. “So just how many people did I end up pissing off Friday night?”
“Well, I will say Deirdre is certainly no fan. Tiffany is a bit more woman scorned, shall we say?”
Bonita’s head spun around to look at Marianne in surprise. “Really?”
Marianne just gave her a wry smile. “Don’t be coy, Tulip,” she said, reverting back to Bonita’s former nickname. “You’d have to be blind to see the way River was falling all over himself to play the knight in shining armor with you.”
Bonita frowned.
“Oh stop,” Marianne said, reading right through her. “You know, it’s perfectly okay to admit you’re into him.”
“I’m not ‘into him,’” Bonita argued. She thought back to him shirtless right next to her. “He’s—he’s just all wrong for me.”
Marianne gave her a skeptical look. Bonita decided to change the topic.
“Deirdre doesn’t really expect me to pay $200 for a stupid wine glass does she?” Bonita asked, only half-joking. Deirdre seemed like she would be just the kind of horrid wretch to press the issue.
“First of all, screw the wine glass. I seriously doubt her parents will even notice.”
Bonita was only slightly relieved. Then Marianne leaned in, giving her a conspiratorial look. “Second of all, I have it on good authority that someone has paid for it already. Our dear Deirdre made out like a little bandit.”
Bonita shot her a look of surprise. “Really? Who?”
Of course her mind had already raced directly to the most obvious candidate: River Wright. After all, he was the one who’d been involved with the fight that caused the glass to fall from her hands in the first place.
“I don’t know, take a wild guess, Bonita,” Marianne teased. “How many white knights stepped up to take you home from the party? And before you go switching teams, it wasn’t me. Speaking of which, how was the walk home with River?”
Bonita shifted uncomfortably in her seat. It suddenly occurred to her that River’s “noble” move at the party may have set a few tongues wagging. God help her if anyone had caught him taking his shirt off.
“He didn’t walk me home,” Bonita insisted. “He…he just sort of followed me. Only to make sure I got back safely,” she added quickly.
“And we have lift off, folks!” Marianne said excitedly, before Bonita could go on. “One week in and already she’s the belle of the ball.”
Bonita just crinkled her nose and forehead with embarrassed distaste. The scene at the party was not one people would soon forget. It may have already spread
beyond the invisible, gilded walls surrounding the Gascony alumni. Which meant it was only a matter of time before it reached the ears of the future senator of Maryland, with the “reputation to think about.” The thought instantly had her making a quick scan around the room to see if anyone was looking at her in particular. There was a split second pause at River’s empty seat, then she turned back to Marianne.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bonita protested. “It was nothing. Besides, I have a boyfriend.”
She said it mostly to lead Marianne off the scent. As soon as the words left her lips, her eyes were caught by the person walking in the room through the door next to them.
River Wright.
Marianne followed her gaze and the two of them watched him make his way down to his seat. He had on a leather jacket over a dark blue t-shirt, and a pair of jeans that sat well on him, very well. He deliberately ignored the two girls, looking straight ahead with a serious expression as he headed down to his seat.
She wanted to kick herself. After all, she was the one who had pushed him away all night, especially as he tried to walk her home. Granted, he wasn’t exactly gentlemanly about the whole thing, or at least not modestly gentlemanly about it. All the same, she had the distinct impression she had just rung a bell that couldn’t be un-rung.
Bonita swallowed as she saw the glaring purple and blue bruise on the side of his head where Jeff had punched him. His eye was mostly open on that side now, and she could see the sliver of green iris peeking through as he consciously avoided looking in her direction. Then she noticed the helmet under his arm.
“He rides a motorcycle?” she blurted without thinking as her eyes followed him down. He was close enough, and the barely noticeable twitch he gave assured her that he had heard that as well.
She rolled her eyes and gave a silent groan. It wasn’t helped by Marianne’s expression as Bonita brought her attention back to her friend. One side of her mouth was twisted so high with amusement, Bonita thought it might get stuck that way.
So Wrong Page 6