The Chase

by Elle Kennedy

  The smug bastard is now pointing out a spelling error I’d missed when I was proofreading. Fitz missed it too.

  “This isn’t kindergarten. This is an Ivy League university. Spelling matters, children.”

  I shoot to my feet. I’m done. I’ve had enough. My hands shake like branches in a windstorm as I gather up my stuff and hurry to the aisle.

  Laurie is still talking when I push open the doors and flee the lecture hall. I’m halfway down the hall when someone calls my name.

  “Summer, wait.” Ben rushes over to me, concern etched into his face. “Are you all right?”

  “Not really.” I gulp repeatedly, once again trying to suppress the tears.

  “That’s really fucking shady what Laurie’s doing in there,” Ben says flatly.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You need to report this to the department head.”

  “And say what?” I ask in a sardonic tone. “‘Hey, I got a D-minus on my midterm. Fire the professor.’”

  “No, but you can tell them that he humiliated you in front of your peers and implied that you’re an incompetent writer and—”

  “I’m sorry,” I cut in, because I’m barely holding on by a thread here. “But I have to go.”

  “Summer.”

  “Ben, please. Just drop this.” I gesture to the doors. “Go back inside and wait for your midterm. I bet you did great.”

  “Summer.” He shakes his head angrily. “This isn’t fair.”

  “Life isn’t fair.” My voice cracks. “But I appreciate you coming out here to check on me. I really do. You’re a good guy, Ben. Thank you.”

  I squeeze his arm and then walk away.

  At home, I find Fitz at his desk. He’s wearing his headphones and tapping on the game controller that plugs into his computer. Or I think it plugs into it. I don’t really understand his gaming system. He tried to explain it to me once, but I’ve already forgotten.

  I pluck his earphones off, causing a startled Fitz to swivel in his padded chair. “Fuck, you scared me, babe.” When he sees the look on my face, concern fills his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  I inhale a slow, even breath. “I need to ask you something, and you have to promise to be honest with me.”

  “Okay…” His expression grows wary.

  “Was my essay a piece of shit?”

  “What?” He scrapes both hands over his face, clearly confused. “You mean the fashion essay? About New York and the first half of the twentieth century?”

  I nod. “You told me I did a good job on it,” I say shakily.

  “You did a great job.”

  I search his expression and find nothing deceitful about it. And his voice is nothing but sincere. “Do you really believe that, or are you only saying it because we’re dating?”

  “Summer, if I thought your midterm sucked or that something about it was highly problematic, I would have told you,” he says firmly. “And I would have offered to help you fix it. I don’t see the point in lying about stuff like that.”

  I sink onto the edge of his bed. Once again, my eyes begin stinging, but this time I can’t control a few teardrops from popping out and sliding down my cheeks.

  Fitz is on his feet in a heartbeat. He kneels in front of me and places his big hands on my thighs. “Talk to me,” he urges thickly. “What’s going on?”

  “I got a D-minus on the midterm.”

  That startles him. “For real?”

  I nod slowly.

  The surprise on his face slowly transforms into skepticism. “But that’s practically a fail.”

  “I know,” I moan, and as the tears continue to fall, I tell him everything that happened in class today. And then, since I’m already confessing humiliating things, I also reveal what happened in Laurie’s office.

  Fitz’s eyes blaze. “That motherfucker. And now he’s punishing you because you didn’t want to sleep with him?”

  I swipe at my wet eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe I really did deserve a D.”

  “Bullshit. That was not a D paper, Summer. I’m sorry. I don’t claim to be some essay-writing genius, but if I was a TA, I would’ve given you a B. Maybe a B-minus if I was being nitpicky about grammar, or a C if I was just in a bad mood that day. But a D-minus is total bull. He’s absolutely punishing you.” He angrily shakes his head. “You need to appeal the grade.”

  His confidence in my midterm dries my tears. “Can I do that?”

  “I’m not sure how the Fashion department does it, but there’s definitely an appeal process at this college and you need to take advantage of it.” He cups my cheeks with both hands, sweeping his thumbs over my jawline. “You can’t let him get away with this. You do not deserve that grade, babe.”

  But what if you do? my inner critic counters. You’re not exactly the brightest bulb in the—

  Shut up, I interrupt, mentally bitch-slapping the negative part of my brain that’s been tormenting me for years. Just. Shut. Up.

  I’m not going to listen to the critic. I’m going to listen to Fitz, who sounds so adamant that I did a good job on the paper.

  And his faith in me steals the breath from my lungs. I throw my arms around him and hug him tightly. “I love you,” I whisper. “You make me feel…” I pause to think it over. “Smart.”

  His husky laughter tickles the top of my head. “Smart, huh?” He runs his hands up and down my back before tightening his hold on me.

  “Yes.” I smile against the warm column of his neck, breathing in his familiar masculine scent. “I didn’t appeal the plagiarism paper at Brown because I thought nobody would believe that I didn’t intentionally cheat. But I should have done it. I didn’t deserve to fail—I deserved extra help.” I steel my jaw. “Because I have a learning disorder.”

  I tip my head to find Fitz gazing at me with pride in his eyes.

  “I’m not stupid,” I tell him, and for once, my inner critic remains silent. “I just learn differently. I worked my ass off on that midterm, and maybe there were a few run-on sentences and a paragraph or two that I could’ve rearranged. And fine, there was one spelling error—but come on, do you expect me to believe that not a single other person in the class had so much as a typo?” I jut my chin. “I’m appealing this shit.”

  “Damn right you are. Laurie can eat a dick.”

  “Damn right he can.” I run my fingers over the stubble dotting his strong jaw. “Thank you for making me feel better about all this.”

  “Hey, it’s my job as your boyfriend to make you feel better.” Fitz’s lips brush over mine in a reassuring kiss. “Don’t worry, babe. You’re going to appeal the grade, and the college will overturn it because it’ll be clear that Laurie is a vengeful asshole. It’s going to be fine.” He kisses me again. “I promise.”

  31

  Fitz

  Due to a scheduling conflict with the Arbor House, our venue in Hastings, tomorrow’s junior fashion show will now be held at 7 p.m., rather than 9 p.m. We apologize to ticketholders for any inconvenience this may cause.

  “Can. You. Frigging. Believe. This.”

  Rage twists Summer’s beautiful features into something dark and primal. She looks as if she’s prepared to drive to Erik Laurie’s home and strangle him with her bare hands.

  I don’t blame her.

  “A scheduling conflict?” she screeches. “The day before the event? He did this on purpose. He’s trying to fuck me, literally and figuratively”

  I don’t laugh, because I’m furious on her behalf. When she’d emailed Laurie reminding him that half her models won’t be available until this earlier show is well underway, she’d gotten a cold response stating that she’d simply have to redo the independent study next year.

  Which is a slap in the face after she’d worked her ass off all semester.

  “Are you sure he knew that Rex and the guys wouldn’t be available until eight?”

  “He knew,” she says tightly. “I mentioned it several times during our check-ins. He w
anted me to open the show, and I told him I’d prefer a later slot to give the football guys time to regroup after their retreat. Plus, it’s a lot of pressure to go first.”

  “Can you go over his head?” I ask.

  “To who? My academic advisor? Richmond can’t stand me. And he’s in love with Laurie.”

  “Maybe he’ll see reason. It’s not like you didn’t do any of the work. You still have six models.”

  “I told all this to Laurie,” she reminds me. She tosses me her phone.

  I read over their email exchange again. After his rude reply, Summer pleaded her case, saying she has six models ready to walk in the show, and asking if she could simply not show the men’s line. Laurie tells her that either all twelve models need to be there, or none of them. He once again reiterates that she will need to repeat the independent study.

  Spiteful bastard.

  “What am I going to do?” Her expression is dismayed, but she’s not crying, which tells me she hasn’t admitted defeat yet.

  “There’s gotta be a solution. You talked to Rex—there’s no way they can make it back early?”

  “Nope. Coach Deluca has them on lockdown. Apparently this hippie-dippie retreat is in the middle of the woods, miles from civilization. The bus doesn’t collect them until five. They’ll get back a couple hours after that.”

  I think it over. “Okay. So we’ve got six dude bathing suits.”

  “Eight. Rex and Lockett were going to walk twice.”

  “But you only need six bodies.”

  “Yes, but…” She shakes her head in frustration. “The suits are tailored for these bodies. That’s why we had fittings.”

  “But,” I counter, “we have their measurements, and I’m sure we could find guys who generally fit those measurements.”

  “Where are you going with this?”

  Yeah, where are you going with this? a little voice squawks.

  I exhale slowly. “We’ll do it.”

  Her brows soar. “We?”

  “Well, they,” I amend. “I’m going to recruit my teammates.” I’m already swiping my phone off my desk. “Hollis will definitely be on board, you know what a showoff he is. Hunter—” I stop. No, Hunter’s out. He’s barely spoken a word to us in weeks. “Nate, I can see saying yes.” I scroll through my messages list. “We need someone a bit slimmer to replace Lockett.”

  “Jesse!” Summer suggests.

  “If Katie lets him.” I bypass Jesse’s name and search for his girlfriend’s. “Know what? I’ll just text Katie directly. She wears the pants in that relationship.”

  “True.” She purses her lips. “But who’s going to fill in for Rex? Please don’t get mad at me, but…he’s got a huge package.”

  I close my eyes briefly. “Seriously? No guy wants to hear his girlfriend say that, Summer.”

  “I told you not to get mad,” she protests. “Anyway, don’t worry. He’s not much bigger than you. You’re almost the same—” Her eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning.

  “No way,” I growl, reading her mind. “I’m recruiting for you, not volunteering as tribute.” The thought of sashaying down a runway while a crowd of people stare at me makes me want to vomit.

  “Fine. Then you’ll need to poll your teammates about their penis sizes. Try to find me a big one.”

  I fight hard to contain my laughter. God. This girl.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I promise.

  The good thing about not having a game the following night is that, in theory, most of my teammates should be available.

  The bad thing about not having a game tonight is that nearly all of them already have plans. Half the guys went to a strip club in Boston. A few others don’t pick up their phones. A couple of them consult their girlfriends, who say no fucking way.

  Katie, luckily, is not one of them. She loosens the reins and gives Jesse permission to do it. Hollis, as always, is more than happy to help. It took some arm-twisting to get Nate and Matt on board, until Summer promised that the after-party would be teeming with hot sorority girls. The French-Canadian on our team, Pierre, is a huge, hairy fellow who’s about the same size as the huge, hairy tight end, Bibby.

  In twenty-four hours, I’ve scraped together five bodies.

  I’ve yet to find a replacement for Rex, he of the big package.

  In my desk chair, I glance down at my own crotch. I never thought I’d see the day where I’d be cursing the generous size of my cock. But I’m running out of both options and time. Summer left for the venue an hour ago to help with setup. She also signed up for cleanup, though apparently she agreed to this before Erik Laurie tried to stick his tongue in her mouth.

  She emailed Laurie this morning telling him she’s found replacements for her male models.

  I desperately don’t want to let her down, but I’m not sure who else to call. My gamer friends aren’t exactly model material. Morris, Ray, Kenji…they’re all short and scrawny, not to mention complete introverts.

  I’m scanning my brain for other candidates when my phone rings. Private caller. I waste no time answering, because I’d told my friends that if they know anyone who’d be interested, to please pass my number along.

  But when I answer the call, I’m hit with a sense of déjà vu.

  “Please hold for Kamal Jain.”

  Seriously? Why is he calling me? I haven’t heard from him (nor wanted to) since our showdown at the Heyward Plaza last week.

  “Colin!” he barks in my ear. “I hope I caught you at a good time! Would’ve called during business hours, but I was in meetings until six.”

  His rapid manner of speaking irritates me tonight. “What do you need, Mr. Jain?” I ask, unable to stop from being curt.

  “We’ve been through this! Please call me KJ or—”

  “No,” I interrupt. “I’m not going through this song and dance again. Tell me what you want, otherwise I’m hanging up.”

  Silence crashes over the line.

  I can’t believe I just snapped at a billionaire.

  I don’t think he can believe it either. But when he speaks again, his tone is completely stripped of its usual confidence. “Colin. I’m sorry about the way I behaved at the fundraiser.” He clears his throat. “I insulted your girl, and I was condescending to you. I regret my behavior.”

  I almost fall out of my chair. He’s apologizing? Now that, I didn’t expect.

  “Sorry if I sound a bit rusty—I haven’t issued an apology in…ever, maybe? People apologize to me, not the other way around. And to think I’m groveling to a jock! Who would’ve—”

  “Really? We’re back to the jock bullshit?” I sigh.

  There’s a pause. “Again, my apologies. I may be a bit biased when it comes to jocks.”

  “No shit.”

  “I didn’t have the best experience with jocks in high school,” he admits. “Though I’m sure you already suspected that. With that said, I truly am sorry, kid. I was an ass. And truth be told, you impressed me that night. The other candidates nodded and agreed with every word I said. They sucked up to me and raved about how amazing I am—don’t get me wrong, I am amazing. But it gets old, having people follow you around, trying to suck your dick. You stood up to me, Colin. And more than that, you’re immensely talented.”

  I’m glad he’s not here to see my jaw drop.

  “So.” His tone grows sheepish. “If you’re still interested in the position at Orcus Games, it’s yours.”

  My jaw is on the floor now. Yeah, I absolutely didn’t expect this. And I have to admit, I’m impressed that he was man enough to call me and apologize.

  But at the same time, I can’t forget the way he treated Summer with such blatant disrespect. I’m not sure if one apology makes up for that.

  “I told you, I’m not interested in working for someone like you,” I say brusquely.

  “And I’m urging you to reconsider. I need someone like you on my team, kid. Someone who challenges me, stands up to me. Someone to rem
ind me that before I was an arrogant prick, I was a nerdy kid who loved video games.”

  I hesitate for a moment. “If you want me to reconsider, then you need to give me time to think about it,” I finally say.

  “Understandable. Take a few days. Hell, a week, two weeks. But I require a firm answer by the end of the month.”

  “Fine. I’ll get back to you. Anything else?” I’m being rude again, but the fashion show starts soon. And Summer is more important to me than this, as he aptly described himself, arrogant prick.

  “Just think it over,” he cajoles.

  “I said I would.” And I meant it. I’ll take the time to decide if working for Kamal is worth it for me, but if he expects me to jump through hoops for him again, he’ll be sorely disappointed. There’s only one person whose hoops I’ll happily jump through, and she’s not even asking me to.

  “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Jain.” And then I sign off with a series of words that never in a million years would I have imagined myself saying. “I’ve gotta go walk the runway at my girlfriend’s fashion show now.”

  32

  Summer

  “That man really loves you.”

  “I know,” I answer Brenna, unable to fight a sappy grin.

  We’re standing backstage, watching as my boyfriend walks the lengthy runway bisecting the enormous ballroom of the Arbor House, a historic mansion in Hastings and our venue for tonight. Fitz’s swim briefs hug his perfect ass, and his thigh muscles ripple with power as his long strides eat up the runway.

  On the other side of the wings, Bianca and her Kappa sisters are also enjoying the show. Every time another half-naked hockey player steps onto the stage, they sigh dreamily. The girls already strutted their stuff to thunderous applause. My bikinis were a hit, but the plunging one-piece Bianca closed the girls’ line with was the clear winner of the night.

  Bianca catches me looking, and she gives an enthusiastic wave. I wave back with a smile. I didn’t see Kaya in the audience tonight, which tells me she never ended up endorsing her sisters’ side project. But who cares. The Kappas came through for me, and I owe them for that.