by Lynn Stevens
Do we?
Brilliant response on my end. I continued to click through his photos. There were a lot with his friends, with his team. Several pics of him on the mound in a Westland uniform. Some with a younger girl in her early teens who had long strawberry-blonde hair. Based on the tag, it was a sister or cousin. It wasn’t until I got to the end of his photos that I found a whole bunch of Devon with a beautiful Latina woman. And by beautiful she was model gorgeous. Maria Alvarez. I clicked on her profile out of curiosity.
Yeah, we do, he responded.
Maria Alvarez lived in Los Angeles and had a far crazier life than I did. She had tons of photos from parties and movie premieres. Her occupation listed her as a production assistant. Her hometown was Madison, Iowa. Clearly she’d been Devon’s girlfriend a while back and they were still friends. What surprised me more was the lack of other photos with girlfriends. Maybe he didn’t post them. Devon had always struck me as the type of guy who didn’t take anything seriously. There was more to him, and suddenly I was intrigued.
Liv?
One thing about chatting online was that I could be honest. Then again, he could take what I had to say the wrong way, too. The entire reason was the only way to go.
Still here. Why do we need to talk? It happened. It’s over. It won’t happen again.
So you’ve said before. He added a winking emoji.
Not funny. I added a devil giphy for emphasis.
He responded with a photo of himself holding his thumb and forefinger centimeters apart.
Despite not wanting to, I smiled. He didn’t need to know that.
It’s been a long day.
It’s been a rough week. I watched Betts go down. The team’s under investigation because of him. He almost died, from what I’ve heard. It wasn’t good.
Sorry about your friend.
Me, too. But he made his bed and the rest of us have to lie in it. Before I could respond, he added, You need to understand what happened the other night.
Did I really need to, though? It didn’t take a genius to figure out why I ended up in his room.
I’m not sure that’s a good idea.
Trust me. He followed it up with another quick message. Please.
After everything we’ve been through, trusting you isn’t easy. I hesitated before I hit send.
Everything? Like what? I’m at a loss here.
How could he not know? Besides the unforgettable but totally regrettable one-night stand, we’d been at odds since day one. He’d gotten the Telluride scholarship, which was awarded to an incoming freshman majoring in engineering who had the highest SAT. One measly point separated us. It paid for half his tuition. He’d beaten me out for a summer semester internship at the engineering department at Iowa State. And he’d gotten to introduce Maggie Fielder last fall. All things I had earned, too.
I’m exhausted and don’t feel like rehashing. Later, I typed.
I’m not kidding. We do need to talk. Vid?
No way I was video chatting with him now. My eyes were already half-closed and ending this conversation was a top priority. We both had an eight o’clock class. Together.
Not tonight. I really am tired. Good night, Devon.
I clicked off the chat before he could respond and closed the lid of my laptop.
Chapter Four
I’d taken the department’s Engineering Ethics class last fall. Taking Business Ethics filled an elective and helped pad my resume. All I wanted to do was be an engineer and build airplanes. I wanted to help people fly. Getting the internship at JenCar Aerospace Technologies was a step in the right direction. It wasn’t going to be easy, but I hoped my resume and referrals would be good enough to secure a spot.
I’d avoided Devon so far, bolting from the two morning classes we had together. We’d always had one or two each semester. It was hard not to with the same major.
Ethics was my last class of the day and in the largest lecture hall on campus. I stepped into the auditorium five minutes before class started and settled into a seat along the aisle near the center rows. I didn’t want to sit too close or too far away. And the aisle seat allowed me to leave from class relatively fast. It was all about where you sat.
Devon strolled down the aisle and stood beside me instead of sitting in his usual spot in the front row. I glanced up from my phone and froze. Devon squinted, pursing his lips. A Westland athletic department shirt clung to his broad chest under the brown bomber jacket he wore. His tight jeans hugged every inch of him, and I couldn’t stop my mind from flashing back to Sunday morning. I wanted to turn away from him, but I couldn’t. I felt like I owed him an apology or something. But what did I have to apologize for? We were both adults and we’d made adult decisions. Even if I did regret it.
“Are we going to talk about this or are you just going to keep hiding from me?” he finally said after he sat down.
“Someone else was sitting there.” While I meant to point at the seat, I pointed at his crotch instead. The green tea I’d finished before class threatened to reappear.
Devon raised his eyebrows. “Nice deflection, but nobody’s sat here since the first day.”
I rolled my eyes and turned away from him.
“Hello, class,” a deep voice announced. Miles Farmer stood in the center of the stage beside the podium. He dressed more like a student in ripped jeans, a Smashing Avery T-shirt, and well-worn sneakers. His dark hair and beard matched his thick-rimmed glasses. The only thing that set him apart was the man-bun. I didn’t know a guy on campus who would be brave enough to wear his hair like that. It was kind of sexy, though.
“Now”—he paced in a circle—“as I explained on the first day and because I believe the best education comes from experience instead of a book, we will create our own companies and apply ethics to how we run them. Each of you will be given a set of challenges for your company and you will address them in an online forum with your class. The challenges may be in human resources, on the floor, day-to-day operations, anything.”
Professor Farmer rattled on, handing out the business plan worksheets for review. This class was going to be much more work than I anticipated. Glancing at the handout, my fake company project was all online and basically just homework. I doodled in my notebook while I listened, drawing a Cessna 172. Not for the first time since I woke up in Devon’s bed, I wondered what it had been like to be with him again. I vaguely remembered kissing him at Gamma house. I vaguely remembered how weak my knees were and how I wanted more than a kiss, but I wasn’t sure if that was the beer talking or not. If it was anything like the first time, it had been pretty amazing. But I couldn’t remember anything solid after the last game of beer pong. I still didn’t know if we won or not.
I wasn’t going to let Devon ruin my good mood. In fact, I wasn’t even going to let his presence affect me at all. The soft musk of his cologne floated on the air around him. I inhaled, unable to resist the irresistible. Still, I kept my focus on detailing the propeller and getting the dimensions perfect.
“Olivia?” Devon said softly.
I didn’t look up as I replied, “Nobody but my ex calls me that.”
“So the ex called you Olivia? Yet it took you this long to correct me about it.” I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, taking in the way his jeans hugged his thighs. His hand made a swooping motion over his notebook. “Why is that?”
I shook my head, willing my mouth to stay closed. And failing. “I don’t mind it, really. My little brother didn’t know I was Olivia until he was eight and Dad yelled at me for not doing the laundry the night before.” I shrugged. It wasn’t the best memory of my father, but he had a meeting with the bank and I’d dropped the ball. I’d done the family’s laundry since Mom died. All my clothes were dirty and I had nothing to wear for school. So I figured out the machine. Next thing I knew, I was doing everyone else’s, too. “It is my name after all.”
He turned toward me, leaning in so I would get his meaning. “You can call me
anything you want, anytime you want.”
It didn’t have the effect he hoped for. Instead, lines like that just annoyed me. Guys didn’t need to use cheesy lines to get a woman’s interest. “That’s what you go with? How about next time you try the angel from heaven line? Or better yet, ask if I want to ride the pine? I’m sure those have worked for you a million times.”
Devon smiled, chewing on his bottom lip.
“What? Those aren’t quite cheesy enough for you?” I asked.
“Perfectly cheesy.” He sat back in his desk and crossed his arms. The muscles bulged under the thermal gray top. “You think you know me so well?”
“I know enough about guys like you, Devon,” I said with as much attitude as I could manage. Prof. Farmer kept lecturing on the stage, pacing with his head down and his hands flying everywhere.
“Wanna bet?”
“Excuse me?” I turned in my seat to face him. “What exactly would we be betting on?”
“I bet I can make you laugh by the end of class. If I win, you make me dinner. If I lose, I make you dinner.” His smirk turned into a full smile revealing a never-seen-before dimple.
“Either way we have dinner?”
“Win-win if you ask me.” His pencil slid across his paper, drawing in short strokes. “Of course, if you don’t like winning…”
“You’re baiting me.” Despite his cocky attitude, I was intrigued. And if living with six brothers taught me anything, it was never to turn down a bet. Especially one you could win. Look up poker face in the dictionary and there I was. Probably why my oldest brother refused to play Texas Hold ’Em with me. A tidy chunk of his paycheck was sitting in my savings account. “You probably can’t even cook.”
“My mother owns a bakery and you think I can’t cook?”
“Baking and cooking are two totally different things.”
He half nodded, but didn’t really concede. “Then I’ll throw in dessert.”
“Done.” The word was out of my mouth before I thought of the consequences. Friendly bets like this weren’t the same as gambling. Not really. Then again, the school had strict rules against that. “Wait, won’t this violate some NCAA rule or something?”
Devon laughed as Prof. Farmer tripped on the stage. “Nope. We’re not betting on sports and we’re not exchanging money. No violation.” The pencil in his hand swept over the paper. “You’re not getting out of it that easy.”
“Ha.” I snorted. “I’m not losing, either. Hope you make decent lobster bisque.”
“Putting your order in already?” He kept drawing although his voice dropped. “Confidence is sexy.”
I wasn’t going to bite at that. This was a game for him. All he wanted was the chase and the win. Anything after that was asking for trouble, but somebody needed to put Devon Miller in his place. It shouldn’t be too hard. He was primed and ready to play the game. I just needed to beat him at it.
Prof. Farmer continued his lecture, but I didn’t pay much attention. Memorizing facts was simple. I leaned down to fake getting into my messenger bag in order to steal a peek at Devon’s drawing. He’d kept his head down, focusing on the pencil and paper.
The image on the eight-by-eleven page appeared to be a person. I crept closer, trying to figure out what he was drawing.
“Liv, I’m sure Devon’s notes are fascinating, but please get back to yours,” Prof. Farmer said loud and clear for the entire floor to hear. Devon and I had talked for how long, and that was the moment the prof noticed I wasn’t paying attention? It was high school history all over again, when Henry and I got busted for drawing silly hearts on each other’s notebooks.
My face burned and I ducked my face so my hair would cover my embarrassment. Fortunately, most of the class stared at me in sympathy, or what I chose to believe was sympathy anyway. The only snicker I heard was from beside me. That just made my resolve to win the stupid bet stronger. I didn’t even want him to cook dinner. I just wanted to win. And I wanted to wipe the smug expression off his face.
“I have something for you,” Devon whispered. He bent closer to the paper, touching the drawing with swift, quick strokes.
“Liv, who is considered the father of business ethics and why?” Prof. Farmer asked, yanking me back into the class.
“Clarence C. Walton,” I answered without hesitating. “Dr. Walton was the first person to chair a department devoted to the study of business ethics.”
“Very good.” He moved on to his next victim.
“Nice. I didn’t know that.” Devon rubbed his middle finger on his forehead then onto the page.
“First, gross. And second, then you didn’t do the assigned reading.” I kept my eyes on my paper, moving my pencil just enough to note what college Walton taught at. This was the stupidest class I’d ever taken. Not only was it boring the crap out of me, it had nothing to do with my major. I had to remind myself it would look good on my transcripts and my resume. Out of the corner of my eye, Devon turned toward me with a smudge of graphite across his forehead. I almost laughed, almost, but I didn’t allow even a smirk onto my face.
“Gross?” He glanced back to his drawing, then at me. “Look, it helps with shadowing. My natural sweaty state makes smearing the pencil to blend better.”
I leaned over to see what exactly he was drawing instead of taking notes. The figure was clearer, but still not distinct. The smeared graphite made the person almost pop off the page: a girl lounging on a bed with her hair fanned out over a pillow, one arm bent around her head while the other lay across her abdomen. She wore nothing but a football jersey and shorts. It struck me as odd and a tad bit too familiar. I leaned closer to see the outline on the jersey. A team name, Panthers, sketched in bubble letters over the number eighty.
“See how the folds in the sheet and the shadows of the body look more natural?” Devon asked as he pointed to the smudged areas. “My face is a natural lube.”
“That’s me,” I whispered, frozen on the boxers that hadn’t had any added detail. “You drew me.”
“Not bad, eh?” Devon asked with a high note of cocky-ass pride in his voice.
“Liv, what is the Golden Rule and how does it apply in this class?” Prof. Farmer asked somewhere in the distance. He could’ve been right beside me and he still would’ve sounded a million miles away.
“Hh…” I never stuttered over a fact question, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off the face Devon had drawn. It didn’t look like me. I wasn’t that symmetrical.
“The Golden Rule is treating others as you’d expect to be treated,” Devon answered. He grinned at me. “In business ethics, it’s how you treat your colleagues. Don’t lie or cheat to get ahead.”
“Thank you, Devon.” Farmer’s voice boomed.
“You’re welcome,” Devon whispered.
“You didn’t give me a chance to answer him.” I darkened the wing of the Cessna on my paper.
“‘Um’ wasn’t your answer?” His shoulders shook. “Sorry, I won’t bail you out next time.”
Prof. Farmer began lecturing again on the significance of the Golden Rule, and Devon kept smiling. I turned back to my shitty notes and jammed my pen through the first layer of paper. Right through the cockpit of the Cessna.
“What?” Devon asked.
I ignored him. If I didn’t ignore him, I would tear the sonofabitch a new asshole. I didn’t get this guy. What the hell did he want from me? Devon was chaos and I preferred order.
“Olivia?”
Not happening.
“Okay, now I’m lost.”
I swallowed the bile building in my throat and pointed at his drawing.
“Most girls would be flattered by something like this.”
I bit the inside of my mouth, drawing blood. It didn’t make me feel better, but it stopped me from turning on him. It stopped me from making an ass of myself in order to make an ass of him.
“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that,” he said, completely exasperated. “We still need to talk.”
“Okay, class. Time’s up. Be sure to read chapters ten, twelve, and fourteen. Also check the forum for this week’s ethical dilemma. Some of you have gotten a tad behind. I will see you next time.” Prof. Farmer clapped his hands together to emphasize the end of class. “Oh, and don’t forget to review pages eighty-five through ninety-eight before the scheduled quiz next Monday.”
The clock hit eleven fifty-five and I took off before Devon could say anything else to me. No, we weren’t going to talk about it. No, we weren’t going to relive the moments I couldn’t even remember. There was no reason to see him or talk to him or look at him. I made it to the stairs before he caught up with me. He touched my arm and I almost jumped out of my skin.
“Whoa, slow down. You look like you’ve seen a monster from your nightmares,” he said with a nervous laugh. He glanced around, then nodded toward an empty room to our left. This didn’t seem like a good idea. It really wasn’t a good idea. Nothing about running into Devon Miller was a good idea. “Come on.”
He moved toward the room as if I’d follow. And stupidly I did. It was dark with only the hint of winter sun from the other side of the building. He stared down at me, as if waiting for me to talk. I had nothing to say.
“What happened?” he finally asked.
I wanted to laugh or scoff or something, but all I could do was stare at him with my mouth open.
“I mean, you just took off yesterday,” he added. “Did I snore or something?”
Then I did scoff. “Yeah, taking off after sleeping with my worst enemy because he snored. That’s exactly why I left.” He opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “Look, I don’t remember any of it, and I’d rather not let you recount how I ended up in your bed. So just let it go, okay? I don’t really want to remember any of it.”
“Your worst enemy?” He ran his hand through his hair. “Why am I your worst enemy? Jesus, Olivia, would you just explain that to me? Because I don’t get it.”
“Freshman year, Devon. Remember that?” I pulled my books against my chest. “If I hadn’t been drunk, I never would’ve slept with you. Either time.”