Thank fuck.
“Alright, Alex,” I say, quickly moving on. “Let’s have a shot, yeah?”
I don’t give her time to answer as I pull her toward the stash of hard alcohol.
Almost like the party knows our mission, they part through the middle, and clear the counter.
Placing my hands under her arms, I lift her up. Then, without warning, she grabs my face, and kisses me.
Well, alright then. Guess we’ll start the party early.
She’s not the worst kisser I’ve ever kissed. That honor still goes to my on-screen love interest, from my last movie, Leslie Tripe. God, thinking about her fish lips makes my stomach roll.
With the smack of our lips, she lets go, and lies down on the countertop.
“Is that Alex?” I hear someone say behind me. “Who the hell is that guy?”
Another says, “New guy is already hopping on the crazy train. Choo-choo!”
Snickers erupt.
I block out the voices, and lick up Alex’s stomach. Her skin twitches under my tongue and I give a little bite. She tenses under me, and I sneer.
Pouring the salt on her now wet belly, I place the full shot glass in her belly button and open my mouth wide. The glass clinks against my teeth, and I toss my head back, letting the clear liquid flow down my throat.
Vodka. Worst. Alcohol. Ever.
With the glass still in my mouth, I drop it on the surface and lick my way up Alex’s belly.
Not a bad combination.
Sitting up swiftly, she grabs the back of my head and brings her lips to mine.
I pull away after a few seconds. “Hold that thought.”
I leave Alex on the table to grab my beer. Taking a long swig, I motion for her hand.
She sits up, turns her body around and hops off the ledge. “Where to, handsome?”
Another gulp of beer. “My room.”
Damn, guess one shot was enough. I’m too easy, sometimes.
Her eyes sparkle, and we sprint toward my room.
Her lips are on me as soon as we hit the last step. I grab her around the waist, and bring her to my body.
Her hands on my back. My hands on her ass. Her hands on my head. My hands lift her behind her ass, and she wraps her legs around me. I groan. She licks up my ear, and I cringe. Shit, I hate that.
Whew, breathe through the nastiness, Jenns. You can do this.
I slam her into the wall with force that, I’m sure makes her teeth rattle.
It got her to stop her dog lick on my ear, though.
I suck on her neck. It tastes like perfume, and not the good smelling kind. Although, no perfume actually tastes good, I know, but at least when it smells good, you can get past the taste.
Shake it off, Jennings!
Another slam, on the opposite wall.
Whoa, take it easy, buddy.
She whimpers softly, and fire ignites in her eyes. She likes it rough.
Rough, I can do.
Creak…
A door opens, and we unlatch from each other, looking to the intruder.
“Come on, guys!” Whitley yells, not yet seeing us.
Whitley. Fuck me.
As she peeks out of the door, her eyes go wide, and then blank.
Alex giggles.
Hush, chick.
Whitley looks like she’s having a hard time keeping her composure at bay. I think she might be trying to telekinetically smash my head into a wall.
What? I’m not allowed to have a little fun? I may think she’s the hottest chick around, but she has a boyfriend. She’s off limits.
She crosses her arms, looking all kinds of pissed.
Ahh, there’s the feistiness I was looking for.
Buzzkill.
I disparage her by bringing my mouth back to Alex’s, making a sloppy, slurrpy kiss that is totally uncalled for.
Whitley huffs, “Pig,” and shakes her head before disappearing.
Slam!
“MOTHER FUCKING, FUCKETY FUCK!” I shout at my laptop, banging the keys. Maybe if I beat it into submission, the outcome will change.
“That is not the mouth a teacher should have,” Lark says while standing in his closet, looking all smug and shit.
I clamp my mouth down in way that makes my jaw ache.
Fucker.
I study the email, again. Beating my laptop didn’t do anything but make the Q key all wobbly.
I bring my hands to my face and force the tears in my eyes to stay put.
You bitches better stay in my tear ducts. Escaping isn’t an option. I will not cry because of this.
I will not cry in front of Lark.
I will not look weak.
This can’t be happening.
Oh my God. How did this happen?
“Fuuuuuuck,” I groan, not believing my eyes or the words jumping from my laptop screen.
Lark throws a dirty sock at me, hitting me in the cheek.
First of all, ew, he’s a football player and that shit does not smell good. And second, fucker might have athlete’s foot for all I know. Does that spread? Oh my God, get me into a shower, STAT.
“Seriously, Whitty. You need to clean up your mouth before you start teaching.”
That’s it. I’ve had it! He’s a dick.
No, scratch that. He’s not just a dick. He’s a dark, wirey hair on a wart that lives on a disease-infested dick. Dirty infected dick hair, he is!
I glower at him. “Shut it, Lark.”
Legs crossed, they start bouncing up and down in anger. I need an outlet. My rage is palpable.
Lark makes a move toward me, but thinks twice about it retrieving back into his closet, looking slightly terrified for his life.
Good. He’s lucky I can’t spit poison out of my mouth and into his eyes.
I need to clean up my language? Ha! He needs to clean up his.
Not really. I mean, minus his random outbursts of moodiness, he doesn’t cuss all that much. It sort of pisses me off even more now that I realize it.
The ass knows something is wrong and he hasn’t asked if I’m okay.
My boyfriend sucks.
Go on, Lark. Find you a douchey polo and pressed pants. Sure, you totally should wear those thousand dollar loafers today. You’ll look great!
I mentally slap myself back on task.
Alright, prioritize.
First thing is first, I need to get the hell out of here and into my home.
After getting a potentially life altering information bomb dropped on my lap, I need to be in my own space.
I don’t need Lark’s judgey eyes watching me as I mentally scream profanities to my computer. You know, since I’m not allowed to cuss in his precious presence. Heaven forbid.
Ugh!
I roll off of the bed, and head toward the bathroom. Lark says my name, but I keep walking. I’m pissy and he’s in the line of fire. It’s best if I just go to the bathroom and give myself a few minutes of alone time. I need time to breathe—to process.
I roll up my sleeves, as I shuffle to the bathroom. With my eyes trained on my arms, I don’t notice Oliver and I slam right into him.
Perfect.
My eyes widen and before I know what’s happening, I’m knocked backward and fall. I humph the moment I make contact with the floor.
Hardwood floor, meet my cushy behind. Get to know each other well because the pain shooting up my spine hurts, I’m not moving any time soon.
Again, brilliant.
Oliver kneels next to me, looking worried and naked.
Naked?!
I look lower. Thank God, at least he has boxer briefs covering his kibbles and bits.
I growl and cover my eyes with my arm. Hopefully, if I block him out he’ll leave.
I don’t really know why I’m mad at him. I just—am.
Okay, that’s a lie.
I’m jealous, not mad. There, I said it. Finding him kissing Atrocious Alex last night made my blood boil. Not because I have some claim on him,
obviously, it’s because—well…shit, maybe I do feel like I have claim.
I mean—I don’t. I just met him, but he seemed…interested?
I don’t know.
And, I saw him first. I can call dibs, right? I have a boyfriend, sure, but still. Dibs works no matter your status.
Girl code and all that shit.
Then, on top of that, he’s making out with my one mortal enemy.
Alex is a skanky bitch. Slutty, and backstabbing, I can’t stand her.
We could have been considered friends at one time. A long, long time ago. But, the whore had to go and make out with my boyfriend freshmen year and ruin everything.
Her popularity with the girls hasn’t gone up much since then. Actually, come to think of it, not much with the boys, either. We all know she’s a crazy straw and to stay the hell away.
Anytime we were in the same room, we’d avoid each other at all costs. And, if by chance I caught her looking at me, I’d sneer and fantasize snapping her twig arms off of her body and slapping her across the face with them.
So, yeah, seeing her mauling Oliver in the hallway made me slightly jealous. So what?
“Whit, are you okay?” Oliver demands, worry in his voice.
With my free hand, I wave him away. “I’m fine. Let me wallow in peace.” I uncover my eyes. “Please.”
With a creased brow, Oliver doesn’t move.
I push up on my elbows, pain shooting up my back, and force him to move from my bubble. He only scoots back a couple inches, but he lets me have some space.
Whatever claim I thought I had on him last night, no longer exists. Alex tainted him with her greasy tongue and snake-like legs.
Dammit, now I’m picturing them kissing.
I close my eyes shut, trying to block the ungodly images from my brain.
Did he sleep with her?
Gross…no. Don’t think about that right now, Whit. Jesus.
I pull my legs up to my chin, though it makes the discomfort in my ass that much worse and watch Oliver. He’s leaning against the wall, and he has his head back, eyes closed.
He looks so familiar.
“So,” I start. “Sorry about bumping into you.”
His green/blue eyes open and he smiles. “Oh no, no big deal, Cupcake. It’s the most action I’ve had in a long time.”
I perk up. Does that mean he and Alex didn’t bump uglies?
I give a look of doubt. “Well.” I point to the bathroom. “It’s about that time. I’d better go.”
Oliver gives me a look of worry—worry? Why?
It passes. “Alright. See you, I guess,” he says.
I push myself up from the ground and pull my shirt and shorts down a bit, covering myself. I didn’t notice how short they were until now with him looking up into the mound that is my gigantic ass.
Lovely.
Nonchalantly, without another word, I bound into the bathroom, locking the door.
My hair has fallen into my eyes and I push it back.
In the confines of the bathroom I can finally breathe.
I can ultimately think the words.
I’m not graduating.
The damn administrator somehow messed up my paperwork and I’m missing three…three core classes.
Ones I should have taken my freshmen and sophomore year.
How could someone whose job it is to make sure something like this doesn’t happen, let it slip through her fingers?
Technically, I have enough credits to graduate, just not the right ones. From what the email says, I didn’t take the correct courses for my major. From the time I started, to now, they changed curriculum and I didn’t get the memo.
They forgot me.
Just up and forgot that I needed to know.
So, now I’m stuck either begging and pleading my way into summer classes, or waiting until fall to take them.
Whichever way, I’m screwed.
My cap and gown will have to wait.
And, just great. I’m going to be that student. You know the one. The fuck-up who screwed up the last year of school. I going to have to drag my ass to three classes that I should have taken way before now. I’m going to look like such a tart.
Yeah, hi. I’m the girl who has to take lower level classes, even though I’m days from graduating.
God, Alex would have a field day.
I bang my head on the door.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Tears start to fall, and once they streak down my cheek, I know I won’t be able to stop them. It’s like the dam has been opened and closing the door is impossible.
I sob, long and hard.
Sliding down the door, onto the floor, I bury my hands in my face and let the disappointment wash over me like a blanket of regret.
One wrenched cry escapes my mouth and I cover it with my hand.
Knock, knock.
“Whit.”
Shit, it’s Oliver. Again.
Where is Lark in my time of need?
Insert snarky boyfriend comment. I’m too sad to think of one right now. You can use your most vulgar imagination; it should suffice for the time being.
I breathe in a sniffle and wipe my eyes. “Yeah?”
He breathes, and I hear a thud on the other side of the door.
What was that?
“Are you okay?”
Umm, no.
Snot snort. Gross. “Yeah, I’m okay, Ollie.”
Ollie? Where the hell did that come from? Stop giving him nicknames.
Fuck me.
“Are you sure? I thought I heard crying.”
He sounds concerned, and it makes me like him, minus the fact he was in the snake’s den last night. Or she was in his.
Whatever.
“I’m okay, really,” is all I say. I’m defenseless at the moment. With the floodgates open, I don’t know if I can control my words. I’m devastated. I’m unstable. I’m likely to fling myself into his arms if he were on this side of the door.
It’s silent and I think he’s left.
It’s for the best. I don’t need to be confiding in a man I’ve just met. He may give me feelings—feels, you know? Oliver gives me feelings Lark doesn’t give me, but that doesn’t give me the go ahead to treat him like anything other than a stranger.
Most new people make me nervous, skittish, but, Oliver? He gives me warm and fuzzies one moment, then makes me mad the next.
I’m a roller coaster of emotions.
I need to get out of here.
Now.
I pull my body up, and look at myself in the mirror. Puffy red eyes, splotchy cheeks, and quivering lips, I figure it’s best to look away. Who cares what I look like?
I pull my cell phone out of my bra and check the time. Ten-thirty. I’m sure Lark is already gone, his class started five minutes ago.
Taking a tissue from the box on the sink, I dab under my eyes. It does nothing except smear the leftover mascara that I missed while washing my face last night. I wipe under my nose, and turn the faucet on to splash my face. The cold water brings a chill, and I welcome the slight sting.
Whelp, I’m as good as I’m going to get.
I quietly unlock the door and pull it open. As my foot steps out of the door, I find Oliver. Sitting cross-legged, with his head leaned back on the wall, again.
He’s dressed in light maroon pants, black boots and a black shirt. How could he possibly make maroon pants look good?
It’s bullshit.
He hears me exit the bathroom, and he moves his head toward my direction.
Hastily, he stands. Alarm etching his beautiful features.
“Whit,” he breathes, combing his hand over his short hair. “You have been crying. What’s wrong? What happened?”
My brain hurts. A man, whom I met less than a day ago, feels the need to wait outside the bathroom to make sure I was fine, while my boyfriend, who, oh, that’s right, just told me he loved me, couldn’t miss the first few minutes of class to check on me?
I sure know how to pick em’.
The words from the email ring in my mind and I cover my mouth.
And here comes the water works.
Oliver moves toward me, wrapping me in his strong, masculine arms. “Hey, hey. Talk to me.”
I’m crying and stunned by his familiarity. I’m a mess.
I lay my head on his chest, because his shoulder is a good five inches from the top of my head and I can’t reach it.
Sniffling, I shake my head. “I don’t think I can say it out loud, Ollie.”
Shit, there’s that nickname, again.
But, saying the words will make it too real. Too final. I’m willing to live in a lie for a little longer.
He smoothes his hands up and down my back and it feels phenomenal. Comfortable. I bring my hands around his middle, feeling safe. Stepping his feet in between mine, I sink into the embrace.
And, you know what? Why the hell not? I deserve a little soothing after the shit storm that went off over my head this morning.
I weep, again. Into a strangers chest, and I feel a calm move into my storm. How is it possible someone I don’t know can bring me something I thought I’d get from Lark?
This is all sorts of fucked up.
“Can you at least tell me you’ll be okay?” Oliver asks, hoping for something—anything to put him in the know.
I shake my head and let go of his embrace. He looks at me with drawn down eyebrows. He crosses his arms and takes a step back.
I rub my forehead. “Seriously, I don’t know if I can say the words.” I point my chin in the direction of Lark’s room. “You can see for yourself, though.”
He somberly nods his head and follows me the ten feet it takes us to reach the empty room.
I snort, and wipe my nose. I’m so attractive right now, I can hardly handle it.
And, did I really think Lark would be here waiting for me?
Maybe a little.
Big dummy.
I sit on the made bed, and grind my teeth. He had enough time to make the fucking bed, but not enough to come make sure I was okay?
Nope, whatever.
That’s Lark, for you. Selfish as all get.
Oliver takes a seat next to me. Not right next to me, but he’s close enough if I wanted to touch him, I wouldn’t have to reach far.
I take the laptop from the nightstand that my loving boyfriend so kindly set on the nightstand and open it.
Logging into my account, I click enter and the first screen that shows up is the email from administration. I hand him the laptop, and put my elbows on my legs. Steepling my fingers under my chin and wait.
Anyone but Him Page 7