Claiming Callie: Part one

by Rion, Paige

  “I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you and that I don’t have it all figured out. But there’s no other way. I could get another job, two other jobs, on top of school and my internship. But the fact is there’s just not enough time in the day, and even if there were, minimum-wage, part-time pay isn’t enough to clear my debt. Even if I auctioned off all my crap, I don’t think it would bring in more than a couple thousand dollars.”

  “I’ll loan you the money, then. Tell me, how much do you think you need? I’ll write you a check right now.”

  Callie takes a step back. “What?” She glances to Jinny, who’s standing there staring between them, an unreadable expression on her face. “You don’t have that kind of money.”

  “How much?”

  Anything. God, I’d do anything to help you. To see you happy. To see you stop hiding your grief in the bottom of a shopping bag. Anything to prevent you from dating more tools like Jason.

  When she speaks, her voice trembles. “I’m sorry that you think I’m so screwed up. And I’m sorry if shopping makes me happy. At least something does. At least it’s something I’ll always have. But this is my mess. It’s mine to own and I’ll figure it out. Somehow.”

  She turns away and sprints to her room. Dean shakes his head, then drops his gaze to the floor. Jinny moves toward him and places a hand on his back and whispers, “I know,” then leaves. And all Dean can think of in that moment is how a girl with so much going for her, and so many people left who still care about her, could feel so alone.

  * * *

  Dean slams the doors to the gym, and they echo behind him with an ominous thud. His gaze trains on Jason immediately. He’s standing with several guys on their team—all dressed in their gym shorts and Panthers jerseys. He’s tossing a ball from palm to palm, laughing with that smug-ass grin on his face. The one Dean plans to effectively obliterate.

  Without missing a step, he continues straight toward Jason, leaving Emmett behind. “Dude, don’t do anything stupid,” Emmett calls after him, trying to keep up.

  But Dean ignores him. He’s too busy burning holes through the side of Jason’s face with his eyes.

  “Hey, asshole,” Dean calls out.

  Jason turns and says, “Did I win?” Then he snickers at Dean’s obvious anger, and all Dean can think of is him putting his filthy hands on Callie, asking her to have sex with him for money, then threatening her. And all Dean can see is red.

  He takes one last step toward Jason and, without warning, brings his fist back and smashes it into Jason’s face, connecting with his eye. Jason staggers back and shakes his head, his eyes unfocused, but Dean’s not finished. He can’t stop thinking what it would’ve felt like had Callie taken Jason up on his offer. And all he can picture is the two of them together—Jason with his slimy paws all over her, then cutting her a check when it’s all over.

  “You stay the hell away from her,” he spits. “You hear me? Or I’ll—”

  Before he can finish, Jason lunges at him and grips his arms, pushing him back, then throws a fist, which smashes into his cheekbone. The sting feels good. Dean welcomes it. Because it gives him something to focus on, an outlet for the fury consuming him.

  He leans into Jason and rams his fist into his face again, missing his nose by an inch and busting his lip instead. Blood oozes from the split in his lip, and Dean lunges again. But several pairs of arms stop him. Like a vice, Emmett grips him, yanking him away from Jason—who has his own pair of teammates restraining him.

  Jason’s snarling. He swipes a hand over his face, smearing the blood seeping from his mouth, sputtering, “Let me go,” when the boom of their coach’s voice blasts through the gym.

  “What the hell is going on here?” he roars.

  Dean and Jason stop struggling with the strangling arms of their teammates and turn to the voice. Their coach stands several yards away, and judging by the murder in his eyes and the tight set of his mouth, he’s pissed as hell.

  “I don’t know what kind of petty high school drama’s going on here, but I won’t have it in my gym. I want both of you to hit the locker rooms, get your shit cleaned up, and return here when you’re finished. Dean, you take the ladies’ locker room. It’s empty.”

  “But—” Dean starts.

  “Save it!” Coach yells. “Go! And in the meantime, I’ll be getting a recount of what happened from everyone here, and either one or both of you,” he says, pointing, “will be benched for a week. Got that?”

  Dean looks down at his feet and his stomach sinks while his teammates around him groan. Fuck. I can’t be benched right now. Not when we’re so close to play-offs. Not when the team needs me so much.

  “You’re so screwed,” Jason snarls, and when Dean glances up at him, the surge of fury whips into him once more. He steps forward, ready…

  “Enough!” Coach barks.

  His coach’s orders break through his anger once more, and he blinks, his eyes still on Jason, who seems less fazed. With a shake of the head, Dean sprints toward the locker room. But just before he reaches it, Jason’s voice calls out, a low rumble in the backdrop of the gym where his coach’s voice mingles with that of his teammates.

  “She’s nothing but a slut, and I’ll make sure everyone knows it. This isn’t over, Michaels. I’ll make you pay yet,” Jason says, then whips open the door of the men’s locker room and disappears inside.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CALLIE

  Callie leaves Langley Hall, heading away from class to the edge of campus. She makes her way over the lawn, her booted feet crunching on the frosted grass, and hugs her pea coat tighter against herself. She stares at the ground as she walks until she hears a guy in front of her say, “Hey, aren’t you that girl? Callie?”

  Her brows knit together, and she glances around to see if anyone she knows is nearby. Only a few vaguely familiar faces, among several people she doesn’t recognize at all, surround her. “Um…yeah?”

  The guy’s lips spread wide, a crooked impersonation of a smile with his severe overbite. “Hey, maybe I’ll hit you up sometime.”

  Callie raises her brow. Whacko!

  “Uh, okay,” she says. Move away from creepy overbite guy. Move away.

  She takes a step back without another word and continues on. She’s had enough encounters with weirdos lately. And she’s positive she’s never seen that guy before.

  How did he know my name?

  The episode with Dean. That had to be it.

  Maybe he’s on the team and she just didn’t recognize him. Or he heard somehow what happened between Dean and Jason at practice the other day. Someone else had already approached her about that this morning, so it’s not out of the question.

  Callie hasn’t seen Dean since he stalked into the gym and busted Jason’s face up a couple days ago, and maybe that’s for the best, because she isn’t sure what to think about what he did. She hears he’s sporting a pretty nasty bruise across his jaw himself.

  He’s probably hiding his sorry face from me. And hide he should. She’s had enough of his super protective behavior lately. Beating the tar out of Jason, although not totally uncalled-for, is unnecessary.

  I can fight my own battles, thank you very much.

  And not only did Dean go overboard, but he got suspended from the team for a week. Just when they’re about to make play-offs. Crazy!

  But maybe Dean is right, and that’s her real problem with him right now. Maybe he was right all along. This escort thing is a bust. It’s probably a stupid idea, possibly a dangerous one even. Especially, if, like Jason, the men she goes out with assume she’ll trade sex for money. But how do other escorts do it? Surely they don’t all sleep with the men and women they go out with. Do they?

  Callie shakes her head. Who knows? Though I find that hard to believe, maybe I am naive, like Dean said. After all, I fell for Jason’s load of crap.

  Callie sighs and adjusts the strap of her messenger bag on her shoulder. She approaches the edge of campus and
glances up just in time to see three girls staring straight through her as they walk by. The moment they pass, they burst out laughing. And if she’s not mistaken, she hears one girl whisper, “That’s her. Whore!”

  Callie’s mouth drops, and she whips around on her heel, but the second the girls see they’re busted, they scurry off. Turning back around, Callie speeds up. Her lungs burn as she takes in the cold air, and her breath puffs in the cold like little clouds.

  She stops at the edge of campus and checks the street for traffic before crossing, then steps out on the road. Her phone rings, but she hurries across the street, continuing until she’s only a few yards away from the doors to Buzz before wrangling it from her jeans pocket. One glance at the screen tells her it’s an unknown caller.

  Her finger hovers over the answer button, but something makes her hesitate. Her scalp prickles, and a shiver trails up her spine as a strange feeling of trepidation grips her. Swallowing hard, she answers and brings the phone to her ear. “Hello.”

  “Hi, I’m calling about your escort service?”

  Callie blinks. She never gave out her number. When she and Jinny set up her website and the ad, they only listed an email address, where Callie could screen and filter the requests, then call the men back on her own. There’s no way this guy should have her number.

  “Um, have we gone out before?” she asks. She doesn’t recognize his voice, but it’s possible he’s the wedding date, or Rude Rick. After all, she’s worked hard to wipe those memories from her brain.

  “No.” The guy chuckles. “Nah, I just saw the article about you and was hoping to get a spot in your schedule. I’d actually like the, uh, the full package.”

  “What?” Callie croaks. She squeezes her eyes shut, barely noticing the cold now. Her head spins, and she can’t keep up. She has no idea what this guy is talking about.

  “You know…the full package? Or do you call it something else? All I’m saying is that I’m not turning you down.”

  “How did you get my number?”

  There is a pause on the other line, then he says, “The article.”

  Sure, that explains everything!

  “What article?” she half screams into the phone. Panic rises in her chest, a bubbling, growing thing that makes it hard to breathe. Before he can answer, her phone beeps. Once. Twice.

  Another call. Callie lifts it away from her ear and sees another call coming through—another number she doesn’t recognize.

  What the hell?

  When she hits the hold-call button and puts the phone back to her ear, the new caller is already talking. Callie squints, trying to make sense of his babbling, but she can’t. He’s going on and on about this article he read and it’s not until he says, “When I read about your business in the Pitt News, I figured I’d better get in on it before you either got too busy or were shut down.”

  Callie freezes. His voice vanishes into the background. Anything she was about to say to him evaporates from her mind, and she can barely hear him through her blaring thoughts.

  OMG. There’s an article in the Pitt News. About me. About the escort thing. And obviously a whole lot more.

  The hand holding her phone drops to her side. She shoves it back into her pocket and darts to the door of Buzz. Her gloves shake and slip on the door handle. She can’t seem to pull it open, and she stands there, struggling with the door, until Jinny—like an angel in her black-and-yellow Buzz apron—opens it for her.

  Callie practically bowls her over as she enters. Her eyes scan the café tables for a copy of the student paper that usually clutters the tabletops. Her teeth chatter as she spots a guy reading it at the far table, and she storms up to him and snatches it from his hands.

  “Hey!” the guy starts, before he blinks up at her. “Hey, aren’t you—”

  “Save it!” Callie barks, and glances at him with wide, manic eyes. She must look crazed enough to scare him off, because the guy raises his hands, grabs his books from the table and heads for the door.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Jinny’s half laughing. “You totally just freaked that guy out.”

  With trembling hands, Callie holds the paper. A huge picture of her easily fills a third of the front page, and it shakes so badly as she holds it, she can barely make out the words.

  When she doesn’t respond, Jinny places a hand on her arm and her tone turns from humor to concern. “Callie?”

  But Callie can barely hear her. She has tunnel vision. Everything around her is wiped out by the sight of the title on the front page of the student paper. The one that boasts her picture and, in big, bold letters, reads “CAMPUS PROSTITUTE ON THE LOOSE!”

  Her vision goes black. She can’t read any more. She grips Jinny’s arm in front of her. It’s all she can do to remain standing.

  In the background, she hears Jinny’s voice. “Callie? Callie? What’s wrong?”

  Her stomach pitches and rolls. Breathe. Just breathe. Oh, God, I’m gonna be sick.

  She presses a hand to her stomach. This can’t be happening. This, really, really can’t be happening…

  Woosh. Woosh. Woosh. She breathes in and out, but her head won’t stop spinning.

  “What the hell? Are you doing Lamaze?” Jinny asks.

  Callie giggles for a moment at the incredulous look on Jinny’s face, feeling her grip on sanity slip. Then her eyes tear up, forcing her to close them, and when her phone begins to ring again, she doesn’t even look at it. She can’t bear to, because she knows it’ll be another number she doesn’t recognize. Another caller from the very article she holds in her hands.

  She manages to hold the paper out and whispers, “Read this. Out loud.”

  * * *

  “Oh. My. God.” Jinny says. She glances at Callie.

  Callie swallows. The article is every bit as horrific as she feared.

  “What do we do?” Jinny asks.

  Though Callie appreciates that she includes herself in this dilemma, as if they’re coconspirators in life, she certainly doesn’t feel the unity in this predicament. She feels completely and utterly alone. Humiliated. Mortified. Dumbstruck…

  There aren’t enough adjectives in the English language to describe it.

  Callie says nothing. She just stands there, her mind spinning in a million directions, yet getting her nowhere.

  What is there to say? I will forever be an abomination on campus. A joke. Some kind of money-grubbing slut.

  “You could sue him for slander or libel. Whatever it is! He can’t do this.” Jinny’s voice is hurried. “We need to go to the paper immediately. They’ll print a retraction. They’ll remove all copies that haven’t gone out. Jason must’ve slipped this by them. Who knew that asshole is on the student paper? Either that or he has connections, but either way, they’ll revoke this issue and print a retraction. And he’ll probably get in a boatload of trouble for running lies like this.”

  Callie glances at Jinny, at the concern in her eyes. She’s right, of course. But a tidal wave of anxiety rips into her as another thought, something far more terrifying than a sullied reputation on campus, crashes into her. “What if someone at GG Financial gets wind of this? What if they find out? I’ll have no chance at that job. I’ll lose my internship. I’ll—”

  “No. Stop.” Jinny grips her arms and gives her a little shake.

  Callie’s eyes glaze over, but she forces herself to listen, because she can feel the hysteria coming on, unraveling itself like a waking beast inside her, and she has no clue of what to do about it.

  “We’re going to the paper right now. You hear me? We’ll fix this. As for people finding out, I’m guessing only a quarter of the students actually read the paper. It’s early yet. By the time they start talking, the retraction will be printed. As for GGF, they won’t find out. They’re on the other side of Pittsburgh. It’s not like they get the student paper, and the other two interns go to Duquesne, not Pitt. Just trust me, we’re in the clear.”

  Callie nods, and the naus
ea in her gut lessens.

  She’s right. Jinny’s right. This doesn’t need to be the end of the world. I just need to remain calm.

  “You think we can still do damage control?” Callie asks, needing to hear it again.

  “Absolutely. Hang on,” she says and leaves Callie. She disappears into the kitchen and returns with two trash bags. “I’ll call the Pitt News while we go from building to building. We’ll collect every damn paper we can find, then burn them. In the meantime, we’ll get them doing the same, while also printing a retraction. Come on.”

  She wiggles her fingers for Callie to follow. Standing on rubbery legs, Callie takes a deep breath and grabs one of the trash bags from Jinny’s hands. “We need to do it together. I can’t go off alone.”

  Jinny nods, her eyes fierce, the set of her jaw rigid. “Of course. I just need to call Dean and let him know. Whether he likes it or not, I’m closing up until he can get here and cover.” Jinny grabs her phone and dials.

  She lifts it to her ear, but lowers it the second the doors to Buzz blast open. “Uh, no need,” she mumbles.

  Dean propels through the doorway into the coffee shop like a torpedo. His eyes are enough to set the place aflame, and every tendon in his neck stands out. A vein in his forehead pulses to the beat of his heavy breathing.

  “I guess he’s read the article,” Callie says.

  “I’ll kill him.” He seethes. “I will abso-fucking-lutely rip him limb to limb.”

  All Callie can do is stare wide-eyed, but Jinny interjects. “Hold up. Settle down, Rocky. You’re already in enough trouble as it is for your little stunt in the gym the other day.”

  “Yeah. This is proof I should’ve done a whole lot more—”

  Somehow Dean’s anger makes it easier for Callie to think. She jolts from her stupor, the fog in her head clearing. “Jinny and I are taking care of it. We have a plan. We’re calling the newspaper right now.”