Easton jumps off the stool near our kitchen island, punching my arm. “So, why not just go after her?”
I chuckle like I’ve never thought of that before. “That’s easier said than done, I’m afraid.”
“Why?”
I see Leo grimace from his end of the island as he caps his Gatorade. He knows the gist of what happened in our sophomore year, and it’s going to be hard, but these are my guys. Maybe I should tell them just to get the shit off my chest. The whole truth. Not some watered-down version I fed everyone who asked me where Harloe went after she left Golden Oaks.
“You don’t want to go down that road,” Leo says. “It has a lot of fucking booby traps.”
“It’s fine,” I say around a groan, running my fingers through my hair as I slouch back into the half-moon stool at the island. “I did some shit that you can’t really come back from.”
“Spill.” Easton eagerly leans against the counter like a cat begging for cream.
“Let’s just say … false information was given, I unknowingly cheated on her, and then all but called her a gold-digging piece of trash. Oh, and basically ran her out of town and said she doesn’t belong here. That was just in high school. That’s not counting what’s happened here before I got her side of the story that I still need to corroborate.”
The smile on Easton’s face slowly withers away to nothing, and he glances around the kitchen at both Zeke, who’s stiff and unmoving, and Leo, who’s surprisingly showing his aggression at the situation for once than toward me. Easton’s shoulders sag, and he slowly rises to his full height. “Brutal. Remind me to never piss you off.”
“That’s exactly why I can’t just go after her, East. I fucked up. Bad. There’s no forgiveness after what I’ve done.”
Easton takes me off guard by coming around the island. Like some female, he grabs my bicep, looks at me intently, and says, “The only thing in life that is set in stone is birth and death. The life you live? It’s what you fucking make of it, not what it forces you to bend over and take.”
I sense a deeper meaning behind his words, but I’m too stuck in my head to care. He’s also right. As much as I hate to admit it, Easton actually got something right for once. Maybe I will talk to her. She probably doesn’t want to see me, especially after the way she rebuffed my question a few days ago when that bastard of a teacher interrupted us, but nowhere is it set in stone that I can’t try again.
As fast as Easton turns into a philosophical genius, he turns back into an asshat with a questionable IQ, trying to see if he can balance on the edge of the island like a gymnast, with his beer between his feet, so he can drink from it.
Rolling my eyes, I shove away from the island and get up. “I’ll see you fuckers later.” I scratch the side of my head, nervous. “I guess I’m going to bite the bullet and go talk to her.”
If I can be honest right now, I haven’t been this nervous since the first time Harloe and I kissed under that weeping willow tree in my backyard. My hands were sweaty like they are now. I had butterflies flapping all in my stomach, and it felt like I was going to puke.
Damn, no wonder people don’t do this shit. Admitting you’re at fault for something is akin to tucking your tail between your legs like a scolded dog. It sucks. But I know this is what I should do. Harloe deserves it.
Oh, trust and believe, when I get past the anger at possibly finding out my brother made this shit up, I’m going to beat his ass until he can’t fucking speak, and then I’ll make him write down why. Why would he risk ruining my future?
Blood is supposed to be thicker than water. At least, that’s what my dad has always taught us. He may be a hard man, but Landon Prince is also a fair man. He believes that you reap what you sow. Mostly, that’s what I’m trying to shy away from. I did a lot of sowing, and it’s going to come back to bite me in the ass. I just know it.
Leo sighs, and it’s like one of those fatherly sighs that lets you know he approves of your idea. Not that I need his approval. Dick.
However, that doesn’t mean I don’t like having my friends behind me in whatever I decide. At least I know they’ll be there, backing me up, even if I’m being a stupid little shit.
Sometimes, these bastards get on my nerves. They’re rowdy, too stupid for their own good, but amazingly, we all ground each other. Each quad of Golden Crew who’s ever graduated from Golden Oaks high has this connection, but not like us. We’re tight as fuck, and nothing can get between us.
Gathering my keys off the counter, I’m nearly to the door when I see our roommate prancing down the stairs looking his best. My mood instantly sours.
“Where are you going all spiffed up, Lockridge?” I ask, trying but failing to keep the menace out of my tone. Like I care.
This dick knew who Harloe was the first time he approached her. I explicitly told all the fuckers in this house to give her a wide berth. But this asshole, he thinks he’s playing games encroaching on my territory.
Plus, I know how big of a douche he is. He thinks I haven’t heard about this little bet he has going with his friend on the lacrosse team, but he’s a fool to think I don’t know everything that goes on here at GOU. And I’ll be damned if he targets Harloe.
That’s the reason I was such a condescending asshole toward her when I saw both of them talking outside of the Meece Building. He was trying to accost her, thinking she’d give it up to him so he could add her to his list.
Pathetic.
He lights up, shooting that shit-eating grin my way. “I’ll be late tonight. Going to do some wining, dining, and then some fucking.”
What poor girl did he get his claws into this time? Jesus Christ. Guys like Traven give guys like us a bad name. Trust me, we don’t need help with that shit. We already have a hard time keeping out of trouble.
The guys make their way out of the kitchen at the sound of Lockridge and me. Easton peers between us, hesitant. He knows the shit that went down at the beginning of the school year. How Traven here tried to piss all over what’s never going to be his.
“Problem?” he asks, appearing aloof as he slows down and lazily leans against the banister.
Not surprisingly, he’s right between Traven and me. Even the dumbest motherfucker can see his muscles are strung tight, ready for a fight, or to break one up if need be. He’s not fooling anyone.
“Nope,” Traven pops the P as he dashes down the rest of the stairs. “Heading out. See you guys later. Id’s say wish me luck, but I don’t need it.” His grin turns lascivious.
Leo snarks, “So full of yourself, motherfucker.”
Traven wiggles his brows while grabbing a thin jacket. “And she’s going to be full of me tonight. Then I’ll drop her just like I did all the others.”
I take a step forward for whatever reason, and Easton is there, barely bumping me back with his arm as if to make me realize I’m close to losing it if I’m going after Traven for no reason. He does it almost imperceptibly, without Traven noticing. It’s enough to knock me back to my senses, the haze of red slowly dissipating from my vision.
Traven leaves without fault, and the only thing I can do is stand there, a bad feeling gathering in the pit of my stomach. Shaking my head, I look back at the guys, then back toward the door. “I have a bad feeling about that guy.”
“Probably because he hit on Harloe,” Easton volleys, shrugging.
“No. It’s something else,” I quip. “There’s just … a whole lot of bad in that guy. I can feel it.”
CHAPTER 21
I shake my head in utter humiliation.
Not for me, no. For the person who thought it was okay to tell Jenna that naked Fridays are a thing.
Oh, don't get me wrong—they certainly can be. However, that's when you find yourself a nice guy, do the hanky-panky with him, and get yourself hitched. You could possibly, beforehand, instate a naked Friday if you're crazy enough.
But never, and I do mean never, should naked Friday be a thing when you're living in your co
llege apartment with a friend. A friend who's a girl and wholeheartedly straight.
"Jenna," I groan, covering my eyes.
I'm supposed to be working on this essay that's due before mid-term, but I can't focus when my roommate is waltzing around in the nude like it's a normal occurrence. You'd think after living with her for the last two months, I'd be used to it. Needless to say, I'm not. Doubt I'll ever be.
She scoffs. "Nothin' you haven't seen before, girl."
Exactly. "I don't want to see that," I deadpan.
Jenna laughs under her breath before disappearing into her room, shutting the door behind her. I wait the extra minute or two just in case she forgot something and needs to come back out. She's done that before. It caught me completely off guard. That poor egg sandwich didn't even stand a chance against the floor.
Sighing after the allotted time, I hesitantly uncover my eyes. Unfortunately, my eyes are pinned to her door as a secondary measure. She's like a ninja, fast and stealthy. One minute, you're eating your dinner, and the next, you dang near take a nipple out before she snuck up on you.
I still don't think she's forgiven me for that yet.
Tucking back into my assignment, I get lost in all the analytical jargon we have to use for our business ethics class. Mr. Erikson, while fair and just, has a relentless need for us to make sure we put the correct terminology in our term papers—any papers we complete in his class, for that matter. He keeps saying it will not be his lousy teaching that doesn't prepare up for our chosen careers, that it will be our lack of effort.
I have to say, that’s one of the only things I agree with him about. And I really need to be ready for when that day comes. Being a single mother, I already have a mark against me. Not many places want to hire someone with a child, especially if they're single. Oh, and especially if they're a woman. People are real anti-feminist nowadays. And I won’t let them try to find something wrong with my work ethic. I'll work harder and longer than anyone else to prove my worth.
While reading through my textbook, I stop to mark several important sources that could aid me in my mid-term paper. In doing so, I almost tune out the sound of someone knocking on our door. Tilting my head in that direction, I glance at the door and wait for it to come again. Someone's probably lost or something, or they ordered delivery, and the guy probably has the wrong door. They'll get the picture.
But when the knock comes again, my eyebrows furrow. I wasn't expecting anyone—not that anyone comes to see me anyway. Allowing my head to fall onto the back of the couch, I yell, "Jenna, I think someone's at the door for you! Is that why you decided to start naked Friday early?"
In a blitz of movement, her door opens as she starts whisper-squealing. "I knew he was only joking!"
"Joking? What are—you know what ... I'm not even going there," I say, waving her off with my hand.
I heave an exhale of relief, seeing that she at least put a T-shirt on to answer the door. A girl can only answer the door naked so many times before people knock on it just to see her goods. I had to put my foot down on that one. Jenna's life may have been sheltered, but there's no way she's going to be this rebellious with me around. Someone has to reign her crazy in.
Laughing under my breath at the thought of someone taming that girl, I get back to work, only to be stopped a moment later when Jenna calls out, "Um, Lo, you may want to come see this." The breathless awe in her tone has me intrigued. There aren’t many things that get Jenna into that state. Puppies, kittens, hot men with no shirts on. But I believe people call that swooning.
Setting my things on the sofa, I stand up and fix my shirt. I have to make sure it's covering the muffin top that still manages to escape over my yoga pants. The only downside to having a child? What people have categorized as the “mom bod.”
I pad softly toward the door, cursing the tiny apron I still have post-pregnancy. Jenna is standing there, all sensually leaning against the door, laughing at whatever the person is saying on the other side. When she does one of her girlish awws, my heart practically leaps into my stomach.
Surely, my brother wouldn't do this to me.
Quickening my pace, I get to the door, only to be taken aback by who's on the other side.
"Traven?"
Now I know why she was practically oohing and awing. While it gave me a heart attack for about two seconds, it's nothing. The guy I haven't talking to in, damn, what seems like forever, is standing on the other side of the door, spiffed up and smelling delicious. His cologne drifts over the stagnant hallway air, causing saliva to pool in my mouth. My eyes can't help but track down his lithe, muscular frame.
His hair is artfully styled in a just fucked way, tufts sticking this way and that like he didn't put much effort into his appearance. But you can still tell he did with the minimal gel and freshly shaven face. A dark, navy blue polo shirt dons his wide chest, just tight enough to make out his rigid, corded muscles underneath. A pair of white-wash, holy jeans; worn, black leather belt; and a pair of new-looking Jordan's are strapped to his feet. His outfit is coordinated without being too matchy-matchy, and it's a damn good look on him.
Realizing that I'm basically devouring him with my eyes, I clear my throat and chastise myself, asking, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
His hands go into his pockets, and his body shuffles like he's uncomfortable or nervous. "I was wondering if you'd like to go to dinner with me?"
Tilting my head, I say the first thing that comes to me. "But, I sound like a dying cow?"
My face immediately burns in embarrassment. "I, uh …" I laugh nervously.
His actions are emboldened by my confession. "Hunter Prince doesn't know what he's talking about. I think you sound lovely. Well," he replies sheepishly. "From what I've heard of you talk in class, that is."
Jenna stands silently between us, eyes wide like she's peering up at something magical. Choking on a laugh, I subtly push her out of the way and take up her spot near the door. There’s movement in the kitchen where she backtracked to, and I do a subtle glance and see that she's ... Dear baby Jesus ... Why does she insist on being so weird?
"Jenna!" I scold, watching as she immediately stops humping the kitchen island, giving me a saucy little look. She's such a pervert. Geez.
As if I didn't catch her just molesting the island, she says in an upbeat voice, "I think dinner sounds perfect! You two lovebirds go have fun."
"But I—”
"Go!" She shoos me out the door, and it's a miracle I'm able to grab my flip-flops and purse before she shuts the door on my head.
I stare at the door in complete disbelief, and Traven chuckles by my side. "So, dinner?"
"I guess I don't have a choice now, do I?" I retort without thinking.
"Ouch." He grabs the place over his heart, feigning pain.
Laughing softly under my breath, I tuck a piece of hair that's escaped my messy bun, saying, "It's not that I didn't want to go out. That paper in Mr. Erikson's class is just kicking my ass."
"You haven't finished?" He quirks a brow like it’s the most absurd thing he's ever heard. But he saves himself from my storming off when he says, "I'm here if you need help. Professor Erikson can be a bit of a stickler.”
Smiling, I nod and blush. "Thank you."
A few moments of silence pass between us, him smiling at my smiling before he snaps to and gestures for me to go in front of him. "Let's get you fed." I notice his smile lingers, and I could have sworn his eyes fell to my chest for a split second before he finishes with, "Then we'll come back here, and I can help you with your assignment."
After all the nasty things Hunter said to him, I'm surprised he's even interested. And I'm not one of those pathetic girls who volleys after someone's affections. I couldn't care less if I dated or not. All my time is spent worrying about my son and how his transition here on campus is going to be. He'll be going from seeing my dad and brother every day to seeing them once a month.
Of course, then there's the epic failur
e that is me not telling Hunter he has a son. While I'm too chicken shit now, because of how bad it looks, I should have pushed forward when I was a sophomore and told him about Maverick. That would have been the adult thing to do. Except, back then, I wasn't even close to being an adult. I'm only just now getting the hang of it at eighteen with a two-year-old son.
I already know the moment Hunter sees him, it's going to mean war. He won’t take it lightly that I withheld his son, and I sincerely hope he doesn't try to fight for custody because that would cut me to the quick. It's not my fault all of that happened three years ago, and if anything, I should be commended for thinking of my son and his safety, rather than having him in that situation, to begin with.
I gave up everything for Maverick, and I'll never hold that against him. He made my life better from the very first time I heard him cry. But, after giving up so much, would it hurt to try to take instead of giving? I don't necessarily have any feelings when it comes to Traven. He's handsome, don't get me wrong. Any girl would be lucky to have someone like him. However, he doesn't cause a flicker of a spark that a person should feel when they desire someone.
Maybe I should tell him. Explain there’s nothing there, but we can still be friends. But then again, maybe ... I should go with it? It has been such a long time since I've been with someone who wanted to get to know me. Shoot, forget even thinking about the last time I ate a meal with someone who wasn't a girlfriend or family member.
With that in mind, I decide to go for it. "Sure. I'd like that."
We make our way out of my building. Traven lays his hand gently on the base of my spine, and as predicted, nothing follows his touch. No shivers. No tingle of pleasure. It's as platonic as can be. And I can't stop my body from sagging in disappointment. I may not have wanted him mentally, but maybe, it would have been nice to have a physical reaction to him, so I wasn't so lonely.
Our Secret: A College Bully Romance (Golden Crew Book 1) Page 19