Deciding the silence is stifling, I decide to try to get to know him better. Even though nothing will happen between us, a friendship can still blossom between us. "What major are you going for?"
Traven perks up at that. It could possibly be the idea of talking about himself or the fact that I'm taking an interest in him. Too early to be determined at the moment. "Business law. I'm taking my undergraduate here, then transferring to Stanford for my graduate degree. Afterward, I'll hopefully get into Harvard for law school."
"Wow! You pretty much have your whole future decided, don't you?"
He nods, and then folds his arm over my shoulder, pulling me into his side. I try not to tense up, but it's useless. It's been so long since I've been in a man's arms, I'm not sure how to act.
Hunter must be the only exception, right? Grumbling, I try to push him as far out of my mind as possible. He doesn't need to take up space until it's time for me to live up to my silence.
If Traven notices my discomfort, he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he tightens his hold like a possessive caveman as our trek forces us to go by the house Jenna and I partied at a few months back. To the night I did, you know what with you know who. Also, I notice that he's got a pep to his step. In high school, we'd call that his Hot Shit walk. At least, that's what Jenna and I nicknamed it.
"Sure do!" he chirps. "Hey, why don't you wrap your arm around my waist, so we don't get separated?"
Furrowing my brows in confusion, I stare blankly ahead while trying to figure out what he's doing. Because this isn't normal. Even I know that, and I'm not some girl who gets asked out on dates every day.
So, in my utter confusion, I retort with, "Separated by whom? There's no one out this time of day."
I try to come off as lighthearted, but I'm seriously getting creepy vibes from him. I wonder when that changed? He was so nice and shy when we left the apartment, attentive on the walk across campus. It wasn't until we got near that house that he started getting a little, I don't know, touchy, I guess you could say.
Traven shoots out a loud, boisterous laugh like I've just said something funny. I crane my head up to look up at him, and I know he sees the confusion swirling in my emerald eyes when his dingy blues settle on mine. But instead of saying anything, he just comes out of nowhere and kisses the top of my head like we're a couple.
Before I can protest, because this shit is seriously weirding me out, he points down the street. "There we are."
Giving him a tight smile, I try to let his weird behavior roll off my back, even though my intuition tells me that he's not a good choice. The last time we were together outside Meece Building, I never got this vibe from him. I was actually excited that someone was interested in me. How can so much change in two months? And it had, there's no doubt about that.
The farther we get away from the house, the more relaxed he becomes. Like he's switching personalities every five to six minutes of our walk. Crazily, by the time we get to the entrance of the restaurant, he's back to being the guy who accosted me outside class that day.
It takes everything I have not to shake my head, trying to see if my mind is playing games on me. I know I didn't mistake feeling his grip tighten on me. Nor did I mistake the way he proudly strutted like a peacock in front of that house.
Any other house we passed, he was normal and carefree—the version of him that I met and found delightful.
"Um, what was that back there?" I ask, pointing a finger over my shoulder.
Dating hasn't changed that much in three years, has it? I mean, of course, I know it's changed, evolved. I'm not stupid. But do guys really get all stuffy and cock-walking in front of random houses like that?
As Traven gives his name to the waitress—apparently having had a reservation?—we follow her through the restaurant and take our seats at a secluded booth.
Good Lord, this is all I need.
Like a gentleman, Traven gestures for me to enter first, like I can't get in on my own side of the booth, and quickly sidles in next to me, so close that our legs from hip to knee are touching. While we give our drink orders, I subtly move the tiniest few inches to the side, like I'm shifting toward him.
Really? I'm just trying to get some space.
I don't think I like dating if this is what it entails.
You just don't like dating if it's anyone other than Hunter. Admit it. Clearing my throat, I distract myself by striking up a conversation with Traven. He still hasn't told me what all that was outside about, but likely, he didn't even know what he was doing. Or maybe ... Fuck, I could slap myself right now. He was probably trying to make a move and using the whole “so we don’t get separated” bit, so I wouldn't call him out on it.
Well, fuck, now I feel like a bitch.
By the time we place our orders, he's fleshing out all the bad vibes I got from him earlier. He's even making me laugh, and that's a plus. Telling me stories of his brother—who’s four years older and the spawn of Satan, he says—and how they used to get in all sorts of trouble with their mom. How they'd climb trees, nearly broke all the bones in their bodies, and how his brother was the first to write on his cast when Traven did end up breaking his arm.
This easy-going version, when he's not trying to fake putting the moves on me, is a version I could really get into becoming friends with. Maybe ... possibly, it could turn into something more? That is if Traven is thinking the same thing about me.
I'm not looking for wedding bells and more children, but a little fun couldn't hurt, could it?
The waitress drops off our food, and we're so deep in conversation we barely give it a second glance. Instead, we're so caught up in each other's stories that we don't even touch our dinner until it's long since lost its steam.
A little vibration next to my hip draws my attention. "I have to check this. Give me a second."
I always answer my phone.
Reaching into my purse, I pull it out, expecting to see a call from my dad, but when it's a text from Jenna, something tells me I shouldn’t open it, but I do anyway from pure curiosity.
What I see causes me to burst out laughing. Harder than I have in a long, long time. Traven seems confused for a second, but I figure what the hell not, and end up showing him what Jenna sent.
Two of the universal emojis for being a thirst bitch and an eggplant.
Basically, my best friend is trying to call me out for being soaked over Traven's eggplant.
As expected, Traven starts laughing as well. But instead of sounding amused like mine, his sounds a bit forced, like he's trying to get in on the joke, but he can't quite put it together. Deciding to put him out of his misery, I explain it all to him and how Jenna is. His eyes glint with amusement, but soon, as my explanation continues, they take on a darker, more heated, quality.
"Your friend sounds like a trip," he volleys, and I most definitely am not seeing things this time for the sixth time in only just over half an hour.
His eyes really did just glue themselves to my chest. Just like I’m noticing that he’s not as far away as he was when I shifted away to face him.
I clear my throat. His eyes pop back up, but there’s no embarrassment at being caught in sight. "Sorry."
I'm sure you are.
But before I can dig further, my phone goes off again. Heaving a sigh, I push away my plate and answer it without looking, this time a call. I force a smile on my face because I don't want Traven to know what I'm really feeling right now.
There's a difference between hot and cold, and then just plain disgusting. I know for a fact now that I wasn't seeing things when I could've sworn he was sizing me up with bedroom eyes. Now, I'm almost sure of it. His eyes have dropped to my chest multiple times, but since he was keeping up his side of the conversation, I never commented on it. Never know, he could be a boob guy.
However, his staring is getting longer and making me feel more uncomfortable.
I put the phone up to my ear, greeting who I know to be Jenna since I didn't r
eply to her thirsty text. "No, the eggplant is not causing me to get thirsty, Jenna."
Traven leers at me. I have to fight the sickness in my gut. And not from dinner, but from his lewdness. There’s a difference in coming on to your date just the right amount and being too forward. Traven has been blowing that out of the water. And I can’t help but blame it on the atmosphere of the little Italian bistro he picked out. The booths are nice and cozy, and the lighting is dim. Anyone here would feel like they were surrounded by Italian culture and romance the person they’re with.
"It's not Jenna, Lo," my brother's voice flits through the line. The tone of his voice instantly puts me on edge, causing me to straighten up and go on full alert.
"What's wrong? Is it Maverick?" I nearly screech.
Thankfully, the restaurant is almost empty, so not too many patrons glance my way with disdain for being too loud.
"No," Duncan assures me, but there's still something there. I can feel it.
"Duncan," I tread softly, worried.
He chokes up, which instantly brings tears to my eyes. I’ve never heard or seen my brother cry. He didn’t even get choked up at our mother’s funeral right before Maverick was born. I was the only one bawling my eyes out while standing between the two men who’ve always had my back. And I can’t help but feel like this is another one of those situations.
"You need to come home now.”
CHAPTER 22
After Traven came back spitfire mad, I put two and two together. Especially when I went to her apartment, and like an idiot, I knocked on the door, only for Jenna to be on the other side. When I asked her where Harloe was, she snubbed her nose up at me and said she’d gone out on a date.
For all of two seconds, I’d been pissed. Hella pissed. My vision tinged with red, and I felt like my head was about to pop off. Traven wouldn’t tell us what went on, but I knew something had. Knowing that he’d taken Harloe out, even after being warned off, I was going to wring his neck when I went back to the house.
Instead of saying anything to her, I dismissed her outright and made my way out of their apartment complex. The silence on her end is starting to get to me. Even though I know she doesn’t owe me shit because of the way I treated her, I couldn’t help but need more of her attention, more of her presence. Just more of her, period. It was like a disease burrowing under my skin. I just needed her.
Before seeing her again, I didn’t know how much. But the longer we’re forced on the same campus, and in at least one class together, the more the need blooms inside me. So, like the stalker she claimed I was at the beginning of school, I actually am beginning tonight.
Getting Easton to take Jenna out was akin to pulling a diseased tooth. Those two have never been in that type of relationship, and I can understand that he didn’t want to mix things up. But we’re brothers, and I needed a favor, so he relented quickly after he realized it was important.
The guys? Just like always, they have my back through anything. That's what being a Golden Crew means—no matter what, you're there.
I just bet they didn't think they'd be helping me break the law.
Treading softly through the hallway, I'm on edge and ready for anything that could come my way. Getting to the girls’ door, I slipped the key I had made into the locking mechanism.
When people say that money can buy everything, they're not lying. All it took was a couple hundred bucks, and I was able to get a duplicate of Harloe's key. Going into the housing office, I didn't know what to expect. But it seems that my family name reaches even the occupants of that office. All it took was me flashing a smile and doing a little bit of flirting, and I walked out with what I came for.
Slipping inside the dark apartment, I softly close the door behind me. Peering through the moonlit room, I allow my eyes to adjust before making my way toward the bedroom on the left. I'm not proud of my actions, but I know from experience in Cassandra's apartment that one bedroom is on the left and the other is on the right. Carefully making my way across the room, I make sure my steps are light and almost nonexistent to the ear. I'd hate to get caught snooping. Even if it is for a good cause, I would never be able to live that down.
Reaching forward, I grasp the cool metal of the doorknob and turn. I push the door open, and I know instantly this isn’t Harloe's room. Everything about this room screams bold, rebellious, and derives from an eccentric nature that just is not Harloe. My girl ... Did I really just think of Harloe as my girl?
Shaking that thought out of my head, I close what has to be Jenna's door. Twisting around, I take the time to gaze around the room. I can see a little bit of Harloe everywhere. In the small throw pillows on the couch, they look so homey and soft with little tendrils hanging around the edges. A lamp sits on a side table, matching the pillows that are on the sofa. The tendrils aren’t as long, but still just as decorative.
This apartment definitely belongs to females. But I find I don't mind this aesthetically pleasing appearance of its homey nature. A sense of welcome practically exudes from the walls, making me feel like I belong, even though I know I don't.
Pushing those thoughts to the side, I make my way around the couch and hesitantly approach Harloe's bedroom door. The hardwood floor creaks under my weight. My breathing is husky and rough, and I have to take a deep breath to try to calm myself down. I'm not usually a nervous Nancy, and going through Harloe's things somehow feels wrong. But with her silence, I’m almost to the point of desperation where there is no going back. The need to figure out what's going on with her, and why she's back in Golden Oaks, is too much of a temptation to resist.
Quickly making my way into her room, I softly close the door behind me. Chancing it, I turn on the flashlight app on my cell phone. For several minutes, the only thing I do is shine my light over the various surfaces of her room. I take in the muted beige color of her walls, the way her bed is pushed flat against the wall and is still unmade from when she got out of her bed earlier.
A tight feeling spreads in my chest, making it almost uncomfortable to breathe. She has a small weathered bedside table with a mismatched lamp sitting in the middle. Her coffee mug rings the surface, leading me to believe she still likes drinking warm lemon honey tea before she goes to bed. In the past, that was always her thing.
She would say that lemon honey tea would make everything better, no matter what was happening in the world. I was prone to believe her words. She never lied to me before, and I didn't think that she would start. For so many years, I've been angry at her for what she did with my brother. But according to her, she never did anything with him, and that's why I need to know why she left.
Why didn't she fight me and stand her ground, knowing she didn't betray us. Before that night, I never would've even guessed she could do something like that to me.
Yes, what I did with Cassandra was terrible. I'm not even going to deny that because that's trying to justify my actions when at the time, I didn't need justification. Everything I have done has been to try and heal myself.
Now, don't come at me with your pitchforks.
I know I could've gone about the whole Harloe and Owen situation differently. I could have been more mature about it, rather than trying to make her jealous by having Cassandra there and completely obliterating her heart.
But the fact of the matter is, when my senses are heightened and I'm angry or confused or sad or happy, I'm not going to make the correct decision. My decision-making skills should not even be in question when I'm in such an emotional state.
And finding out that the girl I was going to spend the rest of my life with slept with my brother? Needless to say, there was no thought process to the way things went down.
And with the way her room looks right now, it's nice to see that not all things change, unlike what she said to me the first of the school year. People can change, but then again, many of the mannerisms stay the same. She's just as predictable as she was in high school.
As I look over the items in her roo
m, my cell phone buzzes in my hand. Flipping it over, I see a text from Easton telling me that Jenna is about to come home. Motherfucker. Should have known that he wouldn't be able to keep her occupied for longer than a half hour. Usually, she makes him come here, so I can't really complain. I just need to get my shit together and get out.
Just as I'm about to send a text message to Easton, letting him know that I'm through with their apartment, my eyes catch on something glimmering in the moonlight that hangs from the bedpost. My features pinch in confusion, and I can't stop myself from backtracking to see what it is.
Reaching forward, a hiss whizzes from between my lips. She kept it after all this time? Picking up the necklace, I don't necessarily know how to articulate the level of emotions that burn in the back of my throat. I got this necklace for Harloe on her fifteenth birthday. I can remember the day I bought it. How I knew, even though it was old and kind of an antique, that Harloe would love it.
Harloe Rose has never been about material things. It's one of the things I loved most about her.
As I stand here, the memories from our past threaten to pull me asunder. Sometimes, it's easy to fight them off. But other times, I can barely get away from everyone fast enough before they encompass me completely.
As predicted, the memory of that night washes through my body like a tidal wave, ripping me from my reality and thrusting me back into my past.
"I have something for you," I say with a wry smile, having just gotten back from picking up her birthday present, which, if I say so myself, is pretty damn amazing.
Her bright eyes and charismatic smile entrance me. Always has. There's just something about Harloe that speaks to the very core inside me like she's an integral part of me, and if anyone were to take that away, I would be nothing but a husk of a man.
She's my soulmate.
She's my best friend.
She's the person I want to grow old with, have kids with, and love until the day I die.
Our Secret: A College Bully Romance (Golden Crew Book 1) Page 20