“Let me worry about that,” Lottie said and actually kissed his cheek.
***
Hassan checked into his room with his two dads in tow, only to find it already infested with Dysons.
“So,” he said, by way of greeting to his new roommate. “What has two teeth, is black and red, and a hundred feet long?”
“Don’t,” Lawrence said. He glanced sideways at his dad. Lawrence and his parents were still barely on speaking terms after his defection to LSU.
“The front row at a Georgia game!” Hassan smiled big for Tess and Steve, Lawrence’s parents.
“Hassan,” Tess said and the scowl melted from her mouth. “How nice to see you out your cage.”
Hassan cringed as the Dyson twins fist-bumped over their mom. “Ouch, Tess. That one gave me heartburn.”
The old Georgia cheerleader smiled prettily for him.
“I would like to settle you in quickly, then pay a visit some time tomorrow. I have an engagement later on that I have to prepare for. I didn’t expect this morning to…” Ali trailed off, red-faced.
He didn’t expect Nathan and Rebecca to spend the morning emptying their lungs of much-needed oxygen.
Nathan cleared his throat. “I, too, have an engagement. Though why Ali speaks of sightseeing and grabbing a beer in such formal terms, I’ll never know.” He glanced at Ali and received a barely discernible smile.
Tessa stepped up smoothly. “We’ll take care of Hassan, like always.” She brushed aside a lock of too-long hair that had flopped in his eye. He kept meaning to get a haircut.
“By ‘take care’ she means ‘kick his ass’,” Matt murmured.
“Here, here,” Mason said. “We owe him one for forcing us onto this parasite of a campus.”
“Language, Matthew!” Hassan’s dad cried. “Your mother is present; you must show respect.” And smacked him upside the head like he would his own son.
Matt grinned. “You’re right. I’m Mason though.”
Ali rolled his eyes. “Nathan? Are you quite ready?”
“A moment alone with Hassan first, please,” Nathan said.
Oh boy.
Nathan and Hassan stepped outside. Once there, Hassan reminded himself that the other man would notice if he suddenly started panting.
“Do you know why I wanted to speak with you?” Nathan said.
The tiles of the floor were once white, but now resembled beige or white smoke. The particular one Hassan stood on had an aggressive crack down the middle that threatened to bloom into two others. Tiles. His breathing. Steady. Nathan. Edy. He could do this, could do anything for Edy. Even talk to a Nathan that had morphed into a werewolf overnight.
Hassan shrugged at his earlier question.
Nathan said nothing, forcing Hassan to give him a cautious look.
“You’re using protection with my daughter?”
No.
“Yeah—yes.”
“Hassan!” Nathan cried.
Bile formed at the back of Hassan’s throat. His hands wouldn’t keep still, so he shoved them in his pocket. Nathan inhaled visibly. He paced back and forth as if on some impossibly short and tight high wire. When he stopped to look at Hassan, his jaw worked and his nostrils flared. Nathan resumed his pace, faster now, then turned and drilled a fist into the slab of wall near Hassan’s head.
What. The. Fuck.
“Damnit, Hassan! What don’t you get? You and Edy are all I have now. You can’t… throw your life away on foolish impulses. You’re worth more than that. And I—can’t stand it.”
Hassan stared at him. His mind had so much to process at once. “Is your hand okay?”
Nathan blinked, as if attempting to catch up cognitively to the moment. “I’m sure it’s fine.” He held up his fattening hand between them, looking at it as if it were a foreign entity, an offender capable of terrible deeds.
Hassan swallowed. “You said, ‘you and Edy’.”
Nathan looked up. “What?” He seemed disoriented.
“You said, ‘you and Edy are all I have now’.” Maybe it had been automated, old talk from old days. Surely, this was about protecting his daughter.
Nathan sighed. “Hassan, you know how I feel about you. At least, I hope you do. All this discord has taught me that nothing will change that.”
Hassan’s eyes misted over for one horrible second. With brute force, he shoved back unwelcome emotions.
“I need to have this talk with Edy, I know. But I’m sure I’ve been too distant, erratic and unsympathetic for her to welcome parenting from me,” Nathan said. “Then my wife’s leaving me and I’ve been quarreling with my best friend. I’m getting everything wrong.”
It was then that the door to Hassan’s room opened and his father emerged. He looked from Nathan gripping his wrist—Hassan supposed his hand hurt more than he let on—to Hassan’s repentant expression. Then he roared with laughter.
“They’ll be the death of us, my friend! I’ve told you this before,” Ali said.
Nathan muttered a reluctant, “Maybe.”
Not to be put off, Hassan’s dad threw an arm around Nathan—something Hassan hadn’t seen in at least a year and continued to grin. “Tonight, my friend, drinks are on me.”
At the team’s designated meeting time, they reported to a grand room with stark white, reaching walls. Brassy LSU letters trimmed in purple jutted from one side. Guys the size of grizzlies gathered around a white-clothed buffet table and crowded in clusters.
“I hate buffets,” Lawrence said. “I'll bet this food’s been fondled and spit on ten times already.”
Hassan cringed. He hadn't the heart to break it to him. They had nothing but school lunch lines ahead of them for the next four years. Why did he think the upperclassmen gathered around greedily? They knew this was as good as it got.
“And I told him, ‘what happens in Baton Rouge makes first page news’!” a guy at the buffet said and a solid wall of listeners roared in laughter.
“Seriously, X,” said a too-close voice just behind them, “I don't know what it means when you dream you're naked in public, but you like it. Why would you even think I’d know?”
“Cause you’re a Psych major!”
“They haven’t covered that, yet,” said the first.
Guys everywhere were tremendous. Like steel trap, colossal, Incredible Hulk tremendous. Bigger than anyone on his high school team. And worse, the buffet table encouraged them to crowd up, muscles atop muscles, and jostling for food.
“Let's just post up in the corner,” Lawrence said. “We'll stay low-key and—”
“Oho!” The guy who’d been shouting about what happened in Baton Rouge stepped out of the fray. “No one told me the pageant queen had arrived! Boys! Boys! Give it up for number one, the prettiest girl at the freshman ball!”
To Hassan's horror, people began to step back and turn to him as the dark and enormous figure started a thunderous, slow clap. Others joined in, whistling, catcalling, and shouting out compliments about his pretty face and bare legs.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Hassan muttered between gritted teeth, mouth trapped between a grimace and a smile.
“And what’s a queen without her first attendant?” the big guy shouted. “You better give these girls their due!”
“He’s talking about me, isn’t he?” Lawrence said. He took a tentative step back as if there was somewhere he could go.
“Yeah,” Hassan said. “He is.”
A slim, pale player comprised of ropey muscles that came together for that tough country look gave Hassan a nudge.
“That’s Freight,” he explained. “Real name’s Jackson DePaul. Team loudmouth, official busybody, gossip, harasser, know-it-all.” He dragged every word he spoke through his mouth, losing consonants along the way. He wasn’t grinning obscenely, at least. So, when he shoved a hand toward Hassan for a shake, it was accepted.
“And what should I call you?” Hassan said.
“Paul,” came t
he answer. “Paul Metcalf.”
Hassan’s arm turned to lead.
“Yeah.” Paul said. “The guy you've come to replace. Maybe.”
A whistle sounded, followed by the collective groan of the group. Like well-trained sheep, their path became clear: out of the room and into the auditorium next door.
“Listen,” Lawrence said amidst their sluggish progression. “Let's grab a seat at the back and stay low-key.”
Because that plan had worked so well a moment ago. “Absolutely,” Hassan said.
The auditorium seating staggered upward from front to back, so that the seats in the rear were the highest and each one before it required a step down to access. The podium down front was without a stage; instead, purple carpeted flooring and a massive projection screen rounded out the dais.
Immediately, Hassan realized Plan A was a bust. The back rows grew thick with knuckleheads laughing and jostling, shoving each other. He exchanged a tentative look with Lawrence and moved down a few rows. He'd create the best buffer he could so that—
“Hereeeeee she is, Miss America,” Freight crooned in a deep and booming tenor. “I said, ‘Here she is, Miss America’,” and swept an arm out in mock reverence. When Hassan cast him a wary glance before taking a seat, Freight hustled to the next row and dropped down on one knee, engagement style.
Bodies continued to file in as Freight placed a hand over his heart and became solemn. His singing continued, voice dropping through the basement in a ridiculous, irksome bass.
Hassan's face heated blow torch quick as the roars of laughter took over. Was this really what they thought of him? That he was a fussed-over pageant queen? The wild laughter said ‘yes, hell yes’.
He sighed. “You about finished?”
Freight grinned and squeezed into the row behind Hassan. So much for buffers. Soon a tall and leathery brown guy with swaggering confidence in strides came down to join him. One even leaner and more towering with skin like the night rounded out their group. Hassan recognized Mr. Swagger as Caiden Cash, team quarterback. The last guy was Xavier Wright, the team’s star wide receiver, who, rumor had it, had bitched so much for a second wide receiver that Lawrence likely owed his scholarship to him. Still, Hassan pretended to not know one from the other, especially when they congratulated Freight on a serenade well done.
“So, tell us, Pradhan,” Cash said, practically leaning over into Hassan’s row and therefore his seat. “What the hell took you so long to commit?”
Yikes. He should have seen that coming. Now, Hassan felt like his pants had dropped and he'd forgotten to wear underwear. There was no way in hell that he’d utter a word about his girlfriend. Not when they were already calling him a damned queen. So, he glanced at Lawrence for help, found him already looking at him, and immediately realized his mistake.
“The couple had to discuss things. You know how this can be,” Freight said.
Hassan’s mouth flew open and Lawrence kicked him. Play this cool, Lawrence seemed to be saying. We’re pros at this. Think of the twins.
“I don’t know,” Hassan said finally. “I had a lot of offers. I had to pick the best school.”
A moment of silence followed, where he could see this answer settle into their bones, gaining approval.
Caiden Cash clapped him on the shoulder and chuckled. “I’m just giving you shit, man. I swear. I don’t care why you’re here, so long as you’re half as good as the hype. Cause the position’s been empty."
The guys snickered just as an image of Paul flashed into Hassan’s mind. No sooner had he had the thought than did he look up to find Paul glaring at them—glaring at him.
It must've been a special kind of torture to watch the ticker tape parade come through for the guy slated to replace you.
Chapter Eight
Edy and her roommate spent the next few hours unpacking, with Naomi pausing here and there to fiddle with the iPod and the speakers she brought along. Their taste in music coalesced in some places and crashed in others, but for the most part both girls liked just about everything. With the sun having set and half Edy’s clothes put away, she and Naomi took a breather and contemplated what to do about dinner.
Naomi had suggested the cafeteria, but honestly, the idea didn’t appeal to Edy just yet.
“We could order a pizza,” she suggested.
Naomi shook her head. “I came down on a discount Greyhound ticket. I don’t have money to waste, kiddo. What little I do have, I plan to make last.”
A thunder of banging rattled their front door. Naomi raised a brow. “Hassan?”
“Not Hassan,” Edy said, as her boyfriend had both a team meeting and the good sense not to knock as if he had warrants.
Naomi, who must have been from some small and trusting town, went to the door and opened it immediately. A rush of girls spilled in.
“Naomi! Edith!” Tamela bellowed as the gang flooded every possible open space. She was a force, this girl, Edy could see that already, with her boisterous bounce and wide, arresting eyes. She had command in her voice. Edy wondered how she backed it all up.
As Naomi emerged, the introductions ensued rapid fire. These were some of the girls from earlier, plus more. Lana the Blue-Haired with ruddy cheeks and dark eyeshadow, Cecily Call-Me-Cici, who had hair like burning embers and an aggressive swath of freckles, and London Wu, back again, and grinning like she wanted the center of attention.
“We mingle tonight,” Tamela said as she pushed her way into the room. “Everyone goes to Lure. It’s a team tradition and an LSU tradition. It’s also a great way for us to begin bonding.”
Edy almost said that she didn’t recall mingling from the official schedule of events. She was hungry and tired and drained and not up to hanging with people she’d have plenty of time to get to know. But she held her tongue. She held her tongue because this was the first time she’d ever been part of a team and she didn’t want to spoil it. Also, she didn’t know this girl and the Rebecca side of her warned to keep silent and study her surroundings in unfamiliar territory.
So, Edy smiled like a dork. “I’d love to,” she said. “But I’m starving.”
Tamela’s blinding grin faded. She shoved past Edy and Naomi, leaving them to stare dumbfounded. Once in their room, she yanked open first Edy’s closet, shut it, then attacked the nearest suitcase. Muttering to herself in open disgust, she turned to Naomi’s closet, which apparently had much richer fare. She snatched down two dresses and hurled a black, skin tight bandeau wrap at Edy. It made her blush to even look at it. “Get dressed, Phelps. I’ll tell you a second time because you’re new and don’t understand how things work around here, but I run the show.”
Edy didn’t bother with protests. She simply slinked off to the bathroom, wondering just what the hell she’d gotten herself into. She needed this scholarship, wasn’t a quitter, and refused to be intimidated. No need to alienate her captain on the first day.
London Wu stuck around to fuss over her makeup when it became apparent that Edy didn’t know the application side of a kabuki brush. The girl tutted, rolled her eyes, and sent minions to retrieve various shades of fierce from Naomi. She couldn’t believe Edy didn’t have makeup.
For the ride out to Lure they divvied up into three cars, piling so that they squashed, stacked like dishes heaped with no regard for safety.
Tamela drove like the Devil on wings of retribution, slicing from one lane to the next, slashing out at anyone who dared get in her way and cursing for good measure. Edy wondered what her dad would say to see this, then put him out of her mind. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her dress, inching somewhere near her bottom, and resisted the urge to demand out, and now. They had Uber in Baton Rouge, didn’t they? Or yellow cabs, at least.
Tamela whipped into the parking lot of a blighted, black-windowed, double story with its name in glowing script. Edy could gather nothing from the car-swollen parking lot or the building’s face. Was this a restaurant? Bowling alley? Sports bar?
&nbs
p; She looked down at her clothes.
Strip club?
“Let’s party, girls,” Tamela said. “Because the grind begins tomorrow.”
They spilled out into the parking lot, with the upperclassmen whooping and howling like hyenas. They broke into a run.
Shit.
The older ones had no problem bolting in heels. The freshmen squeaked and shouted after them, some stumbling like Edy in their determination not to be separated from the group. Everyone made it to the door, however, without snapping an ankle.
“Hey! The party has begun. The Lady Tigers are here!” shouted a muscle-swollen guy at the door.
Tamela pressed a familiar kiss on his cheek and his smile grew monstrously wide. He snapped a glowing bracelet on her wrist and went down the line, treating them each to the same. “Go in. Honored to have you, as always,” he murmured.
As each girl passed, she suffered a grunt of appreciation, whistle of recognition, and, in a few instances, a murmur of, “My God.”
Thick, dense hip-hop poured from the single open door as the girls slipped inside. Bodies already crowded the dance floor, entranced in lazy sways. A few scattered tables and chairs stood on the far sides of the club, with stairs tucked away in each corner. A bar lined the back.
The girls’ hyena shrieks returned. Edy tugged on the hem of her dress again, snatched Naomi by the wrist, and went straight for the bar, praying the credit card she’d shoved in the broadside of her bra work had managed to stay lodged. They both needed to eat.
The mozzarella sticks were good. The jalapeno poppers even better. Edy had just processed her bartender’s suggestion that she try something stronger than the kid’s fare when the music shifted from one pulsing tempo to the next funky, syncopating one. London Wu screeched and kidnapped Naomi for the dance floor. More pairs broke off, and somehow, Edy wound up with Tamela’s cleavage too close for comfort.
“Me and you, freshman!” she shouted over the foot stomping shouts of a crowd who apparently knew what dance routine went along with the song.
Wrecked (Love Edy Book Three) Page 6