SMART TASS (The OHellNO Series Book 1)

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  I smile, but I don’t feel it. “Sure. Sounds good.” I turn to head back to my room, feeling him watch me. I have no clue what he’s thinking. I just know we both have a lot we’re not saying, and I’m not entirely sure his unsaid words won’t smash my heart into a thousand particles.

  Please don’t land me in the sister zone. Please.

  “Hey, Tass!” he calls out.

  I stop and turn. “Yeah?”

  “Bring your DVD of Titanic.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “You didn’t get your chick flick last night.”

  I bob my head. “Uh…sure.”

  He smiles like he wants to comfort me. Or perhaps he needs some reassurance himself. Maybe we both need it. For sure, this is uncharted waters, but am I really ready for the truth? Is he ready to say it?

  Why did you fucking hurt me so badly for over a decade?

  My biggest fear is that he’ll say something horrible—like “I really hated your nerdy guts and thought it was funny to watch you suffer.” I hope that’s not his excuse, because this guy? I want to trust him. I want to let it all go and forgive him. But if he can’t give me a good reason, then everything I’m feeling only proves that he can be a very sadistic person and that I’m a sucker for having any feelings for him, despite his two acts of heroism.

  Just outside the stadium, I close my eyes and tilt my face to the sky. Please, please, please let there be a reason for all this.

  Something wet slops into my eye and I jerk my head down. I wipe with my hand, thinking it would just be my luck to have a bird crap on me in reply. I look at my finger. The liquid is clear.

  Rain.

  I look back up at the random cloud in the sky. “Geez. Thanks.” I have no clue what that means.

  “You’re joking, right?” I ask Elle, who blushes. “You’re going to Henry’s cabin for the weekend?”

  “Just for the night. I’m driving up after I finish a few things; then I’m going to my parents’ house tomorrow and won’t come back until late Monday.”

  “So you’re skipping classes?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “Everything okay?”

  She folds up a pair of jeans and shoves them into her overnight bag. “No. But it’s no surprise.”

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “She’s dying. It’s slow. It’s hard on my dad. And me.” She smiles, but it doesn’t touch her brown eyes. “Can we please not talk about it? I kind of need this space of my life to be separated from it all. Helps me cope.”

  “Yeah. Of course. Whatever you need.”

  “Well, right now I need to finish packing and get some work sent off to my professor so it’s not turned in late.”

  “Anything I can forge for you? A brilliant essay on the principles of quantum string theory, for example?”

  She raises a brow. “What decade are you from? Battlestar Galactica?”

  “String theory hasn’t been disproven.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Like it needs to be,” she mutters with a snicker.

  “Hey! I’m a bio-E major, not a black-hole whore.”

  She laughs and throws a sock at me. “You’re just a whore!”

  I can’t help but laugh when she does. It’s kind of a little squeak. “Says the girl getting it on with a stupid gorilla.”

  Her smile melts away.

  “I’m so sorry. I was just kidding. Henry’s not a gorilla.” I should be ashamed of myself for stereotyping him, even if he started that entire bet thing for their scavenger hunt. For which he apologized.

  “It’s okay.” She sighs. “I know I’m overly sensitive about everything lately. I can’t help it. But Henry is good for me. He’s what I need right now. The opposite of serious.”

  I get that. “And I don’t judge you one little bit. I promise.” If anyone deserved to own a tiny hut on the island of fun, it’s Elle. She’s in emotional-survival mode.

  “Thanks.” She draws a breath and releases it. “I know it’s weird, but everything feels simple with him. We laugh. We talk about stupid things—like movies and school. He’s not carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s just…happy. I envy him in a way.”

  “That’s great,” I mutter, wishing I had that with someone. “Are you worried about what Lainey will say if she finds out about Henry?”

  Elle shakes her head. “Those Kappas give us smart girls a bad name.”

  “So you’re not joining them?”

  “Did you see me at movie night?” she asks.

  Now that she’d mentioned it, no. But I thought she’d been studying.

  She goes on, “I never really wanted to join a sorority, but you said you wanted to and I thought it might be a good way to keep my mind off things while I’m here.”

  “Then I’m sorry. Because you’re right. They’re bad PR for intellectual rock stars like us.” I grin. “Which is why I’m not joining either.”

  “Because of Hunter.”

  “No,” I deny, but then start to think about it. “Maybe. But mostly because I don’t want anything to do with a group of people who spend their energy being so bitter. What’s the point?”

  “No point,” she agrees.

  “Exactly.”

  “So Hunter.” She cocks her head to one side.

  “Yes?”

  “Was I right about him liking you all these years?”

  It’s a damned good question. “I don’t think that was it.”

  “Then what?”

  “I just don’t know, but that’s why I’m going.” Tonight, come hell or high water, Hunter is going to come clean with me.

  “Do you like him, Tass?” she asks while I pack.

  “I don’t know that either.” I shrug. It feels much bigger than “like” to me.

  “But you think you might.”

  “Yeah. I might.”

  She claps. “This is wonderful! Because I think he’d be good for you.”

  I am not so sure. “So what about you and Henry?”

  She swipes her hand through the air. “Oh, come on. You know he’s just for fun.”

  “How would I know that?”

  “Tass, come on. My mom is dying. I’m a wreck fifty percent of the time. What guy would want to deal with that when he’s in the prime of his life, getting ready to finish college and play for the NFL?”

  “Elle,” how can you be so dense? “how do you not see how incredible you are?” She’s smart and cute and could be described as addictive, like a Rice-Crispy treat. The wide brown eyes and gap-toothed smile make her look like a young Madonna, but with down-to-earth clothes. Add the deep, insightful personality and curvy little body? Super catch. Then take into account that she has the brain power to make anyone feel dumb as a bucket of roach toes, but never, ever does anything other than act supportive and humble? Well… “If you had a penis, I’d totally fuck you.”

  “That’s good to know, because I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

  I stare at her for point five seconds before throwing a shoe at her. “Snot rag!”

  “Period hut!”

  “Fart bubble!” I throw back.

  “Grim reaper fingered aye-aye!”

  I couldn’t beat a tiny nocturnal creature with skeletal fingers and enormous creepy eyes. “Fine. Point you.”

  “Ha! I win!” She pauses. “What are we fighting about again?”

  “I can’t remember. But,” I take a deep, deep breath, “I’m happy we’re going to Henry’s cabin together.”

  Her expression turns pensive. “Is that because you’re planning to sleep with Hunter and feel nervous?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay, Tass.” She places her hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay to love someone who’s not like you.”

  It’s the first time in my life I’ve ever heard that thought out loud. But sometimes that’s what it takes to make something real.

  She smiles and then shoves more things into her bag—book, T
-shirt, panties. “It’s kind of weird, don’t you think?”

  “What?” I ask.

  She shakes her hand at her bag dismissively, like she feels ridiculous. “Nothing…”

  “Tell me. What?”

  She hesitates. “It’s funny that you and I ended up roommates. And we both have a thing for guys that are our complete opposites.”

  “That’s the beauty of the universe. It knows a hell of a lot more than we do.” Life is really just one big discovery. Mostly, though, we’re just trying to figure out who the hell we are.

  I wonder if we ever get there.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I text Hunter, telling him that I’d meet him up at the cabin since I want to ride with Elle, and I, too, have a lot to do, starting with calling my mother.

  The conversation barely registers in my head as we’re speaking. I say I’m not getting into Kappa Kappa Kappa.

  She asks why.

  I say because they are a bunch of intellectual Nazis spreading hate among the masses and I am not cool with that.

  She says I’m exaggerating and being childish, that this is a huge “lost opportunity” because their network reaches into every major university and laboratory in the US.

  I say nothing. How can I? How can I explain that the boy next door, from the family they barely speak to because they aren’t like my parents or their friends, makes me question everything I’ve ever wanted?

  So I finish the short call, feeling a mixture of emotions. I’m ashamed for not having lived up to Summerset standards again. But there’s also this tiny tingle of proudness. Bottom line, I’ve done the right thing, and though they may not understand it, I do. It feels good to stand on my own two emotional feet, and I have a feeling I’m going to be doing a lot more of it from now on.

  I pop down to the student convenience store to buy a few snacks and drinks for the drive before we hit the road. The cabin is less than an hour away, but both Elle and I skipped breakfast. As I’m standing buying the obligatory road-trip can of Pringles and Vitaminwaters, the wall of condoms behind the register starts calling my name. Hey, Tassie. Don’t be stupid, girl—they all sound like Snoop Dogg for some strange reason—you know you needs some o’ these bad boys.

  “Will that be all?” the cashier—a blonde girl my age—looks at me with raised eyebrows.

  “Oh, uh…yes. That’s all.” I completely chicken out. Mainly because it’s foolish to think Hunter’s ever going to want me in that way. And if he did, how incredibly arrogant would I look pulling out a box of condoms. Hey, I knew you were feelin’ me, Hunt. So I brought these—now I’m speaking like Snoop Dogg, too.

  I’m ridiculous. I grab my purchased snacks, but halfway down the hall, I stop and go back. “I’ll take a box of Magnums.” It’s an educated guess, because no guy carries himself like Hunter does without having something large packed away down there. Plus, I’ve seen that bulge.

  I throw the condoms in my bag and immediately feel ridiculous again. I know he sees me like a sister, and I know tonight could very well end in a bad place. There’s a lot of emotion being held back by walls of scar tissue, and one wrong word from him will open up those floodgates.

  He’s going to come through, Tass. He’s going to have some wonderful reason for the last thirteen years.

  But if that were the case, I would’ve figured it out.

  I chuck the box of condoms in the trash.

  By the time Elle and I arrive in her car—a white Nissan Cube—it’s almost three o’ clock on this lovely Saturday afternoon. Henry answers the door in shorts and a plain tee. His enormous body practically takes up the entire doorway. The moment he spots Elle, he has her in his giant arms and is blowing raspberries on her neck. She sort of looks like a child compared to his supersize.

  “Stop! You’re going to make me pee.” She giggles. “And my bladder is full.”

  Henry laughs. “Oh, does my little sweet pea need to tinkle? Let big strong Henry take care of that.” He throws her over his shoulder and marches off down the hall. Elle is laughing, telling him there’s no way in hell she’s letting him take care of that particular need, but she’s got other things he can help with.

  I stand there smiling, entranced by the two. They’re like a couple of playful puppies (a Mini Yorkie and a Great Dane), and it makes me feel so damned good to see Elle happy. I know her heart needs this.

  Carrying my overnight bag, I close the door and make my way down the short hallway toward the sound of male laughter. Hunter, Henry and a few of the guys drove together in Henry’s black Cadillac SUV. A text earlier from Hunter mentioned some other girls—his friends’/teammates’ girlfriends—would be showing up after cheerleading practice.

  “Uh…cabin?” I mutter, my eyes sweeping the interior of the enormous A-frame home with soaring knotted pine ceiling and an interior balcony overlooking the great room. The kitchen, to my right, all granite and stainless steel, is so big it likely requires its own zip code. I know from the layout there’s another wing of the house, too.

  I step into the living room area, where Hunter and a couple of guys are playing pool and drinking beer.

  Hunter’s stunning blue eyes lock onto me, and his stare is almost predatory.

  My heart squeezes and then pounds away like a war drum. Then my mouth goes dry. He looks especially hot today in a fitted light gray T-shirt that accents his strong chest and arms. He’s also got on those faded jeans that show off his powerful legs. His dark hair is cut short and messy, but his jaw is covered in a week’s worth of stubble. He looks raw and carnal, like he’s put his sexual potency on proud display.

  Well, call me a peacock. Because I can’t stop looking at his feathers.

  Staring like I am, he suddenly smiles and jerks his head like he’s caught himself doing something he shouldn’t. “Hey, guys. Look who’s here.”

  “Welcome to Casa Walton,” one of the guys—big with a shaved head and trimmed beard—says with a beer salute.

  Henry’s last name is Walton. I vaguely remember mention of a Walton family who owns a heck of a lot of oil wells in Texas. That, or some major shares in Walmart. Either way, this is a getaway mansion, not a cabin.

  “Guys,” Hunter says, “this is an old friend, Tassie. Elle is her roommate.”

  They grumble and head-jerk in a friendly way. Hunter introduces them as Mike T., Mike J., and Brian, who’s the big guy with the beard. The other two are blond and almost the same height. It’s good they’re both named Mike because I’d probably get them mixed up.

  I make a little wave. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You want a beer?” Hunter asks.

  “Uh, sure.” I figure it won’t hurt to loosen up those inhibitions a little and get ready for our talk.

  “Right this way.”

  I follow him into the kitchen area, taking a moment to admire the way his broad back tapers down to his tight waist.

  “I see you cut your hair,” I say, making conversation.

  He jerks open the door of the built-in fridge, which is loaded with drinks and snacks. “We have team photos Monday, so the coach told us we had to get cleaned up. I went right after practice.”

  You look amazing. Without the hair, I can see those sculpted cheekbones and that rigid, powerful jawline. “The team should sell your picture to raise money for charity.”

  Hunter grabs a Dos XX, pops the top, and hands it over. “Aww…are you saying you think I’m cute, Tassie?”

  I bat my eyelashes. “No. You’re horrible. In fact, monster is the first word that comes to mind when I see you.” I smile.

  He throws the beer cap at my chest. “Ditto.”

  “Ha.”

  We stand there for an awkward moment staring at each other. Suddenly, all I can think about is that tiny box I left behind in the trash back on campus. Just standing next to him is making my body spark up in sinful places. It’s a little sad to discover your erogenous zones at such a late age, but I always say better late than never.
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br />   Still, it shocks me that the guy who’s been the catalyst for so much change in my life is this Hunter.

  I hold back a sigh. He’s so damned beautiful. How come I never saw it before? Those eyes. So blue. So intense with the curtain of dark lashes. When he looks at me, like right now—all serious—it makes me feel like he’s decided I belong to him.

  “So,” he says casually and reaches for another beer before closing the fridge, “what would you like to do first?”

  “What do you suggest?” I ask, a hint of flirtiness.

  “You like pool?”

  “Never played, but how hard can it be? It’s just geometry with a stick and ball.”

  He makes a little chuckle that rumbles deep in his wide chest. “Leave it to you to nerdify the great game of pool.” He cracks a big smile.

  “Nerdify?” That comment justifies payback. “Well, at least I don’t try to make everything into a muscle contest,” I tease.

  “Hey, when you got guns,” he makes a fist and flexes, popping out a half-cantaloupe-size bicep, “gotta find any excuse you can to fire that ammo.”

  I know he’s kidding around. He hasn’t been a big show-off since, well, before that one summer.

  “Okay,” he says, “as soon as the guys are done with that game, you and I can play. I want to see some of that stick math of yours. Why don’t I give you a tour in the meantime?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Hunter shows me around—back patio with hot tub, grill, horseshoe pit. There’s a movie theater with seating for fifteen and a large garage with a bunch of toys—boat, jet skis, canoes. Hunter mentions that Henry’s parents are in fact in the oil business, but don’t spend much time here.

  We walk down another hallway, and he opens up the door, the first along a well-lit hallway with skylights above.

  “And this is your room.” He steps inside, and I follow.

  “It’s really nice.” Big bed, fireplace, and there looks to be a nice bathroom, too. I then notice a duffel bag on the bed. It’s Hunter’s. The name over the Pirates logo says Johnson.

  My pulse rate slips into warp speed, and I suddenly feel my heart is going to pop out of my chest and dance around on the floor, possibly doing a striptease or twerking or something shamefully inappropriate.