By Referral Only

by Lyla Payne

  We devoured each other, like we were making up for the three near misses over the last couple of months and more, besides. Cole bent slightly, hands cupping my ass and lifting me against him, until my ankles crossed behind his waist and his erection pressed between my legs. His answering groan tightened my stomach with need and he pushed his tongue more firmly against mine, exploring my mouth in a way that made my mind race with possibilities.

  My arms trembled with the effort of holding our faces at the same height, but I didn’t want to move. He kissed me until I was hot and breathing hard from the lust. When he slowly lowered me back to the floor and set me on my shaky toes, it was the last thing I wanted.

  He rubbed his hand over his shorn locks, cheeks red and chest puffing air, eyes burning with the same desire that threatened to incapacitate me.

  “That was worth waiting for,” he commented, his voice soft.

  “I’ll say.” I wanted to kiss him again and again. Maybe the fastest way for Emilie and I to end our scheme was for me to find out Cole’s secret for myself, disappointment be damned.

  He opened the office door. “After you.”

  “Seriously?”

  “We promised to shell crawfish, and as much as I’d like nothing more than to see what’s under that T-shirt, this is not the place.” Composed Cole had returned, stick up his ass and all.

  I wanted nothing more than to dislodge that thing. When I stepped past him, I let my hand brush the front of his pants, still noticeably tented from our impulsive, crazy hot kiss, and paused to look up into his face. “I guess you’ll have to wonder if the rest is worth waiting for, too.”

  He groaned, raising a hand to tuck a stray piece of my hair back into place. “Lead the way to the crawfish, Cajun Princess.”

  I did as he asked, unable to stop the silly grin on my face or to clear the lightness in my head. That kiss had exceeded every expectation. It felt like we’d been born to fit together, nothing awkward or hesitant about it, and it begged the question as to whether sex would be the same way. I’d never had a non-awkward first time.

  I’d be happy kissing that boy for the next two weeks straight.

  The sink filled with the rusty red deceased mud puppies waited where Lauren had left it. I plucked one from the top, then dug until I found a second for a little demonstration. “See how this one’s tail is curled under, but this one’s is flat?” Cole nodded. “Throw out the ones that aren’t curled. It means they were already dead before they were boiled, and that’s bad eatin.”

  “Bad eatin?”

  I blushed, the slip into my home dialect erasing the cocoon of pleasure. “They don’t taste good.”

  “Ruby.”

  “What?”

  “Your past isn’t anything to be embarrassed about, at least not as far as I’m concerned. It’s made you who you are, and that accent is fucking adorable. I say shit all the time that you can’t understand.”

  His reassurance eased the tension in my shoulders and I offered him a smile. “That’s true. Anyway, once you have a good one, you twist off the tail, like this.”

  Cole winced at the resulting crunch, his prissiness making me giggle.

  “You want to suck out the brain?”

  “Why on earth would I do that?”

  “It’s a custom. Tastes pretty good, really.” When he refused the offered head, I pressed it to my lips and slurped it clean. For the first time since coming to Whitman, it felt nice to do something that reminded me of home.

  “Oh my God, I am so glad I kissed you before you did that.”

  “Then you squeeze the tail and just peel the shell away from the meat.” I demonstrated while Cole watched, his eyebrows furrowed like a little boy paying attention in class.

  He grabbed one and I watched, correcting him a few times when he tried to toss away meat, but he was a fast study. We both focused on the mudbugs for a while, so when a slurping noise met my ears, it totally surprised me.

  Cole’s face twisted as he dropped the crawfish head, looking a little horrified and a lot green. “That was disgusting.”

  I laughed. “The actual taste or the texture? You can get used to the latter.”

  “Tell me about your parents,” he requested, concentrating on the next crawfish, dumping the flesh in a pan to be rinsed and discarding the shell in the trash.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard all about them.”

  “I want you to tell me.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re your parents, Ruby. I’ve been wondering about you for weeks. I’m curious.”

  Wondering about me for weeks. The idea terrified and pleased me at the same time. This thing with Cole was dangerous. Even if every girl who had dated him before turned out to be crazy—unlikely—we would never work, not long-term.

  “My father developed software about fifteen years ago that helps fishermen track the movements of fish, currents, water temperatures, things like that. His family has made their living fishing off the Gulf Coast for generations, have always been poor but happy about it. A few years after that, he developed an anti-spam package that Microsoft acquired. My mother makes exercise tapes—Josephine’s Jam Off, you’ve heard of it.”

  “Are they happy?”

  The question surprised me; I never thought much about it. “I think so. I mean, they fight but I never felt like a divorce was coming down the pike.”

  Cole nodded. “And you’re an only child?”

  “Yes. I think they tried but it just never happened. I’m jealous of your plethora of siblings.”

  “You’ve got DE and Emilie, now.”

  “True. And for all of my sarcastic complaining about sorority life, I love them.”

  “But you don’t love Whitman.” His brow furrowed as he stared at me, more consternation in his gaze than desire, for once.

  “That’s not true.”

  “But you don’t want to date anyone who goes here.”

  I knew he was trying to wrangle the reason out of me. It wasn’t like, a big secret or anything, so I shrugged. “I’ll never be good enough for the guys here, so I kind of decided to beat them to the punch.”

  “From where I’m sitting, you’re way too good for most of the guys here. Why do you think so little of yourself?”

  “I don’t. I’m being real.” He stopped shelling, watching me in a way that said he was waiting for clarification. “I went out with this guy freshman year, and things were great until he took me home for Thanksgiving. He made up some excuse, but it was clear that his parents hadn’t approved.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I ripped the tail off another crawfish. “It’s okay. I mean, I’m over it now.”

  “If you were over it, you’d realize that even though there are superficial families at this school, and in the world we live in, that we’re not all like that.”

  No good answer came to mind. We finished the last of the crawfish in the sink, washed our hands and forearms, then returned to the office to change clothes. There was no funny business, which for some reason both relieved and disappointed me. Cole unnerved me—he didn’t behave as expected or fall into the established Whitman stereotypes, and those were how I navigated my life. Without them, I felt unmoored, as though a director had demanded I improvise an entire audition.

  Cole was the richest of the rich, the oldest of the old money, and the guy every girl warned me to steer clear of. He was also warm and funny, direct and sensitive, and I wanted to know him better in spite of the deck that seemed stacked against him. The truth about where I’d come from, that my parents’ fortunes were younger than I was, hadn’t made him flinch. The story of what had happened with Michael hadn’t seemed to surprise him, but he hadn’t pulled away, either.

  Not to mention that the idea of taking him to bed made my body want to melt from the inside out.

  Hope was a dangerous thing, something I’d worked hard to avoid. Like expectations, hope almost always ended up dashed against the rocks of reality.

>   Giving into my lust and curiosity about Cole would be like making it through to the very last round of auditions, sure I was about to be handed the career-making role I’d always dreamed of, only to have the director tell me they’d chosen the girl they’d been after all along.

  While those kinds of chances exhilarated me in the theatre world, in the real world, they inspired nothing but terror.

  Chapter 12

  Emilie raced up as soon as she saw me step out onto the deck, her face filled with annoyance and worry. “Where have you been? And why do you smell like a swamp?”

  “The manager was having some trouble in the kitchen and Cole and I got roped into helping. Why are you so flushed? You and Quinn didn’t have sex somewhere, did you, because if we get fined for that—”

  “No. Not yet, anyway.” She laughed. “I talked to Chaney, and then to that sophomore theatre girl that works as a waitress here—Manda. She was on your list of Cole’s exes.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” My curiosity spiked. “What did they say?”

  “You’re not going to believe it. Come on.” She led me down the wooden deck steps and out toward the beach, until the crowd had thinned out to sparse couples, all focused on something other than our discussion.

  “Okay, you’re killing me. Spill.”

  “He’s leading them on.”

  “Come again?”

  “Like, he takes them out on several dates, things heat up, then he refuses to sleep with them and tells them he doesn’t want to see them anymore. No explanation, but pretty much they all feel like he thinks they’re not good enough or something.”

  The truth didn’t make sense. What kind of guy didn’t sleep with a girl he’d been dating? “That’s definitely weird. And it explains the ratings. They’re all embarrassed or pissed.”

  “Do you think he’s gay?”

  “Nope.” No way a gay guy kissed a girl like Cole had kissed me in the back room.

  “Impotent?”

  “Nope.” That much had been perfectly clear.

  “What makes you so sure?” Emilie crossed her arms, giving me an exasperated look.

  “Because we just made out in the storeroom, and it was fucking hotter than shit.”

  “What?” She screeched, then slapped a hand over her lips. “That’s where you were?”

  “Well, the thing about helping was also true, but yeah.”

  “What does this mean?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing?”

  “Ruby Belle Cotton. It’s like your scheming gene has gone completely dormant. At the very least, it means we can find out what his issue is once and for all. Just keep seeing him.”

  “I’m not seeing him now.”

  “It’s been obvious he likes you since the first day of class. He’s going to ask you out again. Say yes this time, wait a couple of dates, then figure out what his deal is!”

  “It’s going to be like with everyone else, Em. He’s just going to not sleep with me and send me packing. I can’t…I don’t want to do that.”

  Silence hung between us for a moment, the murmur of laughter and voices far enough away to count as background noise. It took her a moment to hear what I left unsaid, but this was Emilie.

  “You like him.”

  “I don’t know if I like him, but I don’t hate him. I definitely want him.”

  She nodded. “If you’re worried about getting hurt, then we can figure out a different way.”

  I looked at her, at my best friend, the bravest girl I knew. She hadn’t been afraid to keep going to Quinn, even when he smacked her down emotionally time after time, because she’d felt something and acted on it. Shame flooded my blood at my own cowardice.

  Then again, Emilie had never been rejected the way I had been the first couple years at Whitman. She got the occasional racist asshole who assumed she wasn’t good enough because of her complexion, but her father’s name and reputation commanded respect. Even though he made buckets of money of his own as an innovative surgeon, their family money had been inherited.

  In the end, I knew that no matter what I resolved, staying away from Cole probably wouldn’t happen. He seemed determined to keep coming around and that pull between us.…I doubted I’d be able to resist it until I saw it through to the end. Whatever that meant.

  “I’ll do it. I’ll keep seeing him and find out what happens after date number three.”

  “I’m proud of you, Rubes. You never know.”

  Emilie and I headed back inside, a little sandy but no worse for the wear. Quinn swept her up when we stepped back through the screened door onto the patio, and I wandered the room, checking with my sisters and making sure everything was going smoothly. Once a mixer or party got going it pretty much ran itself, but it never hurt to make sure.

  I spotted Chaney chatting with a couple of good-looking guys and another senior DE, and stole her away for a second.

  “What’s up, Ruby? Great dress.”

  “Thanks. We never got a chance to talk after that night I let you in the house.”

  “Ugh, totally over it.”

  “Good. So, you wouldn’t care if I wanted to hang out with Cole?”

  Her eyes widened. “I mean…I don’t care, in that, I still like him. But talk to Emilie first.”

  “I have. I kind of want to figure him out.”

  She shrugged. “More power to you. He’s hot and actually a really good date, except for the withholding sex part.” Her gaze narrowed. “And he’d headed this way right now.”

  “Chaney. It’s good to see you.” Cole’s face arranged into a pleasant mask, even though confronting the last girl he booted probably didn’t rate high on his list of fun things to do. She grunted and went back to the group she’d been talking to, giving my arm a quick squeeze.

  “Hey, let me ask you something,” I asked as we stepped away.

  His expression didn’t change, but wariness stiffened his body. “Sure.”

  “The Saturday before school started, I found Chaney on the porch, no keys or wallet or cell phone, disheveled and pissed. She said she’d been with you. You were so contemptuous of Liam leaving me in that parking lot, so it’s been bugging me.”

  “There wasn’t a question in there, but if you’re asking why I appear to be a hypocrite, the answer is that she wouldn’t let me take her home. We had a…disagreement, and when I offered to drive her back to the house, she threw a rather large finance textbook at my napper and took off like a pelican.”

  I nodded. Knowing Chaney, I had figured as much. She looked like an actual angel, but the girl had a temper. She had dressed down an alumna advisor for falling asleep in the back of a Recruitment workshop in front of the entire chapter last year.

  Cole led me outside, where the band had moved onto the deck. October in Florida was about as perfect as weather got—still warm but less humid, and the pleasant breeze smelled of salty ocean and escaping summer. Night had fallen; stars twinkled overheard as the band shifted into a slower tempo and I realized Cole had extended his hand.

  “Care to dance?”

  “Why not,” I replied, hesitating only a split second.

  A quick look of suspicion crossed Cole’s handsome face before he pulled me into his arms. He probably couldn’t figure out why I’d done such a complete turnaround where he was concerned. If only he knew it hadn’t been quick at all.

  One hand warmed my waist though my dress, the other rested higher, toying with the ends of my hair. I rested one palm over his heart, enjoying the steady pattern of beats, and the other on his impossibly hard shoulder. He gathered me closer as the song wore on, until only the barest slip of moonlight could have slipped between our bodies.

  “You are quite the intriguing Cajun Princess,” he murmured, not taking his eyes from my face.

  “Why?”

  “You’re a study in contradictions. I mean, I’m not going to lie. At first it was the way just the sight of your face took my breath away, and the way your lithe little body moves un
der your clothes.”

  My skin heated, and I looked away, trying to hide my reaction. “And now?”

  He lowered his head until his lips brushed my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “You have this perfectly innocent face, but you prick like a thistle. You are smart and accomplished and passionate, yet you are wildly defensive. You seem to be putting on a show all the time, but with the kids at the Coterie, you’re honest. Happy.”

  “Is that all?” I asked, wondering if I should have been shocked or pleased at how easily he saw through my charade.

  “Definitely not. I feel as though it would take a fair folk’s lifetime to plumb your depths.” He seemed to realize the unintentional double entendre and winked. “I mean, the emotional ones. Not that all of your depths don’t interest me.”

  “Do they?” It didn’t seem like sex interested Cole, at least not according to my website.

  And here I was, asking him to come in for a callback anyway.

  “I doubt you missed that very clear fact earlier tonight,” he breathed against my ear.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  I whirled at the sound of Liam’s voice, my back pressed against Cole’s chest. He didn’t move. Liam’s eyes shone, betraying he’d had plenty to drink tonight, and his hands curled into fists. I’d never considered him skinny, but after having my arms around Cole twice tonight, my former…whatever-he’d-been looked positively scrawny.

  “What are you doing here, Liam?” I crossed my arms, comforted by Cole’s silent support.

  “You invited me, remember?”

  “I invited you two weeks ago, when we were still…involved.”

  “And we’re not involved anymore?”

  “We haven’t spoken or seen each other in at least that long. Do you need it spelled out for you?”

  “Because of this hulking idiot?” Liam jerked his head toward Cole. “You going to fuck him instead now, you rich little whore?”