by Kim Karr
“I’m new, so I haven’t met very many people.”
She frowned as if reconsidering if she should have asked me.
Not wanting to feel rejected, I threw out, “But I have a brother in a band and another brother who’s a graduate student here.”
Her eyes twinkled with excitement. “Are they hot?”
I shrugged again. “I guess so.”
“Then you’re a PNM.”
I clasped my hands together in excitement at having a title and making a new girlfriend.
“We need little sisters to help at the Kappa Sigma’s Pledge Night tonight.”
“I’m not really a little sister, though.”
“Oh, I’m giving you temporary membership. Raise your right hand and repeat after me to accept and we can move on to the hazing,” she said in a serious tone.
My mouth dropped open.
“I’m only kidding.”
Not quite sure I believed her, I did as she instructed, trying to recall movies I had watched with sororities, but my mind went blank. I finished repeating the words.
She skipped around the table. “Done!”
I felt nervous and excited at the same time.
She grabbed her materials up off the flat surface. “Let’s go.”
I patted my hair. “Now?”
“Yes. Inspiration period is about to begin.”
I slanted her a questioning look.
“Hell week,” she mumbled.
“Oh, but I’m not sure I . . .”
She put her hand up and ignored my concerns as she filled her purse with the brochures and swung it over her shoulder. “But first you need to change your outfit. Come with me; you look close to my size.”
She took me to her dorm room, gave me a change of clothes, and we were off. It was dark and streetlights lit our way. The shoes she had me change into weren’t exactly made for walking long distances. I wore heels all the time, but those must have been five or six inches high. My hair blew in my eyes and I pushed it behind my ears. Claire had tried to tame it, but it was still a frizzy mess.
“What am I supposed to do tonight?” I asked, trying to keep up with her pace.
She rolled some lipstick on her lips and smacked them. “Be bitchy and nice, ugly and pretty, stupid and smart, innocent and slutty, blond or brunette.”
I looked at her in confusion.
She laughed. “It’s easy. You just tend to one of the fraternity brothers’ needs.” With a silver tube in one hand she air-quoted the word needs.
I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but I suddenly felt like a call girl in her short skirt and tight top and I started to think twice about going. My stomach lurched. I wasn’t really a partyer. I’d lived with my aunt in Paris and didn’t often participate in the college extracurricular activities. I always had tons of guys who were friends and I called them boyfriends, but I don’t think I ever had one in the true sense of the meaning. Girlfriends, on the other hand, those were harder to make and I wondered if I was a bit too quirky for most girls’ liking. But since Claire had brought me under her wing, I didn’t want to blow my opportunity.
“Ne . . . needs?” I stuttered.
She peered at herself in a compact mirror. “You be whatever he wants you to be. You know, make sure his cup is full, flirt with him, tell him what he wants to hear. Make yourself his dream girl for the night. But never, ever let him know it’s your job. It should seem natural and real—like you really like him.”
I stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk.
She looked over at me. “You can do that, can’t you?”
“Of course.” I swallowed, thinking maybe my silver tongue had gotten me in over my head this time, but then I thought no, I had read many books where girls molded themselves to be what the guy wanted and ended up liking who she became. With that thought I knew I could be the kind of girl she was talking about—strong and confident in her sexual prowess. I could be just like one of the heroines of my romance novels.
“Great! Just relax. Enjoy the free booze and man candy. I promise it’ll be fun.”
I bit my lip, hoping my brother Xander wouldn’t be there. He’d kill me not only for not telling him where I was going or for what I was wearing, but more so for what I was going to be doing.
She pushed her boobs up. “Oh, and if he wants a blow job, make sure you give him one.”
My eyes widened and my mouth fell open.
“Only kidding. But you should have seen what I had to do!”
“What?” I asked, once again stifling the urge to turn back around.
“I was forced to dance on tables for all the fraternities on campus to absurdly sexual songs.”
Oh God, I thought.
“So, tell me about that brother of yours that’s in the band.”
I couldn’t look at her. I was still trying to process what I had gotten myself into. I finally took a deep breath and said, “His name is River and he’s coming to visit in a few weeks. His band is actually going to play on campus.”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, I love rock stars. You have to introduce me to him.”
“Um . . . sure, I can do that.” But I already knew she wasn’t his type.
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
I laughed. “No, he says he doesn’t do girlfriends.” And I air-quoted my last word as she had earlier.
“He sounds dreamy,” she said.
Again I cursed my silver tongue.
When she opened the door to the frat house, all I could do was stare. People were everywhere. Music played loudly from the speakers in every corner, silver kegs lined one wall, and large plastic bowls overflowed with food on the tables. She led the way and when she stopped abruptly, I ran right into her.
“Sorry,” I hollered over the pulsing music.
She ignored me and moved forward, but I stood glued to the spot I had stopped in. My pulse was racing. My cheeks prickled with heat. There he stood, Ben Covington, just a few feet away—tall, beautiful, messy blond hair, a body that made mine tingle everywhere, and a smile that caused me to melt without even knowing why it formed on his lips.
Claire doubled back. She noticed my stare.
“Can I be assigned to him?” I pointed, my stomach fluttering.
She made a low dismissive noise. Waving her hand, she said, “He has a girlfriend.”
“So you don’t assign guys with girlfriends?” I asked a little too sharply.
She raised an eyebrow. “Sure, he’s all yours. But you should know he never really pays attention to any of us.”
I shrugged and resumed my staring.
She shook her head at me. “I have to say you really are a strange one.”
Lightly laughing at her comment and trying not to take offense, I kept my eyes glued on him. He was across the room talking to some younger guy rather animatedly, and when he stretched out his hand with a red Solo cup in it, I straightened my shoulders. “I’m off.”
She pursed her lips and grabbed my arm. “Do you want any pointers?”
Knowing I must seem like a contradiction, I met her eyes. “I got this, Claire.”
She grabbed my elbow as I started to walk toward him.
I twisted to look at her.
“Honey, my name is Stacy. Claire is my dream girl name. What’s your name, by the way?”
“Bell Wilde.”
“Oh, I like it. Is that your dream girl or real name?”
I gave her a blank look. “Real.”
“So what’s your dream girl name?”
A smile crossed my lips as I looked over to the guy who had captured my attention since I first saw him just a few weeks ago. Xander had taken me to a frat party but made me leave when he saw me drinking a beer and staring at Ben. The guy across the room was also the same guy I had been obsessing over since he talked to me in the library a few days ago. I couldn’t believe he was here.
“S’belle,” I said to her, more sure of that than anything I had since I met her. At that mome
nt, I stood tall and strode across the room chanting, I can be his dream girl for the night over and over.
My insides froze when I stopped in front of him. I was so nervous that when I wrapped my trembling hand around his cup, I thought I might be sick. Then I thought, I can do this. It’s my job, after all. But when our fingers touched and a heat spread throughout my body, my nerves were back.
He grinned down at me with eyes that had to make every girl look twice. He shuffled his feet and for a second I thought maybe he was nervous too, but only for a second because when I looked up into the smoldering heat of those blue eyes, I saw nothing but confidence. That one look gave me strength and I suddenly found my words. “I’ve been assigned as your little sister,” I said, feeling as if my tone came out more little girl than dream girl. But the way he looked at me, I didn’t think that was what he thought at all.
“Bell, you okay?” Dino asks, and pulls me from my memories.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I reassure him as he places the last of the food on the table.
Dino works for Tate, my boss from my day job, and for me on occasion. I glance away from what we’re doing and catch sight of Ben. He looks almost edible in his tux. He’s talking to his sister and when he lowers his chin in an almost shy fashion, I have to look away. He’s just too much to take in.
With my heart pounding, I race out onto the terrace for some air. I have to stay away from him. The way he looks at me, I know what he wants. And I can’t control the way my body reacts when he’s near. I know he’s not good for me, and that nothing but heartache can come out of the attraction between us. There’s just too much in our past to ever make this work. Two wrongs will never, ever make a right.
CHAPTER 3
You and Me
Ben
As the night draws to an end, people start funneling out of the ballroom, stopping one last time to congratulate me. With each good-bye I look around, trying to spot her, but she’s nowhere in sight. It’s probably better that way. Once most of the guests are gone, I make my way toward the bar for some refuge. It’s been a bittersweet night and I’m ready for the memories it’s awoken to once again become dormant.
“The same?” the bartender asks me.
I nod. “With a lemon slice if you don’t mind.”
I’m leaning over the short glass filled with ice, sparkling water, and the scent of citrus—the scent of her—chewing on a cube, thinking about my speech and the haunting sadness that Kane, with all his money and power, died with no one by his side.
When he died no one knew the one simple important fact that mattered most to him—the one thing that made him happy. Am I headed down that same road? Fuck. Recently my sister and I came into a ten-million-dollar inheritance, and since then I’ve done nothing except build my company. Put the pieces in play to establish what I hope will become a lucrative publishing holding company.
Staring at the lemon floating among the melting ice cubes, I can’t help thinking how much things have changed over the past year. I came back to California looking to reclaim my life. But that life was long gone before I ever returned. My childhood sweetheart, the girl I was engaged to, was already in love with someone else. Then before I could even accept that and move forward, my mother died and I don’t remember much of what happened after that. I know I spent many long months drowning my sorrows and making one poor decision after another. But I was serious about no more looking back. I need to move forward.
Jason slides in beside me. “Everything okay?”
Sitting up straight, I turn to face him. “Just thinking about a girl.”
“Dahlia?” he asks.
“No, actually not her. We’re in a good place as friends now.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear it. Want to talk about the girl, then?”
“Jason!” We both turn in the direction of the voice. Serena walks toward us with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. Her eyes narrow on the bar in front of us.
“What, baby?” he asks, pulling her toward him and kissing her lips.
She lifts my glass and sniffs it. Setting it back down, she looks between the two of us and smiles. “Nothing.”
“Ready to go?” he asks.
She nods, her long earrings swinging along her jawline. “If you are,” she answers, folding into his side. She looks toward me. “Come home with us?”
I can’t help noticing how much she looks like our mother tonight. Her hair is pulled back, she has makeup on, and she’s wearing a long black dress. She looks beautiful.
“I think I’ll stay a bit longer. When is Trent leaving?”
“You should tell him now,” Jason mumbles in her ear.
“Now now.” Twisting, she says to me, “In three days.”
“There might not be time,” Jason says louder.
“Come on, you two, I’m right here. Just tell me.”
“I don’t know how to say this,” Serena says, looking nervous and inhaling a deep breath.
Seriousness overtakes me. “Say what?”
“Baby, just tell him before you give him a heart attack,” Jason pushes.
She blows out the breath she was holding. “Jason and I are going to take Trent back to the University of Hawaii together.”
I give her a blank look. “Okay, have fun. When are you coming back?”
“It’s more than a vacation. We’re going to get remarried while we’re there.”
I stare at her for a long beat. Then I stand up and open my arms. My sister collapses into them. “I’m really happy for you,” I say.
She wipes away some stray tears and I offer my hand to Jason. “Congratulations, man. I know it’s been a long road.”
“I’ll take care of them better this time,” he promises.
And I believe him. I’ve been on this roller-coaster ride for three years, but he’s been on it for five. He distanced himself from his family to keep them safe as he pretended to be a dirty detective, all the while working under a special task force. He joined forces with a drug cartel to learn their inner workings and let his wife and son believe he was on the take. He sacrificed a lot to bring the cartel down. He deserves this second chance. But what’s most important to me is that my sister and Trent are happy. And as long as they are, I’m happy for them.
“What do you say we grab the boy and all stop for ice cream at that place he likes with all the toppings?” Jason says to Serena.
“I don’t eat that shit anymore,” Trent says, joining us.
I try to hide my smile but can’t. Instead I cross my arms and watch.
“Trent Holt, that’s enough of the potty mouth!”
“Mom, I’m not four. You don’t have to say potty mouth.”
“Son, let’s just humor your mother and leave the foul language for your uncle.”
I shake my head and laugh. “Have a good night, everyone.” I hug them all good-bye and watch as they head out the door, hoping that this time maybe they really can be one happy family.
With the room almost empty, I stare at the buffet tables that have already been broken down.
“Can I get you anything else?” the bartender asks.
I shake my head no and toss a fifty on the bar. “Have a great night.”
My fingers curl around the base of the crystal typewriter with the words California’s Journalist of the Year scripted across it. Despite the glamorous surroundings, a sudden wave of loneliness floods me as I exit the now-empty Crystal Ballroom. I can’t shake the feeling as I make my way out. I consider stopping in the lobby bar when I see the cocktail waitress in there but decide I’d better go home. I don’t want to do something I’ll be kicking myself for tomorrow.
Next I take my time wandering the corridors of the grand hotel and by the time I find an exit door, I notice I’m in the staff parking lot. Just as I’m about to turn around, I spot S’belle’s car. The little cabriolet sits among a few other stray automobiles. My spirits suddenly lift at the sight and I have a driving need to see her. Though
ts of her—her smile . . . never forced but always bright, her hair . . . red like fire, her body . . . hot and sexy—have flooded me with need all night, yet it’s her attitude . . . sassy but somehow innocent . . . that has made me burn for her.
For the longest time I stare up at the abundant stars in the clear night sky. I undo my bow tie and take it off, shoving it into my pocket as I question whether I should even be attempting to talk to her. Just then the sound of the side door opening startles me and I stand up straight. I nod toward the two guys wearing white server jackets and black pants, each carrying large silver trays. The taller one is the one who came to get S’belle earlier.
I relax back against the brick wall and consider just going home. But when the door swings open again and I spot that distinctive curtain of red hair, it’s too late. Her arms are loaded with smaller-sized pans and her attention is focused on the two guys, so she doesn’t notice me. I stand back and Caleb’s words echo in my head—leave well enough alone. The parking lot lights cast shadows over her as she walks farther away from me into the darkness. That’s what I decide to do—leave well enough alone.
“I’m parked over to the right,” her sweet voice calls to the guys ahead of her.
She fumbles in her purse while trying to balance the load in her arms. She seems to be losing the battle. And then without thinking, I rush over toward her, trying to grab what I can from her hands, but I’m too late and it all crashes down. Pans bounce off the blacktop, denting and skidding as they land, but our eyes aren’t on the fallen items—they’re on each other.
“Hi,” she says in a voice that screams innocence.
“Hi there,” I answer back.
The faint freckles on her nose are something I don’t remember. But the warmth of her breath whispering against my cheek makes my body come alive—need instantly floods me. Her smile gleams and I smile back. I study her. Her eyes are a liquid green that reminds me of emeralds; the color’s richer than I remember. Her red hair seems brighter than I recall it being and her curls are gone, but her mannerisms, her quirkiness, they’re all still the same.
“Need help?” one of the white-coated guys calls.