When I texted her to ask if she was okay, she replied with a vague answer about being on deadline and needing to skip class to work on an article. And that’s how I found myself heading to the third floor of the South Campus Dining Hall later that evening where the Diamondback newsroom was located.
For being the offices of the student newspaper, the location was a little farther removed from the center of campus than I had expected. I peered through the window to see a room stuffed full of desks and computers, stacks of papers littering every available surface. The walls were a patchwork of framed articles, pictures, and awards. The door was locked, but I could see a guy working inside. I knocked, and when he saw me, he stared at me in surprise for a few seconds before shooting up from his seat and hurrying to answer the door.
“Hi. I’m looking for—”
“Holy shit,” he interrupted me. “You’re Trace Stone.” He grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously. “I’m Flex.”
“Uh, hi.” I reached up with my free hand to pull the brim of my hat lower, a knee-jerk response to being recognized. “I’m looking—”
“Come in, come in,” he said backing away from the door. Once he was in the middle of the room, looking at me, he reached up to his hair and gripped it with both hands, pulling it in excitement. When he let go, his straight black hair was standing on end. “Trace freakin’ Stone. Here.” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe his luck. “This is insane dude.”
When I still hadn’t moved, he waved me in, and I reluctantly left my spot at the doorway. I hadn’t expected to be recognized. Maybe coming here hadn’t been a good idea. “Look,” I said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the whole Trace Stone thing quiet. I’m trying to keep a low profile.”
Flex grinned. “Oh yeah, dude. Totally. You know, you’re actually in one of my classes and I thought about swinging by and saying hello one day, but I’ve seen the news lately. I figured you were doing the whole incognito thing.” He gestured to my hat, which admittedly, was a poor excuse for a disguise.
“We have a class together?”
His face brightened with a smile, and I wondered if Flex was ever anything but thrilled. “Econ. On Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
I nodded. “Professor Marks.” It was a large lecture hall. I wasn’t surprised I didn’t recognize him. I was surprised he’d picked me out of the crowd, though.
He pointed at me. “That’s the one.” As if finally realizing I wasn’t there for a social visit he stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels before tilting his head in curiosity. “Anyway. What was it you needed?”
“I’m actually looking for Harlow Ransom.”
“Harley?” His face broke out into another grin, and I finally put two and two together. Flex.
This was the guy I’d seen on several of Harlow’s lists. The one who took her to family gatherings and taught her how to pick crabs. I tried to decode his smile. Was it one of a friend, or something more?
“Oh yeah,” he said. “She’ll be in pretty soon. Said she had some work to do on her movie article. Is she doing an article on you, too?” he asked hopefully. And then he frowned. “Wait. She does lifestyle and opinion articles. Why would she do an article on you?” he asked himself while looking at me in curiosity. “Sports aren’t really her thing. I mean, she didn’t even know who Terrell Suggs was.” He shook his head in disappointment. “She could probably name every book and movie coming out this year, but doesn’t know the difference between a field goal and a two-point conversion.”
That was pretty much what I figured. I chuckled and shook my head. “No. She’s not doing an article on me. I don’t want it to get around that I’m taking classes here. It would be too distracting.”
Flex nodded. “I get it, I get it. So. You want to stick around and wait for her? She said she’d be here around five.” He glanced at the clock. “That’s only fifteen minutes from now.”
“You don’t mind?”
He brushed away the question with a wave of his hand. “Nah. I was about to take a break anyway. You play?” he asked, nodding to the ping pong table shoved against the wall on the right side of the room.
“Not since I was a kid,” I admitted.
Flex crossed the room in a few quick strides to dig around in a desk, and then came back with two paddles, handing one to me. “Here you can use one of mine.”
I took the offered paddle and slapped the flat wood against my other palm. “Yeah sure. Why not?”
Flex answered me with another grin and we squared off across from each other. When he swung and the ball streaked across the net in a blur of white, I felt like a kid again. Instinct kicked in and I returned the shot with ease. All the years Huck and I had spent playing this game in our basement came flooding back to me, and soon Flex and I were trading insults.
“Is that all you got, Stone?” Flex asked when my shot went wide and flew under a desk. “My four-year-old niece has better aim than that.” He fetched the ball and fired another serve over the net. I returned it, catching the edge of the table and earning a frustrated whack of Flex’s paddle against the wood when he missed.
“Maybe if you’d stop playing with four-year-olds you could have gotten that one,” I said.
It went on like that for what felt like an hour. We were both sweating and trash talking, turning the newsroom into our own personal battlefield. I snatched the ball and served.
“You’re letting him use your paddle?” The voice was raised in anger.
Flex caught the ball in his palm, and we both turned to find Harlow standing next to the table. Her hands were fisted at her sides, and she was seething. At Flex. It was refreshing to see her anger turned to someone other than me.
“Hey, Harley. I didn’t hear you come in.” Flex flashed her a megawatt smile that seemed to be his default expression. He leaned over the table to whisper-yell to her. “I’m playing ping pong with Trace Stone. The Trace Stone.”
She spared me a brief glance before crossing her arms and glaring at Flex again. “I can see that. But why does he get to use your ping pong paddle?”
Flex furrowed his brows. “Because he’s Trace Stone, Harley.”
Harley? He’d said that a couple of times and I honestly didn’t like the fact that he had a pet nickname for her.
“But you don’t let me use your paddle, and I’m your best friend.” She pouted, which was so fucking adorable I wanted to kiss her. I didn’t miss the fact, though, that she said best friend.
Sorry Flex, you’ve been friend-zoned.
He didn’t look put out at all. He just laughed.
“Come on, Harley. You suck at ping pong. I can’t let you use my paddle and get it all infected with your suck-cooties. That paddle is undefeated,” he said, pointing across the table to it. He turned and faced me. “I mean, it was up until today, anyway.”
“You’re only ahead by one,” I said, pointing his champion paddle at him.
Harlow rounded on me as if suddenly remembering I was there. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“We had plans tonight, remember?”
Her eyes darted away, and she reached up to tuck some hair behind her ear. “I told you I was busy tonight.”
“Whoa,” Flex said, rounding the table and standing in front of Harlow. “This is Trace Stone! How could you be too busy for him?”
I was beginning to like Flex more by the minute.
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him again. “Why do you keep saying his whole name like that?” she snapped. “It’s weird.”
He shrugged. “It sounds cooler that way. I mean you wouldn’t call Brad Pitt, Brad. Or Michael Jordan, Michael. Trace Stone is a two name kind of guy. He needs two names for all the awesome.”
Move over Harlow, I think Flex is my new best friend.
Harlow dropped her head in her hands and shook it back and forth. “I gotta go,” she muttered. She spun around and went to one of the desks to grab a folder that was laying on t
op of it. She tucked it under her arm and then hurried to the door. She cast a glance between Flex and me, and I could read the worry in her eyes as she stood there with her hand on the doorknob. She didn’t want Flex to know about us. I was a secret, even from her best friend.
She was walking out of the door before I could stop her.
Flex looked at me, unfazed, as if Harlow’s behavior was completely normal. “You want to finish the game?”
I tapped the paddle on the edge of the table. “Only if you’re prepared to lose.” Losing wasn’t in my vocabulary. Not with Flex, and certainly not with Harlow. I’d finish the game and let her think she won this round. But the night was still early. And I had nothing but time. I was becoming an expert at wearing down her ridiculous defenses.
“She’s watching Pride and Prejudice tonight,” Flex said, catching me off guard.
I paused with my hands hovering over the table, the paddle and ball ready to serve. “What?”
“For her article. She’ll be at her apartment. Watching the movie.”
“Yeah?” At least tracking her down wouldn’t be hard.
Flex tossed his paddle in the air, letting it flip twice before catching it. “She doesn’t usually eat dinner because she hates to cook.”
I gave him a questioning look.
“She loves the pizza at Blaze, the new place on Route One.”
Understood. “Toppings?”
He grinned. “Any kind of veggies. And don’t forget the sausage.”
Oh, I’d bring the sausage all right. It seemed I had dinner plans after all.
— HARLOW —
13. ALL CAUGHT UP
September 30, 2016
All Aboard the Hot Mess Express By Harlow Ransom
Harlow Ransom might have her GPA under control, but that’s the only thing she seems to be mastering these days.
“Every time I come to visit, she’s sitting in that apartment alone, with nothing but a catnip-addicted feline for company,” Willow informed us. “And she eats like a twelve-year-old boy. The last time I came to see her, I literally watched her eat an entire sleeve of Thin Mints. By herself. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I was with her all day and I honestly don’t think she even brushed her hair once.”
When informed of her sister’s accusations, Harlow was quick to dispel the rumors. “None of that is true. I offered to share the cookies with Willow, and I even saw her take one when she thought I wasn’t looking.”
When asked about the hair accusations, Harlow scoffed. “I was at home all day doing homework. Everyone knows brushing is optional if you put your hair up in a messy bun. Right?”
No, Harlow. Just. No.
After hearing that explanation, Willow admitted that she sometimes finds it hard to believe she and Harlow actually share the same DNA. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Harlow more than anything. But for someone who consistently pulls in a 4.0 GPA, she knows nothing about being a college student.”
“Yeah,” her other sister, Marlow, interjected. “I heard she turned down a date with that hot guy from the nightclub so she could go home and study. Have you seen that guy? I had three orgasms when I saw him, and that was from clear across the fucking dance floor. The way he was dancing with her, I think he’d serve his dick up on a platter if she was hungry.”
Willow agreed. “She definitely needs to get her priorities straight because she’s missing out on all the fun college has to offer.”
=========================
That wasn’t guilt I was feeling. No way. That heaviness in my stomach? It had to be the taco I scarfed down for lunch when I ran all the way to my class in Knight Hall after finishing my shift at the Dairy. I was just stressed out from all the things on my list that I still hadn’t crossed off, not because I’d blown Trace off.
Blown Trace off. Ugh. Poor choice of words. And now I was thinking about…
Never mind. I had a movie to watch, thoughtful observations to make, and an article to write.
I set everything up, my books and papers scattered around me on the couch, all my things within easy reach. My pajamas were on, my glasses were in place, and my hair was twisted into a tangled knot on top of my head. I was ready for the perfect night in. Once my ass hit those cushions, I had no plans to get up. My laptop, which was on the coffee table, already had Netflix pulled up, Pride and Prejudice queued and waiting to be enjoyed. All I needed was a sleeve of Thin Mints for dinner, and I was set.
My hand had barely touched the handle of the freezer when the doorbell rang.
Weird. Maybe Flex had changed his mind. He outright refused to watch the movie when I mentioned it earlier, but maybe he missed me as much as I missed him. We hadn’t had a chance to hang out since he started dating the new photographer for the Diamondback. He’d wooed her with his fancy floating card magic trick, and they’d been inseparable ever since. I figured since I was the one who had bought the magic trick kit for him from the Houdini store in Vegas, he owed me. Watching a chick flick with his lonely best friend was acceptable payment for helping him score with the hottie at work. Right?
I smiled, already imagining the side comments he’d probably make throughout the movie, and rushed to answer the door before he changed his mind.
I made it down the hallway without tripping over my cat, or face planting, but when I pulled the door open, I felt like I’d been punched in the face anyway.
Trace was standing there, looking like all my favorite desserts rolled into one. His baseball cap was gone, and his hair was styled, blue tips striking against the dark, messy waves. He was dressed like he’d been the night I’d seen him at the club—well-worn jeans hugging his muscular legs and black tee showing all the ridges and bulges and…holy hell. My fingers twitched, itching to touch…something. Anything. All of him. Whatever I could get away with.
His eyes were a warm honey color, but they seemed to kindle into something more molten as they quickly traveled from my ratty knot of hair down to my bare feet. His gaze missed nothing as he scanned me and I was keenly aware that I was a bra-less, hot mess. And not hot mess as in…an attractive disaster, like Kesha or Lindsay Lohan. Oh no. I was a hot mess as in…someone spilled a case of half-eaten burritos on a pile of polyester track suits…and then set the whole fucking thing on fire.
Harlow Ransom ready for a night in was a hot, icky, disgusting mess.
I wanted to slam the door shut and hide, but I was frozen in shock. Clearly, my hormones were in control because I just stood there drooling over Trace.
“You went with the hot librarian look. I approve.” He held out a pizza box from Blaze. “I heard you liked sausage.” One side of his mouth curved up into a smirk, and I didn’t miss his tone of voice or his sexual innuendo.
How could he manage to flirt with me when I looked like I’ve clawed my way out of a dumpster? He must be desperate for company.
Unsure of what else to do, I took the pizza box out of his hands. “What are you doing here?”
He stepped forward, and when I backed out of the way in a desperate act of self-preservation, he walked inside the apartment. “The library was full, and I figured since you were working on a project and we originally had plans for dinner, I could kill two birds with one stone. Date night turned study night.” He patted his messenger bag. “So,” he said, looking around. “Where do we do this studying thing?”
The library was full. Sure.
“I’m not studying tonight. I’m doing research for my article. I’m watching a film.” My lips twisted into a vicious grin. “Pride and Prejudice,” I added. No way would any guy willingly sit through a chick flick like that by choice.
“Great. I’ll just study while you watch.” Trace flashed me a smile and then sauntered into my living room and shuffled my things around to make room for himself on my couch where it was apparent I’d set up shop.
I watched, mouth hung open in surprise, as he set a brown paper bag down on the coffee table. Shit. Maybe he was hoping to get lucky.
> “Thirsty?” he asked, reaching inside the bag. I expected him to pull out beer or some other liquor to go with the pizza, but instead he had two smoothies.
How did he know I liked smoothies?
Easy genius. Same way he knew you liked Blaze pizza.
Flex was such a sellout.
I inched my way closer to the coffee table. “What flavor?”
Trace’s grin was triumphant, and I knew…I just knew… “Strawberry.”
Dammit. There was no way I had the willpower to kick Blaze pizza and a strawberry smoothie out the door. Even if they were delivered by someone who had the ability to ruin me.
“Fine,” I said, approaching him slowly as if he might bite. “You can stay, but just so you know, this isn’t a booty call,” I said firmly. If I set the rules out ahead of time, there would be no disappointment for either of us.
“Never said it was.” He sat down on the couch and when he bent over to go through his messenger bag, his shirt slid up, and I got an eyeful of tan skin and perfect muscles.
I wanted to lick him. I literally wanted to lick him. And rip off his clothes. And my clothes. And then ride him off into the sunset.
Or something that didn’t sound quite so odd, but still involved all our naked parts meeting up.
I hitched the pizza box up on my hip so I could wipe my forehead with my other hand. Great. As if things weren’t bad enough already, now I was sweating like a pregnant nun just from the sight of a patch of skin.
“Come on. Sit down,” Trace said, pointing to the spot next to him. “That sausage pizza is gonna get cold if you just keep standing there. You like your meat hot don’t you?”
There was a tingling sensation deep in my pelvis and I swear, for a moment, I thought it might be possible for him to make me come with words alone. It wasn’t fair that so much yummy eye candy was packaged with such a filthy mouth. Both were a distraction I didn’t need right now.
I did as he said, though, and sat down, careful to keep distance between us. I grabbed my notebook and held it against my chest like a shield. Trace ignored my awkwardness and opened the box of pizza. He took out two slices and handed me one without a word. I took a bite. and when he opened his textbook to read, I finally leaned forward and pressed play on the movie.
Hitched (Hearts of Stone Book 2) Page 12