A Bone to Pick: A New Adult College Romance (Campus Crushes Book 3)

by Rachel Shane

  Keira shot me a thumbs up to indicate she already received a few messages.

  “In case you’re undecided about attending the event in question, let me sway you with a little teaser. A mystery singer. Someone big and professional and repped by the greatest manager in the world. The same manager who reps Alexis Rae.” I decided to leave Trevor’s name out of the mix thanks to his abandonment. “Performing a secret show only for those of you who attend Our event. But remember, secrecy is of the utmost importance.” I winked at the camera. “Let’s take some callers now.”

  Willow patched one of the callers through to me. “Hi Erin,” the voice said in a velvety sultry way that sounded both familiar and brand new. My heart thumped for a moment and I thought Trevor but then I corrected myself. He was a jerk who used me and then stood me up. My brain caught up with me and I realized who the voice belonged to.

  Keane.

  That was why my heart thumped.

  “Well, hello,” I said, sounding more excited than I should for a random caller. Still, I couldn’t keep the flirty tone out of my voice. “And what can I do for you today?” Preferably in the bedroom.

  “I just wanted to tell you that you’re amazing.”

  A fierce blush spread across my cheeks and came out of my mouth in a girly giggle. “Why thank you.”

  “And that I’m glad Trevor didn’t show up. I prefer when you flirt with me, not him.”

  Mackenzie’s eyes widened. I bit my lip and looked away. As far as my friends knew, we’d gone on one date that went well but it was just the start of something. The way Keane was talking, it was clear we were in the middle of something.

  “Are you trying to get me to ask you what you’re wearing, Anonymous Caller?”

  Keane laughed. “Well, I know what you’re wearing thanks to the epically good idea of a video feed. And it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing. All that matters is I want to take it—”

  “Okay!” I said fast, before he turned this podcast into a sexcast. Keira and Willow were glancing at each other, fanning themselves. “It was great talking to you, Caller.”

  “Not as great as it was kissing you.” He hung up, leaving me with red cheeks and a stunned expression.

  The caller board flared even brighter. When I took the next one, they only wanted to talk about my love life. “I thought you were interested in Trevor?”

  “I…am,” I said cautiously. “Or well, I was.”

  “Is that why he didn’t show up today? Because you two broke it off?”

  Oh God. Yes, that was probably why. But I wasn’t supposed to be announcing it. “Let’s talk about something else,” I said fast, my face flushed.

  “I’ll take that as a yes!” the voice said before hanging up.

  The next few callers went the same way, each one wanting to snatch pieces of my non-existent love life and make them public. I shut each one down but it became clear the calling in portion of the show would have to end. And so would today’s version of the podcast. But Keira put through one more caller against my wishes.

  “Where the fuck is Trevor?” the voice said, and my stomach instantly dropped. Cliff.

  “You tell me,” I snapped. “Except please note you just called me. On the air.”

  “I know I did. Because I want to make sure Trevor hears this. You get your ass down there, Trevor. Or you won’t have a manager anymore.” He took a deep breath. “You won’t even have a career anymore.”

  Fuck. If Cliff dropped Trevor, that would ruin everything. Especially since I was hoping for Cliff to eventually manage me. “He got sick,” I said fast. “Really sick. Don’t blame him.”

  “Well then maybe I’ll blame you for kissing someone else?”

  A bolt of rage shot through me along with intense embarrassment. Blood pounded in my ears at his insinuation. That I was a slut. And sure, maybe I’d kissed two different guys, but I could have done a lot more with them and didn’t. And I liked both of them. At the time. I definitely hated one of them now. “Now is not the time to discuss this.”

  “Honey, it never will be. This is the last straw with Trevor. I don’t need him. I’ve got performers that actually show up for their gigs. If you ever speak to him again, tell him goodbye. And tell your equipment goodbye.”

  “Wait!” I barked into the phone before he could hang up. Through the speakers, I could hear his breathing. His hesitation. In that one second, I knew I held Trevor’s entire career in the palm of my hand as well as my own. Cliff would only hear me out for one sentence, I guessed. I better make it a good one. “I was just trying to make Trevor jealous!” I cringed at my own words and slid my phone off the table. I frantically banged out a text to Keane. This is all a publicity ruse. Don’t listen to a word I’m saying.

  Because I knew what Cliff was doing. He was saving face. Spinning this back into the Trevor and Erin will-they-or-won’t-they show. He was turning Keane into the threat of taking me away, but I had to solidify that I wouldn’t be heading in Keane’s direction.

  Even though I was.

  “I—I’m worried Trevor doesn’t like me back as much as I like him.” I forced a crack into my voice the way my Broadcast Journalism cast taught us to get someone else to cry during an interview. “But I went too far. It backfired. And now he’s pissed.”

  Cliff snorted. “He’s not the only one.”

  “I’ll talk to him but please, give him another chance.” I sighed. “Give us another chance.”

  “Have him call me tonight.”

  Cliff hung up without saying the rest of his sentence but it was still implied. “Or else…”

  AS I WEAVED MY car through melted snow caps and dusty highways, my stomach clenched. I was showing up unannounced at Clever freaking Trevor’s house. That was basically stalker territory. Fangirl territory. The kind of stuff that made the front page of TMZ. He hadn’t even given me his address himself, I’d had to beg Cliff for it.

  I’d expected a Victorian mansion that stretched across several acres of land. One that would have cost twenty-million in Hollywood but out here in Upstate New York, it wouldn’t even break seven figures. Instead the GPS directed me to a modest two-story house, the kind that might be cramped for a family of four. It was smaller than mine back home and ours was currently on the market since the mortgage was now out of our budget. The fence out front looked to be in shambles, part of it caving inward from the mound of shoveled snow piled next to it. Slate gray aluminum siding looked far less impressive than the gothic stone I’d been picturing. Even the roof was missing shingles.

  I glanced at the address in Cliff’s text and back at the house. My stomach took a sharp dive off a ledge. This couldn’t be right. Not at all. But technology didn’t lie.

  Though maybe Cliff had accidentally sent me an autocorrected address. With shaky fingers, I banged out a text to him asking him to confirm the place. I even included a photo for good measure. Cliff texted back immediately:

  Jesus Christ. Yes. That’s it. What did you want, a banner?

  My nerves instantly tripled. I slid out of the car, clutching my phone in my hand in defense. In case I needed to call for help. My boots wobbled on loose cobblestones that comprised the driveway. Trevor lived here. Here. It didn’t make sense. But neither did the fact that he was interested in me and that turned out to be one hundred percent false. The only thing that ever made sense was when he ditched me.

  I took a deep breath and pressed my finger to the doorbell before I could chicken out. Goosebumps erupted across my flesh. One, two, three minutes passed with only mild wind and my ever increasing heartbeat. I let out a strangled cry and tried the doorbell again.

  Nothing.

  I started to spin around when a text vibrated. Trevor. My heart leaped into my throat.

  Go away.

  I sucked in a breath, tilting my head back to peer at the upstairs window. A curtain swished behind the glass.

  My fingers skidded over my keypad. I just need to talk to you.

  Hi
s response was instant. I heard enough.

  He’d listened to the podcast? I bit back a sob. Ugh, he’d heard Keane? My shoulders tensed in a defensive way and a million arguments and excuses fluttered to my lips. I needed to explain about Keane and get Trevor back on track, for his career and my own. This was nothing more. I twisted the doorknob, expecting to rattle it in an attempted plea, but the door turned as easily as slicing butter. I stood there for a moment, my breath ragged, staring into Trevor’s foyer and the octagon tiled floor stretching out into different empty hallways. Dim lighting cast long shadows on every crevasse. My ears tuned for the sound of Trevor’s footsteps, the sharp intake of his breath. Instead I only heard the wheels of a car driving down the street behind me.

  I took a breath and texted. I’m coming inside.

  I took his silence rather liberally as an invitation and breezed past boxes stacked to the ceiling in some of the satellite rooms. My footsteps echoed on the tiles, which were cracked in a few spots. One room held a giant big screen TV and a gorgeous leather couch amid the boxes piled all around it. I tiptoed through his kitchen, bypassing a pantry that only contained a few boxes of pasta wedged into the corner. A small folding table provided the only form of furniture in the entire rest of the downstairs. A deck of cards and some crumbs covered the folding table. Beer bottles and wine bottles overflowed from garbage bags.

  I paused to steel my resolve before starting upstairs, stomping loudly as a warning. At the top, I kicked off my shoes to traipse across the gray carpet lining the second floor landing. There were five doors ringing the hallway and all of them were closed. This was a horror movie or maybe a game show. And I had a sinking feeling whatever was behind each of these doors was bad news.

  With a tight fist, I knocked on the closest one, hearing nothing but echoes when I pressed my ear to it. A twist of the knob proved nothing was inside except more boxes and three couches stacked on top of each other. I found a bathroom and linen closet next, each with the bare minimum inside. That left only two doors. As I approached the farthest one, the faint sounds and flicker of light from a TV carried beneath the crack under the door.

  I knocked on it, my muscles freezing. “Trevor?”

  “Go away.” His words came with the heavy scrape of someone who was crying.

  My stomach squeezed. “I’m coming in, okay?”

  I turned the knob and braced myself for him to lash out. Yell. Scream. Call the police and arrest me for trespassing. But he didn’t do any of that. Instead he lay like a lump in his bed, his black comforter pulled up to his neck, a pillow propped over his head so all that peeked out was one eye, just enough to see the TV. The TV blasted some European soccer program with men running across a bright green field. Trevor didn’t even glance in my direction. “I said go away.” His voice held no conviction.

  My heart ached at the sight of him. I circled around the bed, wedging myself between the mattress and the nightstand. “What’s going on?”

  He harrumphed in lieu of answering.

  I risked sitting down on his bed, squeezing in right beside his face. He scooted over to make room for me, which I took as a good sign. “Are you okay?” I kept my voice soft and low, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the delicate balance of his universe.

  He snorted. “Does it look like I am?”

  I gave him a sympathetic smile. “What’s wrong? How can I help?”

  “You can stop kissing other guys.” He tugged the pillow over his exposed eye.

  I whipped my head toward him. “Is that why you missed the podcast?” But no, that was impossible. He’d missed the podcast before Keane had called in about the kiss.

  Trevor sighed heavily and slid his phone off his nightstand, holding it out to me. Beer bottles toppled and one rolled onto the floor where it bounced on the carpeted floor like a cushion. The whole place smelled like a frat house but also a little like Thai food. On the screen was a blog post on one of the buzzy news site with an article about Trevor’s half-assed comeback. But his phone wasn’t centered on the article. It was centered on the comments.

  And they were nasty as hell.

  First he hijacks someone else’s voice, and then he piggybacks on some dumb college chick’s fifteen minutes of fame. He needs to go away. Far.

  Ouch. I cringed at the description of me. Dumb college chick. Ugh.

  They got worse and worse, each one berating and making fun of Trevor for trying to kick-start his career.

  “That’s not the only article. The comments on the others are even worse.”

  I felt a twinge in my chest. “Don’t you know the first rule of fame? Never read the comments.”

  He let out a brief chuckle, a small spark of life.

  “Ignore them,” I said emphatically. “No, actually. Prove them wrong.”

  He sighed. “Not that easy. When I was Clever Trevor, I never had time to sit and read articles. I had assistants for that. But now—” He waved his arm around his room. “I live in a shit hole because the fucking judge sided with the label and I had to pay back all my money.” A low breath rattled from his throat. “I keep hoping this is all temporary. A bad dream. Not my fucking life.”

  A cold crackling sensation raced down my spine. The boxes. The lack of furniture. The bare minimum. It was Trevor’s way of staying temporary. By unpacking, he’d be giving in, admitting that this was how things were now. Forever.

  Trevor scrubbed his face, the pillow falling to the side. “I came back to Throckmorton because I thought it would be an escape. A few weeks away from the stink of Hollywood, the claustrophobia of New York City. But this is worse. This is sucking my soul dry.”

  Without thinking, I reached under the covers and grabbed his hand. “Come on,” I said, my voice growing urgent. “Get up.”

  His clammy fingers laced with mine. “I’d prefer to wallow in my own misery, thanks.”

  “You told me you wanted to show me all the good parts of Throckmorton. I think you need to see them too. Right now.” My breath stilled, waiting for his answer.

  His eyes lifted to mine. “What about the asshole?”

  I squinted at him, confused for a moment, until I realized he meant Keane. “Do you really care?” I asked. Waiting. Wondering. Knowing as soon as he admitted the truth—that this was all a ruse—any spark I’d been holding on between us would flicker out into ash.

  He glared at me for a moment before huffing and turning over onto his side, facing away from me. “Does it even matter? You wouldn’t believe me so what’s the point of me saying yes.”

  None of this made sense. First, there were no cameras here. No audio recorders capturing our conversation for maximum publicity points. “But—isn’t this a ruse?” I paused for a second, frozen by the anguish of waiting for his answer. His rejection.

  He draped his arm over his forehead dramatically. “My whole fucking life is a ruse. No one will ever trust me again. I get it. It’s fine. You don’t like me back. I love being used.”

  Tension escaped my lungs on a gust. Trevor liked me. And damn it, I still liked him. But the problem was I liked Keane too. “Let’s start over,” I said, even though part of me flinched at those three words, the betrayal hidden deep between the kerning of the letters. Trevor’s fingers stilled in my hand. “Let’s get to know each other.” It was the only way to truly know whether he liked me for me or for the connections I was bringing him. And it would also help me know if I felt the same.

  All this time I’d been holding back. Afraid to really fall for Trevor. But if there was a chance he would legitimately return my feelings, then I might be able to dive deep. But I needed to know I could trust him first. “Away from cameras and sound recorders,” I added. “Just you and me.”

  He rolled around and then sat up, his blanket falling off his torso, revealing his bare chest with the swirly vine tattoos curling up his abs. A treble clef was wedged under his right ribcage and a bird spread her blue wings on his shoulder. My mouth went dry at the sight of him ju
st as the space between my legs had the opposite reaction. He stared at me with his messy hair and epic blue eyes. “You still didn’t answer my question. What about the pretentious asshole?”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t know what I want.” I met his eyes. “But I’m hoping you’ll convince me.”

  He massaged his jaw. “And how do I know you’re not doing this just to get me back to the podcast and get Cliff off my back?”

  I held his gaze, not backing down. “You don’t. And that’s part of the problem. We don’t trust each other yet. We need to.”

  He sprang out of bed, loping to the bathroom in only his boxers. I let my gaze drink in the sight, something in my chest unfurling. A moment later, the sound of the shower switched on. He poked his head out of the bathroom door. “I know one foolproof way we could get to know each other.” He twirled the boxers around his finger and then tossed them into the room, letting me know that behind the door, he was naked. And he was inviting me to shower with him.

  Between my thighs grew hot in an instant. Every atom in my body screamed for his touch. But I’d had random hook-ups before. I’d had one night stands that went nowhere. I wasn’t ready to choose which bone to pick yet.

  I was going to kill Holly for putting that phrase in my mind.

  THIS DAY WAS SO surreal. I was in Trevor’s house. He showered while I waited on his bed and then emerged from the bathroom glistening wet in a way that defined his abs, only a towel wrapped around his waist. My mouth dropped as he plucked out boxers from one of the boxes.

  “Um…I’ll just…wait outside.” I scrambled out of his room and leaned against the closed door, my breath ragged. I had to get out of there before I got any ideas.

  Ideas that involved his naked body.

  Specifically, his naked body on top of mine.

  He put on a cream-colored sweater and designer jeans leftover from his old life.

  “I’ll drive.” Trevor opened the passenger door of his Mercedes for me, another incongruent glimpse into his half borrowed life. He drove us around for a few miles before pulling the car in front of a Victorian-style house painted in lush lilac colors. White shingles carved like doilies hung from windows and the sweetest white picket fence caged in the yellowed bits of grass melting under the snow.