by Kim Roshell
I love you always, (that’s most important)
Cowboy
p.s. You may have noticed a theme there about hoping you read my letters.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
You’ll win, you’ll lose. Smart men understand the value in both.
—Granddaddy
Whit
“Hey, Whit.”
The pretty, blond TA from Econ waves at me from across the street. “Hey, Lauren. Doin’ all right today?”
“Better now.”
“Good deal.”
Lauren will make a decent wife one day. Smart, funny. Knows sports, enjoys cooking. Sometimes, she brings me a plate when she fixes too much. That’s what she tells me, anyway. Not quite on par with Mama’s skills, but she does all right.
“Enjoy the rest of your day,” I tell her with a quick wave.
“Good deal? Enjoy the rest of yo’ day? You a’ight?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
I hook a thumb under the strap of my backpack, hitch it higher on my shoulder. Give my persistent companion a quick glance before the sun’s glare makes it near impossible to look in Jonesy’s direction even one second longer without my shades. I resume my faster pace.
“Uh, did you not see that mad-hot honey who issued that personal invite to see sunrise from her bed? You chucked the deuces without a peep in her direction.”
“She did not.”
“Huh. Guess she was waving that condom at me, then.”
Blinding sun, or not, I stop.
“For real?”
“Nah, son, I’m fuckin’ wit’ you. She looked like she wanted to, though.”
I roll my eyes at his goofy-ass smirk, and head for Howe Place, the apartments where Jonesy and I reside in separate studios. Howe is where a sizeable chunk of upper-class law students live. We’re the only freshman in our building. Paul Jones, Bronx native, knocked on my door within the first ten minutes of move-in. Some days, it seems like he has yet to leave. I’ve done what I can to let him know I’m not really in the market for new friends. Coop’s filling in the best friend gap quite nicely. I’m satisfied. But Jonesy? Well, let’s just say he doesn’t takes hints all that well.
Ethnicity and socioeconomic disparities, notwithstanding, Jonesy reminds me so much of Ryan, it’s a struggle not to bawl my eyes out whenever I’m around him.
“Pass.”
“Dayum, son. I cannot wait to meet this other honey who rendered you blind.”
“Not blind, just not interested. And, don’t hold your breath on meeting any other honey.”
Sage advice. I held mine all summer, then a little longer after I arrived on Yale’s campus. Granddaddy made a call, undid my undoing, got me re-enrolled. Haven’t decided how I feel about it yet, being here. A large part of me knows I have to move on with my life. Still, there’s that small bit that wonders if things might’ve worked out differently had I stayed closer. Stopped waiting.
Nevertheless, I reached the point where I had to exhale. Don’t bother holding it no more. I let the pain saw in and out of my lungs, let it leave festering lesions behind. Everyone dies of something, right?
“All I’m sayin’ is that honey ain’t the first you’ve put on swerve.”
“What?” Hard as I try, I still can’t decipher half of what comes out of Jonesy’s mouth.
“Told to kick rocks.”
Uh?
His head snaps back. The diamond stud dotting his earlobe is positioned in the exact right spot to catch the sun.
“Dismissed ‘cause you ain’t interested in getting to know her,” he finally interprets in a language I can understand.
“Why didn’t you just say that?”
“I did.”
I roll my eyes again. “Right.”
“Way I figure, yo’ girl from home must still have the strings on you.”
“How the hell did you get into Yale again?”
“Don’t let the good looks fool you, son.” He grins, showing way too many teeth after the Spanish exam we just took. Reminds me of Mr. He Makes Me Feel Better.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble, stepping underneath the awning shading the entrance of our building. “Simone ain’t my girl.”
“Yo, you still want her though, right?”
“What’s with the questions today?”
“Nuthin’. Wonderin’. Ay, what time yo’ lil’ bro’s flight come in again?”
“Little after eight.”
If all went according to plan, Coop is already in the air. Dev actually suggested this visit over Coop’s four-day weekend. Sprung for the ticket. I have the feeling he’s worried I’ve slipped in a funk since I left home, his anxiety likely amped by my extremely brief phone calls. He’s forever mentioning something about my emotions, which is the last thing I want to talk about. Besides, the work here is no cakewalk. I study more than I breathe.
“Since somebody didn’t wanna make a pit stop at the cafeteria, I’m gonna slap together a sandwich, then head for the airport. If you’re ridin’, be ready in ten.”
Jonesy takes advantage of my unintended generosity, strolling in ahead of me as soon as I pull open the door.
He grins. “Nice of you to hold that for me, son.”
“Whatever, asshole.”
“I’m down wit’ the ride-a-long, but, uh, come to the office wit’ me first.”
“Why?”
“Moms sent me some boxes. We can both grab one, move out faster.”
Translation: Wait even longer for the first meal I’ve had since yesterday so he doesn’t have to schlep his own shit to the elevator.
“No.”
“C’mon, bruh, I’d do it for you.”
Maybe.
The faint scent of cake catches my nose, reminding me why I eating should be a priority.
“Fine. Let’s do this before I pass out from starvation.”
The manager’s office is here on the first floor, so we cross the lobby and head that way. A duffle bag that looks oddly familiar rests alongside three suitcases against the wall next to Ms. Sue’s door.
I do a double-take when my brother steps out into the hall.
“Coop?”
“Oh, thank God! There wasn’t any food on that damn plane. I’m fuckin’ starved.”
I let my bag fall on top of the haggard gray carry-on—yep, that’s Coop’s duffle—and pull him into a hug, giving his back a light pound. I’ll ignore his language for now.
“What—you ain’t supposed to be here for at least another hour and a half.”
“Wanted to surprise you. Caught an earlier flight on another airline. Jonesy was s’posed to leave us his keycard, but he forgot.”
“Sorry, bruh. Next time, text a brotha earlier.”
“Yeah, yeah,” my brother grumbles.
My brain snags on what he said. “Us?”
Coop steps out of my embrace, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh, about that . . .”
The hesitant approach of heels clicking on the floor reminds me that there’re three large suitcases here, too. Pink suitcases.
Cake.
Every muscle in my body stiffens.
I turn slower than I probably should, knowing she might disappear by the time I’m finished. In my defense, even my brain feels a little atrophied right now. There’s also the fact I’ve had this dream on more nights than I can count and if she vanishes before my eyes like she usually does, my baby brother is going to have to scrape me off the floor.
She hasn’t disappeared.
She’s here.
“Simone.”
I know I said her name, but the massive blood rush to my brain may be jacking with my vocal cords.
“DAYUM! That’s yo’ girl, son?!? You ain’t tell a bruh you was ‘bout da’ mocha! No wonder you put Lori out there on igg!”
I jolt forward as Jonesy pounds me on the back, too stunned to do more than lock my knees against his enthusiastic attack.
He Bogarts his way in front of me for the second
time today, then slowly circles Simone, looking over her body like he’s contemplating a purchase up for auction.
“Mmm, mmm, mmm. How you doin’ ma?”
“Fine?”
“Facts, you really are.” Eye-molestation complete, he takes ahold of Simone’s hand. “Paul Jones, but e’rybody call me Jonesy.”
“Simone,” she murmurs softly.
“Got a sister?”
“One, but she’s only thirteen.”
“I can wait.”
Where’s a taser when you need one? “Find someone else to harass, Jonesy.”
Shock keeps me from serving the beat down he deserves, though I deliver a glare that should feel like a promissory note.
“Eh, don’t mad-dog me, man. Yo’ girl is fire.
“Already told you she ain’t my girl.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Simone
Wow.
Okay, then.
Jonesy? Paul? Whoever he is, if he’s a law major, too, those gleaming white teeth and that smile is sure to garner him a few victories. Provided he isn’t disbarred for sexual harassment, that is. His dark chocolate eyes traveled the scenic route over my body, lingered over the black jeans that will probably leave dye stains on my legs, they’re so tight. Over the red sweater Whit said he liked. I nearly fried on the plane in this thing having forgotten how much the seams make me itch, but sometimes a girl has to do some things to swing the odds in her favor.
I felt undressed by the time Jonesy’s gaze came to rest on my face. He’s also seemed to have a problem letting go of my hand, and more than anything, I’d really like him to so I can freaking run.
His backward stagger is highly over-exaggerated after I wiggle my fingers a bit, then tug them from his light grasp, turning my full attention back on the guy who barely seems to notice me.
This meeting isn’t playing out the way I envisioned.
In my convoluted imagination, Whit took one step inside the building and inexplicably sensed my presence. He scolded himself over believing for even a moment his virtually impossible dream had come to life. His gaze darted in every direction until his eyes landed on me.
That look his friend is still giving me from where he’s propped against the wall? That’s the one Whit had right before lifting me off my feet, so he could bury his face in my hair, too overcome with emotion to utter a single word for at least an hour, and when he finally, finally collected himself to speak, the only thing he could whisper in overwhelming passion was my name.
The entire moment was a rush of awesome.
This isn’t awesome.
Oh, he said my name, but that grunt would hardly pass for anything close to passionate. Wasn’t a whisper, either.
That look on his face? Completely impassive.
Then again, we haven’t spoken in months.
I move my eyes away from his cool, impenetrable gaze to focus on his meddling brother. Sure enough, Cooper’s expression—Oh, he is so busted!—tells me everything I need to know. He’s rethinking my being here, too.
“Cooper told me you knew I was coming.”
Cooper Devereaux lied to me. His brother had no idea I’d be standing here making a fool of myself today.
I’ll deal with him later.
My eyes move back to Whit, and I can’t help it—my insides turn to mush at the sight of him. I’ve missed seeing him on a regular. Missed stealing those glances out over the parking lot at Tate’s when he didn’t know I saw him parked outside, waiting for my shifts to end. His hair’s grown out. There’s evidence of a skipped shave or two covering his chin. He’s dropped some weight, judging by the fit of his black button-down.
As usual when it comes to guys, it’s all good.
Whit Devereaux is still the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen.
Some Lori chick must think so, too.
Right now, I need to save what little face I have left.
“Know what? Doesn’t matter.” I raise my phone. “I’m booked at the Omni. Google Map says that’s not far from here. I’ll call a cab and be gone in no time.”
“You got on a plane and rode in a cab.”
Were those questions?
“And on a shuttle. Cooper wanted company,” I answer, just in case. “I don’t have classes on Monday. Figured it’d be nice to see somewhere besides Parkland Hills.”
“You actually got on a plane.”
Is there hair growing in his ears, too?
“Flying wasn’t as bad as I expected. Kept the shade down, didn’t see a thing. Honestly, I really, really liked it. The shuttle and cab ride? Not so much.” I shrug. “Closing my eyes helped, and Cooper held my hand for most of the way.”
“Really, really.”
Okay, I don’t get it. “I’m sure you guys have plans, so I’ll—”
“That why you came? Company for Coop?” he asks in definite question, no hint of warmth in his hazel eyes. That thought I had about wearing this sweater? Scratch that. If I thought his demeanor impassive before, his expression now is downright chilly. With one look, Whit cooled the entire building.
“Um?”
“Remember what ya’ said on the plane, Simone?”
I forgot we have an audience. I force my attention away from Whit, avert my eyes to his right.
“Shut it, Cooper. And are those—? You’re eating my gummy bears?” Sure enough, my wallet lays visible from where my purse sags open on top of my smallest suitcase, next to Cooper’s leg. “Seriously?”
“I’m hungry,” he whines.
Pure hot aggravation takes over Whit’s icy demeanor. Guess he doesn’t like the way I spoke to his brother. He cuffs me by the elbow, brands me with his fingers. The sensation travels straight to my heart, sending my pulse higher than the heavens. Somehow, I manage not to stumble on my heels, my legs working overtime to match his pace as he practically drags me down the hall.
Using his shoulder, he hits the door leading into a stairwell, pulling me inside behind him. Our footsteps echo off the walls. The door bangs shut, startling me almost as much as the sudden absence of his grip. I wobble on my heels the second he lets me go. He doesn’t steady me. Instead, he flees to the farthest corner possible, wiping off our contact on his denim-clad hip before tucking both hands under his arms. Like I’m contagious with an untreatable plague.
His chin drops to his chest, gaze pinned on some mysterious spot in the distance between us. For the longest, he simply stands there, breathing. Or, I think he’s breathing. He’s so still, I can’t be too sure.
“That why you’re here, Simone?”
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of his voice.
Crap. How to answer?
Truth? Cooper really did invite me under the guise of wanting someone to hold his hand. He’s flown before, but swore he’s a mess afterward. Going this trip alone would stress him out, he said.
Call me naïve, I wanted to do something for him the ways he’s done for me. For the last three and a half months, Cooper has checked in on me. He took up his brother’s mantle, cruising by Tate’s on his bike. Sets our garbage cans on the curb whenever Mark’s not around, mows the lawn. Heck, the boy even changed the oil in my car. I’ve told him his services aren’t necessary, but he insists, since, according to him, I’m his brother’s girl, whether I’m ready to embrace the title or not.
Conferring with his brother might’ve saved him from a whole lot of sore muscles and stained clothes. Obviously, Whit’s not too thrilled by this surprise visit. Had I known my being here would be a surprise, I’d be at home right now. Cooper—lying twerp—said Whit was super excited about me tagging along. I should totally leave any further explanations to him, seeing as he created this disaster.
But there’s a guy simmering in front of me and, while I may not be the smartest girl within a five-mile radius, given where we are and all, I know he wants answers right now. From me.
How to answer? A simple yes means walking away with the tiny shred of dignity I have left. Aft
erward, I can hightail it over to the hotel, treat myself to room service and spa treatments until it’s time to head out. Not the worst way to spend a four-day weekend, right?
However, heaping everything on Cooper isn’t the full answer to Whit’s question.
The rest? I wrote another goal. Only way I can cross it off is if I actually accomplish it—in its entirety.
Belatedly, I realize I’m rubbing my elbow, more to seal his touch onto my skin than anything else. Eyes closed, I take a deep breath. “I’ve read your letters.”
He stays mute.
I open my eyes, find his glued on my face.
“Remember when you first came to Grant? Sophomore year? I gave you the grand tour? Of all days for the volunteer not to show, she chose that one.” I nearly buckling under the pressure of his gaze. I continue, though he shows no sign of caring about the rest of this story. “Ms. Hoda liked when I filled in because I wasn’t into gossip and didn’t go stupid every time a cute boy came in. I liked it because it got me out of gym.”
I smile. Whit doesn’t.
Right. “Anyway, there I was making copies of a permission slip for a freshman field trip when you walk in, all cowboy hot and easygoing smile, not a worry in the world over being in a new school.”
His lips twitch the slightest bit. Not enough for me to go giddy over, but enough so I know he’s listening.
“You weren’t like other boys, trying too hard to be noticed. You didn’t have to. Everything about you radiated confidence. I couldn’t stop staring at you. Wouldn’t have, had the copier not jammed.”
His brows dip. Maybe he’s forgotten the details. Or, maybe he’s wondering when I’ll get on with it.
“That’s why Ms. Hoda had me show you around, remember? She needed to fix the machine. I was freaking out, scared I might say or do something embarrassing, like trip and fall on my face. You were right about that, me being a fraidy-cat. I’m working on it.”
Telling Whit he’s right clearly doesn’t move him. He frowns at some new spot over my head, working his jaw back and forth.
“So, this trip is about your fear of travelin’ away from home,” he asks with the same casual cool one would use when stating the sky is blue.
“Yes. No. I mean, yeah I’ve been challenging myself to drive. Do the third will thing with Aunt Katie and Mark almost every time they ask. Doubt I’ll ever feel completely comfortable riding in cars, but I’m working on other stuff that scares me, too. Things that scare me more.”