Devious Minds

by Germaine, KF

  Not two seconds later, Sinister popped up her head, looked at me, and pressed a button. “Oh my God, is that Gray Peters? He’s got the clap. Everyone clap,” resonated through the speakers.

  It was her voice as a sound effect, in a high-pitched tone mocking sorority girls nationwide. Bitch must have practiced hoping I’d show my face.

  Every eye turned on me as I stood sulking in the corner. Then they all lifted their hands in the air and clapped. I was in hell. Sydney smirked and moved her chin from side to side to show me what’s up, then raised her tiny fist when a new hard beat broke up the slower one. All the girls shrieked as it entered a Taylor Swift song (don’t ask how I knew that).

  A blonde I could only assume was the elusive Allison, came around her booth and gave Sydney a hug. Blondie looked so relieved, and I was reminded how hard Katharine was on the pledges.

  Sydney slid off her earphones and placed them on the girl’s head. Then she stood behind her, showing her how to use the crossfade and track buttons. There was a huge build. Then at just the right moment, Sydney swiped the girl’s hand over a bar. The song was joined by an earth-shattering beat that knocked the crowd to their knees.

  The girl looked so happy. It was crushing. Then Sydney raised her hands in the air and twisted next to her friend as a woman’s voice rang over the speaker in a sexy melodic tone. The same woman that started the song. The words “you never said good-bye” pulsed through the speakers, causing another ridiculous uproar.

  “Okay, we’re here.” Annoyed grunts came from behind me, and I turned to find my boys.

  I’d made sure Katharine invited Jack, Fernando, and Chance. Jack was going to get drunk tonight, although he didn’t know it yet. If I knew anything about Sydney, she was protective of her little brother. Him getting drunk before her very eyes would set her off. As if on cue, Sydney’s eyes fell on Jack, then shot to mine, where I was sure to give her a smug grin.

  She looked so different tonight, with makeup and her hair curled. She could have stepped right into this sorority and ended Katharine’s evil reign. I hated to admit it, but she was ten times prettier than these girls. Mainly because of the disgusting confidence wafting from her with every swipe over the crossfade. While all these other girls, Katharine included, fought for adulation from the men in the room, Sydney was happy dancing by herself, not giving a crap.

  She was out of her usual baggy little kid clothes that hid her figure. In that black dress, she was all curves, undulating hills of soft skin. A bit of cleavage fell along the cut of her dress, showing off her breasts. The lights above the booth emphasized their roundness and the sweat gleaming from them rivaled the images in Chance’s porn magazines. Damn.

  “What the hell, man?” Jack’s voice cut through my daze. “You didn’t tell me my sister would be here. This isn’t cool. She doesn’t like to see me drink.”

  Chance glanced down at my pants and shook his head. “Katharine works fast.”

  Yes, my dick was at full attention. I said Sydney was a bitch, not hideous.

  Ignoring Chance, I wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulders. “Be cool, Jack. Does your sister tell you what to do?” I entered motivational speaker mode. “You’re a man, Jack. You work hard. You deserve to have fun. Get drunk for once. Come on.”

  I sent Chance and Fernando a pointed stare, pressing them for backup.

  “Yeah, Jack,” they said in unison. Then Chance added, “We all deserve to blow off a little steam. Get a drink. Get laid.”

  I watched Jack scan the room full of vulnerable wannabe Greeks.

  “She’s hot.” I pointed at Blondie standing next to Sydney.

  “Yeah, that brunette’s smoking,” Chance said, following my finger.

  “Chance, that’s my sister,” Jack snapped, sending him a death glare. Little tyke had bite when his sister was involved.

  “Not her.” I guided Jack’s shoulders to face Blondie. “That one. She looks like she needs to be loved on tonight.”

  Jack peered at me with a somewhat disgusted look. Even I was disgusted, but this was part of the game, and Jack was my pawn.

  I’d spent the last few nights perusing the infamous Sunday Lane’s recorded podcasts. She was dangerously close to being exposed, but I needed to play my cards close to my vest. Sydney was the type of girl that if you said her dick was hanging out, she’d helicopter it just to spite you. She was crafty, and skill must be fought with skill.

  As if Sydney Porter were reading my mind, and not in a good way, the blonde waltzed up to us with eyes locked on Jack.

  She stopped in front of him, delivering a sexy smile. “Hi there. You’re cute.” With her finger, she touched the tip of his nose like he was kitten.

  Right on cue, Jack melted under her azure eyes. “Hi,” he said nervously, wearing a smile so enormous it almost spilt his face in two. “I’m Jack Porter.”

  Then he reached his hand out. She giggled and took it. Instead of kissing the back of it, a tried and true pick-up move, Jack gave her a hardy handshake.

  From behind me, I heard Fernando and Chance chuckling.

  “Duh.” She threw back her head and laughed. “I know who you are. Everyone does. You’re the hottest player on the team. I’m Allison.”

  I shook my head, shooting Sydney an annoyed look.

  Allison honed in on Jack like a cruise missile. “Honey, you look thirsty.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and he went from nervous to close to pissing his slacks. “Let’s go get a drink.”

  Squeaking out a nearly inaudible noise, Jack disappeared with Allison into the crowd. She slid her hand down to grab his, and he actually skipped—the boy skipped across the floor.

  Chance pointed to Sydney. “If that’s Jack’s sister, I’m about become best friends with Porter.” He started in her direction, and I held him back.

  “No. You’re not. She’s mine.” I gave him a cool stare, adding to the threat in my tone. “I mean, she’s mine to fuck with.” I corrected myself. “Take all the rest.”

  “Okay.” Chance nodded, but it was a weird, slow nod, like he was piecing together a puzzle.

  When Jack and Allison approached the DJ booth, Sydney gave Jack a hug and he wrapped his arms around her. It was almost touching—almost.

  Then she put the earphones on Jack, placed Allison’s hand on the mixer, pointed to a couple of buttons, and charged toward us like a rhino. She brushed past me, smacking me hard in the arm, and stopped in front of Fernando.

  “Fernando, right?”

  He nodded, eyes drifting to the side to avoid her Medusa gaze.

  Poking a finger into his thick chest, she said, “I better have my tires back by midnight or I’m calling the police. SpaceRoom has you on tape.” She glanced between me and the now scared shitless Fernando. “And you better fucking believe I’ll do it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Dumbasses. All of them.

  When I saw that oh-I’m-fucked look on Fernando’s face, I knew he was as good as guilty. He looked between Peters and me and about shit his pants.

  After locating the closest bathroom, I hovered over the toilet to pee. God knows what kinds of diseases these girls harbored. Their vaginas were just ships passing in the night, stopping to pick up every dirty sailor. As a steady stream hit the water, I thought about Jack. No, I don’t normally think about my brother when I pee. Tonight was the exception to the sibling-pissing-thinking rule.

  I’d offered Allison half the money back if she entertained Jack all night and only fed him non-alcoholic beer. Actually, they would make a cute couple under the right circumstances. However, their stars would not align tonight. Not with an emaciated Katharine breathing down Allison’s neck.

  After washing my hands, I checked my stage makeup. Pretty good still. Then I whipped open the bathroom door, only to be shoved back inside.

  “What the fuck?”

  “What the fuck is right.” Peters slammed the door shut behind him.

  A curling iron was left on sink co
unter, unfortunately not heated, but it would do the trick. Swiping it off, I threw it at Peters. He scoffed as it bounced against his muscular chest.

  Okay, wasn’t going to work, but his eyes widened when I dug into my bra and pulled out my Mace. “Back off, Peters.”

  He took a step back. “You wouldn’t seriously use that on me.”

  “Really?” I faked a trigger pull, and he winced. “You just pushed a helpless girl into a bathroom. Who’d believe you?”

  “Helpless? You’re far from helpless, Sinister.” He said my call name like it was a big, fat joke.

  I wanted desperately to spray him, but we were in a confined space and I’d be hit too.

  “Someone must have seen you come in here. Get out of my way before I scream.” I moved to walk past him, and he grabbed my arm, pulling me to his chest. I could feel his heart racing like a thoroughbred. His sweat-drenched shirt stuck to my dress, mixing the fabrics into one sticky sheet.

  “If someone hears you scream, they’ll think I’m screwing you nice and slow against the edge of this granite counter.” He knocked his knuckles on the countertop. “Or I could go fast. I seem to remember you liked that.” Gentling his grip, he stroked his fingers over my piano tattoo.

  My other hand shot up, slapping him in the face. Peters cupped his cheek, released my arm, and laughed. I took this opportunity to knee him in the balls, and he shrank down to the floor, grabbing his crotch.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, micro-dick. We both know any screaming coming from this room will be your own.” I kicked him in the side and moved for the door.

  “Wait.” His hand latched onto my ankle, tripping me backward and onto the ground in one deafening blow. “Fernando’s out there freaking out. You really have a tape? I didn’t think that dive had a camera system.”

  It didn’t. I was just messing with him, and it paid off.

  “You asshole, you just knocked me into a pile of pubic hair,” I shrieked, ripping my leg from his grip. Sitting up, I edged away from a noxious fuzz ball looming in the shadows.

  Peters lay flat on the floor and let out a hardy laugh. Peeking over at me, his eyes landed between my legs, and I slammed my knees together.

  “And what if I’d hit my head on the porcelain toilet, Peters? Picture the headlines: Low-ranking NFL Hopeful Murders Beautiful Woman in Sorority Bathroom, with a quote from Head Coach Samuels: ‘Peters never had a chance. He thought he was good, but really, his daddy slipped me some stock share, so I let him haul the Gatorades around the field. You know, made the kid feel useful.’”

  Peters sat up and shook his head. “God, you’re a terrible person.”

  I must have knocked the wind out of him with that shot to the balls, because he was drawing in short, deep breaths.

  “He’s on scholarship, Sydney. Fernando’s the first one in his family to go to college.”

  Nice tactic. Using my real name to appeal to my softer side. Newsflash, asshole, I don’t have one.

  “Maybe he doesn’t deserve to be here if he’s making stupid choices and following dumb QBs around like a puppy.” I stood, shaking my dress back down my legs.

  Peters sat there practically drooling at the flash of bare thigh he was just offered.

  “Unless my tires are returned by midnight, with a letter of apology signed by the entire football team, I will call the five-fucking-O.”

  Peters stood as well and brushed his shoulders, which made me think about stray pubic hair. I quickly wiggled in place and shook out my hair while humming. “Those were new tires. I don’t have a daddy to buy me a Porsche every time I pop a tire.”

  He smirked and pointed to my left shoulder. “Missed one.”

  An unidentified curly hair lay stuck to my shoulder, and I screamed. Peters’s eyes grew wide and he covered my mouth with his big hand, pushing me up against the lone shower stall in the corner. After I relaxed my mouth, he lowered his hand but stayed pressed against me.

  “Don’t scream,” he whispered. Peters held my arms down at my sides as I watched a slow smile creep over his face. “I’ll get it off if you promise to not call the cops.” He gripped my wrists tighter so I couldn’t lift my hands.

  “Give me a break, Peters,” I whispered, staring into his face.

  We hadn’t been this close in two years. I knew what girls saw in him. Hell, I fell for it once. Sandy stubble sprinkled across his jaw. Hazel eyes that spoke promises in bed. Cheekbones sharper than razorblades. And even though he was sweating as if he were in a Scandinavian bathhouse, his stupid scent found its way to my nose. It was a cocktail of natural odor with a light twist of cologne. It overwhelmed my senses, transporting me back to the night I stupidly gave away my virginity.

  Taking in a subtle breath, I slammed my pain down deep, where it had been for two years. I wouldn’t allow it to resurface. This wasn’t the time nor the place nor the person to let emotions run freely. Peters was a parasite, feeding off any weakness I exposed.

  “Sydney, please.” He lowered his head next to mine, rolling his forehead against the glass shower stall door. “Please, just be a decent person for once.”

  I turned my head toward him, and we locked eyes.

  “No,” I said calmly, then blew a puff of air over my shoulder, causing the hair to blow off and up toward his face.

  “Jesus… fuck… shit.” He swatted his face, and I regretted leaving my cell phone in the other room. A picture of this would have been priceless.

  I couldn’t help the joyous laughter escaping my throat, taking in this scene. A six-foot-two meathead prancing around in a circle, whacking himself in the face.

  Eventually, he stopped, sending me a dark glare.

  “You dumb bitch.” He wiped his hand across his mouth. “Apparently, you have all the balls in the family. But remember, Jack looks up to me.” He jabbed a thumb in his chest. “He’ll do whatever I say, and one day, Sydney, your worst nightmare will come true. Jack will be me, and before you know it, he’ll be fucking and drinking and leading stupid girls back to his dorm room with the cliché strum of his guitar.”

  My chest tightened until it ached. Peters was mocking me and our night together. My first reaction was to cry. My second reaction was to murder him. I wasn’t sure what would be more therapeutic. Shit, Sydney. But I remained in control, allowing my ears to drift toward the music in the other room.

  “Jack doesn’t play the guitar. He plays the flute.”

  Peters let out an infuriated growl. “Of course Jack plays the fucking flute. Jesus Christ.”

  The beat picked up, and I could hear cheering through the walls. Jack was doing a good job all on his own. I’d taught him some things over the last few years, and I could tell he was confident out there. Peters thought Jack lacked spine, that his confidence should come from being an ass and swinging his football status around campus, but Jack was better than that. He was better than all of them.

  “Jack has it in him. He doesn’t need your help.” I finally lifted my eyes to him, and he looked into the shower stall, avoiding my stare. “Jack’s a good kid. I know you guys think he’s weak, but he’s not. His ability to care for others, to open his heart to people and hope for the best, is not naïve. It’s beautiful.”

  He released another long sigh.

  “You and I might be ruined, but he doesn’t have to be. He can have it all. You don’t know half the shit he’s been through.”

  Peters’s eyes were still locked on the shower stall, but I saw the slow rise of his Adam’s apple and heard the clicking run from chin to cheek as he swallowed. He knew I was right.

  Raising my hand to his face, I turned his chin, forcing eye contact. “You and I are fucked.” I said it slowly so the message would resonate. “We had a one-night stand, and you made me feel cheap and dirty. I’d never felt so worthless in my life. You can go be with your whores, Peters, and you can go to hell, but I’ll be damned if you take my brother with you.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Porter!” I pounded
on the kid’s dorm door. “Porter, open the door!”

  Shuffling noises as graceful as a bull in a china shop came from behind the door.

  “Let me in, asshole. I know you’re there. We have practice in ten minutes, and if you’re late, I have to do extra sets of core drills. You hung over?”

  Finally, the door opened and Porter appeared in his boxers, rubbing his eyes like a sleepy toddler. “Fine. I have to piss. I’ll be right back.”

  “Did you tie one on last night, Baby Porter?”

  He flipped me the bird and started a slow walk down the dorm hall.

  “Hustle up!”

  No sooner had Jack left than the elevators popped open to reveal a certain widely despised DJ. I saw her first. She was balancing two coffees and a donut box along with her messenger bag. She was wearing leggings, a pair of Converse, and a graphic T-shirt. I couldn’t make out the writing, but I was sure it was something ironic or political. Hipsters. Before she looked over at Jack’s door, I stepped back, slamming it shut.

  A second later, a light knocking started.

  “Dimebag, you up?”

  Dimebag? I made a mental note to get that out of Porter later.

  “I brought coffee and donuts. Two maple bars for you. Your favorite. I seriously don’t understand how you can eat like that, but whatever.”

  Another knock at the door.

  “Jack?”

  “Gooooo awayyyy,” I mumbled in the best rendition of Jack Porter I could muster. It landed somewhere between a man’s groan on his deathbed and a screeching owl.

  “Jack? Are you okay? You sound sick.” I heard her foot tap outside the door. “Okay, well, if you’re sick, I don’t want to come inside, so I’ll leave your coffee and donuts outside the door. I have the coffee spout set up right over the crease of the paper cup. If that isn’t how you find it, don’t drink it. Also, the donuts are arranged in a T shape. The stem of the T is fatter rather than longer. Should they not be in the aforementioned T form, consider them altered and, again, don’t eat them.”

  I shook my head, wondering what Sydney’s dorm room was like. She was like a police detective who’d been kicked off the force after losing it. Solving the crime from home, just a basement full of red string connecting suspects. A web of deception and lies—trust no one.