My fists curl at his fevered words. I take a deep breath, processing.
“Are you over Vane?”
“I’m not in love with him anymore. I had to see him, Dillon. It’s like the ending of a book. It’s finished.”
He pauses. “You must have figured out that I’m not interested in just hooking up, Serena. I guess…I snapped when he called.”
Long seconds pass as my heart hammers.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
A long sigh comes from my chest. “I wish…” I close my eyes, praying for bravery. “I wish you’d come over here and kiss me.”
He snaps out of his seat and appears in front of me. With careful hands, he pulls me up to face him.
22
What happens when two people confess secrets then sit across from each other in a restaurant and look each other in the eyes? You’d think shyness or at least a few hesitant looks, but we do neither. He sits next to me in the booth and holds my hand inside Sugar’s, a popular gathering place near campus. We can’t stop staring at each other. A plate of cheese fries on the table is being ignored.
Dipping my head, I laugh.
His thumb caresses my hand. “What’s so funny?”
“Those Thetas’ faces when we ran for the stairwell. That Chi-O who heard your voice and came out of her room and ran at you.”
He looks away uncertainly. “That bugs you.”
I smile wryly. “You were with me, so I think I’ll live. Her calling me a slut—well, that’s just plain old mean and wrong for her as well. If you’d let me explain to her what that word does to women, it could have been a great teaching moment, but no, you had to swing me up on your back and run—”
“Wanted you to myself.”
“And here we are…in a crowded restaurant.”
“Your stomach was growling,” he protests, laughing as a sheepish expression appears. “Besides, we need an official date besides Cadillac’s, paintball, and hotel sex.”
“You forgot the tryouts. Did Chantal and Bambi bring you to the event?”
“Yep.”
“Those little devils. Did you know I was there?”
“Yeah.”
“And your dates?”
“I can’t recall a word they said. Was looking for you.”
Satisfaction swirls inside me as I pick up a fry and stick it in my mouth while he watches. I give him one and he eats it out of my hand, his tongue sliding against my finger. Being close to him, like this, in a way with walls down, is liberating. Long after he’s eaten the fry, my hand lingers on his face, touching the sharp jawline, his full lips, the way his eyebrows arch. I’m in Dillon overload.
“I still have questions for you,” he murmurs. “Why is there a light in the fridge if we shouldn’t eat at night?” He grins. “I made up my own questions to mess with them.”
“Me too!” I laugh, and he watches me with an intensity I’m getting used to.
“How ’bout this: would you rather be completely hairless or as hairy as a gorilla?” he asks.
I sputter. “Sweater back, so gross. Hairless.”
“Son of a nutcracker, I figured since you had a thing for Bigfoot…”
He swoops in and kisses me.
“Y’all are disgusting,” is the phrase that brings our eyes off each other. We turn, and Chantal, Bambi, Sawyer, and Troy are standing next to our table. It’s Chantal who’s spoken, but there’s amusement in her voice. They plop down across from us, Sawyer grabbing chairs to pull up for him and Troy.
Dillon groans. “How did you find us?”
Bambi gives him a Don’t you wish you knew look then smiles. “We drove around until we saw your Escalade.”
“My sorority sisters won’t leave me alone,” I tell Dillon. “Apparently, they’re setting me up on dates now.”
He throws an arm around me. “You don’t seem sad about it.”
I whisper in his ear as the others order from the waitress. “I have five bottles of cheap champagne in my fridge. Don’t know why I bought them except I keep anticipating you popping the cork, pouring it over me and licking it off…”
He gives me a smoldering glance. “You ready to go?”
“Alright!” Chantal says with a clap before I can reply. “Who’s up for some poppin’ duet singing?”
Groans and protests come from the guys.
She ignores them and struts to the stage, looking over her shoulder. “It’s karaoke night, and it must not be missed. Dillon and Serena, y’all do ‘Shallow’ by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper or ‘Islands in the Stream’ by Dolly and Kenny. Which will it be?”
I jump up. “If I’m gonna sing, it’s my pick! How about—”
Dillon’s eyes widen. “Oh, God, no, Serena. I’m not getting up there. I can’t sing. Anything but that. Please.”
He rises anyway, his hand linking with mine.
“You’re gonna die of embarrassment, especially considering your ex,” he grouses.
Sawyer calls out, “He can hold a ball but not a tune!”
Dillon flips them off, and I jump into his arms, ignoring the catcalls from our friends. “I don’t care how you sing—it’s that you’re willing to do it with me. I need you, Dillon, to sing a song with me. Will you?”
His arms flex as he holds me. “Pick something easy.”
“Hmmm. How about an Elton John and Kiki Dee duet?”
“‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart?’” He pops an eyebrow. “Is that a subliminal message?”
“Mmmm.”
I’m ready for this crazy thing with him. I’m along for the rollercoaster ride, and I know the end waits for me. It might hurt, but for right now, I’m hanging on for dear life.
“Let’s enjoy this,” I say, repeating his earlier words, keeping my fear buried deep.
23
Rustling sounds bring me awake as I pop my head out of the covers. I tend to sleep burrowed down deep. Dillon has gotten out of bed and is pulling his jeans on. His back’s to me as he peeks out my window, and a slow smile curls my lips. Last night we ended up back at my place after hanging out at Sugar’s. We walked in the door, got the important parts of us undressed, and had unrefined, furious sex on the couch. I couldn’t get him inside me fast enough, and he was the same, his groan when he slid in loud enough to wake the dead. When we finally did get our clothes off, he spread me out on the kitchen table and took me slow and careful, dragging out his strokes, his hands gripping my hips as I went over the edge and saw stars. We eventually made it to my bed.
It just made sense for him to stay the night. Of course.
Too fast? At this point, I refuse to think about it.
He slips his shirt on and I sigh at the loss of the view.
“It’s five in the morning,” I murmur, and he looks over his shoulder.
“Did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet.”
“Running with Owen?”
“Yeah, and I don’t want your nana to see me leaving.” He runs his hands through his hair, straightening his bedhead. I like him like this. I like everything about him. His intelligence, his complexity, his sense of humor, his words last night…
I scoot up to the headboard, the camisole strap slipping down my shoulder. “Coffee?”
“Nah, go back to sleep. It’s too early.”
“I’m not sleepy.” I feel alive and exhilarated. I pick up his pillow and take a long breath in.
A smile twitches his lips as he bends over the bed and gives me a kiss. “You like my pheromones.”
“Vanilla and man—what’s not to like?” He nuzzles my neck, and my fingers start undoing his jeans. “Is it creepy that I want to roll you in sugar, dip you in chocolate, cover you in whipped cream, and devour you? I swear I’m not a cannibal.”
“Attraction at first sniff. You smell like cherries.”
“Shampoo, thank you for entrancing the football player.”
He kisses me fast and hard. “You have no idea.” He pauses. “Did you kiss anyone your
freshman year at the bonfire?”
I pull his jaw to me. “The legend again? You’re the only man I’ve kissed at a bonfire.”
My hands have managed to push his jeans down, and I stroke his thick shaft. His crown is mushroom-shaped, a pearl of white at the tip. Rising up, I take him in my mouth.
He groans, his hands in my hair. “Serena…”
“No run?” I say as my tongue licks up his hard length.
“No run,” he says gruffly as he pulls me up and kisses me.
I ease away and stand up, whipping my cami and thong off. I let my panties dangle on my finger as I throw him a glance over my shoulder. “I’m going to shower.”
“Now?” His heated eyes stroke over me.
“Hmmm.”
He jumps off the bed and stalks toward me. He whips his shirt off. “Not without me.”
I giggle. “So macho.”
“This body is all yours, Dandelion.” He sweeps me up and into his arms and carries me to the bathroom.
Dear Asking for a Friend,
Recently I reconnected with an old flame from college. We were the perfect couple. People said we “belonged together”, and I fell deeply in love. After we graduated, he moved to Seattle for a job. We tried long distance, but it didn’t work, and he broke up with me.
Now, he’s back in town and begging me for another chance, but I’m torn. I never got over him, but how can I trust that this time it’s for real? Please help. I don’t want another broken heart.
Torn in Magnolia
* * *
Dear TIM,
Truth? There are no perfect couples or relationships. Heck, I’m still upset over Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston’s divorce—then Justin Theroux. Tears. Why can’t she find love?
The fear of risking our hearts is scary. (Alexa, play “Love Hurts” by Joan Jett.) Yet, it’s this humble writer’s opinion that by pushing him away, you might miss out on something wonderful. Perhaps the timing is right. Give yourself an opportunity to discover if this is real. I say, roll the dice and take a chance.
~Asking For a Friend
* * *
I hit send on the column and stretch my back as I rise from the chair in the campus library. I smile. I’m rolling the dice with Dillon—
The thought is cut short when my phone rings and several students turn to glare at me.
I snatch it up, keeping my voice low. “Serena Jensen.”
“Ah, Miss Jensen, this is Headmaster Roberts at Magnolia Prep.”
His voice is official and stern, and I stiffen. “I see. How can I help?”
“Yes, well, I need you to come in today. Right now if possible. I have Romy in my office. She’s been suspended for two weeks.”
“For what?” I yell, startling students. I’m already shoving my laptop into my bag.
“I’d prefer to discuss it in person.”
I exhale. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Moving through the tables, I take the stairs and dart outside, my mind swirling with what she could have done. My cell pings with another text, and I check it as I walk to my car.
Hey. I’m done early today. Where are you?
I bite my lip. Dillon. It’s been two weeks of us together, nights of bingeing TV shows and video games and sex. Every time he walks in my apartment, I melt into his arms. His kisses are addictive. The sex is mind-blowing. The way he spoons me afterward and traces little hearts on my back makes me weak in the knees. I’m walking a tightrope with him, teetering as I try to keep my heart locked away.
But Romy… Crap! I send him a text explaining what’s going on and that I’ll see him later. He tries to call me back when I’m driving, but I focus on traffic and getting to the school.
I park and enter Magnolia Prep, noting the fancy artwork on the walls, the elegant wallpaper in the office, the plush leather chairs. It’s a far cry from my public school education. “Should be at twenty grand a year,” I mutter.
The secretary buzzes the headmaster, and he opens his door to usher me inside, face unsmiling. Romy sits in a chair, eyes red as if she’s been crying.
Mr. Roberts and I greet each other with pleasantries, which are insincere on both sides. He’s in his sixties, rather cold, and not as personable as you’d expect from someone in a job dealing with students. I thought so the first time I met him. He takes in my boots and curls his lip.
Whatever.
I take my seat just as the headmaster moves behind his desk.
The door opens and Dillon walks in.
My mouth opens.
He moves toward the headmaster and takes his outstretched hand in a firm grasp. “Dillon McQueen, sir.”
The headmaster rears back. “I know who you are. You’ve been here several times for assemblies. Just didn’t expect you to walk in—”
“I’m Serena’s boyfriend. Thought I should be here.” He unleashes a lethal fake smile for him, then gives me a kiss on the cheek. He tugs on Romy’s hair and takes a seat.
“I see,” Mr. Roberts says.
The headmaster sits, clears his throat, and proceeds to explain how Romy was caught skipping classes and smoking an e-cigarette in the theatre room. He slyly mentions her past infraction with marijuana at the public school then pompously outlines their tobacco policy. “It’s not allowed indoors or out at our esteemed institution. Besides the suspension, she won’t be able to compete in her dance competitions during that time,” he says as he wraps up and folds his hands on the desk.
My chest rises. I watched Romy on and off while he talked, her eyes pleading with me, and now she blurts out, “Serena, I swear, I was not smoking! I skipped class, okay, I did that. But someone left the drama room when the bell rang, and the e-thing was just sitting there on the chair, and I—”
“It was in your hand, Miss Jensen,” the headmaster says. “The drama teacher wrote it down on the incident report—”
“Let her finish,” I say quietly, but not meekly. I know when Romy is lying. She gets twitchy and her eyes won’t hold mine. Right now she’s looking straight at me.
“Serena, you know how much hip hop means to me.” Her head dips. “And I know how expensive this place is and how hard you work…” She stops, her eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t do it.”
“I believe you,” I murmur. Yes, we went through a tough time getting her adjusted to Magnolia Prep, but she knows this school is her last option.
Relief floods her face. She turns back to the headmaster and puts her hands together in a praying expression. “Sir, I skipped calculus, that is true, but I wasn’t smoking. My nana quit because of COPD. I know about the evils of tobacco.”
Good, Romy, good.
“Then who was vaping?” he asks, a glower on his face.
Dillon leans forward. “Kids who tattle get labeled and bullied. This is a gray area, and while I understand your concern about tobacco products on school grounds, she’s telling you it wasn’t hers. Case closed in my eyes.”
“Mr. McQueen, I’m a fan of yours, very much so, but I fail to see how your input matters.”
“It matters,” Romy snipes.
“Romy…” I warn.
Dillon straightens his shoulders, his eyes hard. “I just want Romy to get a fair shake.”
This is a gray area, but she can’t get suspended. Her grades will suffer. Her college applications… I exhale. “Romy, do you know who the e-cigarette belonged to?”
Romy crosses her arms. “I’m no snitch, but I also don’t know who left it. Yes, I picked it up and looked at it. Did I put my mouth on someone else’s nasty germs? No. Gross! There is no reason to suspend me!”
“Lower your voice,” I tell her.
“Is there proof?” Dillon asks. “Perhaps video from a security camera?”
Romy nods eagerly. “Yeah!”
“Unfortunately, no, not in that section of the theatre,” the headmaster says. “But in her past, she’s been known—”
“You’re basing her guilt on an incident
that occurred at another school—over a year ago,” I say. “Mr. Roberts, my sister may not have the best grades, but she is honest. She owns up to her mistakes. It wasn’t hers. Therefore, the only consequence she should face is the fact that she skipped a class, which I would imagine happens frequently with teenagers. Don’t you agree?”
He frowns as he squints at Romy’s magenta-streaked hair. “Your sister has a history with drugs.”
Why can’t he let that go? Everybody makes mistakes!
“But your board gave her a second chance, and we appreciate that. That said, a headmaster who declares someone guilty without proof, well, that’s extremely unfair,” I say.
“Life is often unfair, Miss Jensen,” is his curt reply. “Perhaps you’re too young to realize that.”
He wants to patronize me? I lost both parents on the same day! I know how life can suck. My hands clench, annoyance ratcheting up. What would a mom do? How do I handle this? My instinct is to jump over his desk and shake him, but…
“Are you aware I write for the Gazette?”
Dillon nods, catching on. “She’s a great reporter. She uncovered a secret leather cult at the Piggly Wiggly.”
I told him how I imagined him that night in the Pig.
“PETA was involved,” I add. “I would, of course, be reluctant to write anything troublesome about this fine, prestigious school. However, the owner of the paper is Warren Bryson, an old family friend. One mention of this, and I may not be able to stop him from asking me to investigate other incidents here.”
If the headmaster believes I’d write him in a bad light, he’s damn right I would, but I’m not sure Warren would publish it. We aren’t that tight. I’m grasping at straws, but keep my face flat as I stare at Mr. Roberts. My eyes say Just try me. I may be young and small, but I will come at you like a mama bear if you mess with Romy.
The headmaster sputters, and before he can answer, I stand up and clear my throat. “Go to class, Romy. I’ve got this.”
I Promise You Page 21