Sweet Little Nothing

by Farlow, LK

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her no, but alienating her certainly won’t endear her to my cause. Instead, I lean in, just enough for her to think I’m interested. “I’ll keep that in mind...” I trail off, waiting for her to offer her name.

  “Summer,” she says.

  “Perfect, Summer. I look forward to calling on you in class.”

  She grins, like I’ve offered her a ride on my dick.

  I turn back to the papers I have gathered on the podium, hungry anticipation for Emmalyn’s arrival gnawing at me.

  At the last minute, she strolls into the room with her head held high and a small smile on her face.

  Well, that won’t do.

  Thanks to her late arrival, most of the seats are full. She heads toward an open seat in the center of the room. As she moves down the aisle, her bag knocks into Summer’s desk, sending the cell phone perched on the edge crashing to the floor.

  “Stupid bitch,” Summer swears under her breath, loud enough for most of the room to hear.

  I let it slide, though, because the shoe most assuredly fits.

  “I’m so sorry!” Emmalyn’s cheeks are as scarlet as the letter branded on her lying little soul as she scrambles to retrieve the phone.

  “Get your hands off of my stuff!” Summer snatches the device back, glaring as though Emmalyn’s touch alone has somehow tainted her phone.

  Emmalyn’s eyes take on a glassy sheen, but she continues to the open desk without replying.

  “Now that everyone’s here and the show’s over”—I glare at Emmalyn, and she slinks down in her seat—"let’s get started. Today I’m assigning the first group project of the semester. You’ll be grouped in pairs and are expected to work together, as a unit, to do the research and the writing. You will also be required to give a presentation."

  Murmurs along with a few groans fill the room. I let them have their moment before continuing.

  “For this project, I will be assigning groups.” I begin rattling off names until there are only two left. Summer glares at me, while Emmalyn’s are downcast in a sad sort of acceptance.

  “Summer, you’re with—”

  She cuts me off before I can finish. “You can’t be serious!”

  I narrow my eyes. “Oh, but I am.”

  “Sterling,” she whines.

  “There will be no complaints over your pairing, nor will there be any changes. If you can’t work together like mature adults, you’ll take a zero.” I drag my steely gaze from one side of the room to the other. “Which I wouldn’t recommend, as this is worth a hefty percentage of your grade.”

  Another chorus of murmurs and groans ring out, but I pay them no mind. There’s only one person’s reaction that’s of any interest to me, and much to my dismay, she’s wearing an impenetrable mask of indifference.

  “For your project, you’ll be writing a research paper on social cognition.” I go on to outline the finer points of the project before telling them to find their assigned partner. “I’ll give you a few minutes to discuss the project with your partner, please be sure to exchange contact information.”

  The students scatter across the room in search of their partners, save for two. Summer sits with her plump lips curled into a vicious snarl, while Emmalyn looks more like a frightened field mouse.

  The two glare at one another from their desks, both unwilling to make the first move.

  I already know who’s going to cave first though, and it’s not going to be the snotty blonde.

  As if on cue, Emmalyn slips from her seat and trudges over to Summer.

  I hide my interest in the screen of my laptop, pretending to read while discreetly watching the two from the corner of my eye.

  “Um, what days are you—”

  “Okay, no. Stop.”

  “What?” Emmalyn’s brow furrows.

  Summer rolls her eyes. “I’m not free, any days, none at all, to work with you.”

  “But it’s a group project. It requires both of us.”

  “Your point?”

  “My point is you can’t expect me to do it all.”

  I’m mildly shocked by Emmalyn’s backbone. She’s always been on the meek side, so seeing her stand up to Summer is... unexpected.

  As is the reaction her fire—as small as the flame may be—is having on me.

  I recline slightly against the back of the desk chair, no longer bothering to pretend I’m not watching them. They’re both too engrossed in their showdown to notice.

  “I can. And I do.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  Summer shrugs, unaffected. “Life’s not fair.”

  Emmalyn’s cheeks redden as her anger grows.

  I allow their standoff to continue for another minute before dismissing the class and returning my attention back to my laptop, in earnest this time.

  A shadow falls over my keyboard causing me to glance up.

  “Yes?” I ask, affecting a bored tone.

  “Can we talk, please?” Emmalyn rakes her teeth over her lower lip.

  “What about?”

  “My partner.” She cringes, but presses on. “It’s just, I don’t think we can work together, and—”

  “I’m going to go ahead and stop you there.” I push my chair away from the small desk and stand. “There will always be people who are difficult to work with, Princess Price.”

  “I understand that, I do. It’s just—”

  “It’s just that you’re a spoiled brat. But guess what?” I lean down and in, nearly pressing my lips to her ear. “You’re in the real world now.” Unable to help myself, I skim my nose over the shell of her ear, and she shivers, a response I file away for later. “Better get used to it.”

  As if on autopilot, she nods as she backs away before turning and running for the door.

  I follow her into the hallway, watching in satisfaction as she once again flees from me.

  That is until she runs into a blond version of the Hulk.

  “Sorry!” she cries, as the giant reaches out to steady her. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Long time no talk, huh, sweets?”

  I can’t see her entire face from where I’m standing, but I can see enough to know she’s smiling warmly at him.

  “I wasn’t sure if I’d run into you again.”

  He reaches down and rubs the ends of her dark hair between two of his fingers. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Really? Well, you found me.”

  He lets her long locks drop and then reaches into his back pocket for his phone. “Let’s exchange numbers, yeah?”

  She rattles off her number, and I repeat it in my mind, committing the seven digits to memory.

  “Perfect, I sent you a text so you’ll have my number. Feel free to save me as Stud Muffin or something equally charming.”

  She laughs, and the sound of it grates against my every nerve.

  I don’t realize how much until my jaw aches from me clenching it.

  Emmalyn Price is mine. Mine to punish and mine to play with.

  “Or, I could save you as Gabe?” she says with a laugh, and when he does, too, red tinges my vision.

  Somehow, my reaction to seeing her interact with him... it goes beyond Rob and his vendetta, and while I know it, I’m wholly unwilling to admit it.

  Princess Price and her impending destruction is nothing more than a favor to a friend. I’m angry over her talking to him, because I don’t want him to suffer the same fate as my best friend.

  Once a liar, always a liar.

  That’s my story, and goddamn it, I’m sticking to it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Emmy

  “Spoilsport,” Gabe jests, grinning.

  “That’s me.”

  “Are you okay?”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to nod my head yes, to lie and say everything’s okay. But I don’t. Because even in Gabe’s comforting presence, my anger still boils and bubbles like a witch’s cauldron.

  “No,”
I whisper my confession and, though we’re virtual strangers, he wraps his meaty arms around me and pulls me close.

  “Let me take you to lunch.”

  “It’s not even lunchtime.”

  He glances down at his watch. “Brunch then, Emmy.”

  “Brunch is for Sundays.” I don’t know why I’m being so difficult. I guess it’s because I don’t want a pity meal.

  “Sweets, brunch is a state of mind. Now, let’s go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “A hundred and one.”

  “What?”

  He rolls his eyes. “I’m one-hundred-and-one percent sure I’d like you to join me for brunch.”

  “Smartass.”

  “Always.” He smirks. “Let me text Zach really quick.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt your plans.”

  Gabe heaves out a long-suffering sigh and wraps his arm around my shoulders, guiding me out of the building. I’m probably imagining it, but I swear I can feel the burn of someone’s stare against my back as he leads me out into the sunshine. “You aren’t interrupting. You were invited. Plus, we’re just going to the dining hall.”

  “Thanks, Gabe.”

  He presses his palm to his cheek and flutters his long lashes. “I know, I know. I’m a great guy.”

  As we approach our destination, Gabe drops a bomb on me. “So, you gonna tell me what had you so upset?”

  “Do I have to?” I ask, halfway hoping he’ll let me off the hook and halfway hoping he’ll press for more.

  “Yes,” is his single word reply.

  I turn to look at him, surprised to find his lips pressed into a thin line and his face set in stone. “Um...”

  He reaches around me and pushes open the door to the dining hall, letting me enter before him. “It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that something upset you. Bottling things up is a shit way to dealing—trust me. Let it out. You’ll feel better, and maybe... maybe I can help rid you of what ails you.”

  I snort out an unintentional laugh. “God, I wish.”

  “Uh huh, tell me more.” Someone yells his name, and he reroutes us toward the sound of it. “Hold that thought, sweets.”

  He blazes a trail through the cavernous room, me hot on his heels. He stops in front of a table occupied by a handful of people, but he only has eyes for the tall, dark-skinned man seated at the center.

  This must be Zach.

  Even seated, his presence is commanding. He stands to greet us. “You must be the mysterious Emmy I’ve heard so much about.”

  He gives me a once-over, and I return the favor. Zach is made up of long lines and compact muscles, an obvious athlete. He’s taller than I thought he’d be, but still shorter than Gabe; though I think everyone is shorter than the bear of a man to my left. His dark hair is woven into tight braids which are secured with an elastic at the base of his neck. With his wide smile and friendly eyes, I can instantly tell he’s good people.

  “That’s me,” I say, suddenly feeling shy. “It’s um... it’s nice to meet you.”

  “It’s good to meet you, too. Now, let’s eat. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “Workouts were brutal this morning,” he says, rounding the table so we can walk together.

  “Do you play football, too?”

  “Yes,” Zach says, but Gabe’s voice spills over his.

  “No.”

  They share a laugh, leaving me to stare between them in confusion.

  Zach shrugs. “It’s called football everywhere on earth except here.”

  “Be that as it may, in the great state of Georgia, it’s...”

  “Soccer,” Zach mumbles begrudgingly.

  “Oh!” Understanding dawns. “I get it!”

  Zach gives me an amused look before herding us into line. The guys grab enough food to feed a family of four, while I settle on a kolache with a fruit cup.

  We bypass the table Zach was at when we came in and cluster into a smaller, more intimate table instead. They both dig into their meals, while I pick at my fruit. I feel strangely comfortable with the two of them, but the events of class still weigh on my mind.

  Gabe finishes his first sandwich before pinning me with a look. “About earlier?”

  I sigh. “I was hoping you had forgotten.”

  Zach rolls his lips in to smother a laugh.

  “Go ahead and say it, babe.”

  “An elephant never forgets.”

  Gabe gives an exaggerated, dry laugh. “Ha-ha. Never gets old.”

  “You love it.”

  “I love you; I tolerate your smartass mouth.”

  “Now I know you’re lying. You really love my smartass mouth.”

  “Sure, when it’s stuffed full of my dick.”

  “Too true,” Zach muses.

  I’ve never been around this kind of PDA. But if I’m being honest... I like it.

  “Now hush,” Gabe scolds. “Emmy here was about to tell me why she was upset when I ran into her earlier.”

  “I just...” I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

  “Talk to me, sweets.”

  “The TA for my Psych 101 class hates me.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” Zach says.

  “No. It is. We have... a history. He’s best friends with my stepbrother, and yeah, he hates me, and is determined to make me miserable.”

  “Why does he hate you? You seem cool as hell to me.”

  I turn slightly toward Zach. “It’s a long, messed-up story.”

  “CliffsNotes, sweets.”

  “Right.” I swallow roughly. “Um. My stepbrother and I have a really bad relationship. Like, really bad. And some things happened and I spoke up, and no one believed me. Now he’s determined to ruin my life and has apparently enlisted the help of a friend to do it.”

  “Some things?” Gabe asks, a blond brow arched.

  I nod, unwilling to elaborate. But I think both of these men are smart enough to put two and two together.

  “Why didn’t anyone believe you?”

  “Because he’s a Pearson, and while that doesn’t mean much here, it means a hell of a lot back where I’m from.” I shrug. “He’s basically Texas royalty, and it was my word against his.”

  “What about your parents? Didn’t they—”

  “Dad’s dead and my mom chose her husband over me.”

  “Man, fuck them!” Zach declares. “We’re your daddies now.”

  I don’t mean to, but I can’t help but laugh.

  “Yeah, that sounded bad.”

  “So bad,” Gabe agrees with his boyfriend. “But I dig it. Daddy Gabe. It’s got a ring to it.”

  “Y’all are crazy.”

  “The best people are, sweets. The best people are.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sterling

  Watching Emmalyn eat lunch with those two jocks has my heart racing and my blood pumping.

  As irrational as it may be, I need to know who these two men are. I need to know what they are to her. How close they are to her.

  I need to know it all.

  I tell myself it’s because I need to know my enemy and knowing the company she keeps is paramount to taking her down.

  However, telling myself something doesn’t make it true. And if the way my gut twists in anger at the sight of her—head tipped back, laughing at something one of them said—is anything to go off of, I’m absolutely lying to myself.

  Who does she think she is? In what universe is it okay for her to do what she did and then go on living her best life like she’s not a lying, backstabbing, disloyal bitch.

  As much as Rob likes to dog her, saying she destroyed his life, she really didn’t. After all, money talks. But my earlier thought from after class lingers: what if she were to do the same to a guy who doesn’t have pockets deeper than Mary Poppins’ bag? What then?

  It’s not fair to let her potentially ruin someone’s life.

  I’m drawn from my enraged musings when the trio st
and to throw their trash away. The blond giant takes hers from her and disposes of it with his own.

  They stroll out of the dining hall, and I follow behind them at a safe distance, listening to as much of their conversation as possible.

  Which, unfortunately, isn’t much.

  I’m half tempted to call my first foray into stalking a bust. That is until the trio stops in front of a dorm building. Specifically, Lookout Hall, which is a strictly female dorm. Which means, unless they’re here to add another person to their merry band of assholes, Emmalyn lives here.

  Holy shit. In one day, I’ve managed to acquire both her phone number and her dorm hall. This is one-hundred percent what winning feels like.

  I linger as the three chat for another few minutes, then finally Emmalyn turns and retreats into the building. Unfortunately, they continue down the path in the opposite direction of where I’m waiting.

  I don’t let the strike-out bother me though; today’s still a win.

  I’m about to head back to the psych building when a familiar voice calls my name from somewhere behind me. I debate hauling ass, but she catches up before I can.

  “Sterling Abbot! I thought that was you.” She bats her lashes and wraps her arms around my middle, pressing her breasts against my chest in a bone-crushing hug.

  “Melanie.” I reluctantly return her embrace.

  She’s nice, but clingy. I took her out with me to a party once as friends as a favor, and she all but growled at any female who got within a five-foot radius. Clearly our friendship never progressed.

  “What are you doing over here in my neck of the woods?”

  “Just enjoying a little fresh air.”

  She laughs like I’ve just delivered a witty punchline.

  “How’ve you been?” I ask when she doesn’t speak.

  “Really good. So good.”

  “Glad to hear that, Mel.”

  Her eyes sparkle at the abbreviated version of her name. “Is this your dorm?”

  “Yep. I’m an RA, too.” Her eyes widen, and she gently smacks a hand against my chest. “Oh my God! And you’re a TA, from what I hear. How crazy is that?”

  “So crazy,” is my dry response.