She Wants It All: Book Three of the Sheridan Hall Series

by Jessica Calla

  “Perfect.”

  Yes, you are. Her smile brightens the whole damn hallway as I reach out to touch her hand. But before I do or say anything stupid, I pull it back and dart down the hallway.

  “See you tomorrow,” she calls behind me.

  I grin to myself. Tomorrow. I can’t believe there’s going to be a tomorrow.

  Chapter 6

  Maggie

  The noisy kittens wake me early, so I feed them and take advantage of my alert state to sneak in a workout. I’m careful to shut the doors to the lounge so I don’t wake up my floormates. I set the treadmill for three miles and start walking with Second Floor Dave on my mind.

  Dave’s admission that he’s fed Mr. Cutie Pie the Squirrel shatters my anti-boy campaign. First, it means Dave’s noticed me for a while—at least since I noticed the foreign nuts at the tree. October, maybe? Second, it shows he cares about animals, which fills my heart. Third, he’s so damn cute when he’s peeking at me with those twinkly eyes and long eyelashes—shy, sweet, gorgeous. My hormones can’t take it. Fourth, he saved three kittens from a dumpster. Picturing him with our kittens makes me want to smush my entire body against him and hold him tight like a teddy bear.

  Stop, I tell myself. I’m a strong, independent woman who does not need a man in her life. At least that’s what Mom told me when Winston dumped me. I’m trying to believe it.

  But thinking of Dave’s smile makes my insides gushy. Despite my moratorium from men, I wanted to jump him last night. Good thing I didn’t because the poor guy almost stroked out when I kissed his cheek. It’s probably better he left when he did. Maybe today at the shelter, I can explain that I’m not interested in dating anyone—that I’m trying to work on myself. Or maybe not.

  I kick up the speed on the treadmill and start a slow jog as I argue with myself. Don’t need a man, want to make out, don’t need a man, want to make out, I say with every step. Ugh. Stupid boys.

  I hate myself for doing this again. Like Meg said, why can’t I learn that just because a boy is sweet, or cute, or thinks I’m pretty or whatever, it doesn’t mean I have to fall in love? Love does not fit into my plan for the near future.

  But something about the idea of love, the companionship, the passion, calls to me. I want to be wanted. I’m good at being feminine and I can’t help it. Wanting a boyfriend comes along with that, for me at least. I blame the romance novels. I read too much. That must be it.

  Disgusted with myself, I slow down the belt and shut off the treadmill. Then, without regard for the early hour, I march across the hall and bang on the door to room four.

  I hear shuffling inside. Rocco flings the door open, his eyes half shut and his long, black hair a mess. His monstrous bodybuilder’s body, covered in a sleeveless T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, blocks the entire doorway. I peek at his bare bicep before I start hopping up and down to see if Pooja is in the room behind him.

  “Patrinski?” He rubs his eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

  I ignore his aggravated tone. “I need Pooja. Is she in there?”

  He moves to the side and lets me enter. “I’ll disappear.”

  “No!” I shout as Pooja sits up and stretches. “I need your advice too.”

  Rocco groans, stumbles back to the bed, and lies next to Pooja. He pulls the blanket up over his shoulders.

  I follow him and poke his shoulder. “Don’t go back to sleep.”

  Pooja sits up behind Rocco’s stretched out body. He looks like a wall protecting her. She and Rocco make a picture, that’s for sure. He says he fell in love with her at first sight, the day she arrived in Sheridan Hall. Since Frank died, they’ve practically lived together in room four.

  She yawns and twists her long black hair into a knot on her head. “What’s wrong, Maggie? Your colors are all over the place.”

  Pooja’s a psychic, or maybe an empath? Nobody knows for sure, not even her. She can see colors and auras around people and figure things out. Sometimes she can tell the future, sometimes the past. Mostly, she’s incredibly clear on the present, which is helpful to a lot of us. We’re always bothering her for advice.

  “I have to ask you a question.” I turn to face their bed and put my hands on my hips. “Why am I an idiot?”

  Rocco rolls over and glares at me. “You’re an idiot because you’re waking us up at six a.m. on a Saturday to ask if you’re an idiot. That’s why.”

  Pooja slaps his arm. “Roc!” she says, climbing over his waist. “Don’t mind him. He’s cranky. What’s going on?” She pulls me to the other side of the room to the little love seat they’d set up.

  “After Win, I swore I’d stay off men, you know? Give myself a break? Then last night, Dave takes me out—”

  Her eyes grow wide. “Oh, right, your date! What happened?”

  “Did you see his giant dick?” Rocco pipes in from across the room. I’m sure that rumor will never die, and I don’t plan on being the one to find out the truth.

  “Shut up, Roc,” I bark across the room. “You guys seem more interested in that information than us girls.”

  Pooja whispers. “Did you?”

  I shake my head and whisper back. “Of course not. The guy could barely speak to me. I kissed his cheek, and he ran out the door.”

  Rocco chuckles from the other side of the room.

  “No! Did he?” Pooja asks, raising her voice to normal volume.

  I sigh. “He’s so amazingly adorable, Pooja. So damn sweet, and God, he likes me so much. I feel all—” I squirm on the seat and swirl my hands, “—butterflies, thinking about it.”

  Rocco laughs from the bed. “Butterflies?”

  “Fuck you, Rocco!” I snap. “If you aren’t going to help, then keep your mouth shut.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “Girl talk is ridiculous.”

  “Don’t make fun,” Pooja says. “Men and women are different, and we have different ways of describing things. There’s no right or wrong way.”

  “Yeah!” I yell at him.

  He groans and rolls over again. Pooja gives him a dirty look then turns back to me. “I hate to tell you this, Maggie, but if you like him, you like him. Love doesn’t wait for the right time. It just happens.”

  “I didn’t say anything about love, Pooj,” I point out. “I don’t even know the guy. But is it wrong of me to want…” I lower my voice so Rocco can’t hear, “…to make out with him, just to see what it feels like?”

  “You know what all that feels like.”

  “But he seems so smitten. I’d love to see how that translates into his lips.”

  “You want passion,” she says. “Like in your books.”

  “Yes! Exactly.”

  Winston grew up with me. We spent every summer at camp together until we were old enough to realize we had hormones and could kiss. He was my first love, the person I felt most comfortable with, the person who made me feel secure. When I had sex with him, it was the first time for both of us, and it was safe and perfect and planned. But until Dave, I’ve never had a guy so into me that I make his brain stop working or cause him to stutter. It scares and excites me at the same time. “I want to be a little crazy, you know?”

  Rocco sits up, his hair darting in all directions. “From what you described, Dave can’t even talk to you. What makes you think he can be all romance novel passionate?”

  “It’s a feeling, Roc. He’s intense.” I tell them how Dave noticed the squirrel and feeds him for me. How he thinks I’m “different” than the other women he knows. “He’s a little shaky around me but he’s super into me. I can tell.”

  Pooja grabs my hands to get my focus back on her. Her calm energy moves up my arms and fills me. “Are you sure it’s good intense stuff, Mags, and not unhealthy intense stuff?”

  She’s worried he’s crazy like her ex, who stalked her and terrorized our floor. She’ll never forgive herself that Frank is dead because of her ex-boyfriend. “Good. I’m sure.”

  “Well, then, my advic
e is follow your heart, and be honest. More importantly, see if you can get Dave to unleash some of that intensity, if that’s his self-truth. He shouldn’t hide who he is. How will you get to know him if he doesn’t show you?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I’m going to try to settle him down today.”

  “That being said, make sure it’s what you want. You and Win were serious, and that ended not too long ago. You said you didn’t want to start something new.”

  “I’m over Win.” I say the words automatically, and as much as I want them to be true, it’s hard to claim being over someone who you’ve known practically all your life. “And I’m not starting anything. Just wondering a little.”

  Pooja tilts her head, her eyes wide. “I know you think you’re ready to move on. But are you really?”

  I huff. “I don’t know Pooja. All I know is that Dave makes me feel wanted. I like that. I don’t want to miss out on it because Win was a jerk.”

  “I understand, I do. I worry about you. You can open your heart again, but keep your brain on too, okay?”

  Her brown eyes sweep across my face. I know she’s seeing something she’s not telling me. I don’t ask. I want to stay in this fantasy world a little longer. The world where the hot guy from upstairs can barely form a sentence around me. “I will. Now go back to bed. Sorry I woke you.”

  Rocco grunts. “Let me know if I need to kick his ass, Patrinski.”

  All the guys on the floor are like my big brothers. “You got it, big guy,” I tease and shut the door behind me.

  Dave

  I wake up early on Saturday to take Maggie to the shelter and attempt to sneak out with Sadie’s keys. I tiptoe to the door and pull it open. When the damn thing creaks, I hear Tucker rustle.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

  I freeze in the doorway and play nice. “I was gonna go get you some bagels. You know. To thank you for letting me borrow Sadie.”

  He studies me. “You fucking liar.”

  I shut the door, defeated, and sit on his desk. “I need Sadie again. Just for a few hours.”

  He shakes his head. “Not unless you tell me A, where you’re going and B, what happened last night with Squirrel Girl.”

  I decide honesty is the right route, hoping maybe he can help me. I tell Tuck about the dumpster, the cats, and Maggie’s room.

  “Cats?” he says. “So you ended up in a dumpster digging out cats?”

  “I know. The date took a weird turn—”

  “And now you’re going to the shelter?”

  I shrug.

  “Did you have any physical contact at all with the Squirrel Girl?”

  “Her name’s Maggie,” I say. “We can’t call her that anymore.”

  “You didn’t answer.”

  “We high-fived.”

  “You high-fived?” He twists his mouth into a smirk.

  “We high-fived. And she kissed me on the cheek.”

  “Isn’t this the girl you’ve been celibate for since September? The ‘one’?” He uses air quotes when he says it.

  “Well, I haven’t been celibate for her, but yeah.”

  “And you didn’t touch her?”

  I click my tongue. “Nope.”

  “Why the fuck not?”

  Because I’m a Goddamn moron. “Because I’m a gentleman, Tucker.”

  He laughs. “So she wasn’t into you? That’s what you’re saying?”

  I think about Tuck’s question. “She seemed into me. She was cool. Nice. Sweet.” I picture her ass in her hot girl sweats. “She looked amazing. And like I said, she kissed me.”

  “Yeah. On the cheek.” He rolls his eyes. “So why didn’t you go for it? Don’t give me this ‘gentleman’ bullshit either.”

  I can’t blame Tucker. All through high school, he watched me screw around and then advised me on the various situations I found myself in. Of course he would think I put the moves on Maggie. “You’re gonna laugh if I tell you.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  “No, I won’t. Tell me.”

  He’s going to, I know he is, but I tell him anyway. “I’m so nervous around her that I can barely speak.”

  As expected, Tuck bursts into a fit of laughter. He rolls back onto the bed, his chubby stomach in his hands, yelling like an idiot. I cross my arms and wait for him to stop. When he settles down, I ask, “You done now, asshole?”

  “It’s just… you’re never nervous. I’ve watched you flirt with women of all ages and varying degrees of hotness.”

  “I know.”

  “You said she was cool and seemed into you, so why so nervous? Just be yourself.”

  I can’t tell Tuck that I’m trying to morph myself into a hero worthy of a romance novel to make Maggie love me. “Will you give me the car, or do I have to fight you for it?”

  “Take the car. Deal with your cat situation and your crush. Sadie better come back clean and smelling like roses.”

  I bend down and cover his cheek with a big, sloppy, wet kiss. “I love you.”

  He shoves me away. “Get off me, you freak show.”

  I laugh and head for the door.

  “Wait,” Tuck says, sitting up. “You need a plan.”

  “A plan for what?”

  “For after the shelter. This is going nowhere with Squirrel Girl, and technically, she’s only supposed to have one date with you, right? Today is a freebie.”

  “That’s an interesting way to put it, but yeah.”

  “Make it good, so you can have another.”

  “How am I supposed to make a trip to the shelter good? What should I do?”

  “Give her what she wants,” he says. “It’s the secret to all women. Give them what they want.”

  Tuck’s right. What does Maggie want? I think back to the romance novels hidden in my desk drawer and come up with the perfect plan.

  Chapter 7

  Maggie

  At the shelter, Dave does nothing to smother those butterflies that flutter whenever I see him. In fact, he creates more butterflies. Not only with his more relaxed nature—eye contact and a sing-song, non-stuttering voice—but also when he helps Dr. Cranford, my mentor and the shelter’s volunteer veterinarian, with the animals.

  I check him out as he tosses a ball to my favorite dog, a rescued Pitbull named Zulu, who seems thrilled with Dave’s attention. Zulu’s not the best fetcher, so Dave runs across the yard to retrieve the ball. I enjoy the view of his cute butt in his camo cargo shorts and the long line of his shoulders stretching a navy T-shirt across his back. Cargo shorts and T-shirts must make up his entire wardrobe, especially since he threw his sweater in the dumpster last night.

  I opted for jeans since I know the shelter can be messy and I didn’t want the cats to scratch my legs up. I’m wearing his beads under my T-shirt. I thought maybe if he noticed them, he’d be able to tell that I like him without me having to say the words and freak him out.

  While Dave and Zulu play, Dr. Cranford calls me over. “Have you heard about the internship yet?” I’d learned so much volunteering under her. She told me about the internship and wrote me a beaming letter of recommendation. As an intern-alumnus, I hope her letter holds enough weight to get me in.

  “Not yet. Any day now.” I check my phone while we stand there, just in case something’s waiting in my inbox. Nothing.

  “Well, you already have New York in the bag, so if it doesn’t work out in Washington—”

  “I’m trying to be grateful for the New York gig, but the Washington job would be amazing.”

  “It was the best thing I ever did,” she says as she checks Elvis’s teeth. “Career-wise and personally. You checked out the kittens?”

  I shrug. “I did.”

  She replaces Elvis in the crate and crosses her arms. “Tell me your assessment, Dr. Patrinski.”

  Dr. Cranford’s been letting me do examinations since I started with her in the fall. “I felt their bellies an
d checked their mouths for teeth. I was a bit distracted since they were trying to destroy my dorm room.”

  She glances toward Dave. “Another distraction?” Dr. Cranford’s all about animals, not so much people. Of all the times I’ve volunteered with her, she rarely talks about our personal lives. The way she’s glaring at me and tightening the bun in her hair reveals the answer she wants to hear.

  “Just a friend.” I peek at Dave. He throws the ball again, and Zulu sits and stares at him.

  Dr. Cranford squints her dark eyes at me. “You don’t want to complicate things if you are moving away.”

  “I wish people would stop telling me that. You sound like my mom.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She laughs and tosses her gloves into a nearby garbage can. “I have news on the kittens. Do you want to grab Dave?”

  Do I ever. After settling Zulu back in her crate, I take his hand to lead him to Dr. Cranford, wondering if he notices how perfectly our hands fit together. I drop his when we get inside before he figures out we’re touching and gets weird.

  Dave and I listen as Dr. Cranford tells us the kittens are healthy. I melt a little when Dave sighs in relief.

  “There’s one issue,” Dr. Cranford says as she points to the crate. “They have fleas.”

  I scrunch my face. “Noooooo,” I whine. “Fleas?” I know what that means. How did I miss it?

  “I gave them a treatment. It takes twenty-four hours to be effective though. Unfortunately, we can’t take them at the shelter until the fleas clear. We won’t risk the other animals, and we’re not equipped to deal with a flea epidemic.”

  A million thoughts fly through my mind. Do I have fleas? Did I give Dave fleas? Is all of Sheridan under a flea epidemic as we speak?

  “What do we do?” Dave, the ever-concerned parent, asks.

  Dr. Cranford directs his question to me. I explain how to comb the kittens and that I’ll need to deflea my room. “I’ll have to wash the sheets and vacuum any rugs. Megan’s gonna kill me.”