“Chase…”
He leans, looking out at me through the open door. “Goodnight,” he says softly.
“Goodnight.”
He waits until I’m safely inside before pulling out of the parking lot. I droop against the wall, press my hands to my eyes, and cry.
18
Bound For the Floor
Chase
I get inside my dorm room and contemplate turning right back around. I don’t feel good about how I left things with Annie. My gut is telling me this is wrong. That I should do more. But I don’t know what more I can do. I can’t force Annie to stay with me. I can’t force her to stay away from Loden.
I press my head against the cool wood of the door and thump it several times. My hand squeezes the knob until my fingers cramp. I hate this war Annie causes inside of me. I don’t like feeling unsure. I could do without all this inner turmoil over a girl that hates me more than she will ever like me.
“What are you doing?” Guy asks. His voice—scratchy, nasally, and unexpected—makes me jump.
I release my death grip on the innocent door and about-face. His red-tinged eyes catch my attention first, causing me to look closer at him. His hair is pressed to his skull, looking unwashed, which is unusual for Guy. His clothes are wrinkled and I’m pretty sure that’s the shirt he wore yesterday. He looks like shit.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. He sighs, his shoulders sinking. “You sick?”
He flinches and averts his eyes. “That bad, huh?” He chuckles darkly. “No. I’m not sick.”
“What’s up, man?” My body tenses. Guy is one of the calmest people I have ever met. He never looks like this. And since he moved out of the dorms, he has never just showed up in my dorm room like this. Something is obviously bothering him. My mind moves quickly over the different possibilities. Did he find out what Loden did? Is he pissed I didn’t call him? Did something happen in the three minutes since I dropped Annie off? Did something happen to her? “What’s wrong?”
“Not out here,” he says. I watch him as he crosses the common room and disappears inside my bedroom. I hesitate for only a second before I follow.
“What’s going on?” This is the third time I’ve asked the same question, just in different words. If he doesn’t answer me real damn soon I’m going back to Annie’s.
Guy sighs, the sound so melancholy, my head snaps up to read his expression. Shit. He’s sad. Yesterday he was flying high because Hope would be coming home soon to visit for the holidays.
“Samuel and I broke up.” He says the words matter-of-factly and throws in a shrug at the end. He gets an A for effort, but he may as well be made of glass the way I see right through him.
“Shit, man. I’m sorry.”
He runs his hands through his hair, staring over my shoulder, but seeing something other than the sand colored wall behind me.
I sink down beside him on his bed, my arm pressing into his. “What happened?”
“Nothing. Everything.” He closes his eyes, pressing his lips together. There’s a line creasing his forehead and I get the impression he’s trying not to cry. What the hell is in the air tonight? I don’t know how much more sadness I can deal with.
I put my arm around his shoulder. I feel his body tense before he relaxes into my side.
“I know it’s early, but when he came over tonight, I asked him to go home with me for Thanksgiving, and he said he wants to see other people. I took that as a no.”
Fuck. Guy hasn’t always been a one man kind of dude. But he and Sam have been serious for a couple years. I know he loved Samuel.
“I’m sorry. That sucks. Do you want me to kick his ass? I don’t think it’s a hate crime if I do it because he’s a dickhead.”
Guy laughs and shakes his head. “Not this time,” he says. “He’s allowed to want something else. Someone else. At least he respected me enough to tell me. We actually ended as friends.” He laughs again, sadly this time. “Doesn’t make it hurt less.”
“What’s Park doing? We can all play XBOX and get shitfaced drunk.”
He sits up straight and stretches his arms over his head. “Where do you think?”
“Lucy?”
“He’s hooked.”
“So he doesn’t know?”
“Nope.”
“Fuck it. We don’t need him.” I roll the TV stand over and toss him a controller.
I find my hidden stash—a bottle three-fourths full of Jack Daniels. I spin the lid off, letting it fall on the floor and take a long pull. I hiss at the taste, but relish the trail of heat burning down my throat and settling in my stomach. Guy wiggles his fingers and I hand it over. He chugs twice the amount I did. We keep this up, we’ll both be paying tomorrow for this little bit of numb tonight, but I don’t give a shit. And from the looks of Guy, neither does he. You do what you got to do to get by.
~*~
Annie calls me the next night. It’s close to midnight when my cell vibrates in my pocket. Her name on my caller ID makes my stomach clench.
“Hello?”
“I’m checking in,” her voice is quiet as if she’s unsure she should be calling me.
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Annie?”
“Yeah?”
I lie back, propping my head on my arm and close my eyes. “How was your day?”
She’s quiet for a long time, as if she’s not sure how to respond. Or maybe she doesn’t want to respond. Finally, she says, “It was good. How was yours?”
“My day? I woke up with one hell of a hangover, courtesy of Guy. I didn’t get enough sleep, but I had to get up anyway and go to class. I ate half a bottle of Advil over the course of the day and still have a headache. But other than that—it’s been good.”
“V-8,” she replies.
“Do what now?”
“You need to drink a V-8 and eat something greasy and bready. Like a cheeseburger from Manton’s. They’re open all night.”
“Okay, I’ll pick you up in five minutes.”
“What? No. I…”
I grin. “I can’t go alone. This was your idea. Don’t back out on me now.”
She growls and my smile grows bigger. I sit up and start putting on my shoes, knowing I have her.
“I just washed my face. I’m in my pajamas.”
I shove my keys and wallet into my pockets and head for the door. “Four minutes now,” I say.
She huffs, but I can hear the smile plainly behind it. “Fine. But you’ll have to give me a little more time. I need to reapply my face.”
“Reapply your face? What the hell do you do at night?”
“Shut up. You’re making me waste time.”
“Fine. Go pretty yourself up for me.”
She clicks her tongue loudly. “I’m not doing it for you,” she insists.
“Then who you doing it for?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Society?”
I chuckle as I unlock my car door. “First, I need to point out that I am a member of society. Second, if you aren’t doing it for you, then why bother?”
“Is everything you do always for yourself?”
I sit in my car, placing the keys in the ignition, but I don’t start it yet. “Of course.”
“You do a lot for other people,” she says, her voice soft.
“Because I like to do things for people. I enjoy it, so I’m actually doing it for me. Society—AKA me—is not going to care if your eyelashes aren’t curled.”
She laughs, making me smile, once again, as I hold the phone between my cheek and shoulder. “Why do you know about eyelash curlers?”
“I am full of useless knowledge. Don’t let my good looks fool you.”
“Whatever,” she deadpans. “I’m ready.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Hurry up before I change my mind and go to bed.”
I chuck my phone onto the seat and start the car. My day was shitty as all hell, but my night’s shaping up to be pretty damn good.
19
Someday
Annie
The headlights flash over my face, blinding me momentarily. Chase pulls to a stop and swings the passenger door open. I settle in beside him, buckling up, and feel the weight of his gaze on me.
I glance over at him and he smiles. “You look nice.” He says it as if it surprises him, which I find really insulting. And the way his eyes crinkle with curiosity doesn’t help matters. Why am I here? Why did I agree to this? Why does it sting like hell every single time he says something like that? And how does he manage to somehow make a compliment seem offensive?
My throat feels as if it’s stuffed with cotton. I can’t respond because I kind of feel like crying, or slapping him, and I don’t even know why.
“I thought you were putting on make-up?” He keeps staring at me and I squirm.
“I did,” I say. “Just not very much since it’s so late and I’m not worried about impressing you.”
He leans in, moving his face so close to mine I can feel his breath on my neck. I shiver as goose bumps race down my arms and legs. I turn away quickly, his proximity making me uncomfortable. Not because I want him to move back to his own side, but because my body became alert to his nearness in a way it never should.
“It doesn’t look like you’re wearing make-up,” he says. His voice is exactly like it always sounds, gentle, carefree. It causes this pain to radiate in the confines of my stomach.
I clear my throat and swing my hair so that it forms a shield between us. “Just mascara.”
Chase pushes my hair back, tucking it behind my ear, deliberately not allowing me to hide. “That’s the shit you put on your eyelashes, right?”
I nod, still refusing to look directly at him, but my peripheral vision is getting one hell of a workout.
His hand drops away and he shifts into drive. “You know, you’re prettier when you aren’t trying to be so perfect.”
My lips part in shock and my head snaps his way. Now he’s the one who can’t meet my gaze and the whole situation makes me feel…lighter?
He thinks I’m pretty?
“You think I’m pretty?”
One corner of his mouth turns up as if he wants to smile. His shoulders lift and fall unapologetically. “Ninety-nine percent of the time. Remember when you had that allergic reaction to fish sticks or whatever, and you swelled up with those gross hives? You were all red and puffy, and your eyes got all goopy—”
“I remember,” I hiss. “And it was shrimp. I’m allergic to shrimp.” Leave it to Chase to bring up a bad memory and totally ruin a perfectly nice moment.
“Whatever it was, you weren’t very pretty then.”
“Thanks,” I bite out.
“Just being honest.”
I fake a smile as I glare at him. “I’ve always called it something else.”
He grazes his teeth over his lip as he chuckles. “Don’t forget, you’re only allowed to call me an asshole once a day. It’s a little past midnight—the day’s only just begun. Can you make it almost twenty-four more hours?”
“I’ll manage,” I say flatly. “Besides I have catching up to do. And there are always more creative words I can utilize. Like: jerk, dickhead, bastard, prick, asshat—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” he interrupts loudly. “I object. Asshat is too close to asshole.” He pulls into Manton’s and I arch a brow.
“Fine. I can always come up with more. I’m very capable when it comes to name-calling.”
“I know you are,” he sighs. He gets out and as I open the door, I realize he’s coming over to my side. He stretches out his arm and I stare at his hand. The memory of last night rushes back and I can’t move for a moment.