Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University 1)

All heads tilt back to witness a guy standing on the railing. Wild curly blond hair. Chest bare with his arms spread wide. His body is a patchwork of carved muscles that descend into a deep V at the edge of his low-slung board shorts. An intricate tattoo covers his left pec, snakes over his shoulder, and down his arm.

“Way to rip off Almost Famous, dude,” a male voice emerges from the crowd.

“I fucking hate these parties,” Brock groans.

“Jump, jump, jump,” the chants start.

Scowling, Brock brackets his lush mouth with his hands and shouts back, “Do NOT jump. You’ll break your neck, asshole.” He glances back at Zoe and says, “Be right back,” before walking off to deal with his friend.

“Dallas Van Zant is a certified idiot,” Zoe mutters.

“He’s not that bad,” Dora counters.

Well, this is curious. All three of us turn to stare at her. Wide and innocent, her big brown eyes dart back and forth between us.

“What? We have English lit together.” She shrugs. “He’s a lot smarter than people think.”

No stutter. Her adamant defense of him also noteworthy. Hmm.

I bookmark it, save the questions for later because Dallas (smarter than people think) cannonballs into the pool and displaces most of the water onto the people crowded around it. We scrabble away in time to avoid getting hit. The group of girls standing nearby, however––not so lucky. They scream as they bear the brunt of it.

“Most of the time,” Dora amends.

“Zo-ho, trolling for dick as usual,” a male voice calls out, loud enough for everybody around us to hear.

Zoe stiffens. Her hard stare veers to a guy who slowly approaches with two others right behind him.

He’s stocky. With espresso dark hair and even darker eyes hidden beneath the flat brim of a Malibu University Baseball team cap. All three are wearing Under Armour shirts painted to their ripped chest, silky shorts hanging to their knees.

Brock returns almost simultaneously and wedges himself between Zoe and the trio, essentially creating a human wall.

Zoe flips the troublemaker off and he returns a sly half smile. More of a leer. This guy is objectively attractive, but seems almost a cartoon villain with all the posturing.

“The bird? Really, Zo-ho, that’s the best you can do?” he says with a humorless chuckle.

Zoe tilts her head, slouches. The epitome of lazy indifference. “I wasn’t flipping you off, Kellan. I was showing the girls the size of your dick.” Scanning our frozen expressions, she showcases her finger. “This is what it looks like hard. I can’t recommend it.”

Strangled bursts of laughter come from Kellan’s entourage and the pretense of a smile he’s wearing quickly transforms into an expression of barely leashed rage. He takes a step closer and Brock stiffens, looking down on Kellan with clear warning in his hard stare.

“Take another step and you’ll get these straight in the sphincter,” Zoe calmly states. She points to the Louboutin heels she’s wearing, the ones with the tiny studs on them. “Although you might like it and we both know what I mean.” Then she lifts her hands in a gesture of surrender. “No judgment.”

Kellan turns cherry red.

“Keep walking, Blythe,” Brock orders. At the same time he pins Zoe with a silent command to stop, a flare of anger turning the sharp edges of his cheekbones pink under his deep tan. “Keg’s that way.” He points to the far side of the patio. “Move, or I’ll escort you out.”

Kellan’s furious glare shifts between Zoe and Brock. He mutters, “Bitch,” as he walks away with his friends. This is better than binging on an entire season of Gigolos.

Brock’s frown persists and it’s aimed at Zoe.

“What?” she says, uncertainty drawn on her delicate features.

He shakes his head. “That was harsh.”

Zoe’s eyes go theatrically wide. “Did you hear what he called me?”

“He’s an asshole,” Brock practically growls. “Everybody knows it. Why can’t you ignore him?”

I can feel the weight of his judgment and it’s not even directed at me. Zoe’s face falls, her confidence wanes.

“I didn’t start it––” she argues quietly.

“You bait him.”

“Brock…”

He exhales loudly, tugs at the collar of his t-shirt. “You’re better than that.” He turns to leave and Zoe blanches.

“Brock…”

Casting one last disappointed look at her, he walks away. And leaves behind a vacuum. The silence stifling. We all exchange looks while Zoe stares after his broad, retreating back. Her body stiff, her hands fisted at her sides, eyes glassy.

“You’re designated driver, Ramos.” Her voice sounds flat. No sign of the kick-ass Zoe I’ve come to love and appreciate. I hate seeing her like this.

“Sure…y-yeah.”

She holds up her keychain. Dora takes it and Zoe turns to Blake. “Let’s party.”

Chapter 11

Alice

By midnight, the luster of the party has worn off and I’m ready to go home. While Zoe is hammered, Blake’s not quite there yet. For the past hour, the two of them have been taking turns playing an arcade video game with a couple of random guys in the game room (yes, this house has a game room) while Dora and I have been watching from the wings.