Nothing But Wild (Malibu University 2)

“Where’s your girl?” I ask.

Bailey should be here, celebrating with us. As the official Sharks videographer, she’s just as much a part of this team as I am. Not to mention Rea’s girl––whether he wants to admit it or not.

“Not my girl.”

Still in denial. Poor bastard. “Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately? You look like shit.”

His head falls back onto the cushion, he palms his forehead. “I feel like shit. I think I’m catching the flu.”

That gives me the chuckles for the first time all night. “Nah, bro. You’re catching feelings. That’s love making you feel like shit…” My mind drifts to Beth and my amusement fades. “Welcome to hell.”

He shoots me a defeated look. “I’m trying to get drunk in peace if you don’t mind.”

“At least you didn’t deny it. My new shrink would be proud of you.”

The one I don’t intend to see anymore.

With a sideways glance, he checks me out. “Why are you still sober?”

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking lately. Jail and a near-death experience will do that to you. And I came to the conclusion that some shit needs to change. For one thing, I need to lay off the booze and the occasional recreational drug. If nothing else, Thanksgiving proved that those two things, plus raw emotions, don’t mix well.

“I’m gonna quit booze and pills for a while. See what happens.”

Rea searches me for signs that I’m messing with him, but he won’t find any.

“She’s on a date,” he says, out of the blue. “Alice––that’s why she’s not here.”

At first I can’t believe my ears. They must be lying to me. He let Bailey go on a date? Is he a total glutton for punishment? Then the confusion transforms into a loud burst of laughter.

“Great. That’s just great,” he mutters, his patience wearing thin.

“And you let her? Dude,” more laughing, “why didn’t you just let her take a running kick at you balls, it would’ve hurt less.”

“Why am I taking relationship advice from you?”

“Hey, I may be fucked up beyond repair, but at least I know what a good thing looks like and I know you’re pissing it away.”

His face falls. Whatever I said hit home. Karen and Tara are suddenly standing over us. “Hey Boo. You, me, and Nutella in the privacy of your bedroom?” Karen’s smile says she’s picturing it already.

Karen. Legs for days. Loves sex. Knows how to take a hint. Which is why we hooked up a few times last year. Twenty minutes ago, I had my tongue down her throat. Now I’m wondering why. I feel nothing for this girl. No chemistry. No desire. No interest….Nothing. Ever have a day where you can’t stand yourself anymore? I think I just hit that wall.

“Hi, Reagan. You know Tara?” Karen says to Rea when I don’t answer.

Rea checks the two of them out, frowns. “We’ve met.” He’s obviously no Tara fan.

I get up, careful not to bump my aching shoulder. The painkillers have worn off and I can feel every single twinge right now. Nudging her lower back, I guide her away, out of earshot.

“So––are we going?” She runs a finger down my neck into the hollow between my collarbone.

“No.”

Confused, her brow wrinkles. She studies my face closely. “What’s going on with you? I went to the bathroom for like––ten minutes. You seemed fine, and now you look like someone died.”

Truer words.

“Someone did die. Maybe some other time.”

It’s a lie and she’s smart enough to know it. Without waiting for an answer, I walk back into the house, go to grab a beer from the fridge––the one with my family’s name on it––and stop. Then I reach for the Pellegrino instead and head to my bedroom.

Grabbing my phone, I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the contacts, my finger hovering over Dora’s phone number. I don’t know what it is about this girl. Except…and maybe I’m reading too much into this…when she looks at me, it feels like she sees me.

I

Am

Sorry

I press Send.

Dora

unknown number: Thanks for the notes. Are you here?

Am I here? Why does he care if I’m here or not? It’s not like all is forgiven just because I’m sending him notes. I would’ve done the same for anyone in need. This is the second text I’ve received, the first was an apology of sorts. Now this. My finger hovers over the keyboard. I type. Erase. Type erase.

Me: Maybe

It’s the NCAA Men’s Water Polo Championships––the Malibu Sharks against the Stanford Cardinal––and it’s not going to be a walk in the park. They’ve already lost badly to the Cards during the season, and with Reagan playing, we’re all here to support him.

“Who’s that?” Blake casually asks when she sees me looking at my phone. The aquatics center is packed tonight so we’re crammed tightly on the bleachers. There’s no hiding the texts coming in.