London

I walk out of the dining room and down the hall, looking for the bathroom, one I don’t even know where it is. I look up to see the signs pointing back to the dining hall, and underneath is another sign that says restrooms, pointing in the same direction.

I palm my face and lean against the wall behind me, digging for my phone with the other hand in my bag.

I need this to stop already. I need him to go away.

“London, is everything okay?” Mom answers in near panic state.

“No,” I growl. “Logan, he’s here.”

“Yes, he attends—”

“No, Mom. Like, he’s eating dinner in my dining hall. He’s going to ruin everything.”

“Well, just keep with your group and pretend—”

“He sat with us. The idiot sat with us.”

“London, that’s not nice to say about a friend,” Mom whispers.

She doesn’t get it. He’s not a damn friend. He’s...Logan.

“Can you please call Tessa and ask her to call him and tell him to piss off?” I plead.

“London!” Mom gasps.

“Well, jeepers, Mom—”

“Elle.” I look up at the sound of his voice to see him shaking his head. “Call Tessa? Really? Is that how this is gonna be?”

“Is that Logan?” Mom asks.

“Oh yeah, sure is. Now he’s hunting me down and—”

He snatches the phone from my hand, and I am rendered speechless.

“Hi, Emma,” he sighs.

I have no idea what she’s saying, but he smiles.

“I can assure you that I can keep the kid’s secret.” He chuckles.

I want to slug him. Kid? KID!

He fights that smug grin again, and then turns his back on me. Now I want to kick him in his big, old butt.

“We’ve been dining at Sadler since freshman year. Carla, The woman who runs the dining hall loves football and hooks us up. There will be no questions asked, unless Elle”—he pauses and turns around, staring down at me—“keeps acting like she is.” He chuckles. Chuckles! Like he...has some sort of charm and is not the most annoying boy in the world. “I’ll tell her to give you a call before she goes to sleep.”

I narrow my eyes at him and hold out my hand. He again turns his back to me.

“Of course. Goodnight, Emma.”

When he turns around, his eyebrow is sitting high on his forehead. He looks at me like I’m a petulant child.

“Give me my damn phone,” I snarl.

“Watch it, kiddo,” he says, handing it back to me then starts to walk away.

“Hey,” I hiss, and he looks over his big, wide, stupid shoulder. “I’m not a freaking kid.”

“Yeah, I remember. You apparently have boobs and get your period.”

I feel my face flush.

“All woman,” he says on a laugh.

“You son of—”

“Yeah, she’s a bitch.” He shrugs. “But this hasn’t a damn thing to do with her, or with home. This has everything to do with your little charade and fucking it up.”

“You’re the one—”

“I didn’t do a damn thing, Elle. You’re in there, showing your ass and being rude to one of the golden boys—”

“You smug—”

“You wanna blend? Lose the attitude and show some gratitude.”

He walks back into the dining hall, and I am left still aching to kick him in the butt, which happens to be the exact way I felt when I saw him the very first time on a family vacation more than ten years ago.

Lose the attitude and show some gratitude? You have got to be kidding me!

Sadly, he isn’t wrong, but I won’t tell him that. No. Way.

I take a moment to collect myself and plaster a smile on as plastic as Logan’s ex-girlfriends’ tits. Yes, plural. All I have seen over the past five or six years have enhancements.

I walk in, fake smile in place, and the girls look at me. I shrug and point to the bathroom. “It’s this way in case you were wondering.”

After using the bathroom, I walk out, finding Logan and his friends are thankfully not seated at the table.

When I sit back down, I smile, and the three of them giggle.

“Sorry, I just don’t like the jock mentality. I mean, really, they think role-playing is for the bedroom? All brawn, no brains.”

None of them laugh. They stare above me, and then the Links is no longer missing but sitting next to me...again.

“You really have a thing against football players, huh?” Mitch chortles as he sits next to Logan.

Dammit!

“No, no really. I just don’t care to be talked to like...that,” I tell him.

He smiles over his glass of milk. “So no dirty talk while role-playing?”

Logan chuckles, and I shoot him a dirty look.

He holds up his hands. “I didn’t say shit.”

He’s right; he didn’t.

I look back at Mitch. “I was under the assumption healthy young men could get it up without need for role-play.”

I stop when Mitch nearly chokes on his drink. My new friends start laughing hysterically. I can’t help smiling.

“You need dirty talk and role-play, maybe you should tighten that pool up to include women you’re actually attracted to and not just, you know, gaping, wet—”

“Jesus Christ,” Mitch laughs, and I join in.

I glance over at Logan to see a shocked look on his face. To that, I smile proudly at myself.

“Links, can we keep her?” Mitch chuckles.

“No fucking way,” Logan says then sighs.

“Come on, man; she’s fun,” he pleads.

“Not happening. She’s a freshman,” Logan says gruffly.

“It’s fifth year for you, man. Why not change things up?” Mitch winks at Logan, and Logan looks down.

“Fifth year?” Jamie asks.

Logan looks up at her and nods.

She covers her mouth. “Oh. Oh, that’s right. I’m so sorry.”

I look over at Logan, who looks at me. No cold look is exchanged.

When he blows a slow, held-in breath, I push his foot lightly with mine. He looks back at me, and I give him a slight smile.

It was only a few months ago that his sister Ava was engaged to be married to my brother’s best friend Thomas, the drummer in his band. Thomas was hit by a car and killed, and Logan left his last semester here at SU to move to the city to help her while she struggled. He came back this semester to finish and play another season of football.

I look down, my chest tightening as I try not to let the grief that has yet to subside over the loss of Thomas Hardy, a boy who was like a brother to me, take over.

I feel his foot tap against mine, and then see he narrows his eyes faintly, showing concern. Quickly, he then looks up at Jamie.

“Bad shit happens. My sister’s good. So are my niece and nephew. Thomas was a hell of a guy. Sucks that he’s gone, but life’s gotta go on.”

“Sorry for your loss.” Jamie reaches over and squeezes his hand quickly.

“Thanks.” He glances over at me and frowns.

“Well, we’ve darkened their night and ours enough. I say we owe them. We should take them to Armory Square tonight and—”

“Hell no.” Logan laughs.

I smile because I’m glad he can laugh after all he’s been through with Ava, all I’m assuming he’s still going through.

“Just to give them a tour?” Mitch whines.

“I’m sure they’ve got plans to go back to the dorms and—”

“Plans change, Logan,” Christy chimes in. “I think it would be nice to have a tour of the hot spots.”

“None of you can get in anyway. You’re underage.”

“Then we hit Marshall Street.” Mitch smirks at Christy. She blushes, but doesn’t look away. Mitch, however, does. His eyes lock with Logan’s, and they stare at one another for an almost uncomfortable amount of time.

Logan finally lets out a long, loud sigh.

Mitch smirks. “There’s room in Black Betty.”

“Who the hell said I was driving?” Logan laughs again, but I hear the frustration in his voice.

Mitch places his hand over his heart. “Do me solid just this once, man. You owe me.”

“You owe me some peace and fucking quiet while I eat your grandma’s cooking, then.”

Mitch claps his hands together and stands. “Have I told you lately how much of a near chub I get whenever you’re around?”

“Shut the fuck up, Mitch.” Logan chuckles.

“I do, man.” He walks behind me then behind Logan. He grips his shoulder and hugs him from behind. “I mean, if I ever decide to switch teams—”

“Get the fuck off me,” Logan says good-naturedly.

“It’s cuddle season, Links.” His hug intensifies. “And I am as happy as a hard-on that you came back for me.”

Logan laughs as he pushes Mitch off him. “Fine, but we hit one spot before getting them back to Lawrinson.”

I kick him under the table hard, and he winces.

“How do you know we live at Lawrinson?” Lisa asks.

Yeah, Logan, how? I think smugly to myself.

He shrugs and stands, rolling his eyes in response to my smug look. “Assumption. Let’s roll.”

And that stings a bit.

There are some words in the English language that I despise. Hate, it is the worst of the four-letter persuasion. I have used it a few times, always directed at someone who my feelings were quite the opposite. In order to truly hate someone, you must know them to the core. In order to know someone to that depth, you must have invested self, time, and love into that relationship. When the word hate is used on a person you are that invested in, you clearly must have loved them. When you use it on someone who you’re that close to, in my experience, the pain you caused them comes back like a boomerang and causes you the same pain you intended to give them.

Another word is assume. When broken down, it’s a word we should take quite literally. Assume, it makes an ass out of you and me.

He and Mitch go talk to Carla, who I now know isn’t just a football fan. She is Mitch’s grandmother. I also know that Logan will be dining in Sadler for the entire semester, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

I’m here to be me, or to be me without the spotlight reflecting off someone else, indirectly shining on me as it has my whole life. I’m here to blend, to shine, to show myself and the world I am not just Brody Hines’ stepdaughter, or Maddox Hines’ stepsister. I am London Fields, aka Elle, and I have worked hard to get every part I have ever had. It was earned, not given.

How is that supposed to happen when standing in the shadow of SU’s golden boy?

We all take our plates up then return to the table because Logan and Mitch are still chatting with Carla.

“Look,” Jamie says in what may be considered a whisper, if she wasn’t so damn excited.

When I lean over, she hits the Yelp app.

“His dick has a Yelp page,” she gasps.

“What!” I snatch it from her and look.

The Missing Link(s)

Sure enough, it does, with reviews and all.

A wave of nausea rolls through my belly as I scroll through the dozens and dozens of reviews. Each one I see makes me realize that my Logan crush, the one I have had for years, is as lame as the Barbies, bimbos, and fake jugs.

I feel my smile falling. I need to put it back in place.

“Well”—I force a laugh and hand it back to Jamie—“he certainly has a type—blonde.”

“And apparently a huge dong.” She giggles.

“Let me see that.” Lisa takes the phone and slowly scrolls through it. “Well, I guess so. There’s a picture.”

“Gimme that dang thing.” Jamie grabs the phone back and busts up laughing. She’s snickering so hard she has tears rolling down her face. Then Lisa starts laughing, too. Lisa’s giggle starts out almost inaudibly, then grows to little giggles that seemingly float like bubbles and burst while another one begins almost immediately. Christy starts, too, with a loud belly laugh that encompasses her whole body.

The idea of a stupid little girl crush and the knowledge that Logan has banged half the city, makes me sick.

“What the hell is going on?” Mitch interrupts, chuckling himself.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” I answer, standing up. “You ready, little guy?”

The girls bust up again, and this time I can’t help laughing with them.

Logan’s eyes narrow a little as if he’s trying to figure out the meaning as Jamie links her arm through mine and the four of us head out the door.

As instructed, we wait while Logan and Mitch pull up in his Black Chevy Silverado, double cab, four-by-four.

“Black Betty is chromed out. The Missing Links is ballin’.” Jamie nods at the truck creeping toward us.

When he comes to a stop, Mitch opens the door and the song “Black Betty” by Ram Jam is blaring. He jumps out and opens the back door.

“Ladies, your ride has arrived.”

Lisa is followed by Christy and Jamie as they pile in the back. Mitch nods to the front as he shuts the door.

“You’re riding bitch. Can you handle it?”

“I think you should. I’ll take—”

“Oh, hell no.” He laughs. “Get your little ass in the truck.”

As I climb in, Logan pulls his white hat down so it nearly covers his eyes.

“Is it safe to drive with a blindfold on? Jesus, Logan.” I have to yell to ensure he can hear me over the music as I fumble to find the seatbelt.

The music cuts out about halfway through my blindfold comment, meaning I said that last part embarrassingly loud.

“Blindfold on?” Mitch chuckles as he gets in. “And Logan likes to be called god, as in, Oh God, Logan!”

Logan sighs and begins to put the truck in drive.

“Wait!” I yell, still digging between the seats for the latch to the belt.

Logan looks over at me. “You are a real pain in the ass, Elle.”

“Well, safety is important,” I snap at him.

“I think Logan might just be the safest man I’ve ever met.” Jamie giggles as she holds up a bag that clearly contains condom boxes.”

“You’re such a pig,” I mumble to him as I’m finally able to pull the latch up to connect my belt.

“Safety equals no accidents.” He smirks. “You good, Elle?”

He’s mocking me.

“Need a helmet?” Mitch asks, opening the glovebox, which is also full of condoms, and hands me one.

I feel my face burning, but instead of calling him a name, which is what I want to do, I take the condom and hold it up to the light and read, “Durex XXL, huh?”

I rip the package open and pull it out, shaking it a bit.

The girls start laughing, which gives me a little more confidence that I can give Mitch’s crap right back to him.

“So, do you two share them?”

“Only if they agree to it.” He winks.

“I mean the condoms.” I hold it up and wave it around again. “You buy the big ones and cut them in half to save money?”

“That wouldn’t cover the tip,” he immediately responds.

What was I thinking? This is going horribly wrong. I don’t dirty talk. I sling one liners, make it awkward, and walk away.

Logan pulls out onto the street and chuckles under his breath. I shoot him daggers, and he shakes his head at me.

“I don’t think either one of you gets as much real action as you do in that imagination of yours.” No one laughs. I’m bombing this one. “Here’s an idea for all the extras.” I put it to my mouth and begin blowing it up.

“What the hell?” Mitch chuckles. “Christ, Logan, I think I may be in love.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mitch,” Logan warns, and all is quiet. “I mean, you know I don’t play with freshman.”

“Who said anything about you?” Mitch goads.

I keep blowing the damn thing up.

I see Logan’s grip on the wheel tightening, his knuckles even getting a bit white. He’s pissed. I think I like it. Even though I shouldn’t. I mean, he has reviews on Yelp and a truck full of condoms,

I stop blowing. “Yuck.”

“Yuck?” Mitch chuckles.

“Jocks,” I say, looking at him and scrunching up my face.

He laughs out loud.

I look down as I try my best to make the damn condom into some sort of balloon animal.

“What the hell are you doing?” Logan asks after stopping at a red light.

I hold up my failed attempt and shrug. “It’s a balloon animal.”

Mitch snorts. “Looks like a dick.”

I bop him on the head with it. “Dick smack.” Then I do it again.

They all laugh at that, even Logan.

I drop it onto his lap and wipe my mouth. Gross.

Looking over at Logan and shrugging, he rolls his eyes and looks away.

When he pulls up in front of a bar and puts it in park, Mitch jumps out.

“Wow, this place is close enough to walk,” Christy says as she gets out.

“Not real safe to do at night,” Logan says, getting out.

I start to slide over when Mitch shuts the door in my face. I look over at Logan who is biting back a laugh. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

“Come on.” Logan holds the door open wider. “I don’t get to the door first, they won’t get in.”

“Why?” I ask, sliding out.

He sighs. “None of you are of age, London.”

“Elle,” I whisper-hiss at him and look around.

“Whatever, kiddo. Let’s go.”

“I’m not a kid,” I snap.

“Right.” He chuckles. “Boobs, period—”

He stops when I smack him on the stomach and laugh.

He looks toward the bar as everyone walks in.

“Looks like we don’t need you, golden boy,” I comment as I get to the door.

He grabs it before I can and opens it.

I walk in and am immediately stopped by a big guy, and not big like Logan. He’s not muscular; he’s just...huge.

“ID?”

“Um, I—”

Logan smiles. “She’s with me.”

“Number 42, my man.” The bouncer gives him a big smile and a fist bump.

“How’s it going, Rouge?” Logan asks.

“Going good, man, going real damn good. You back for the season?”

“That I am.” Logan nods.

“Good damn thing. With Trucker gone pro, and all you boys graduated, I was worried about ‘Cuse this season. But you’re back, man.”

Logan nods. “I’ll give it all I got.”

“I know you will, man, I know you will.”

Logan takes my elbow and leads me through the very crowded bar to a corner pub table where Mitch is waving us over.

“Where are the girls?” Logan asks, looking around.

“Titties up to the bar.” He nods in their direction.

“They’re not old enough to be.” He scowls.

“All three got IDs saying otherwise.” Mitch shrugs with a twinkle in his eyes.

Logan looks at me and scowls. “You don’t.”

“Not yet,” I say smugly.

“Not ever.” He shakes his head.

I put my hands on my hips. “Says who?”

“Says...” He stops when Mitch laughs and looks away from me. “What?”

“Just try to remember you were once a freshman, too. Let them have fun,” Mitch says as he walks by, patting Logan’s back.

Logan turns to me and glares. “You are not getting a fake ID.”

“Did you have one, Logan?”

“I’m a guy, Lond—”

“Elle,” I interrupt.

“Fine, whatever, but I’m a guy. I’ve lived a little bit more than you have, and you don’t need a fake ID. You don’t need to be here unless I’m here, you don’t walk up Marshall street at night with your girls, and you don’t—”

“You don’t”—I pause, and his eyes narrow—“get to tell me what to do. I’m not your problem.”

“Fuck you aren’t! And you’re a bigger problem than I thought you would be. What the hell were you thinking blowing up a condom? That shit isn’t right. Gives guys the wrong idea about you, London,” he hisses.

“Elle,” I correct louder this time. “And why not save your advice for yourself? I mean, you have a truck full of the things, so who are you to judge me?”

“I’m Logan. You’re Lo—”

I hold my hand up, stopping him from saying my real name again.

“You know the damn difference, so stop screwing around.”

“I’m in college, Logan. I’m going to make a million mistakes, do things I will regret, and make decisions I might not regret.”

“You do whatever the hell you want, but you do it safely, and you do it without being a cock tease.”

“A cock tease?” I snort.

His eyes narrow so much I can hardly see the blue. “Yeah, a cock tease. You don’t put your lips on a fucking rubber and start blowing it in front of a bunch of guys without giving them thoughts a little virgin shouldn’t be giving a guy.”

“Am I a virgin, Logan?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“Sure as fuck better be,” he stammers.

“Well, that’s none of your business.” I turn my back on him, leaving his mouth gaping. It feels good, really good. Then I look back at him. “Did me blowing up a condom tease your cock, Logan?”

His face contorts, and I swear I see it starting to turn red before he chokes out, “Don’t say cock again.”

He starts to walk past me, but I grab his elbow, stopping him. He turns around and glares at me.

“Answer my question, Logan. Did I tease—”

“No, fuck no. Now sit and blend, and just...I don’t know, behave!”

I smile as I watch him walk away, and then I see Mitch out of my peripheral, witnessing all that went down.

He walks up to me, a beer in each hand. “You want a tip?”

I roll my eyes. “Just the tip?”

He laughs as he shakes his head. “You aren’t his type.”

“Wasn’t trying to be his type.” I remind myself that I don’t know Logan.

Mitch nods as he sits down and pushes a stool out. “Have a seat.”

I sit. I might as well. I’m at a bar, underage, and probably the only person who doesn’t have a fake ID.

“He likes you and that pisses him off.” Mitch chuckles and shakes his head. “Been with him for two years and never seen him look at a girl like you, or act like”—he rubs his hand over his hair and shakes his head—“fucking un-Links-like.”

“Un-Links-like, huh?” He has no clue how Links-like Logan is actually being.

“He’s been through a lot. Sister’s fiancée was killed. He dropped out of school to stay with her in the city. Clearly, it fucked him up, changed him, did something because he’s not Links-like.” He looks up, and I follow his eyes to the bar, where Logan is being very Links-like. He’s smiling at a blonde, who is centimeters from having her boobies pressed against him. “But fuck, maybe I’m wrong.”

I nod and stand. “I’ll be back.”

As I walk to the bathroom, my friends are walking toward me. Each has a beer held to their body under their arm and two shots in their hands.

Lisa and Christy hands me one. “Quick, before we get busted serving a minor.”

“What?” I laugh.

“Bottoms up,” Jamie says, clinking glasses with mine.

I do a shot, my first shot, and it burns. It’s disgusting, it tastes like gasoline.

Jamie hands me her other. Worried I’m going to get caught, I throw it in my mouth and swallow. I have to fight to keep it down.

When I finally breathe, they all laugh.

Jamie nods. “Impressive. That was easier than sneaking you a beer. Guess one-dollar tequila shots it is for our Elle.”

Lisa shakes her head. “I’m not a big drinker.”

“So why the fake ID?” I ask.

“Safer to be in a bar than a frat house,” she answers. “My parents’ idea.”

“And I about died when they suggested the same for me.” Christy giggles. “Your parents were definitely taken by aliens.”

“I’ve only had a beer, maybe two before, or a glass or two of wine,” I admit.

Jamie laughs. “Well, we have a couple days before classes start, and I for one am going to enjoy the night with The Missing Links and hottie Pitch.”

“Mitch,” Christy corrects with a snort.

“Well, a man in track pants can’t hide that he’s pitching a tent. And Pitch over there”—she points to him—“certainly wasn’t lying about half-chub.”

“You think he’s into Logan?” Christy gasps.

“No, sugar, he’s definitely into you.” Jamie answers.

“No way,” she says, smiling.

“Way,” Lisa and Jamie say at the same time.

I hadn’t noticed. Go figure, I think as I look toward the bar where Logan is now leaning over and whispering something to the bartender then kissing her cheek. She isn’t blonde, but her dark skin and beautiful, light brown eyes make her...stunning. She doesn’t look much older than me. Clearly, he knows her.

I watch as she grabs his bicep. He flexes then winks at her and smiles. Those dimples, those freaking deep, beautiful—I mean, stupid—dimples flash in all their glory, and she laughs.

What a joke.

“And you.” Jamie points to me. “You’ve got grade-A, homegrown, corn-fed beef sniffing your ass like a dog in heat.”

I shake my head, “Not a chance.”