CHAPTER SIX
INDY
The room I’m in is small, and dark. I run my hands across the wall, stone, but there’s nothing there. There are no doors. There are no windows.
I smell smoke.
There’s a tickle in the back of my throat, a warning.
I slap my hands against the walls, but still no exit materializes.
I scream, but no sound leaves my mouth. The tickle has become a burn, sandpaper against the delicate honeycomb of my lungs.
“Help!” I scream silently, unable to see, unable to breathe.
I kick, heaving my body against the wall hopelessly, knowing with certainty this is where I will meet my end.
And then it comes.
The fire.
It starts to fan across the ceiling. The room is suddenly illuminated, the flames spreading and the smoke growing into a thick fog.
I stop and watch, have to admire the way it webs and moves across the ceiling as if alive, a fiery specter pulled from the deep.
My legs start to burn, the stench of searing flesh rising.
There is no use screaming any more.
“Indy,” comes a voice through the fog.
The realization is almost comforting now.
I’m going to die.
“Indy.”
Sleep.
“Indy!”
My eyes snap open to find Naomi looming over me. She has me by the shoulders.
I breathe in deeply, taking in as much precious air as I can, my heart still pounding against my rib cage.
“Are you okay?”
I nod, still thinking I’m in the room with no doors and no windows, but I’m not. I’m in my bed at Abbotsleigh. I’m safe.
Naomi moves off to the sink, turning on the tap and returning with my Wonder Woman mug. I take it, my hands still shaking from the dream.
She sits on my bed. I dimly notice her grey pajama shorts and top. They are way too boring for a college student.
“You gave me a hell of a fright,” she says. “I thought you were having a seizure.”
“I wish.”
“Is it something you want to talk about?”
I shake my head, holding the mug with both hands to keep it steady. I take a sip of water and I swear I can still taste ash in my mouth. “I’ll be fine, honestly.”
“Are you sure? Because I don’t want you to mistake me for an old ex and go stabbing me in my sleep or something.”
“Don’t worry,” I smile. “I only murder roommates I don’t like.”
She gives a nervous laugh.
“Too dark?”
She nods. “Yeah, I prefer my humor a little more Supernatural than Dexter, if you know what I’m saying.”
I smile into the mug. “I do.”
“How was date night, by the way? Did your jock make a fool of himself as hoped?
I smile again at the thought of Cayden at the Swing Dance Society. Not that I was going to let on, but he was actually getting pretty competent at the end there, a regular Fred Astaire—with guns, like, eight abs, and tattoos. All the tattoos. Poor Aunty Val, rest her soul, would be reaching for her panic button if I brought a guy like that home. He looks like he belongs in a state penitentiary, not swanning around as a law student-cum-football hero.
I promised myself I would start fresh here, try and leave New York behind, but jumping into a relationship with someone like Cayden has ‘bad move’ written all over it. The guy is clearly a womanizer. I shouldn’t fall for his cheap tricks. I’m smarter than that.
But were they cheap? He could have left, but he tried… for you.
And when that jersey came off… Dayum. I’m betting there wasn’t a dry set of panties in the house, myself included.
And he could be yours.
But for how long? How long would it take before I’m cast aside, nothing more than another ‘score,’ another touchdown?
Screw that.
“It was… interesting,” I finish.
Naomi seems curious. “He wasn’t what you expected?”
“No, not really.”
“One-liners?”
“Not this time.”
“No ‘Your bone structure is giving my bone structure,’ or ‘I’m all out of raisins, how about a date?’”
“I met a guy who could lick his eyebrows once,” I add.
“Wow.”
“Not as sexy as it sounds.”
“So, are you going to go out with Sir Jock-A-Lot again?”
“His name’s Cayden.”
Naomi reels back. “He has a name. This is serious.”
“I did promise him another date, on his terms this time.”
“Sounds dangerous. He’s probably going to take you sky-diving or something.”
“Naked.” I smile.
“Just make sure you don’t get knocked out by his wind sock.”
We both laugh at that.
Naomi places her hand on my shoulder. “Be careful, okay. I know you’re acting like a badass, but I bet there’s a gooey, delicate center in there somewhere.”
“I’m not a Milky Way.”
She glances down. “Come on. You’re wearing My Little Pony PJs.”
I glance down at myself. “I thought they were cute.”
Naomi shifts to her side of the room. “And I rest my case. Goodnight, Pinkie Pie.”
I slip under the covers. “Goodnight, Twilight Sparkle.”
“No more nightmares, okay?”
“I promise,” I say, falling asleep to an entirely different kind of dream.
*
My head is bursting with commercial law overload. It’s far from titillating, but I remind myself I’m here to become a lawyer, not be entertained.
That said, I was hoping to see Cayden, strange as that sounds, but he wasn’t in the lecture. I text him to ask if we’re still on for tonight, hoping I’m not coming across too eager.
Like it matters. Nothing serious, remember?
He texts back AT TRAINING with an enthusiastic emoji and a time. I’m just thankful it isn’t a dick pic.
Are you, though?
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a tiny bit intrigued. I’ve only been privy to two penises in my entire life, and neither was exactly ‘fulfilling.’ In fact, my first time was entirely unsexy, complete with the smell of McDonalds in the back seat of a Chevy Nova and way too many ‘I can’t find it’s for my liking. I mean, seriously, what do you want me to do? Draw you a map? It’s not my butthole and I’m certainly not turned on when you start fucking my bellybutton.
Something makes me think Cayden Beckett wouldn’t require a map.
He probably wrote the book on female anatomy.
I squeeze my thighs together a touch harder, sort of smirking to myself at these taboo thoughts. I would love to get off. Question is, is the fallout worth it? The scarlet letter on my forehead?
Quite unknowingly, I find myself drifting towards Troy after my lecture, what I’ve learned is the unofficial title of the college stadium, the home of the mighty Trojans.
There’s no security at the gate. I simply walk right on in, reaching the end of the tunnel and pulling back into the shade, my eyes watching the players on the field.
At first all I see is a bunch of padded-up guys, but I soon pick up on Number One—Cayden.
The ball goes long and he jets backwards. I’m talking the Caucasian Usain Bolt, running with so much speed I’m sure the grass is going to catch fire.
He turns and catapults into the air, catching the ball against his chest and cradling it back to the ground, already poised to take off again.
Okay. So you’re kind of impressive in your natural element.
The Coach, a balding man in a fire-engine red jacket, yells on from the sidelines, shaking his clipboard at the players.
They take off their helmets, many falling to the grass in exhaustion.
It’s hot out, and humid—real southern weather. The name ‘Troy’ seems entirely fitting for this kind of weather.
Wait ’til you see Cayden’s Trojan horse…
While I’m busy chastising my inner dirty man, I see another player bump into Cayden from the side, Number Two. I note the hair, the build. It’s Hunter, the second brother.
I did a little research after Naomi left this morning. There are four Beckett brothers in total, but only three are here at Abbotsleigh, the same university their father attended. I have to assume their good genes come from their mother’s side, because their father isn’t the prettiest tool in the shed. He might be a partner of one of the country’s biggest law firms, a regular of the New York social pages, but a handsome man he is not.
I watch Cayden and Hunter making their way to the sidelines laughing and joking.
I wonder if they’re talking about me, if Cayden’s already laying out the next stage of Operation Assault Her Pants.
You’re going to need more than a Trojan horse for that, my friend, no matter how big it is.
“Nice.”
I almost jump clear out of my skin.
Naomi rests her chin on my shoulder, watching the field. “Number One. That’s him, right?”
“Yes,” I reply, short.
“He’s cute… in a Tom Hardy-Jamie Dornan kind of way.”
“He is,” I remark, too busy ogling him from our hiding place here.
“Cayden!” shouts Naomi.
He looks in our direction.
I pull back into the tunnel, mortified, push Naomi away. “You did not just do that.”
She starts to walk off back to campus. “Be careful. That’s all I’m saying.”
*
When I asked Cayden what I should wear tonight, he simply replied CASUAL.
That doesn’t rule out sky-diving, you know.
So, jeans and a plain tee it is, though I might have selected the smallest T-shirt I own to accentuate certain features… of course feeling like a complete idiot all the while sinking to that woeful, superficial level, but so be it.
I knock on the door and Cayden answers wearing jeans and a straight black shirt that’s struggling to contain all that strongman arm action. He smiles down at me with that cut jaw, cobalt eyes popping. “I never knew jeans could look so good,” he says.
I squeeze past him, notice he’s also wearing some kind of scent—maybe Armani, something dark and sophisticated and about a million miles away from the jock the world knows. “You look… alright.”
He’s still smiling as I walk in. Colton, the youngest brother, places down his lacrosse stick. He’s not quite as built as his brothers, his hair cropped shorter, but the Beckett smile is there. “Welcome.”
“Hi,” I say, feeling self-conscious in front of the brothers.
I see Hunter emerge from the adjoining room. He stops by the breakfast bar, bent over, hand on his stomach.
A look of concern flashes across Cayden’s face. “You alright, Hunter?”
Hunter grimaces for a moment before he straightens and puts on a smile. “Never been better. Probably just pushing too hard at training. You know how it is.”
Cayden nods, but I sense he’s not convinced.
Hunter jabs his thumb at the hall. “I’m going to head up, get some rest, okay?”
“Sure,” says Cayden.
Hunter turns as he walks. “Good to see you again, Indy. Watch out for The Damage.” He winks at Cayden before disappearing into the hall.
“Will do,” I reply.
Once Hunter is gone, Colton comes over, voice low. “What the fuck was that about? Hunter, resting? What next? Nuclear war?”
Cayden doesn’t say anything. He continues to stand there watching the hallway.
I walk around as he broods, checking out the kitchen, which is, funnily enough, the size of my entire apartment back in New York. I look through the back window. There’s a shed out the back, a light on.
I tap the window. “So that’s where you’re hiding your red room.”
Cayden comes behind me, close enough for me to feel the heat of his body, the way it compresses against my back. “Man business.”
“Well.” I smile, turning around to face him. “You better give me the grand tour.”