Morgan

Twelve Years Ago

I’m back for my second year at Northwestern.

I spent the summer at home, working for Starbucks there. I was lucky to get a transfer, and I took on a second job at the place where my mom worked, helping reception.

It was good to be home and spend some quality time with my parents. And, of course, Joely was home, too, so we got to hang out, one-on-one, which hadn’t happened in a while.

Not that I don’t like Joely’s roommate, Hannah, because I really do. She’s lovely. We’re all rooming together this year. We’ve got an apartment close to campus. But, growing up, it’s always been me and Joely, so it was awesome for it to just be me and her.

And, honestly, I think the break away has done me a world of good.

I’m actually over my crush on Wilder.

I know, right? About freaking time.

So, now that I’m not crushing on Wilder, I don’t have to pretend to not have said crush on him; therefore, I don’t need to act like I think he’s the biggest jerk to ever walk the face of the planet so that he doesn’t know I have—sorry, had feelings for him. And, also, I’m over the whole him implying that I was fat.

I’ve decided, from now on, I’ll be nice to him.

Not that I’ve been particularly awful to him. I’ve just not been friendly to him in the past.

But this year is going to be different. A brand-new year, and I resolve to be nice to Wilder Cross. Maybe even be friends with him.

Another change that Joely and I agreed on for this year is that we’ll both have more of a social life. Joely’s not here on a scholarship, like me. Her parents are a little better off than mine, and they pay her tuition and boarding fees, but she still has to work to earn money to live on.

So, it’s fair to say that we both neglected our social lives last year.

This year is going to be different.

I’m actually considering maybe dipping my toe in the dating pool.

I’m nineteen years old and at college. Having fun and dating boys is a rite of passage.

Hence why I find myself at this party of some guy I don’t know, but he is in Hannah’s creative writing class.

The house is packed with people. Some, I recognize from classes, but a lot of them, I don’t know.

Hannah disappeared the moment we got here to go talk to some people she knew. So, it’s just Joely and me, standing around, people-watching.

“We suck at this,” she says into my ear over the loud music.

“Suck at what?” I say back to her.

“Socializing. We’ve been here for thirty minutes, and we haven’t talked to anyone but each other. We haven’t even had a drink yet.”

I chuckle. “You’re right. We do suck at it. How about I go locate us a drink, and you go talk to that cute guy who’s been staring at you for the last five minutes?”

“Who? Where?” Her head whips around to me.

“Straight ahead. Blue shirt. Blond hair. Super cute.”

She glances over at him. He’s still staring at her. He smiles at her and then starts to walk toward us.

“What do I do?” she says to me, panicked.

“Talk to him,” I say, giving her a little shove forward. “I’ll be back soon with drinks for us.”

Just as the cute guy reaches her, I disappear and go off in search of alcohol.

I head to where I think the kitchen might be. I’m just about to push the door open but pause when I hear my name mentioned.

“Hey, did you see that Morgan Stickford’s here?”

I know the voice, but I’m struggling to place it.

“I thought she’d didn’t do parties.”

“She doesn’t usually,” another male voice says.

“I’m thinking I might give her a try tonight,” the first voice says.

Oh, wow. Some guy is saying that he wants to hit on me. Even if he’s not my type, it’s still really nice to hear that I’ve caught a guy’s interest.

A voice laughs. “Hartwell’s going for the fatty again tonight to ensure he gets his dick wet.”

Fatty.

I take in a sharp breath. Instant tears prick at my eyes. I suck them back.

“You mock, but the fat ones always give it up easier. They’re so fucking desperate for attention, they’ll spread their legs at the click of a finger.”

Dean Hartwell.

He was in my economics class last year. Seemed like a nice guy. Clearly, he’s not.

I wrap my arms over my chest, my insides trembling with hurt.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

I was feeling so good about myself earlier. But now…

I glance down at the dress I’m wearing, and all I can see are lumps and bumps.

I pull at the fabric to loosen it. To try and hide what I forgot for a while was there.

Fat.

I want to go home.

And then do what? Eat? Cry?

Well, it would be a hell of a lot better than standing here, listening to a bunch of guys calling me fat.

I step away from the door. But…if I leave, Joely will want to come with me. And I don’t want to spoil her night. Not now that she’s met some guy she might like.

For Joely’s sake, I just need to suck it up and go in there to get our beers.

They probably won’t even notice me anyway.

I take a few hundred deep breaths. Then, I gingerly push the kitchen door open.

The sound of male laughter assaults my ears. At first, I think they’re laughing at me again, but with one quick glance, I see they’re not even looking my way.

As my eyes pull away, I catch sight of Wilder, and my heart bangs painfully against my chest.

He’s in the group. Standing with those guys who were just calling me fat.

He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, his eyes down, focused on his cell phone.

“You’ve been on your phone since you fucking got here,” one of the guys says to Wilder. “What—or should I say, who has got you so interested?”

“No one.”

Wilder goes to pocket his cell, but the guy snatches it before he can.

“Holy fucking shit!” the guy crows. “Cross is getting titty pics from some chick!”

“What? Let me see!” Hartwell makes a grab for the phone.

But the guy holding it moves it out of his way, and instead, he turns the screen around for everyone to see.

Me included.

Even from my spot at the other side of the kitchen, I can see the picture. It’s a nude. Well, she’s wearing panties but nothing on top, her large breasts on show.

My heart sinks to my feet.

Wilder was standing there, sexting with some girl who liked to send nudes, while those guys were calling me fat, and he said nothing.

But then I shouldn’t expect anything else from him. Because he is one of those guys.

“Shiiit! That is one impressive fucking rack!” one of them hoots.

Wilder jabs the guy holding the phone in the stomach, and as the guy bends over from the hit, Wilder grabs his phone from his hand.

“Fucking pricks,” Wilder grunts.

“Hey, Cross, you should send that pic to Hartwell. He needs it more than you do. He can jerk to it when he’s home alone later.”

At the mention of Dean’s name, I put my head down and make a beeline for the keg.

I’m just filling up my second cup of beer when I hear my name.

I freeze. Then, I look up.

Dean Hartwell is standing right near me. A beer in his hand.

My eyes flicker to the group of guys he’s with. They’re all talking. Wilder is back on his phone. I look back to Dean.

“Hey, Dean,” I say quietly.

The cup is full, so I flip the lever on the keg, pick my other beer up, and turn to leave, but Dean stops me.

“Hey, where you going?”

“Drinks. I have to take my friend her drink.”

“Stay. Chat with me for a bit.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. I always do that when I’m nervous.

My eyes flicker to the group. Wilder’s still on his phone.

“So, how was your summer?” Dean asks me.

“It was good, thanks.”

“Cool. Mine, too. I spent it in Europe with my family.”

“Sounds nice,” I say because I don’t know what else to say. I just know that I want to get out of here and back to Joely.

“Yeah, it was great,” he says. Then, he takes a step closer.

I suck in a breath and fight the urge to run, as I don’t want to give them another reason to laugh at me.

“So”—Dean reaches up and tucks some of my hair behind my ear, and I shudder on the inside—“I thought about you a lot over the summer.”

His lips lift at the corners into what I’m sure he thinks is a sexy smile. All it does is make me feel sick.

“Um, you did?” I don’t know what else to say. I know where he’s going with this, but I just want to get out of here as fast as possible.

Dean chuckles a low sound. “Because I like you, Morgan. And I was thinking”—he moves even closer—“that we should go upstairs and get to know each other a little better.”

“I, uh…” I’m sliding along the counter, beer in each hand, edging away. “I can’t. I, uh, I have to get back to my friend.”

His body turns, following mine. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you didn’t go back straightaway.”

“No. I, um…I have to…get her drink to her.” I spin on my heel, sloshing beer over my hands, but I don’t stop. I get the hell out of that kitchen as soon as possible.

As the door shuts behind me, raucous laughter breaks out in the kitchen.

“Struck out with the fatty!” One of them laughs. “Looks like you’re gonna need that titty pic of Cross’s after all!”

And I die a little more on the inside.

I’m getting drunk.

I know, I know. I’m being stereotypical. A bunch of guys called me fat, and I’m getting drunk.

But, honestly, the more I drink, the less my insides hurt. So, drinking, it is.

Joely knew something was wrong when I came back from the kitchen, but I told her that I was fine. I know Joely. She would have gone and given Dean a piece of her mind. Then, she’d have suggested we leave the party and go grab some pizza, meaning she’d have left behind the cute guy who was clearly into her.

So, I smiled and told her I was fine and that she should go dance with the cute guy, who I now know is called Todd. It took a few times of persuading her until she finally relented.

So, while she’s been dancing with Todd, I’ve been knocking back the drinks. Well, I’ve only had three beers, but I’m a cheap date.

And a fat one apparently.

Can anyone say bitter?

Okay, so I’m super drunk now.

I’m on my…fifth beer. I think. It could be sixth. Who knows? All I know is, I’m buzzing, and I feel awesome!

Joely is currently on the sofa, making out with Todd, and I’m super happy for her.

Really, I am. I love Joely, and I want her to be happy.

And at least one of us is getting some.

She didn’t just leave me standing here alone though. She kept coming to check on me every so often. I told her I was going to leave the party if she came to check on me one more time. She got the hint and hit the sofa with Todd, and she’s been sucking face with him since.

I’ve not been standing here like a sad loner though. Hannah came to chat for a bit, and then she vanished again. I was talking to Andrea from my business enterprise class until her boyfriend turned up, and she disappeared off with him.

I laugh to myself, like the loser that I am.

My bladder squeezes.

Ugh, I need to pee. I haven’t been to the bathroom all night, and I’ve drunk about a gallon of beer. It’s surprising that my bladder hasn’t burst already.

I take the stairs, dodging the people sitting on them.

When I reach the landing, I walk down the hallway. There are, like, a hundred doors here.

Okay, not a hundred, but enough. And not one has a sign saying, Bathroom Here.

The last thing I want to do is walk into someone’s bedroom and see people going at it.

I pick a door and step close to it. I lean in, seeing if I can hear anything. There’s no noise, so I try the door. It opens, and no one is in there, but it’s a bedroom.

I shut the door and step close to the next door.

“Fuck yes! Right there, Benji! Right there!”

Benji?

My next-door neighbor back home has a dog called Benji. He’s a poodle.

And, now, I’m imagining that the Benji behind the door has hair like a poodle.

I snort and cover my mouth to catch the sound.

Yeppers, I’m totally drunk.

I stumble away from the door, chuckling to myself, and bump into the wall.

“Oh God, Wilder. You’re so good at that.”

I stiffen at the sound of the breathy female voice.

My head turns to the door next to me. It’s a little ajar, so I can hear them but not see them.

“You like that, huh?”

“God, yes,” she moans softly.

And I close my eyes against the hurt spilling into my chest.

Because I know that voice. Her voice.

Hannah.

“You’re gonna make me come,” Hannah whispers.

“That’s what I’m aiming for.” Wilder chuckles, deep and low.

She moans louder this time.

Then, there’s silence. The rustling of clothes.

I need to leave.

I’m standing out here, like a creeper. Someone could come out and see me. But I just can’t seem to make myself move. The betrayal is just too much.

“Wilder, you, um…you won’t tell Morgan what we just did, will you?”

“Morgan?”

“Morgan Stickford. She’s in some of your classes, same major.”

“I know who Morgan is. I’m just wondering why you think I’d tell her that you and I hooked up. We’re not exactly friends.”

“No, but she’s, um…well, she’s kind of a friend of mine.”

Kind of a friend? Nice, Hannah.

“And she, um…well, she…”

Don’t do it, Hannah. Don’t you fucking tell him.

“Well…she kind of…likes you.”

Wilder laughs loudly. The sound splinters into my chest.

“Morgan doesn’t like me.” He laughs again. “She can’t fucking stand me.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Hannah says quickly. “I was thinking of someone else. I just can’t believe she doesn’t like you.”

Silence.

“I like you,” she says in that breathy voice again.

“Well, babe”—his voice sounds rough, raspy—“why don’t you get down on your knees and show me exactly how much you like me?”

Finally, my legs move. I stumble away, quickly heading for the stairs.

I rush out of the party. I don’t wait to tell Joely that I’m leaving. She’d know something was wrong, and I really don’t want to tell her what just happened. Because I know she’ll be furious with Hannah, and I don’t want to be the reason that they fall out. Also, we have to live with Hannah for the next year.

God, I have to live with Hannah for the next year.

What if she starts dating Wilder?

I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. I don’t want to think of that right now. I’ll deal with it if and when the time comes.

I pull my cell from my pocket and call for a cab. Then, I text Joely to say that I’m not feeling well and that I’m heading home.

I walk a little ways down the street, away from the party, and lean back against a wall of a neighboring house.

“Morgan doesn’t like me. She can’t fucking stand me.”

The sound of Wilder’s words and his laughter ricochet through my mind.

He thinks I don’t like him. He should think that because that’s what I spent the last year ensuring he would think.

And I was right to do so. Because he’s an asshole.

Hating Wilder is the only line of defense that I have left now.

Because I’ve been lying to myself for a long time.

I don’t have a crush on Wilder.

I’m in love with him.

And loving someone like Wilder Cross is pointless and a surefire way to get a broken heart for a girl like me.

If he hasn’t broken it already.