Rhett
“Someone remind me why we’re here when we have to be checked in for curfew tonight?”
We’re standing in the living room of a massive fraternity house on Greek Row, shoulder to shoulder with half the student population. The theme, it appears, is Revenge of the Nerds meets Animal House, with half the partygoers dressed like a nerd in one form or another—white collared dress shirts tied off above the belly button, black glasses with tape in the middle, short plaid skirts, thigh-high socks—and the other half in togas. Several dudes walk around with sweatshirts that say College in white block letters.
I’m pretty sure we were supposed to have paid at the door, but somehow we slipped through without paying the cover.
The music is deafening but the brotherhood game is strong.
And, for the first time since living with Gunderson and Eric, I’m the one who wanted to party. It didn’t take much convincing—just the promise of cold beer—but they’re both skeptical about the reason I suddenly wanted to go out. This isn’t my scene and we all know it.
Still, neither says no the opportunity to get drunk or laid.
“Tell us again why we’re at a frat party?”
“To drink free beer?”
They exchange glances. “You’re the one who fights us on going out every week.”
“I know, but I had a burr in my ass this morning. Maybe I’m sick of sittin’ home when everyone goes out during the week.”
Gunderson commiserates. “That’s true. Zeke and Ozzy are out tonight. Oz’s girlfriend James posted some shit on Insta about being at some wine bar, or maybe it’s one of those wine tasting places.”
“That’s the same thing as a wine bar, idiot.” Eric can’t contain his disdain.
“Shut the fuck up, Johnson.”
“Guys, Jesus, keep it down.”
We walk farther into the room, into the party, and my roommates immediately find people they know, girls they’ve fucked or fooled around with.
“This music sucks,” one of my roommates complains.
“Who cares—we’re not here for the music.” The other one raises his beer in the air, happy to be out on a weekday. “We’re here for the puss-aaaa.”
Embarrassed, I deck him the arm. “Don’t ever say shit like that again.”
“Ow dude, that fucking hurt.” Gunderson rubs his arm, grumbling. “I just want both of you fuckers to know that tonight I’m getting laid. My dick will shrivel off if I don’t, so forgive me in advance for bringing some chick home.”
He glances around the room, fingers steepled. “Who’s the lucky girl going to be, who’s it going to be…”
“You are not bringing anyone home tonight.” I scowl. “Not tonight. No.”
“Fate will decide.” Gunderson throws his hands up in mock defeat. “I’m not going to beat anyone off with a stick if they want to fuck me later, that’s all I’m saying.”
Johnson scowls. “You’re the one who wanted to come out. Do we need to start calling you New Guy Buzz Kill?”
“Or Boner Killer.”
“Cock Blocker?” They take a liking to that one.
“Yeah, good one—I like that. Cock Blocker.”
“Let’s leave Cock Block to drown his sorrows in the bottle. We’re wasting our time standing here in this corner—it smells like sexual repression and nocturnal admissions.”
The word is emissions—nocturnal emissions.
God, what a couyon.
Johnson throws up deuces. “Later bro. Don’t leave early without us.”
“Don’t piss me off and I won’t.”
They offer their knuckles before sauntering off, parting the crowd and wading through like they own the place, leaving me at the edge of the room alone.
Alone to fend for myself in a room packed full of people dressed like nerds and Greeks.
Great.
Easing farther toward the far side of the room, I plant myself against the wall, eyes scanning every face among the crowd, searching for long black hair in a sea of blonde and brown, and some neon colors like blue and pink.
Uneasy, I pick at the label on my beer bottle.
Breaking the rules to come out tonight doesn’t sit right with me, and coming to meet Alex only increases the anxiety building in my stomach. I want to fucking vomit.
This was such a shitty idea; I’m not equipped to handle this. Have no idea what I’m fucking doing. What I’m going to do when I finally find her and meet her face to face.
Shit, shit, shit.
Panic sets in, my mind in overdrive, palms sweating.
I fiddle with the collar of my navy t-shirt. The logo of a popular Nantucket company sits on the left breast pocket, the only decent, clean shirt I had on the floor of my closet that wasn’t wrinkled, dirty, or too dressy and didn’t have a wrestling logo from the wrong college.
I feel like a fucking dope.
A bright flash of red across the room catches my eye, and whatever curse graces the tip of my tongue dies in my throat.
There she is, standing in a corner with her friends, laughing. Head thrown back, long pale neck exposed. Long red hair the color of fucking fire. Flawless white skin. Dark burgundy lips. Tall.
She’s not Alex, but she’s beautiful.
No, not beautiful.
Elle est mieux. She’s better.
More.
Stunning.
Jesus, is she human? She’s gorgeous and I need to shut the fuck up about it already.
I stare—of course I do—and Christ, I feel pathetic with the beer in my hand suspended halfway to my mouth, gaping foolishly from across the overcrowded party.
Black, long-sleeved polka dot midriff top with an expanse of white belly showing, she’s not dressed like anyone at the party.
High-waisted shorts with two rows of silver buttons down the sides. Pale legs that go on for miles.
When she raises her eyes and scans the room, I duck my head, face flaming hot. Turn my back and chug. Chug the entire bottle of beer down for liquid courage—I need it just to be standing in the same room with her.
How messed up is that?
I don’t know how long I stand facing the wall, but it’s long enough that I finish off the tepid amber liquid in my bottle.
Choke it down my throat like I’m chugging warm piss.
Give the ceiling an eye roll and pivot to face the room.
Turn to find the redhead studying me.
Head tilted as her friends talk and laugh next to her, she doesn’t pay them one bit of attention; all her focus is on me. She nods absently to the girl beside her, never taking that gaze off my flaming hot face.
A sly smile plays with one corner of her perfectly shaped mouth, the bold, dark lips pursing for a split second.
Honestly, she’s so pretty I don’t know where to look first.
Do I look directly at her? Or do I avert my eyes?
I find a nearby table and set my empty bottle there, wiping my sweaty palms down my pant legs so I can dig the phone out of my back pocket and shoot off a note to Alex.
Where is she?
She’s texted me a few times since we jerked off to each other, each message short and sweet, amusing. I continue building her up in my mind, romanticizing what she could mean to me. I see her as perky, outgoing, kind of an airhead at times, but fun.
Me: Hey. You coming out tonight?
Alex: I was going to, but I changed my mind. Don’t think I’ll make it, sorry.
Me: Why didn’t you tell me you were going to stand me up?
Alex: I’m sorry! I wanted to stay home instead.
Me: You could have texted to let me know.
Alex: LOL, I didn’t think I had to.
Me: You know, I’m only allowed to go out one night a week, and this ISN’T that night. I’m breaking the rules to meet you and you didn’t bother showing up.
Alex: Your roommates don’t seem to mind breaking the rules.
Me: Huh?
Alex: Wild guess that you’re out with your roommates? Did you end up at that party?
Me: Yes, but I’m going to bounce. Too crowded.
Alex: And you don’t like that?
Me: No, not when I should have stayed home tonight, too.
Alex: So you’re heading home?
Me: Yeah.
Alex: K.
K? What the fuck? Irritated, I start toward the door, pissed that Alex didn’t bother telling me she was staying home then acted nonchalant about it, like it doesn’t matter to her one bit that I came out.
Fucking rude and disrespectful; I should have known she was going to stand me up.
I know so little about women and the head games they play, but I should have known this was going to happen. God, I’m so fucking dumb.
Determined to leave, head bent, I push through the crowd toward the door. Stop on the porch to send Gunderson and Johnson a text, knowing they won’t give a shit that I’m already leaving.
Pocket my phone and start the descent down the steps of the frat house, out the way I came in. I can’t get out of here fast enough—
“Hey,” a voice calls from behind me. “Where are you going?”
Pausing at the bottom of the wide porch steps, I hesitate before turning on my heel toward the house.
She’s standing there, hip against the massive white column on the porch, flaming red hair and dark red lips scorching under the lights, glossy. Staring down at me, mouth curved into a sly little smile.
She can’t possibly be talking to me.
With a shake of my head, I gather my senses, pivot, and keep walking.
Her voice stops me again. “I’m talking to you.”
Jamming my cell into the back pocket of my jeans, I watch as the beautiful girl from the party props her elbow against the white pillar, one ankle hooked around the other casually as she stands there with a cup in her hand.
She tries again. “Not having any fun?”
I let my eyes study the length of her hips and long legs, wondering if they’re as silky as they look. I examine those legs and the black cork wedges buckled at the ankle.
“I, uh, was waitin’ for someone who didn’t bother showing up.”
“Bummer.” She stares down, out into the dark yard. “Didn’t feel like getting dressed up in a toga?”
“No. Didn’t you?”
“Nope—that’s not why I’m here.”
“Why are you here?”
Those red, shiny lips curve in the moonlight. “A guy.”
Obviously. Girls like her always have a guy.
She seems to be taking my measure; even in the dark, I can feel her eyes roaming my body. “What about you?” she asks. “Here for a hookup or just to get drunk?”
“Neither.”
“Oh?”
I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans, the ones I washed and laid flat to dry, just for tonight. For Alex.
“Are you here for a girl then?”
My head shakes. “I shouldn’t have come out tonight anyway, so I’m going home.”
“Why shouldn’t you have come out? Was she not worth it?”
“I thought she might be, but I was wrong.”
Why the hell am I telling her all this? Like she gives a shit.
“So where is she?”
“Didn’t bother comin’.”
The redhead snorts, undignified. “If she couldn’t bother coming, then she’s probably not worth it.”
“It still pisses me off though, because I wasted my time and could have gotten in trouble.”
“Why’s that?”
“Athletic code.”
“Do you always follow the rules? Because there are athletes crawling all over the place in there.” She flips her thumb in the general direction of the house behind her.
“I do when it could cost me my scholarship.”
“Ahh, I see.” She pauses, rich, glossy hair gleaming under the dim porch light. It’s like a sheet of thick satin and looks twice as touchable.
“Are you lost or somethin’? I mean, did you follow me out here for a reason?”
Again, she regards me. “Just curious, I suppose. One second you were staring at me”—she snaps her fingers—“and the next you were gone.”
I have nothing to say to that.
“Don’t worry, I was staring at you, too.” Her soft voice carries in the dark. “Won’t your friends inside miss you?”
Not likely, but her statement gives me pause. “Why the fuck were you watchin’ me?”
Yes, it’s rude, but come on, both of us know it makes no fucking sense.
A soft little laugh. “Why on Earth would that surprise you?”
Noise and laughter and loud music from inside the house save me from replying. Someone begins chanting, “Chug, chug, chug,” and it’s quickly followed by raucous cheering. The crowd goes wild.
The front door opens, regurgitating drunk students by the half dozen. Some of them stumble down the wooden steps on unsteady feet, others to the edge of the porch to smoke or talk, make out.
The girl rises to her full height, runs those pale hands along her hips. I watch as her long legs descend the stairs, colt-like in their lithe movements. Her hand slides down the railing, index finger trailing the wood slowly, a catlike smile pulling at her lips.
She stops in front of me when she reaches the ground, our faces inches apart.
It’s too dark to make out the color of her eyes, but her black lashes flutter in my direction, long and stark, a contradiction to her light skin.
She’s more beautiful up close up than she is from a distance, the smell of fresh air, lemons, and spilled beer hitting my nostrils all at once.
A long finger taps her chin. “I feel like I know you.”
“Trust me, you don’t.”
“Oh, but I think I do.” She says it in a lazy drawl, red mouth forming each syllable.
“I would remember.” I would definitely remember a girl like this.
I take a step backward before doing something stupid, like trying to smell her again.
Her mouth downturns into a pretty pout. “You’re not leaving yet, are you?”
“I assumed we were done talkin’.”
“You don’t want me to keep you company?”
I swear, if my jaw wasn’t locked down from my scowl, it would fall open from shock. Is this chick for real? She cannot possibly want to stand here in the dark and keep talking to me.
Me.
Not when there are fifty better-looking guys inside the house. Better-looking. Hot. The football quarterback. The forward for the hockey team. Preppy fraternity brothers.
What the hell could she possibly want with me?
She sighs. “You’re not very chatty, are you?”
“I’m trying to figure out what’s goin’ on here.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you want?” She’s way too pretty, way too far out of my league, rank, and status to be talking to me, and we both know it.
“I just wanted to see…” She swallows, her narrow shoulders moving up and down with a shrug. Every perfect line in her beautiful face is illuminated by the porch lights. The porcelain skin. The pert bow of her expertly outlined lips. “It’s hard to explain.”
I watch as she takes several steps backward to the banister rail at the foot of the stairs, rear end leaning against the wooden pole for support. Watching me, a strange expression crosses her face.
“I don’t feel…familiar to you at all?”
“Uh, no.”
She frowns. “You don’t recognize my voice or anything?”
“Should I?”
“No, I guess not.” Her sigh is long and wistful. “Aren’t you going to ask my name?”
I raise my brows and tilt my head. “Sure.”
“It’s Laurel.”
Laurel. She looks like a Laurel, delicate and beautiful and romantic. The name suits her.
I venture forward a few hesitant steps. She obviously wants to talk, so what would be the harm?
“What year are you?”
“Junior. You?”
“Same. Are you from Iowa?”
She smiles at my reply. “No. Illinois.”
“I uh, have a…friend from Illinois that goes here.” I slouch, shuffling my weight from one leg to another. “I’m a transfer student on the wrestling team. I was recruited from Louisiana.”
“Recruited?”
“For wrestling. I’m a wrestler,” I repeat dumbly, wondering abruptly if she’s seen the fucking posters with my face and cell phone number hanging around campus.
Maybe she recognized me and followed me out here.
Morbid curiosity—wanted to meet the guy who needs to get laid, live and in person. She recognizes my face; I’d bet money on it.
“You can get recruited your junior year?”
“Apparently.”
She doesn’t respond to that, instead taking a dainty sip of beer out of the red plastic cup that clashes with her hair. “How is Iowa treating you?”
I shrug. “It’s fine.”
“Just fine?”
“They didn’t exactly roll out the ol’ welcome mat.” I shift my weight, uncomfortable with the subject.
“Do you have siblings?”
“Yes, two brothers.”
“Ahh,” she says, relaxing against the newel post. “You look a little rough and tumble, like you’ve gotten into a few brawls.”
Actually, besides with my brothers, I’ve never been in a single fight my entire life. Never decked anyone or been in a scuffle, not even close. I stay away from trouble, and with the exception of these random nights out with my teammates, I’ve never been a big drinker either.
That probably makes me the least exciting athlete I know, but I’ve got standards, and partying isn’t at the top of my priority list.
“I might be big, but I’m not a brute.”
Her eyes flicker up and down my body. “I can see that.”
Laurel’s concentrated scrutiny makes me feel awkward, like I’m ignorant and unsophisticated.
“You don’t look like the kind of guy who gets off on fraternity parties.”
“I’m not.”
“So this girl you came to meet—you like her?”
“I was tryin’ to figure that out.”
“So you haven’t met?”
“Not in person.” Fuck this is humiliating. “I thought I’d…go outside my comfort zone for once.”
“That’s sweet.” Her voice makes me shiver. “Really sweet.”
“Is it?” Shit, do I sound too hopeful? I hope not.
“Yeah, it is. Really nice.” She releases her hold on the newel post, taking a few hesitant steps toward me. “Guys just don’t care anymore.”
“About courtin’ you mean?”
“Courtin’.” She repeats it almost breathlessly, mimicking my accent, eyes sparkling.
“Shit, sorry, I forgot that’s a southern thing. I meant datin’—you know.”
“I know what you meant.” Laurel tilts her head, studying my face. The lines around her eyes soften, red lips curve. “I like talking to you.”
My only reply? Shoving my hands deeper into the pockets of my jeans and shifting on the balls of my feet.
“Can I say something else?”
“Uh, sure.”
“I like your voice. It’s…” Her sweet voice trails off, pauses. “It’s charming.”
Charming?
I must look fucking confused, because she laughs, holding her flat belly. “The look on your face right now. Oh! It’s so cute. You look so confused.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I just meant your voice is…perfect. I love your accent. I could listen to you talk all night.”
She shivers, a queer expression on her face that I’m unable to decipher. It’s disconcerting.
“It’s kind of cold. Sure you don’t want to go back inside?”
“I was thinking I’d head home if you’re heading in my direction. Are you walking?”
“I came with friends, but yeah, I’m walkin’ home.”
“Walkin’,” she repeats with my twang. “Would you mind the company?”
“Which way do you need to—”
Just then, there’s a commotion on the porch. The heavy door flies open and two girls fall out. Laughing and loud, they giggle their way across the porch, stumbling.
Spot us in the yard, talking.
“Laurel, Laurel, there you are!” She hiccups. “What are you doing out here?” The girl is short with long black hair, and I study her. Cute. “We’ve been looking everywhere and every over for you!”
The girl is drunk, so drunk.
Laurel’s eyes slide closed with a loud groan. “Talking to someone—I’m going to head home. You can go back inside; it’s getting cold out.”
The blonde girl holds a hand over her eyes, searching the yard like she’s scanning the horizon. “Who are you out here with? I can’t see.” She huffs. “What did we tell you about going off alone? Are you trying to get roofied?”
“Or raped?” the girl with the black hair practically shouts into the yard. “No going off alone, jeez! Do you think I want to play babysitter at a dumb frat party?”
“I’m just making new friends.” Laurel holds both her hands up, still facing me. She gives me a wink and a smile, like we’re sharing a secret. “I’m fine, see?”
That doesn’t stop her black-haired friend from trying to make out my form in the dark. She takes a few steps closer, down the steps to get a better look, squinting through heavily made-up eyes.
“Hey…do I know him?” She points an unsteady finger my direction. “Do I know you?”
“Ugh, let’s just go back inside, Alex,” the blonde says impatiently, obviously desperate to get back to the party. “She’s fine. She’s alive. You can tell your moms to chill out now.”
Black hair.
Alex.
“Alex?” I ask. “You’re Alex?” Wow. I don’t know why, but she’s much prettier than I was expecting. “You said you weren’t coming.”
She lied.
“Alex, can you please go back inside.” Laurel steps in front of me, blocking my view.
Alex ignores us both. “Wait, I do know him. I mean, I don’t know him know him, but I recognize him.”
I don’t know what the fuck is going on right now but the wheels are starting to spin real fuckin’ fast.
“Alex, please,” Laurel begs. “Go inside.”
“No, it’s okay.” I put my hand up to stave her off. “She’s who I came here to see.”
Alex snaps her fingers, doing a weird little hop and clapping her hands while chanting, “Oh my God oh my God, you’re him!”
Her abrupt movements send the beer in her hand dumping over the side of her red plastic cup. “You’re the guy! Get Rett Laid! Oh my God, Laurel, that’s the guy! Did you tell him it was you? Sexting? Were. Was.” She bends at the waist, laughing hysterically. “Where is Dylan? I want sex.”
“Oh my God, Alex, please just go away!” Laurel shouts, stomping her foot and pointing at the front door. “Go back inside!”
But drunk Alex only laughs, laughs and laughs and snorts, spilling beer onto the porch. The little blonde beside her gives up holding her cup too, tossing it into the yard with a hundred others.
It lands near my feet.
“Laurel,” Alex screeches, drunk. “Dude, has she told you how she tricked you? That was very bad of you to tell her to fuck off, Mister Get Laid. Bad bad bad.” She’s shaking her finger like she’s reprimanding a child.
Face flaming hot, I look back and forth between them.
Alex on the porch. Laurel alongside me.
Laurel is Alex.
I think I’m going to be sick.
I’m not an idiot, so it only takes me an instant to figure out what the fuck is actually going on here, and no way in hell am I standing around to find out the rest. Starting across the lawn, balled up fists jammed into my pockets, I stalk to the sidewalk, step onto the road to cross it as the sound of my name carries in the breeze behind me.
“Rhett, wait!”
Of course she knows my fucking name.
She calls it with such familiarity my gut clenches; all those questions she stood there asking me, she already knew the damn answers to.
Mon Dieu je suis bête. God I’m an idiot.
I keep walking. Stalking toward campus, back toward my house.
The telltale sound of her heels clicking against the asphalt urges me forward, quickens my pace to get as far away from that girl as possible.
That fucking liar.
That beautiful fucking liar—I hate her already.
God she’s gorgeous.
“Rhett, wait. Please!” She begs as the sound of her shoes slows, unable to keep up. “Please! Please stop, just let me…ouch! Dammit! Ow. Wait!”
I hear her trip on the sidewalk and gradually slow my gait, stand on the pavement without turning around. I give her a chance to catch up, arms crossed defensively, waiting.
Because I’m a nice fucking guy with a conscience and can’t leave her alone in the dark now that we’ve walked this far, not when it sounds like she’s gone and sprained her damned ankle.
I hear the hard breathing, the huffs and puffs as she approaches from behind, the telltale sound of limping.
Laurel stops a meager distance behind, close enough that I can see the steam rising from her mouth as she breathes in and out, warm exhalations mingling with the cold.
We’re standing in silence as she stares holes into my chest, and I can see her deciding what to say, staring at the same broad shoulders that have already carried the weight of so many burdens this year.
She tries again. “I’m sorry I lied.” When I don’t respond, she babbles on. “We thought it was funny.”
My body stiffens. “Funny.”
“I saw you and your teammates at the Pancake House the day they stuck you with the entire bill. I was there with my roommate Donovan, watching.” She continues, talking a mile a minute, “Then my cousin brought one of those horrible posters to this lunch date we have every week and basically dared me to message you.”
“A dare,” I deadpan.
“Yes, but it sounds worse than it actually is because once you and I started talking and I realized you’re actually a really nice guy, I felt terrible.”
“Because I’m nice? What if I had actually been an asshole? Would you have justified it differently?”
“That’s not at all what I meant.”
I stare down the street, past her, into the dark. “Well, I’m glad everyone was able to have a laugh. Ha ha.”
“You don’t always have to be so nice to girls, you know, Rhett? Some of us don’t deserve it.”
“That’s the dumbest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever heard come out of anyone’s mouth.”
She tries again, shifting on her heels and shaking from the cold. “Some girls like assholes.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe you should walk back to the Sig house to find one and let me walk away without making me feel like I’m the douche here and not you.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do! Why won’t you just accept my apology?”
“Because you say so?” My snort comes out more obnoxious than I intended. “Because you’re pretty?”
“No, because I’m sorry!”
“I don’t want to accept your fucking apology, okay? It doesn’t mean shit to me.”
“I don’t think you’d be standing here if it didn’t mean anything, Rhett.”
“You know nothin’ about me,” I mutter the words low and quiet.
“Maybe I want to. Has that occurred to you?”
I have nothing to say to that because I don’t believe her. She’s just a beautiful, spoiled girl who wants to have her way, and I can’t believe I’m still standing here listening to her whine. I’m surprised she hasn’t brought on the waterworks.
She seems like the type.
“Say something, Rhett,” Laurel demands, frustrated, stomping her foot. “Rhett.”
But I don’t. My name on her lips infuriates me more, and I refuse to give this girl the satisfaction.
“It was just a joke,” she reminds me, tipping her chin up.
“I have enough people shittin’ on me right now, okay? I don’t need one more.”
“It wasn’t my intention to mislead you.”
“Those are fancy words—did you hear them at the sorority house?”
“Don’t be mean. I’m not in a sorority.”
“What, they didn’t want you?”
Her wounded gaze focuses on me, head tilted to the side, studying my face. “It’s beneath you to insult me.”
I know it is, and I can’t believe those words came out of my mouth. It was petty and now I feel like a fucking dick.
A car drives by, slowing down, everyone in the vehicle staring through the window as they move past, crawling along. We watch until its taillights disappear around the corner up the street.
“Laurel?” I whisper.
“Yes?” Her voice is hopeful.
“Why couldn’t you just leave me alone when I told you to fuck off?”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is small.
“How about this: fuck you.” I walk ten feet before flipping off the night air. “Fuck you, Laurel.”
The first text comes just an hour later.
Laurel: Rhett, I’m sorry. I truly am.
Laurel: Rhett, I know you didn’t block my number. I can see the conversation dots moving at the bottom of the screen…
Laurel: Would you please say something? Anything at all.
I’ve finally had enough. I pick up my phone and angrily pound out a reply.
Me: Why? So YOU feel better? You’re not the one who’s been getting shit on week after week, are you?
Laurel: No.
Me: Right. At least we agree on something. Do me a favor: you and your bitchy little friends can leave me the fuck alone.
Laurel: We will. I’m sorry…