“Does your one condition include your bra?” I ask between kisses, my hands returning to the front, still feeling for a clasp, but it’s one continuous piece of fabric all the way up to her cleavage.
“Um … I’m not sure.”
I pause and then lean on my elbow, watching her. “If you’re not sure, it’s probably a yes.”
She nods. “Probably.”
We smile at each other, and I settle for some over-the-bra second-base action. While I’m focused on that, she’s easily earning her stripes in French kissing.
All in all, I can’t imagine having a better day at Wallingford: I had no run-ins with Jernigan; Paige and I basically agreed to a relationship, titles and all; and she’s developing an appreciation for some serious private displays of affection.
If this keeps up, I might actually start to like Wallingford.
CHAPTER 23
LOGAN
I’m sitting at my desk, staring out the window and drumming my fingers on my closed calculus book. Paige and I had our second date yesterday, which was great, but since I can only leave campus one day a week, I’m stuck here while she’s out with Leah and her other friends, including Jernigan.
She offered to say here with me, but like a dumbass I told her to go, not realizing she’d be hopping in Jernigan’s truck. “I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ve got a million things to do,” I said. “You shouldn’t miss out on fun because of me,” I said.
I’m an idiot.
It’s been two hours since she left. Her dad’s coming for dinner, so she has to be back by five, but that’s still almost three hours from now.
I’m tempted to text her, but what could I say that wouldn’t come off as a jealous boyfriend who’s imagining Jernigan trying to feel her up? At least I know she can handle herself. And that she doesn’t want him feeling her up, meaning there’s no way it could ever happen. Yet my mind still won’t relax.
Just then, my phone bings. I spring from my chair, launch myself onto the top bunk, and grab my phone that’s lying there. It’s Noah, not Paige. I sigh in disappointment.
Needhilp
And just like that, my disappointment turns to concern.
What’s going on? I quickly type.
Com get mee
What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he spell anything correctly? Where are you?
1/2way to skool
What happened?
Im trashed
Well, that explains his spelling. My phone bings again as another message pops up. Fell. Ankle messud up. Use Eddies car keys in desk. Door loked
How am I supposed to get in his room if the door is locked? Before I can ask him, another text appears: unlocked
I knead the back of my neck. This is not good. Where’s Eddie?
Homefur wekend
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. There are so many issues with his plan. Not only am I not allowed off campus today, but my license is suspended. If I get caught, I’ll be screwed.
I can’t. Let me see if I can find someone else.
I rush up and down the three floors of our dorm, hoping to find anyone who can pick up Noah, but the only ones around are the freshman and sophomores who don’t have off-campus privileges or driver’s licenses. They’re in the same boat as me.
How bad is your ankle?
Bad
Shit. I run my hand over my practically bald head, and then smack the cinder-block wall with my palm.
I could ask Paige to pick you up, I type.
No! Shell report me Itll tak u 5 min
He must be on the mountain road leading to Wallingford. I’ve never seen cops on that road, so it’s unlikely I’d have to deal with them. The bigger problem would be another student, although most of them probably wouldn’t even know I’m not allowed off campus today. There would only be a few—the highest officers—who would. Realistically, what are the chances I’d pass one of them during my few minutes out there? It has to be low. Most people wait to come back until at least dinnertime, if not later.
Plz
Okay, fine. Be there soon.
He owes me so big for this. I run across the hall, grab Eddie’s keys from his desk, and then race to the parking lot. It’s only then I realize I don’t even know what car is Eddie’s. Luckily, he has an electronic keychain, so I push the unlock button as I walk up and down the mostly empty aisles, looking and listening for the right car.
Make that truck. It’s a black Dodge in the third row I check.
I hop inside and put the key in the ignition, then take a deep breath. This is an absolutely half-baked idea. I hear Paige’s voice in my head: Go back to your room and tell Noah to deal with the consequences of his bad decision. Except I can’t. I won’t. I never let my friends down.
I put the truck in gear and slowly ease out of the parking lot, checking the side and rearview mirrors every other second to make sure no one’s running after me, ready to report me. At the gate, my foot presses the brake, and I pause one last time. This is it. If I roll even two feet farther, then I’m committed. I wipe my sweaty palms on my cammies and wish I had a bottle of water. My throat feels like I haven’t had anything to drink in days.
My foot slowly eases off the brake. The truck inches forward.
There’s no turning back.
I step on the gas and head down the windy road faster than I normally would. The whole time, I curse Noah and whatever his illegal substance of choice was. Once he’s sober and his ankle is healed, I’m going to give him hell. For many, many weeks. Maybe months.
I slow down for a curve and then slam on the brakes. He’s there, on the virtually nonexistent shoulder, sitting cross-legged like he’s a freaking yogi meditating.
I throw open the door and yell his name.
His eyes snap open. “Hey, man,” he slurs. “I owe you one.”
“No kidding.” I bend down, slip my head under his arm, and haul him into a standing position. He hobbles to the truck, and I have to practically lift him inside, where he lies down on the bench seat.
“Don’t you dare puke in Eddie’s truck,” I warn before sliding his feet in and slamming the door.
I sprint around to the driver’s side and waste no time doing a three-point turn on the narrow road. Only two miles left. We might actually make it.
I go even faster on the return trip and breathe a sigh of relief when I pass through the gate. I return the truck to its original parking spot and then quickly exit the car and go around to help Noah again.
Except he’s asleep.
“Wake up!” I yell, shaking his shoulder. He stirs, then goes limp again.
“Oh my God,” I mutter. Noah’s taller than me, but not overly muscular. Still he’s heavy. And the dorm isn’t exactly close. I can either leave him in the truck to sober up or try and carry him back to his room. I’d rather he be in his room, but the chances of someone calling us out on that trek when he’s hanging over my shoulder like sack of potatoes are about a million to one.
“Okay, buddy. You take a nap here. I’ll be back in an hour to check on you.” I start to close the door, when I realize I should probably leave him a note since he didn’t hear anything I said and might freak out when he wakes up.
After scrounging around in the glove box, I find a napkin and a pen. I quickly scrawl my plan on there and then put it on the seat, right next to his head.