Tomorrow, Ryan, Kayla, and Julia will all leave town for spring break. Ryan’s road-tripping to Portland for a friend’s wedding and somehow convinced Julia to go with him, strictly as friends, but come on. Kayla is headed home to see her parents in San Diego. I was planning to spend the next ten days in my office, hunched over my desk, trudging forward. I convinced myself I was lucky to have so much undivided time to work on my thesis. No matter that I’m already way ahead compared to my peers, or that Professor Olmsted forbade me from reaching out to her via email or text over the week under the guise that it would convince me to leave my office. I think her exact words were, “Go! Get out of here! Take a few days off, for Pete’s sake!”
“Oh my god, where is that green Revolve dress I wore last week?” Kayla asks, rifling through a pile of clothes on her bed.
This is a near-daily occurrence. Her side of the room is always so messy it’s a wonder she ever finds anything.
“Here!” she says, yanking a green sock out of the bottom of the pile. “No. Dammit.”
“Do you really need it?”
She levels me with a sharp-eyed glare. “Of course I do. I’m going home.”
“…to hang out with your parents,” I remind her.
“Yes, which means Daniel might be home too. You never know. So I have to bring that dress because it matches my eyes and Daniel used to always tell me I had nice eyes.”
“Is Daniel the guy who broke your heart in high school?”
“Yes. The one I utterly despise.”
“Interesting.”
“No. Not interesting. Don’t fill your head with ideas. This is simply a Must Be Hot When Facing My Enemy situation. Nothing more. Can you imagine if I ran into him wearing a t-shirt?”
I gasp in feigned horror, and she rolls her eyes.
“Anyway, are you sure you don’t want to come with me? My parents loved having you stay over winter break. My mom won’t shut up about how nice you were. I swear, you pick up one dirty dish in that house and it’s all Raelynn this, Raelynn that.”
“Tell your parents thank you for the invite, but I’m going to hang back here.”
“Ugh. Depressing. Tell me you aren’t going to work.”
“I’m going to work.”
She groans like she’s been shot then falls dramatically back onto her messy bed. “Why do you do this? Why don’t you go out? To a BAR? Meet a MAN!?” She pops up onto her elbows. “Will you let me activate Tinder on your phone? I’ve carefully curated all the photos I think you should use on your profile and have them saved in a folder on my computer. There’s a bikini picture and everything.”
“Are you serious?”
She rears back, as if offended that I would think she was kidding. “Dead serious. When you told me how long it’s been since you’ve had sex, I considered it a moral imperative to help you out.”
“It hasn’t been that long.”
She purses her lips, and I blush and look away.
“If I go more than a month…” Her eyes go wide. “It ain’t pretty. Remember how snappy I got last semester during my dry spell?”
“Yes. I almost moved out of this room.”
“Exactly. Now imagine what it’s going to feel like for you to get laid after all this time. Your head’s going to explode!”
I laugh and shake my head. “You’re ridiculous. I don’t need sex the way you do.”
She unveils a sly grin. “Oh that’s funny considering the recent search history on your computer.”
“KAYLA!”
“What? I needed to Google something and couldn’t find my laptop under all my crap.”
I flip over and bury my face in my pillow.
“What? You had quite a good selection going. No judgment here.”
“STOP.”
“Oh my god! Why are you such a prude?! It’s just sex! Maybe if you were getting some, you’d loosen up a little.”
“Are you leaving yet?”
“Not until tomorrow morning.”
“Shame.”
“You’ll miss me, admit it.”
“Not even one tiny bit.”
“Oh right, of course you won’t—you’ll have your computer to keep you company.”
I throw my pillow, and it’s immensely satisfying that it hits her square in the face. She grabs it and tucks it under her arms.
“All joking aside…do me a favor and get out of this room at least for one night while we’re all gone. Please.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Raelynn
I couldn’t very well ignore everyone in my life telling me what a sad sack I am, and I suppose it’s only fair that I take Ben up on his offer and attend the game. It’s just a basketball game. It’s not like there are any strings attached. It’s not like I spent four hours this afternoon picking out the perfect outfit, which is slightly ridiculous considering I only have the one basketball shirt that Kayla got me, so I was really only deciding if I wanted to pair it with jeans or jean cutoffs. I went with the shorts and my trusty pair of cowboy boots. Los Angeles is playing the San Antonio Spurs tonight, so in a way, I’m reppin’ both my home state and my current one.
I spent longer on my hair than I would ever admit to another living soul. It consists of perfect blonde beachy waves that I coaxed into existence nowhere near a beach. My makeup is subtle and natural, though I do borrow some of Kayla’s pink Chanel lipstick. I would have asked her for permission first, but then she’d want to know why I needed lipstick. I know I would have her blessing if she knew where I was headed tonight. God, she’d be proud of me if she could see me now, getting escorted through the Staples Center toward a private box.
While I realized the badge looked fancy when Ben handed it to me, I didn’t truly understand its significance. When I walked into the stadium earlier alongside all the other normal fans, I was asked to step aside and wait for a security escort.
“Oh that’s not necessary,” I said, trying to laugh off the request.
The woman scanning tickets smiled politely. “It’s customary for everyone with one of those badges. No worries, I see someone coming right now. You won’t have to wait long.”
Now as the security guard sticks close by me as we walk through the mezzanine, people part for us with mouths gaping. A few people snap my picture, and I want to laugh. If they only knew I’m a nobody.
We finally reach a discreetly concealed elevator, and the security guard tells me to scan my badge over a small sensor. I do and the doors whisk open immediately. Once we step inside, he inserts a key and presses the button with a capital P beside it.
“Thank you for walking with me,” I tell him with a timid smile.
I didn’t need the escort for security reasons—obviously—but I would have never figured out how to access the private suite on my own.
“No problem. I’ll drop you at the door of the suite. If you need to leave it for any reason, please use the phone to call for security. When you’re ready to leave the game, two guards will take you to your car.”
“Oh…okay. Thank you.”