So now you can see how being around James all my life has created a bit of a complex, right?
I was fourteen when my older brother also became my first crush. He came home from New York for the weekend with way more facial hair, biceps and tattoos, and for the first time, I saw him as a man. He scooped me up in his arms like he always did and squeezed me and feeling all of those muscles and hard abs pressed against me made me feel like I was going to faint.
I knew it was wrong and taboo, but I knew nothing would come from it. So, I felt safe, only living out this fantasy in my dark and twisted mind. But sometimes, late at night when the air was still and the house was quiet, I’d explore my body. Pretending it was his touch, his fingers, his mouth on me.
Somewhere in that same deep and twisted space, I imagined that one day, we’d cross that line. And in those moments, I damned my soul to hell for eternity because I knew given the chance, I’d take it.
Chapter 1
Gabrielle
“You have got to get your ass over here, like now, there are so many hot guys here. I’ve died and gone to hot guy heaven… Actually hell because not one of these guys here looks like an angel,” my best friend Harper, chirps into the phone, talking a million words a second, probably brought on by too many cups of jungle juice. It’s the last week of school before a month long holiday break, and I’m stuck in the library because, of course, I have a final on Friday and can’t get wasted like ninety-percent of the freshman class who have already completed their finals. Not to mention it’s fucking statistics, which I’ve struggled with all semester. I’m teetering on the line of a B plus—the lowest grade I’ve ever gotten, so I’m doing everything I can to maintain my A- in the class.
“Harp, I’m at the library, I told you,” I whisper into the phone before darting my eyes around the room to make sure I’m not disturbing anyone. There’s a blonde girl sleeping on her textbooks one table over and a guy at the other end of my table with his AirPods in and music blasting so loud I’m surprised he hasn’t burst an eardrum.
“But that cute guy from our business class is here!” The music is loud behind her making her scream into the phone.
I pull it away and put the phone in front of my lips. “It’s too loud, text me,” I tell her and hang up before she can protest.
The bubbles appear instantly, and although I have zero interest in the guy from our business class, I know Harper does, and I feel bad that I’m not there to be her wing woman. The thoughts instantly float away when my phone buzzes again. I can’t even stop the embarrassingly large smile from crossing my face when I see his name and picture on the screen.
“James.” I smile. “I’m at the library,” I whisper, even though nothing short of death could force me to cut a conversation short with him.
“Hi, beautiful.” I can hear the smile in his voice too, just like whenever he talks to me. I fucking melt. It wasn’t a surprise to hear this praise from him. He’s always told me how beautiful I am and how perfect I am. If I even had an inkling that he is as fucked up as I am, I would think he’s flirting with me. But there’s no way.
James is perfect.
He doesn’t make mistakes.
“Have you left the library this semester? I swear every time I talk to you, you’re studying.”
It’s true, I spent my first semester at Columbia University with my head in the books, probably going to only two or three parties total. I partied my way through my senior year of high school and by graduation, I was over it. I had an older brother and sister who influenced me probably far too early which means by the time I got to college it all felt very been there, done that. Besides, I wanted my parents to be proud of me. I wanted Monica, who’d become practically my best friend despite our eight year age difference, to be proud of me. Most importantly, I wanted James, the love of my life, to be proud of me. At twenty-nine, he’s one of the youngest stock brokers at his firm and is flying up the ranks; he may even be a vice president by the time he’s thirty-five.
He’d gone to Columbia for both undergrad and grad school, which is only part of the reason I pushed so hard to go here myself. The other part is that James lives a stone’s throw from my dormitory, and if I ever need space or quiet time to study or a hot bath, I can show up at James’ penthouse apartment.
“My last final is tomorrow,” I whisper, “and it’s goddamn statistics.”
“Yikes. I know how you are with math. You need some help?” Visions of us acting out a teacher student fantasy come charging through my brain and I slam my eyes shut before it gets too far. “And Gab, it’s almost midnight; you know I don’t like you walking home by yourself at night.”
“Who says I’m by myself?”
He chuckles. “I know damn well Harper isn’t with you. Besides, I saw her Instagram story that she’s at some party.” I briefly wonder why my best friend and older brother are friends on social media but James told me it was purely to spy on me and the company I keep. Harper thinks my brother is the hottest man on Earth so I understand her incentive to be friends.
“I have other friends, James,” I snap. Harper is my closest friend and also my roommate, but I do have other friends.
“Gab, I didn’t mean it like that, I just don’t know a lot of college kids with your work ethic. It’s late and the Thursday before the holidays, most people are out partying even if they do have a final tomorrow.” He sighs. “Let me come get you and you can study here. I even cooked.”
“You cooked?” James Calloway can do a lot of things but cooking is not one of them.
“Okay, I got takeout. The point is you don’t have to.” I chuckle because whenever I do go to James’ apartment, I cook a week’s worth of meals for him because he really does survive on takeout and Red Bull.
“What did you get?”
“Chinese from the place we like.”
My stomach grumbles at the thought as I think about the fact that the Adderall I’d taken is starting to wear off and I am actually kind of hungry now.
“Okay, I’m at Milstein,” I tell him, referring to the undergrad library that’s closest to my dorm room. I start packing up my stuff and he chuckles.
“I knew it. Okay hurry up, I’m outside.”
“You’re here?”
“Yes, I worked late and knew you had a final tomorrow, so I thought I would swing by just in case. Come on, I’m hungry.”
I throw the rest of my books in my backpack and slide my computer into its case before moving towards the exit.
“Okay, see you in a second.” I end the call and immediately turn my camera on selfie mode. My hair is down, but I put on one of those headbands I typically use to work out in to keep it out of my face. It’s a little longer than my shoulders and I always keep it straight and sleek as opposed to letting it go natural. I know I should be prouder of my naturally curly hair, but more than likely years of growing up in Connecticut has me apprehensive about letting my wild tresses go free. Every once in a while, during the summer, I’ll wear it curly if I’m at the beach or the pool or on vacation, but for the most part, my flat iron is my best friend.