Pathetic.
He lights up, shooting that shit-eating grin my way. “I’ll be late tonight. Going to do some wining, dining, and then some fucking.”
What poor girl did he get his claws into this time? Jesus Christ. Guys like Traven give guys like us a bad name. Trust me, we don’t need help with that shit. We already have a hard time keeping out of trouble.
The guys make their way out of the kitchen at the sound of Lockridge and me. Easton peers between us, hesitant. He knows the shit that went down at the beginning of the school year. How Traven here tried to piss all over what’s never going to be his.
“Problem?” he asks, appearing aloof as he slows down and lazily leans against the banister.
Not surprisingly, he’s right between Traven and me. Even the dumbest motherfucker can see his muscles are strung tight, ready for a fight, or to break one up if need be. He’s not fooling anyone.
“Nope,” Traven pops the P as he dashes down the rest of the stairs. “Heading out. See you guys later. Id’s say wish me luck, but I don’t need it.” His grin turns lascivious.
Leo snarks, “So full of yourself, motherfucker.”
Traven wiggles his brows while grabbing a thin jacket. “And she’s going to be full of me tonight. Then I’ll drop her just like I did all the others.”
I take a step forward for whatever reason, and Easton is there, barely bumping me back with his arm as if to make me realize I’m close to losing it if I’m going after Traven for no reason. He does it almost imperceptibly, without Traven noticing. It’s enough to knock me back to my senses, the haze of red slowly dissipating from my vision.
Traven leaves without fault, and the only thing I can do is stand there, a bad feeling gathering in the pit of my stomach. Shaking my head, I look back at the guys, then back toward the door. “I have a bad feeling about that guy.”
“Probably because he hit on Harloe,” Easton volleys, shrugging.
“No. It’s something else,” I quip. “There’s just … a whole lot of bad in that guy. I can feel it.”
I shake my head in utter humiliation.
Not for me, no. For the person who thought it was okay to tell Jenna that naked Fridays are a thing.
Oh, don't get me wrong—they certainly can be. However, that's when you find yourself a nice guy, do the hanky-panky with him, and get yourself hitched. You could possibly, beforehand, instate a naked Friday if you're crazy enough.
But never, and I do mean never, should naked Friday be a thing when you're living in your college apartment with a friend. A friend who's a girl and wholeheartedly straight.
"Jenna," I groan, covering my eyes.
I'm supposed to be working on this essay that's due before mid-term, but I can't focus when my roommate is waltzing around in the nude like it's a normal occurrence. You'd think after living with her for the last two months, I'd be used to it. Needless to say, I'm not. Doubt I'll ever be.
She scoffs. "Nothin' you haven't seen before, girl."
Exactly. "I don't want to see that," I deadpan.
Jenna laughs under her breath before disappearing into her room, shutting the door behind her. I wait the extra minute or two just in case she forgot something and needs to come back out. She's done that before. It caught me completely off guard. That poor egg sandwich didn't even stand a chance against the floor.
Sighing after the allotted time, I hesitantly uncover my eyes. Unfortunately, my eyes are pinned to her door as a secondary measure. She's like a ninja, fast and stealthy. One minute, you're eating your dinner, and the next, you dang near take a nipple out before she snuck up on you.
I still don't think she's forgiven me for that yet.
Tucking back into my assignment, I get lost in all the analytical jargon we have to use for our business ethics class. Mr. Erikson, while fair and just, has a relentless need for us to make sure we put the correct terminology in our term papers—any papers we complete in his class, for that matter. He keeps saying it will not be his lousy teaching that doesn't prepare up for our chosen careers, that it will be our lack of effort.
I have to say, that’s one of the only things I agree with him about. And I really need to be ready for when that day comes. Being a single mother, I already have a mark against me. Not many places want to hire someone with a child, especially if they're single. Oh, and especially if they're a woman. People are real anti-feminist nowadays. And I won’t let them try to find something wrong with my work ethic. I'll work harder and longer than anyone else to prove my worth.
While reading through my textbook, I stop to mark several important sources that could aid me in my mid-term paper. In doing so, I almost tune out the sound of someone knocking on our door. Tilting my head in that direction, I glance at the door and wait for it to come again. Someone's probably lost or something, or they ordered delivery, and the guy probably has the wrong door. They'll get the picture.
But when the knock comes again, my eyebrows furrow. I wasn't expecting anyone—not that anyone comes to see me anyway. Allowing my head to fall onto the back of the couch, I yell, "Jenna, I think someone's at the door for you! Is that why you decided to start naked Friday early?"
In a blitz of movement, her door opens as she starts whisper-squealing. "I knew he was only joking!"
"Joking? What are—you know what ... I'm not even going there," I say, waving her off with my hand.
I heave an exhale of relief, seeing that she at least put a T-shirt on to answer the door. A girl can only answer the door naked so many times before people knock on it just to see her goods. I had to put my foot down on that one. Jenna's life may have been sheltered, but there's no way she's going to be this rebellious with me around. Someone has to reign her crazy in.
Laughing under my breath at the thought of someone taming that girl, I get back to work, only to be stopped a moment later when Jenna calls out, "Um, Lo, you may want to come see this." The breathless awe in her tone has me intrigued. There aren’t many things that get Jenna into that state. Puppies, kittens, hot men with no shirts on. But I believe people call that swooning.
Setting my things on the sofa, I stand up and fix my shirt. I have to make sure it's covering the muffin top that still manages to escape over my yoga pants. The only downside to having a child? What people have categorized as the “mom bod.”
I pad softly toward the door, cursing the tiny apron I still have post-pregnancy. Jenna is standing there, all sensually leaning against the door, laughing at whatever the person is saying on the other side. When she does one of her girlish awws, my heart practically leaps into my stomach.
Surely, my brother wouldn't do this to me.
Quickening my pace, I get to the door, only to be taken aback by who's on the other side.
"Traven?"
Now I know why she was practically oohing and awing. While it gave me a heart attack for about two seconds, it's nothing. The guy I haven't talking to in, damn, what seems like forever, is standing on the other side of the door, spiffed up and smelling delicious. His cologne drifts over the stagnant hallway air, causing saliva to pool in my mouth. My eyes can't help but track down his lithe, muscular frame.