The final bell rings, and the hallway floods with students. I’m about to give up, and I should, because there’s no reason for me to be obsessing over this. I mean, who cares if some girl from the Briar Cliffs hates me? Why should she matter? But then I see a flash of red hair and say, “Come with me. Please?”
Vandy sighs. “Yeah, let me text Reyn. He was going to the weight room with Emory anyway.”
Students file out of the academic buildings and head in a variety of directions; toward the gym for basketball, the natatorium for swim, the parking lot to head home, or back to the dorms for residents. I take the most direct path toward Hayden and have to keep slowing my pace for Vandy.
“How’s the concussion?” she asks, once she’s finished her text.
“Better.” I instinctively touch the back of my neck. “Another month of rest and then I should be cleared for lacrosse.”
“And you’ve stayed away from the fights?”
“Yes, mom.” If the Devils were divided into positions, Vandy would definitely fall under the role of Den Mother. “I’m sticking to car stuff now.”
She frowns. “Do you think that’s any safer? I’ve seen the videos. It looks pretty dangerous.”
“It’s only dangerous if you’re bad at it.” I flash her a grin. “Fortunately, I’m an amazing driver.”
She gives me a look that’s full of steel and warning. “So was Reyn.”
Ouch. Walked into that one, didn’t I. “It’s not really the same,” I tell her, and although I want to make a comment about their accident having involved a deer—which isn’t likely to happen at a rowdy meet-up—it’ll just open her up to a million other possibilities. Instead, I pull ahead of her when we reach Hayden, putting in the code and opening the door.
“Where, exactly, are we going?” she asks, once we’re inside.
“Georgia’s room.”
It’s four flights to the senior hall. About halfway there, I realize this might have been a bad idea. Vandy and stairs aren’t the best mix. She’s almost a whole flight behind me and I double back, chest twinging at the grimace on her face.
She must see the look I give her, because she snaps, “I’m fine. I’ve just been out of PT because of the—” she snaps her mouth closed, but eventually mutters, “—holiday.”
Ah, right. Three weeks in rehab means she hasn’t been getting her physical therapy. Fuck. Knowing Vandy, if I offered to help, she’d probably bite my head off. Instead, I stick at her side, going her pace, trying to act more patient than I feel.
Once we’re on the fourth floor, I lead us to the familiar room. After the Stairway to Hell rite, Georgia and I hooked up a few more times. Nothing serious, just some oral here and there. Despite being one of the horniest people I know, Georgia’s got some weird hang-ups about sex, but I wasn’t about to complain. She’s hot, funny, and was completely down for no commitments.
When we reach her room, I bang on the door, sparing a red-faced Vandy a covert glance. A moment later, Georgia opens it, her expression turning to confusion when she sees the two of us together.
“Hey, what’s going—”
“Is your roommate here?” I ask, pushing into the room. Sugar’s sitting on the bed, legs crossed, an ancient laptop open on her thighs. Even from here, I can tell it’s a real junker, a lot like her car. It’s covered in stickers that are peeling at the edges, and I’m pretty sure her screen is being held together by duct tape.
The instant she sees me her entire body goes rigid. “Oh, hell no.” She spits, “Get out!”
“Bass,” Georgia says in warning.
“I know. I know.” She told me to back off, but Sugar’s the one in my territory. Her car is at my garage. She’s sitting in my class. She’s feeding my cats. She’s living with my ex-oral buddy. She’s everywhere, looking at me like I’m some class-A jackoff. Like I’m an asshole. Like I’m a monster.
Suddenly, the thought comes to me, and I realize exactly why I can’t fucking breathe until she hears me out.
She’s looking at me like I’m Heston.
I grab Vandy by the shoulders and direct her over to Sugar. I don’t miss the look exchanged between her and Georgia.
“Please tell her,” I say to Vandy, “that people like my impulsivity. They find it endearing, actually.”
V gives me a look that could kill, then turns to Sugar, sticking out her hand. “Hi, I’m Vandy.”
Sugar, back ramrod straight, stares at her hand and doesn’t take it. She bites out a slow, “I’m Sugar.”
“Oh, I like that name! Very unique,” V says with a smile. “You just transferred here?”
Sugar’s eyes dart to me and then back to Vandy. “Yeah, it’s my first day.”
“How was—"
I cover my mouth with my fist and cough. “Ahem.”
Neither look my way.
“How was it?” Vandy repeats.
Sugar’s eyes are still all tight and narrowed, but she tensely offers, “Okay, I guess. A lot different from my school back home.” I don’t miss the way her gaze jumps to her bag, like she’s calculating the distance between her and that knife she probably has hidden in there. “But I wanted different, so I can’t really complain.”
“I can’t imagine,” Vandy says, shifting her weight in a way that says that climb up the stairs hasn’t been kind to her. “I’ve basically gone here my whole life—”
“Are you shitting me?” I explode, anger bubbling to the surface. “Vandy! I brought you here for a reason! Not to make friends with the new girl!”
She whips around to glower at me. “What has gotten into you today?”
A hand rests on my shoulder and I jerk around. Georgia glares at me. “Bass, dude, you need to go.”
“I’ll go when Vandy tells her.” I thrust my hand in my hair. What’s wrong with these girls? Why won’t they back me up?
“You’ll go now,” Georgia says. “Or I’ll call Reyn and tell him you’re acting like a dick to V.”
“I’m not acting like a—” I look at V, whose lips form a thin line. She doesn’t exactly look hurt but I’m not seeing any Team Bass vibes from her. Unbelievable. These are my friends—my Devils—my girls. I’d take a bullet for them. If someone were messing with Vandy or Georgia, I don’t even care. Concussion or not, I’d be throwing fists. But here I am, getting fuck-all.
I throw up my hands. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t need to justify myself to any of you.” I cut my eyes at Sugar. Her expression makes it clear that I’m exactly who she’s been expecting me to be. “Fucking women.”
I storm out of the room, slamming the door behind me, knowing one thing for sure; I don’t need approval from any of them.
An hour later, I’m at the garage, blowing off some steam by pulling out the Mustang’s radiator hose. I spit a curse at a hose clamp and rip it away, the skin of my knuckles scraping harshly against a bolt.
“Motherfucker.” I hiss, watching as the blood runs down the back of my hand. I sag in defeat. This car has not been kind to me today. It’s almost like it knows I was a dick before and now it’s punishing me by proxy. “I’m not the bad guy here,” I growl at the engine.