I've been reduced to a basket case by the time I hear the key turn in the
lock. It's nearly midnight. I left the party the moment Summer called to tell
me what happened to Nora and that they were on their way to see the dean.
I would've hopped in my car and met her there, but she insisted I stay home.
Something about too many cooks in the kitchen.
Apparently, her father attended the meeting via speakerphone, which is a
relief. I feel better knowing someone close to Summer was there to support her.
Now I dive off the couch and take her in my arms before she can even shut
the front door. "I'm so glad you're back," I groan. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she assures me.
"How's Nora?" I ask as Summer unbuttons her coat.
"She's fine too. I karate chopped the bastard before he could do any real
harm."
I take the coat from her cold hands and hang it up for her. "And the dean?"
"He said he'd take care of it."
"He freaking better. There's still no chance of Nora going to the cops,
though?"
"Even my dad said there's no point." Summer runs both hands through her
blonde hair. "I hate this world we live in, Fitzy, where shitty people can get
away with shitty things."
"I know," I say soberly. Shitty things do happen, but I'm confident Erik
Laurie will face real consequences.
Only last week I was reading online about three professors from major
institutions who had been fired in the last month alone. One of them had even
had tenure. Sexual harassment is a huge topic in the news these days—no way
will Briar let something as serious as this slide.
I press my face to Summer's neck and breathe in my favorite scent on earth.
Chanel No. 5. The only scent a lady should ever own, someone told me once. "I
was worried when you told me what happened."
"I was worried when I saw it happen." She takes my hand and leads me
toward the stairs. "Let's not talk about it anymore. I just want to take a hot
shower, and then get in bed and catch up on The Bachelor."
My mouth tips up in a wry grin. I never dreamed I'd fall for a girl who's into
cheesy reality shows. Ever.
But luckily, that's just one facet to Summer Heyward-Di Laurentis.
There is a plethora of other sides to her. The side that teases her older
brothers. The side that adores her parents. The side that instantly becomes best
friends with people, because she goes into every relationship with a full plate of
trust. Other people remain guarded when they meet new people, but not
Summer. Summer is trusting and open.
And she's smart, in spite of her writing difficulties. Her vocabulary rivals
mine. She listens to longwinded fantasy tomes on audiobook and actually
discusses them with me. I've never had a girlfriend who could sit there and
dissect Sir Nornan's journey to the Glass Forest and recite all the reasons he was
stupid to use the angel's sword, prematurely revealing its existence to the cave
dwellers that protect the Great Beyond.
So yes, Summer is everything.
She's my muse. My sketches of her are already being transferred onto my
computer to create the assets for the new video game I'm designing.
She's my laughter, because everything she says makes me laugh.
She's my trigger, because holy shit do we scream at each other sometimes. I
never knew I was capable of expressing raw emotion, didn't think I even had it
in me.
She's my desire, because I can't take a step without wanting to be inside her.
But most of all, she's my heart.
"I love you," I tell her as we walk down the hall to my room.
"Love you too," she whispers.
Her gaze flickers briefly to Hunter's door.
"He's not home," I murmur, and I know we're both thinking about how
much we hate that our roommate is still pissed at us.
But Hunter will get over it. And if he doesn't, then I'll take that L. With a
heavy heart, of course, but I've gained something I know can heal the pain of the
loss. I've gained Summer.
For the first time ever, I truly feel like I'm living life instead of hiding in the
shadows. My folks can keep hating each other, but the next time one of them
calls to spew their hatred, I'll make it clear that I don't want that negativity
poisoning my life anymore. Even if it means hanging up the phone. Hell, I had
no qualms hanging up on a billionaire earlier.
When I was waiting for Summer to come home from the dean's house, I did
take the time to think about Kamal's job offer. And I've concluded that maybe
he does need someone like me at Orcus Games. Someone who won't kiss his
ass. Someone who'll tell him when he's being a jackass. So I'm toying with the
offer, but I'll decide later.
Right now, I want to take a shower with the woman I love and then climb
under the covers and watch a silly reality show with her.
"You have the worst taste in in television shows," I inform her as we enter
my room.
Her green eyes dance mischievously. "But you love me anyway, right?"
I tug her toward me, my lips seeking hers. "Yup." I give her a slow, teasing
kiss. "I love you anyway.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE END
Are you ready for Brenna's story?? A lil sneak peak of it ....
Brenna
My date is three minutes late. Now, I'm not a total bitch. Usually I'll give guys a
five-minute window. I can forgive five minutes of tardiness.
At seven minutes, I still might be somewhat receptive, especially if the
lateness is accompanied by a heads-up call or text informing me he's going to be
late. Traffic is an evil mistress. Sometimes she fucks you.
At ten minutes, my patience would be running thin. And if the inconsiderate
ass is both ten minutes tardy and didn't call? Later, jerk. I'm walking right out
the door.
At fifteen minutes, shame on me. Why the hell am I still at the restaurant?
Or, in this particular case, the diner.
I'm sitting in a booth at Della's, the '50s-themed diner in the small town of
Hastings, which is where I'm calling home for the next two years. Luckily, I
don't have to call my father's home 'home.' Dad and I might live in the same
town, but before I agreed to transfer to Briar University (where he coaches the
men's hockey team), I made it clear I wouldn't be moving back in with him. I
already left that nest. No way am I flying back to it and subjecting myself to
Dad's overprotectiveness and terrible cooking again.
"Can I get you another coffee, hon?" The waitress, a curly-haired woman
wearing a white-and-blue polyester uniform, eyes me sympathetically. Yeah. I'm
pretty sure she knows I've been ditched.
"No, thanks. Just the bill, please."
As she walks off, I pick up my phone and shoot a quick text off to my friend
Summer. This is all her fault and therefore she needs to face my wrath.
ME: He stood me up.
Summer answers instantly, as if she's been sitting by her phone waiting for a
report. Actually, forget 'as if.' She totally has. My new friend is unapologetically
nosy.
SUMMER: OMG! NO!!
ME: Yes
SUMMER: What. a. dick. I am so so so so sorry, Bee.
ME: Meh. Part of me's not surprised. He's a football player. They're notorious
douchecanoes
SUMMER: I thought Jules was different
ME: U thought wrong
Three dots appear to indicate she's typing a response, but I already know
what it will be. Another long-winded apology, which I'm not in the mood to read
at the moment. I'm not in the mood for anything but paying for my coffee,
walking back to my tiny apartment, and taking off my bra.
Stupid football player. I actually put makeup on for this jerk. Yes, it was just
supposed to be an evening coffee date, but I still made an effort.
I bend my head as I rummage around in my wallet for small bills. When a
shadow falls over the tabletop, I assume it's the waitress returning with my
check.
I assume wrong.
"Jensen," drawls an insolent male voice. "Got stood up, eh?"
And then, to my horror, the very last person I want to see slides into the other
side of the booth.