Page 23 of Notorious Man on Campus

“Hi Willow. I see you caught up with my man, Brick,” Nyla says.

There’s no way I can prevent my dick from springing into full roaring action at her words as she wraps her arms around mine, attaching herself to my side even while Willow is attached to my front.

Fuck. Now I have two unwanted women attached to me. One bores me and the other scares the shit out of me, the way she threatens my self-control. The way she invades my headspace and the way she’s more than forbidden fruit. She’s a fucking death sentence to my family. Poison to my sense of well-being. And fucking heady past the sexual point of no return.

My man? Did she just refer to me as her man? WTF? I don’t get a chance to express my outrage, because Willow is right on that bold-ass claim.

“What? Are you insane? Brick’s not your man. You expect me to believe that story?” She laughs as if Nyla is lower than the dirt under her feet. She’s fucking mean. To Nyla. And I know it’s because Nyla’s not a rich spoiled brat like her. It’s the one thing I can’t tolerate and never could, and even if Majik didn’t ask me to watch out for Nyla’s vulnerability with the rich pricks, I would do it anyway on principle.

“What makes you think that?” I say to Willow, taking her arm from around my neck and removing it as gently as possible and conscious of the need to not cause a scene. Because even though no one is supposed to have phones for vids, I know Dylan was right when he referred to our plan as being full of holes. Our precautions are less than perfect. So I slide my eyes around the room as Nyla looks up at me in barely disguised shock, her cheeks pink and her hold on me tighter, more purposeful than before. Shit.

“You,” she says, but she’s faking the confidence in her response as she pokes her finger in my chest. “You said you don’t date, right?” She looks down her nose at Nyla, looks her up and down. I notice the instant she realizes Nyla isn’t the raggedy version of Cinderella tonight, that she’s the Cinderella dressed in a ball gown wearing funky kickass glass slippers in the form of very cool ankle boots, now that I’m looking. I’ll need to reimburse Dooley because he’s gone above and beyond turning this favor into a serious fairytale makeover.

Willow darts her eyes back up to Nyla’s then narrows them. “Where’d you get the new clothes? Did you borrow them from someone? Because I doubt they’re yours.”

I see Nyla’s chin jut up, but her eyes look vulnerable, acknowledging the truth of Willow’s words.

“She didn’t borrow them,” I say. “They were a gift.” I’ll let that sink in, let her jump to the incorrect conclusion that I gave Nyla the clothes. Willow turns to me, her mouth open and her cool lost for a few blinks. I find myself enjoying her lost poise very much and put my hand on Nyla’s for a celebratory gesture of scoring big points for the good guys.

“You’re a liar, Brick. No wonder the girls call you Brick the prick.” I laugh because I’ve heard it before and I don’t care. Unless someone makes a video out of it. A glance at Nyla tells me she doesn’t think it’s funny at all. She goes pale and starts to loosen her grip on me.

“Willow, Brick’s not—”

“I’m not a prick, but as you can see, I’m not going to the homecoming dance with you, Willow.”

“You’re going with her?” She doesn’t look at Nyla when she says it and I feel both girls flinch with tension.

“No. I’m not going with anyone. I told you that. Nyla and I are old friends.” It’s about time to stop the charade because Nyla needs to detach herself from me and we need to get real. So maybe the old friends reference is a slight exaggeration, but it’s not a lie.

“Old friends?”

“I used to date Brick’s brother Jimmy.” Nyla says it with pride, and I almost flinch.

“Jimmy Blanick? The former QB who…” She looks from me to Nyla, mollified now. I don’t see a need to mention that Nyla used to work for the family and neither does Nyla. Why feed Willow’s sense of entitlement on some pretense that she’s above the rest of the girls?

“Yes. Four years ago.” Nyla waves her hand. “Jimmy and Brick couldn’t be more different.” It’s a true statement, but I feel like I’m on the short end of the differences between us, needing to make up for my lack of ingratiating charm. I don’t have the ability to love everyone around me or open myself up like a patient on the operating table to every strange potential friend like Jimmy can.

Willow makes a move like she’s going to wrap herself around me again when my wingman Dylan finally swoops in to take me away.

“You’re up for arm wrestling,” he says, sweaty and breathless with a red cup of cold beer in each hand. He gives one to me, separating Willow from me and winking at Nyla. She grins with relief and appreciation as if she’s on the same team, my team. My guts bristle and my heart thuds, but I keep my irritation to myself.

Nyla is my enemy. She can’t be on my team. Remember that.

* * *

Arm wrestling is hard work, especially when I go three rounds to end up champ in a final grueling match with fucking Trey. He’s a tough SOB and I make a mental note to show up at his hockey games this season. I need to support all the guys in the house. I trot up the back stairs to my room to change my shirt. There’s a few people up here and I make sure they’re all invited guests of our guys, checking out hands and pockets for phones like I’ve joined some warped secret social media police organization. The coast seems clear and I head for my room.

On the way out, I’m not so lucky. Like a bad penny, I come face-to-face with Willow once again.

“You’re stalking me.” There’s no doubt about it. She corners me against my bedroom door and it’s no secret that she’s had a few drinks since we last chatted. She’s all sloppy against me, rubbing her hands where they don’t belong and trying to kiss my neck or worse, give me a fucking hickey. I spy Nyla as she reaches the top of the stairs and then freezes. Is she stalking me too? No matter, I beg her with my eyes not to leave, a sad state of affairs when I have to rely on my enemy twice in one night to rescue me from a drunk stalker girl.

“I’m not. I’m just following you because you’re so cute, you know that?”

“You need to go home, Willow.”

“Will you take me home?”

“You can walk.” I turn her around. Her sorority house is less than a hundred yards away. I try and lead her to the stairs, but she digs in her heels.