Page 32 of Notorious Man on Campus

Against Brick.

“You’re still stuck on him, aren’t you?” I say. She startles and laughs, but I see her flinch. “I wouldn’t blame you. Confession time—so am I.” I heave a big sigh. “Why do you want to go to homecoming with him. Why is it such a big deal?”

“Who said it was a big deal? It would be cool, sure, but that’s all. You could ask almost any girl at SPU and she’d say the same thing. To be on Brick’s arm at homecoming would make her the envy of campus, a sure thing for homecoming queen.”

“Not to mention a sure thing to spend the night with Brick.” I swallow hard, but force myself to say the next words. “I hear he’s amazing in bed.”

“You mean you don’t know?” She laughs.

I shake my head, hoping my lack of acting ability doesn’t give me away. But luck and the fact that she wants to believe my lie are on my side.

“Poor, poor girl. What kind of thing did you have with him anyway? A school-girl crush? Let me guess—unrequited love?” Her comment strikes a blow and cuts too deep, almost hitting on the truth. Possibly an exact bull’s-eye, but I refuse to believe that because I know Brick and I have something, that he feels it even if he pretends hard otherwise. I laugh with her.

“That’s me. Pathetic, huh?”

“Oh no, don’t be hard on yourself.” She shrugs and puts an arm around me. “It happens to the best of us. You’re in good company right along with most of the girls in Kappa Kappa Gamma. Brick is notorious for leaving broken hearts littered all over campus.”

“I wonder why? It’s not like he leads them on—us on?”

“It’s the challenge of him. Plus it doesn’t hurt that he’s so fucking hot.”

“And decent.”

She raises a brow and nods. “Sure. I guess he is.”

“Didn’t you ever wonder why he refuses to have a girlfriend or date or even bring anyone to the homecoming dance? At least, that’s what I hear about him.”

“I suppose, but what does it matter? I’m no shrink.” She pauses and looks me over. “You’re not into psychoanalyzing people are you?”

I laugh. “Not my strength.” It’s the truth, though it’s not exactly the answer to her question.

She checks her Apple watch. “Hey, it’s been fun chatting, but I have to go.”

“Sure. I’m glad I ran into you.” She waves and jogs back toward her sorority house and I pick up my jog where I left off, not having got very far. My head still aches, though it’s dulled somewhat compared to the ache in my heart. I need to run until my head is completely clear.

Good luck with that. I could end up running for the rest of my life if that’s the goal.

Chapter 13

Brick

Dooley’s daily social media report is the only interruption from classes and football—and eating. Meals are tense, though I force myself to behave like everything’s fine. Managing to avoid interaction with both Nyla and Majik all week accomplishes my number-two goal. In spite of being almost blinded by her sunshiny smile, I refuse to interact with Nyla, and Dylan bails me out of the need to converse with her when she forces it on a couple of occasions.

I’m lucky she’s not ballsy enough to march upstairs and bang my door down, but I know she doesn’t want to be that girl, especially after witnessing the incident with Willow.

Nyla’s appearances diminish and it’s a relief. For the most part. It’s hard to gloss over that little corner of my guilty conscience that cares, that wonders if she’s okay. That feels bad because I hurt her. Fuck.

How do I undo that? How do I make up for the unforgivable mistake of going down on her without making another one?

The wedding is coming up and though it seems Nyla’s holding to our agreement to keep our relationship complication—my euphemism to ease my conscience about how bad I fucked up—to ourselves, the long car ride to Rochester looms as a challenge to my worn-out defenses.

I don’t want to be treated to Nyla’s brave sunny face in my rearview for four hours, but it’s not like I can do anything to make up for my blunder without giving her the wrong impression, leading her on.

* * *

The Wedding

Even though it pisses him off, I make Roman ride shotgun to keep Nyla and Majik in the back seat of my Mustang, still purring since I got it new for my sixteenth birthday. It’s a four hour trek to Rochester, NY. I keep the earbuds plugged in and that pisses Roman off even more until an hour in when he turns in his seat and engages Nyla in conversation. The jerk likes her and he’s not hiding it. Fuck. Sliding surreptitious glances in my rearview from time to time, I monitor Nyla’s reaction to Roman. She’s treating him to the usual warm-summer-day treatment that she reserves for people she likes. My gut wrenches tight. After two hours I exit off the two-lane highway.