Never (7 page)

“So I take it there’s trouble in paradise?” She blew out a plume of smoke and her eyes were neon as it dissipated.

“No,” I lied.
Man, she’s a big reason why you and Juliet aren’t talking
. I shooed it away with a bitter laugh when Candi actually looked sympathetic. “Please. We both know you’re not all broken up about it.”

“I don’t take pleasure from you being sad, Lucas.”

“Is that right?”

She pulled the cigarette from her hand, staring out at the city. “We were never serious, but we used to talk. I’d like to think we were friends.” She pulled it back to her mouth, lips wrapped tightly around it.

Shit. Stop looking at her mouth
. “Friends, huh? Friends that did far more sleeping together than actual talking?”

“And I thoroughly enjoyed both,” she said with a sly grin.She moved closer and when I blinked, she was squeezed between my body and the railing, her beautiful mouth lush and tempting. She rose up on her tiptoes, her lips close to mine. Close enough that I could almost taste them.

Juliet.

The name ripped through the fog of booze and smoke I stepped back, separating. “I need to get out of here.”

The smooth and relaxed demeanor Candi had been portraying melted as she gripped my hand, voice frantic. “I could go with you. We could talk—” When I snatched my hand away she added. “Or not.” She licked her lips suggestively. “Whatever you need.”

I felt sick...and it was exactly what I deserved. “You can’t give me what I need. You never could—and you never will.”

I stumbled down the exit ramp, debating whether I could make it into a cab before I puked my guts out. The bile rose in my throat and I retched. When I came up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, one of the girls that had been sizing me up earlier could barely look at me.

I didn’t blame her.

I didn’t want to look at myself either.

Chapter Eight: Juliet

I paused and took a long gulp of my white chocolate mocha, ignoring the fact that it had long lost the heat that made the insulated cup a requirement.

Not that it mattered. I got the grande quad shot drink for the espresso. I'd been typing up a project for the past three hours and I’d barely put a dent in the stack of papers. And I stil had to proofread it.

After Kim stopped being sympathetic to my whining and asked why I didn't just type it directly into a Word document, I gave her a look that sent her hustling to the parlor to finish her homework. It was a valid question. Writing it all out then typing it all up doubled the work I had to do. I knew I needed to put the pencil and loose leaf paper away and bang it out on my keyboard. Ignoring Lucas online was not so easy.

Even though the paper was due in two days and I still had other assignments to do on top of that, I found myself re-reading the messages he sent, clicking over to the chat box to rehash just how sorry he was. If I really wanted to be productive, I'd go invisible or block him until I was ready to talk,k but I just couldn't bring myself to do that. We hadn't spoken in days, but the thought of putting an actual wall between us just didn't feel right.

The words on the paper blurred and my fingers froze on the keyboard as I looked at the minimized tab at the bottom of my laptop screen. The last message I got was over three hours ago.

I shouldn't have thought the worse. If you could let me explain...

But no explanation was necessary. What was there to say after he freaked out based on information he got from someone that wanted to break us up? Even though I wanted it to be okay, how could I say those words when the look in his eyes proved he didn't trust me?

I tossed back the rest of my ice cold latte and tried to focus. “Maslow's hierarchy of needs states that—”

Boom, boom!

I jumped, the abrupt sound catching me off guard.

Who was it? Kim had a key so she wouldn't be knocking. Male guest hours were over a couple of hours back, so it couldn't be Lucas.

I kicked my feet off my bed and padded over to the door, pulling it open slowly.

My dorm's resident assistant, Tasha, was usually a force to be reckoned with. She was always dressed in some meticulously perfect outfit, her braids always glossy and styled. Her makeup was always flawless and when she smiled, she made every girl around her look homely in comparison.

The Tasha in front of me didn't even look like she resided in the same zip code as her usual glamorous self. She was in a dingy SU tee and some gray leggings with flip flops. Her hair was hidden behind a loud floral scarf and all makeup had been scrubbed from her face.

Her lips spread into a scowl. "You're seeing Lucas McNamara, right?"

"What?" I said, taken aback by the question. She didn't look like she was in the mood to repeat herself, so I answered her. "Uh, yeah?"

"Come with me." She didn't leave anytime for debate, starting down the hall toward the stairwell. I barely had time to grab my keys.

I followed behind her, starting to get agitated because she nearly closed the door in my face. She was clearly pissed about something and directing that anger at me for some bizarre reason.

"Tasha, what's going on?"

She slowed. "I thought you knew. The only coherent thing he said was that he's been texting you but you were ignoring him."

My cheeks tingled with embarrassment. "I don't understand what that has to do with you."

"I know, right?" she said sarcastically. "I'm just minding my business, getting ready for bed since I have to be up early in the morning and someone starts banging on my door like there's some sort of emergency. I open it and find out there's no emergency—just Lucas McNamara in front of the dorm, wasted off his ass."

I paused at the exit, stomach clenching. "What?"

"Your boyfriend is trashed," she said her voice hot with annoyance. "If you can't get him under control, I'm calling campus security." She held open the door for me, but I was rooted in place inside the building. She let out a huff, probably ready to write both of us off, but she looked at my face and her eyes softened. "If you're having a thing, you don't have to see him. I just know campus security is notorious for power trips and they'd take him to the police station just to pat themselves on the back."

She was giving me an out that by all rights, I should take. The last time I tried to have a conversation with Lucas while he was plastered, things did not go well. A night in a police station so he could sober up and have a hard look at himself was tempting, but I couldn't do that to him.

"I'm good," I said, rolling my shoulders back. I tried to prepare myself and pushed away the memory of how alcohol turned him into a totally different person. "Thanks for not calling campus security."

"No problem," she said with a nod. "I would get him in a cab and headed home as soon as possible."

I mumbled an okay and stepped outside, instantly aware of the fact that I was just in a tank and Soffe shorts. I crossed my arms against the chill, eyes finding him immediately. He was kicked back on the bench like he was just relaxing and not completely tripping out.

"Finally!" he said loudly. "I sent for you half an hour ago." He stood up, unfairly gorgeous in a pale blue button down shirt and jeans that clung to his lean, muscular frame in all the right ways. When he whipped out the dimple, I forgot what we'd been fighting about—until the breeze whipped a noseful of alcohol in my direction. He smelled like he drank the entire bar.

"You don't send for me," I said, keeping my distance. "I don't work for you and you don't own me."

"We're going back there, huh? Back to how I'm rich and you're poor and blah blah blah?" He said, barely able to stand.

I crossed my arms, reminding myself to not take this personal, then kicking myself because I had every right to. "Absolutely. Maybe it makes you feel better to pretend you're like everyone else, but you're not, Lucas. Entitlement is coming off you in waves. You have no right to just show up when you want and say—" My voice split in two, the sting of our last encounter overwhelming me. I cleared my throat and steeled my senses as I stepped closer, holding out my hand. "Give me your phone."

He cocked his head to the side. "What?"

"I'm calling you a cab."

"But I just got here," he winked. He moved closer. Even inebriated there was something about him that made me very aware of how I wasn't wearing much clothing. There was no denying our attraction...or denying that I wanted him.

He reached out, trailing his fingertips along my jaw as his tongue slid across his lips.

"Don't," I said softly. Weakly.

He stopped stroking me, but he didn't remove his fingers from my skin. "I needed to see you."

I couldn't stand looking into his eyes, so I glanced away. "Now you've seen me. You've gotta go before my RA calls campus security."

His lips quirked into a smile. "You saying you don't want campus 5-0 to cart me off to jail?"

I pushed his chest, smiling despite my best efforts to be cold as ice. "Quit it. I'm mad at you."

He didn't budge, fingers reaching and tucking hair out of my eyes. "That settles it then. I'm not going anywhere until we talk."

I gave him the most annoyed look I could muster, but I could barely hold it because his face was serious. I don't know if my nose was just numb to the booze scented cologne he had going on, but it was the last thing on my mind when I looked up at him. His eyes were intense and I was the one sobering up and standing at attention.

"I came here because there's a lot of things going on in my head. A lot of regrets about what went down between us when I..." He trailed off, his blue eyes lowering with guilt. He couldn't put it to words.

I had no problem calling it exactly what it was. "When you freaked out on me?"

"Yeah," he grunted with a sigh. "That." His touch lingered, like he wasn't quite ready to let go and really talk about the crapfest that happened. "I'd like to just pretend it never happened, but that never really works, does it?"

I knew it was a rhetorical question, but I nodded anyway. The two of us knew all too well the repercussions of tucking things away in the dark. The secrets never really go away; they just led to lies, monsters that sprung from the shadows when you least expected it.

He could barely sit still ten seconds ago but he was the one that went back to the bench, lowering himself down, looking up at me like some road weary prep with his collar popped, the cracks showing in his usually perfect exterior.

A part of me was starved for this communication, even while I ignored him. I wanted to understand how we'd already crashed and burned before we even began. But I didn't follow him to the bench, and he didn't ask me too.

"I've never done this before,” he said quietly. “This relationship thing."

"What?" I said incredulously. I remembered all too well the girls that came over to the house when we were kids, batting their eyes at him and draped over him like the designer bags and clothing they flaunted.

"I've dated. And I've had girlfriends," he clarified. "But this?" He gestured between the two of us. "This is new to me. I was never serious about them. I knew they were placeholders for someone important. Something real."

It was dark and I knew he couldn't see my cheeks reddening, but I still tilted my face away. I'd never get tired of him telling me I was special.

"So when I heard about you and that guy, I guess some sort of territorial thing kicked in." He looked up at me, his eyes slits of obsidian, his voice firm. "You're
mine
."

Wow. One sentence—and he'd gone from super sweet to super obnoxious. "I don't belong to you, Lucas. I don't belong to anyone."

"Don't you think I know that on a rational level?” he said, agitated. “That I trust you?"

I crossed my arms, knowing I couldn't give him the answer he wanted to hear. "Do you trust me, Lucas? Because based on what happened the last time we were together, you trust Candi. Me? Not so much."

He hurled daggers my way, eyes glittering in the dim light. "How many times do I have to apologize, Juliet? I told you I made a mistake. And when I saw Candi tonight, I reiterated how she needed to stay away from us."

A flash of anger cut through my chest. "You saw Candi tonight?"

He looked down at his hands, like he could see the shovel and the hole he'd dug himself in. "She,uh, showed up at the club."

The wind sliced around me and spun my hair in my face. I yanked it behind my ears. "And?"

He looked like he'd rather do anything but answer that. "She gave me a drink—"

"So you two had drinks together," I said acidly, my face flushing with anger. "Got trashed and chummy?"

"Are you going to let me talk or have you already made up your mind?" he said hotly.

"Don't bother," I said, holding up a hand. "What happened doesn't really matter."

He just stared at me, his eyes filled with regret. "I shouldn't have come here."

"That's the smartest thing you've said all night." I said meanly, ignoring the voice that told me I was just making things worse.

He pulled out his cell, rising to his feet.

"Maybe you should call Candi so she can come and you two can pick up where you left off." I said tersely.

I expected him to fight me, but he shrugged, looking at me like
I
was the ridiculous one. "I'm not gonna talk to you this way. Have a good night." He walked past me, headed to the parking lot as his voice carried back to me. "Yeah, I need a cab..."

I watched him go until he was a tiny, infuriating speck then whirled back to my dorm and threw open the door. I didn't breathe until I got back to my room, chest heaving up and down. My mind was weaving all kinds of stories, images of the two of them together.

How could he even talk to her?

And then it hit me.

This was exactly how he felt when he found out about me and Lance. Sure, nothing happened, but he didn't let me explain. Just like I didn't let him tell me exactly what happened with him and Candi.

I slumped against the door, my speeding heart slowing as I squeezed my eyes shut.