The Best Medicine (15 page)

Just as it started, Quinn came up behind Lo. “Come on, we’re all hot. Let’s go get a drink.”

Lauren peeked around Scott’s arm. “Your stalker’s gone. You can probably safely make it back to the guys now. I’ll meet you back at the table.”

There was a disappointment in her eyes that he’d never seen before. He wasn’t sure what had sparked it, but he did know that he fucking hated it. As he watched her start to walk off the dance floor, Scott suddenly couldn’t help himself. He took two steps after her and grabbed her wrist. He didn’t pull her toward him. Rather, he just held it, and waited.

*   *   *

Lauren wasn’t sure what she saw in Scott’s eyes. She was usually so good at reading him, but right then, she was lost. Her wrist burned where he touched her, and the feeling quickly spread throughout the rest of her body.
She never wanted him to let go. And even though she knew that he would sooner rather than later, in that moment she refused to think about any of that. Instead, Lauren focused on how badly she wanted his arms back around her. Focused on how much Scott probably wanted the same thing. Why else would he be standing there, letting his eyes blaze into hers as he gripped her wrist? It was no longer a choice. She couldn’t have followed her friends even if she had wanted to. Screw how they interpreted things between them. She wanted him. So she moved back toward him slowly, allowing him to pull her closer than she thought she’d ever been, and resumed their sexy sway to the music. It was beautiful and expressive and fucking filthy. It was the most fulfilling dance experience Lauren had ever had. And as the words infiltrated the haze in her brain, telling her that there was no place she’d rather be, she hoped Scott felt the same way.

When the song ended, Scott took a half step back. He looked tense. “I like that song.”

That was his explanation, and Lauren finally saw clearly again. It was a cop-out if she’d ever heard one. But his face held more than what the words implied, so she held on to that to keep herself from beating some sense into him. “Me too.”

Scott led her off the dance floor and back to the table. The girls had returned with their drinks and were making small talk with Scott’s friends.

“Here, we got you another drink,” Simone said as she handed Lauren a glass.

“Thanks.” Lauren drained half the glass before setting it down. She felt scattered, and she didn’t like it. She was
so deep inside of her own head that she barely paid attention to Scott and his friends joking around with one another until she forced herself to join into the conversation.

“In college, Scott had a thing for a TA in one of his classes. A
big
thing. He worked on her for months,” Xavier joked.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who was hot for teacher,” Lauren muttered for only Scott to hear.

Scott glared at his friend, clearly making an effort to ignore Lo’s comment. “It wasn’t months. I talked to her one time.”

“You may have only tried once, but you thought about it for much longer,” Alex added.

“Dude, you’re supposed to be the nice one,” Scott chastised playfully.

“Aww, poor Scott. I didn’t peg you as the pining type,” Lauren teased. She was glad she’d started engaging with the group. She was sure the steady flow of alcohol was helping occupy her mind. Which she was thankful for because this story was going to be good. She could feel it.

“That’s because I’m not. This whole story is ass-backward.” Scott set his beer down on the table so that he could wildly wave his hands to better get his point across. “This girl had been fucking me with her eyes since the first day of class. But I really wasn’t interested in getting involved with someone who could impact my grade.” Scott paused and looked down at Lauren. “No offense,” he smirked at her.

Her eyes widened as she looked around at the group. The guys hadn’t even registered his comment, but the girls had, and their faces were somewhere between
shocked and thoroughly amused. “Dick,” she whispered. But even she couldn’t fight the smile overtaking her lips.

Scott continued like he hadn’t just put her on blast in front of the entire table. “But a guy can only take so much. So about midway through the semester, I got tired of her drooling every time I walked into the room, so I went up to talk to her.” Scott picked his beer back up and held it as though the story was over.

Xavier wasn’t having it. “No way, Casanova. Tell them the rest.”

“Rest of what?”

“Fuck you. You know the rest of what. That is
not
how that story ends.”

“Spill it, Doctor. I’m not above beating it out of you,” Cass threatened.

“She didn’t think it was a good idea to get involved. She needed the TA job to help pay her tuition.”

“Bullshit!” Xavier bellowed. “The truth is that she hadn’t been looking at Scott at all. She’d been eye-fucking the guy who sat
behind
him. He was some big-deal lacrosse player. I think they eloped soon after that.”

The table burst into hysterics. Lauren looked up at Scott, whose eyes were boring a hole into Xavier.

“It was an honest mistake. And he wasn’t
that
big of a deal. It was lacrosse, for Christ’s sake, not football or basketball.”

“It’s okay to admit that he was better looking than you,” Xavier teased.

“You’re always wrapped up in how good-looking guys are. You’re such a fucking queer,” Scott retorted with a laugh.

The floor seemed to fall away beneath Lauren, and
her ears began to buzz. She sobered instantly as she was catapulted back to almost seven years ago: the last time she’d heard almost those exact same words. Except it had been Cooper who’d said them—no,
yelled
them—at Sam when he didn’t realize she was there to hear. She remembered the disgust and anger in his voice. The loathing he felt about who he was. And the contempt he felt then worked its way through her body like bile. She had to get out of there.

“Sorry. I—I need to leave.”

“Wait, Lauren. What’s wrong?” Scott asked.

Lauren didn’t respond.

“Let it go, Scott.” The words came from Quinn—the only one who knew the effect Scott’s comment would have.

Lauren sprinted from the bar, the cool night air hitting her, sobering her a little. Darting her eyes up and down the road, she noticed how desolate it looked.
God, can I relate to that right now.
Lauren needed to move. Walking briskly up the street toward the corner where she would hopefully find a cab, Lauren tried to calm her rapidly beating heart. Taking off from the bar had been dramatic, but Lauren had needed to get the hell out of there. Just as she was getting her wits back, she heard heavy footsteps behind her. But she didn’t slow down. She knew whose they were, and while she wasn’t going to give the asshole the satisfaction of seeing her run away like a little girl, she sure as fuck wasn’t going to stop for him either. Finally a hand on her biceps stopped her, and she flew around, filled with rage at what both Scott
and
Cooper had said.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Scott.” Her voice was level,
but it held a venom she hadn’t even known she was capable of.

Scott quickly jerked his hand off of her and dropped it to his side. “What’s going on, Lo?” His face and voice were full of concern, and she knew it was sincere. But she just couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Don’t you dare call me that.” Hearing Scott use the nickname, the one her brother had given her, only to have them both act like assholes made her angry. Totally and unwaveringly angry.

“But you told me I could. Lauren,
please
. Talk to me.”

She wanted to. Logically, she knew that she was being irrational. But she couldn’t. She didn’t want to explain her reaction to Scott then. One, because she didn’t believe he deserved to hear it, and two, because she didn’t trust herself in that moment to tell it the way it needed to be told. She took a deep breath, mustering any remaining willpower she had. “I can’t talk to you right now. Just . . . just leave it alone, Scott.”

“I can’t just let you walk off. How will you get home?”

Lauren motioned to a pack of cabs waiting in front of a restaurant down the street. “I can handle myself.”

He looked at her for a minute, probably trying to figure out what the best thing to do was. He finally must have realized what she already knew: there was no best thing. So he simply took a step back, pushed his hands into his pockets, and murmured, “I know you can.”

Lauren felt an instant of remorse at the dejected look on his face before she forced her legs to carry her to the waiting cabs. But she couldn’t leave it like that. Because a part of her, the hurt, furious part of her, wanted Scott to
know what he’d done. Wanted him to experience perhaps just a fraction of the wound that she still carried all these years later. So once she had gotten a few steps away from him, she stopped, turned her head slightly, and said, “My brother was gay.” She wanted to say more. Call him an asshole. Berate him. But she didn’t. Because as those words left her, so did the fight, and all that was left was emotional exhaustion. So before he could reply, she resumed walking toward the cabs. And as she climbed inside one and gave directions to her apartment, she wondered if people were ever who they said they were.

*   *   *

The next day sucked almost as much as the previous night had. Lauren spent most of the day dodging calls and texts from the girls. Quinn was the only one she responded to, mostly because she needed someone to call off Cass and Simone. If she stayed MIA, they’d show up at her apartment, and she sure as shit wasn’t up for that. Quinn understood, had mourned Cooper, knowing all of the circumstances surrounding his death. So when Lauren texted her saying she needed a day to think, Quinn took care of the rest.

She’d also received a text from Scott, asking her if she had gotten home safely and if she was okay. Lauren reread it a few times, trying to figure out whether or not she should reply. She didn’t want to open herself up to a conversation with him, but she didn’t want him worried about her either. Not that she should’ve cared. Being worried is the least he could feel after what he’d said. But Lauren also knew that she’d stress over the stupid text all day if she didn’t say
something.
Eventually she decided
that a simple
I’m fine
would suffice as a reply. And since she didn’t hear from him again, she guessed it had.

By the time Monday morning rolled around, Lauren was glad that she had class instead of having to go into the office. Part of her was glad Scott hadn’t texted her again, but the other part of her was irked that he didn’t have the decency to try harder to get her to talk to him. Not that she would have, but still. Sometimes it was the fucking thought that counted.

Lauren plopped down into her seat and pulled her laptop from her bag. Even if her mind wasn’t into the psychology behind intimate relationships today, she at least wanted to put on a good show. And as class began, Lauren tried her best to be attentive. Though ultimately, her attempt was unsuccessful.

“Ms. Hastings?”

Pulled from her daydream by Dr. Peterson’s voice, Lauren pushed off of the hand she’d been resting her face on for the last half hour.

“Do you have any thoughts on today’s topic of discussion?”

Lauren glanced from side to side at the classmates nearby, hoping to get some indication of what Dr. Peterson had been discussing. Normally,
she
was the one who had notes filling her laptop screen. But her head was so clouded she hadn’t even been paying attention. “Uh . . . not right now. Sorry.”

Dr. Peterson dropped his head. “Fair enough,” he said. “We won’t
make
you talk.” Dr. Peterson shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the chair a few feet away from him. “You just usually have something insightful, that’s
all.” Then he paused, slipping one hand into the pocket of his gray slacks. ”If you have something to share, you’ll let us know?”

Lauren nodded. “Of course,” she replied, making every effort to focus her attention on the lecture so she knew what the hell was going on.

“How about you, Mr. Thornton? Thoughts on how important openness is to intimacy?”

Damon Thornton tapped his pencil for a moment before speaking. But Lauren knew he probably already had his response composed in his head. The two of them had been Peterson’s go-to’s since the beginning of the semester, always trying to add another element to his lectures. “I think it depends on the stage of the relationship.”

Peterson gestured toward Damon with an open hand. “Elaborate, please.”

Damon’s lips turned up into a sort of a clever smile. ”People share different things about themselves at different times, depending on the level of trust they have for the other person. Like . . .” Damon raised his eyes to the ceiling as he seemed to be trying to think of an example, “telling your partner that your parents are divorced could be seen as being fairly open when you don’t know a whole lot about each other and you’re trying to share a little about yourself.” He cleared his throat quietly before continuing. ”But if you waited six months to tell your partner that same piece of information, he or she may think you’ve been hiding that from them for some reason.”

“Very good, Damon. You see, true intimacy involves sharing things about yourself or topics related to you
that you wouldn’t necessarily share with just anyone. And Mr. Thornton’s point is an interesting one.” Dr. Peterson stepped toward the front row and looked out, gesturing with one hand toward the rest of the students to participate. “But openness is more difficult for some people than others, don’t you agree? There are some people who feel completely at ease sharing the most private details of their lives with you in an elevator while it—”

“That always happens to me!” someone yelled out. “Strangers tell me all sorts of things about themselves like I want to hear it.”

Peterson chuckled. “That probably means you’re in the right graduate program then. And believe me, hearing about strangers’ lives will become more tolerable when you’re getting paid for it.”

The room grew louder with the students’ laughter and verbal confirmations of Peterson’s statement.