The Shameless Hour (19 page)

“What does that even mean?” There wasn’t enough oxygen here on the sofa. Nothing made any sense.

“It means…” He winced. “I don’t do casual, because I don’t want to feel like the most convenient dick in the neighborhood.”

Oh, crap. Me and my dirty mouth. What the hell was wrong with me? The back of my throat began to sting. Again! I was not going to cry, though. This was already embarrassing enough. After extracting myself from Rafe, I slid from the couch and onto the floor where I began fumbling for my book.

“Bella,” he said softly. “Nobody tempts me like you do. We’d be great.
Again
. I know we would. But then I’ll feel shitty afterwards, just like last time. And I like you too much for that.”

“You
like me
too much to have sex with me,” I said, chasing my book under the sofa. I was suddenly furious with myself. Or him. One or the other. “That’s so
logical
.”

He sighed. “Don’t be dense. I care about you. A lot, okay? You are someone I could
love
.”

“Right. I hear that a lot right after a guy rejects me.” My face was on fire now. My humiliation shone brightly, and I could not wait to get out of his room. Abandoning my book under the stupid couch, I stood and went for the door.

“Bella! Don’t do a runner,” Rafe argued. “That isn’t like you.”

“Thought you were trying to teach me to run,” I muttered. He was right. I was more of a stay-and-fight kind of girl. But I needed a time-out before I dug the hole any deeper. Without a glance at him, I flung open his door and jogged down the stairs.

It felt good to be moving. So I kept doing it. I jogged across the courtyard. But I had to stop at the gate because Bickley was stretching in front of it. “Excuse me,” I prompted.

“Bella!” he yodeled. “When are you going to shag my roommate, already? The tension is killing me.”

Lovely
. I knew I was right about Bickley being a nervous talker, but he was also annoying as fuck. “Sorry to dash your hopes. But the shagging only happened that once.”

Bickley swung around, his eyebrows flying up into his unruly hair. “What? You
do
know what that word means?”

I snorted. “Oh, honey. That word and I are very well acquainted. Now
move
, would you?”

He didn’t. He stared at me instead. “So
you’re
the one? From that night in September? You popped Rafe’s cherry?”

It was one of those moments in life that might have been punctuated by the sound of screeching brakes. I inwardly yelped,
SAY WHAT?

Bickley and I stared at each other while I tried to decide if he was serious. “I…”
Really?
“He didn’t say.”

The Brit misinterpreted me. “No, he would never wag his chin to me. Rafe is a vault. But the mystery has been killing me. I’ve been wondering who it was for ages!” He cackled. “Can’t believe I missed that. It’s so obvious now.”

I gave Bickley an impatient nudge, slipping past him, hiding my face. Because I did not trust myself to look calm. “Gotta go,” I mumbled, opening the gate at last.

“Nicely done, by the way,” Bickley called after me.

He was lucky I wasn’t carrying any sharp objects.

On the street outside Beaumont House, I began jogging toward the graveyard. I barely registered this plan, however, since my brain was busy reeling through every encounter I’d ever had with Rafe.

Especially the first one.

That night in September, he had been sitting in the stairwell looking forlorn. He’d caught his girlfriend cheating…

He’d had condoms in his bag.

I jogged faster, growing more horrified by the second. Rafe had been planning to give it up that night to his long-term girlfriend! He’d been
saving
it for her. But then she cheated, making a fool of him at the same time.

A couple of hours later, I’d stripped him naked and sat on his cock.

Jesus Christ
. No wonder he’d been weird afterward. “Casual sex isn’t my thing,” he’d said. And now he’d said it again, only ten minutes ago.

The dude wasn’t lying. He’d done it
once
.

The condom broke, too.

I let out a groan of pure horror, because I’d been so callous with him. I hadn’t meant to, of course. But he would have processed our night together a lot differently than I had.

What the hell kind of shitty psych major was I? Perspective was
everything
. And I hadn’t allowed for the possibility that his perspective was different than mine.

Oh. My. God. What had I done?

I kept running. It wasn’t as easy in jeans and Chuck Ts, but I soon found myself in the graveyard in front of Rafe’s favorite headstone. If you needed a little perspective in your life, a cemetery was as good a place as any to find it. I hadn’t done or said anything right since September. But at least I was still breathing.

Breathing hard, actually. I was not an impressive runner. I stood there a while, listening to the thump of my own heartbeat, rereading the headstone of a teenager who’d been flattened by a tree.

Killed by a log he made
.

I stood there a long time, wondering which would be the best way to apologize.

Maybe it had been a long, crappy year so far. But the time had come to get over myself.

T
hat night
, I worked the dinner shift. Thankfully, I was on prep duty, dicing onions and garlic in a corner of the kitchen where I didn’t have to talk to anyone. Because I was in no mood.

Somehow I’d managed to make Bella
cry
when that was just about the last thing I wanted to do. Ever.

Even more boggling, I’d turned down sex with the one person who made me feel hot just by smiling at me. I’d actually said no.

What I’d done seemed ridiculous. But I’d had a very good reason — what would have been awesome today would have made me feel like dirt tomorrow.

Bella was a
friend
. (I hoped she still was, anyway.) And I had it pretty bad for her. If I declared us friends with bennies, or fuck buddies, or whatever, that would be dishonest. There was just no way I could have sex with Bella, and then walk away like it didn’t matter.

It
would
matter. A great deal.

My brain chased this impasse around and around for several hours. Bella wasn’t just a girl I wanted. She was
the
girl I wanted. There was only one solution, but I didn’t like my chances. She and I could have lots of sex if she’d be with me for real.

Be my girlfriend.

I leaned over the garlic again, shaking my head. A girl like Bella could have
anyone
. Even if she did decide to break her rule against relationships, I was two years younger. I played the wrong sport. I was too conservative, apparently.

And my hands smelled of onions and garlic after every shift.

Also, I wore a paper hat.

Dios
. The odds were terrible. They were worse than winning money off Mat on the Patriots game.

I groaned over the cutting board. If I was honest with myself, a relationship with Bella was exactly what I wanted. I hadn’t tried to go there, because she’d sworn off men.

Or so I’d thought.

When she’d propositioned me, I’d been caught off guard.
Way
off guard. I’d ended up giving her a speech about how I’d only have sex in a relationship. (As if I knew a
thing
about that.) The problem was I’d stopped short of telling her I wanted a relationship with
her
. I’d hinted at it. Sort of. But I hadn’t manned up and said so.

Which meant I’d rejected her twice inside of half an hour. Rejected the very person I wanted in my life. And in my bed.

I’d pushed her away, when I really wanted to do the opposite.

Classy, Rafe
.

A
fter work
, I went back to our suite. For a whole blissful minute I believed I was home alone. But when I walked into our bedroom, I found Bickley lying on his bed. He rolled onto an elbow and shot me a shit-eating grin.

“What?”

He chuckled. “Nothing.”

Today that was all it took to get me steaming mad. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

“Why? And ruin my fun?”

I was just
done
with him. “I’m not in the mood for your superior bullshit,
Dick
ley.”

If I wasn’t mistaken, my roommate paled. “
What
did you just call me?”

The stupid nickname had just come rolling off my tongue. It wasn’t even clever. A sixth-grader could probably do better. “I just need you to mind your own business for once in your sorry life, okay?”

He lifted his aristocratic nose in the air, then turned away from me.

Great. Now my roommate and I weren’t speaking, either. The day wasn’t over yet, though. I wondered who else I might piss off before I went to bed.

A quick inspection of my cell phone revealed five missed calls from Bella, and a voice message. I touched
play
.

“Rafe,” she’d said in her message. “I need to talk to you. And I want to apologize. I didn’t… I wasn’t looking at things the same way you were. So…” I’d never heard Bella at a loss for words. “Please can I apologize? Would you stop over? Pretty please?”

I wanted to. But I hadn’t yet figured out what I would say to her. Asking a girl out was like a tough soccer practice. You had to warm up before you ran onto the field.

In the common room, I threw myself down on the sofa and tried to think what to say.

I
was never meant
to lead a solitary life. That much was obvious.

But there I was, bumping around my room
again
. After my impulsive run, I’d bought some coffee and headed back to my room, where I proceeded to brood over everything I’d done wrong.

Or I tried to. Brooding didn’t come naturally to me, and I’d swear it made my dorm room feel even smaller.

Just when I was feeling truly desperate, someone knocked on the door.

Rafe
.

I sat up fast, running my fingers through my hair. Vanity didn’t come naturally to me, either, but Rafe looked delicious 24/7, and I’d humiliated myself in front of him twice already today. Also, the boy should be made to remember what he was missing.

“Just a sec!” I called out.

Looking down, I took a quick inventory. The jeans were fine, of course. But I was wearing a baggy Bruins shirt, so I whipped that over my head and tossed it on the desk chair. A pink oxford shirt I’d abandoned at some point hung on my closet door’s hook. I grabbed it, shoving my arms into the sleeves, and buttoning it up
most
of the way.

Perfect.

The knock came again, and my heart did an unfamiliar shimmy. I braced myself and went to the door.

It opened to reveal Graham, of all people.

“Oh,” I said, probably failing to hide my disappointment. “Hi.”

He cocked his head to the side and began to smile. I saw his gaze come to a halt on my unusually generous cleavage. “Maybe I’m not who you were expecting?”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” I argued, holding the door open for him. And that was strictly true. I hadn’t heard from Rafe since leaving him a voicemail, which he seemed to have ignored.

“Good. Because I’ve come to escort you to Capri’s.”

My stomach twisted at the idea of stepping into my favorite pizza and beer joint in the world. I practically used to
live
at Capri’s. That’s where the hockey team went about four nights a week to blow off steam.

But I did not. Not anymore.

“I can’t make it tonight,” I lied. “Sorry.”

Graham’s face fell. “Bella, please? Just because you don’t work for the team anymore doesn’t mean they don’t miss you. And I miss you. If I can walk in there, so can you.”

I sat down on the bed to give myself a little distance from Graham’s blue-eyed stare. It
was
pretty impressive that Graham often went out drinking with the hockey team. For months he and Rikker had kept their relationship a secret, and coming out of the closet had been really hard on him. He’d quit the team after his concussion, but he hadn’t quit his circle of friends. There were some curious stares last spring as everyone figured out how things were between Graham and their star right wing. But Graham pushed through all that, and kept most of his friendships on the team.

He was obviously a whole lot braver than I was.

Without another word, he came over and sat down beside me, putting an arm around my back.

Damn him
. I wanted to lean against his shoulder and tell him everything in my heart, the way I used to. I still missed Graham. It wasn’t about lust anymore. I’d had enough time to realize that the sex part of our relationship hadn’t been the best part. But I still felt an ache when he was nearby. I missed his company, and I missed the idea that we were two peas in a pod. Both slightly jaded, but probably redeemable.

Fast forward one year, and Graham was having the happiest year of his life. Me? Total disaster.

“Come on, Bells.” He gave me a little squeeze. “You’re hiding in your room, because you’re embarrassed about something that you didn’t even do wrong.”

I groaned. “You’re right. It wasn’t
something
I did wrong. It was
someone
.” And then that someone let the whole world know just how stupid I really was. “I’m not ready.”

“You look ready to me,” he quipped. “Come out with me.”

For the hundredth time today, my throat was hot. There had been so many nights last winter when all I wanted was for Graham to show up at my door and say, “You’re important to me.” Now he’d done that. But not in the way that I’d once hoped for.

“You know,” I said, clearing my throat. “You used to hide too, okay? So it’s not like you can really give me a hard time about this.”

I expected him to get irritated that I’d poke his old wound. But he didn’t. Instead, I received an even tighter hug. “Aw, Bella. I
know
that. And it sucked. I wasted so much time worrying about what other people thought.
Years
, okay? But you’re smarter than that.”

“I used to be,” I mumbled.

Graham cleared his throat. “Well, I had Rikker to show me how it’s done. Who’s going to do that for you?”

Well, ouch. Because I had no clue. “I need a little more time, Graham. Right now, I’m still everyone’s gossip nugget.”

“You aren’t,” he argued. “And the new manager is a pain in the ass. I heard he ordered shin guard tape instead of hockey tape.”

“What?” I yelped. “Who could mix that up?”

Graham chuckled. “See? The team misses you. Come and show your face.”

“Another time,” I said firmly. I stood, putting myself out of the orbit of Graham’s hugs. Because those were potent.

Sensing defeat, Graham stood too. “All right. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. And aren’t you going to eat dinner?”

“Of course I am. I was waiting for my neighbor,” I lied, pointing in the direction of Lianne’s room.

“Promise?” Graham’s icy blue eyes regarded me seriously.

I held up a hand, like an oath-taker on the witness stand. “Promise.”

He stepped in to kiss me on the cheek. Then he headed for the door. “Good night, Bells.”

“G’night Graham.” I used to say that when we were both naked in his bed.

Then he was gone, and I was — wait for it — alone in my room again. And since he’d mentioned dinner, now I
was
hungry. I went into the bathroom and tapped on Lianne’s door.

“Yeah?”

I opened it, finding Lianne seated in front of her massive computer cockpit. “Feel like ordering a pizza?”

She blinked at me for a moment, probably because it was not a usual thing for me to make a friendly overture. “Does it have to be pizza?” she asked finally. “That’s too carby for me.”

I sat down on her bed. “What, then? Salads?”

She swiveled around to face me. “Thai? The Orchid Garden has some things I can eat.”

“Okay. Let me get my wallet.” I stood up.

She waved me off. “You get the next one. I already have my credit card in their system.”

I sat down again. “You do?”

“Yup.” She turned to her keyboard, and I saw her pull up the restaurant’s website. “It’s funny. My manager made me live at Beaumont instead of on Fresh Court where I might actually meet First Years. He said it was a security risk. But now every deliveryman in the greater Harkness area knows exactly where I live.”

I laughed, even though that was too sad to be funny. “You don’t like the dining hall food?”

Lianne only shrugged, which made me wonder whether she ever went in there. She was waiting for my order.

“I’ll have the chicken pad Thai, extra peanuts.”

Lianne typed furiously for a moment, fingers flying over the keyboard. “All set. They say it will be twenty-five minutes. But they’re usually slower than they say.” She turned around to face me.

“So,” I said. I wasn’t used to making conversation with Lianne. “Did I interrupt anything important? Now that I know you’re a computer genius, I just assume you’re over here hacking into the Federal Reserve Bank or something.”

“Right,” Lianne scoffed, kicking her tiny feet up onto the bed beside me. “I only break into government networks on the weekend. Just now I was ordering my favorite lip gloss.” She grabbed something off the desk and thrust it out for my inspection. “Have you tried this? It’s tinted in a warm berry color, and I love the packaging.”

“Can’t say that I have. Sorry.” Over the years, I’d heard people whisper about the fact that I never had female friends. People have told me to my face that I can’t stand competition from other girls. Not true. The real reason I lacked female friends was that I don’t speak lip gloss.

“What’s up with you, anyway?” she asked. “You look kind of… strung out.”

“Well…” Was I going to share with Lianne? What a weird idea. “It hasn’t been the best day. I sort of threw myself at Rafe, and he turned me down.”

Her famously expressive eyes widened. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Of
course
I’m sure. I’m not a subtle girl. No eyelashes were batted. I stuck my tongue down his throat. He definitely noticed.”

She tapped the fingers of each hand together thoughtfully. “Sorry, but that does not compute. I was starting to think that the two of you were just inevitable.”

That made me grin. “If anyone can ruin a sure thing, it’s me.”

She frowned. “Speaking of ruining things, I looked at
Brodacious
again today. They haven’t changed the password. If you want me to take down the photo, it’s still easy to do that.”

“That’s cool. But I had a different idea, actually.” Doing laps in my room this morning, I’d had a bit of a brainstorm. Lianne was probably the wrong person to share it with. Then again, who else would want to hear about this plan? Not Rafe, because apparently we weren’t speaking. Not Graham, because he’d tell me it was too crazy. And there were several reasons why I couldn’t ask my hockey friends for help.

I clapped my hands. “Okay. Let me bounce something off you. It’s really a non-technical solution. But, say, ten days from now I might have a
new
picture to post up there. Do you think you could make that happen?”

Lianne frowned. “Posting a picture on
Brodacious
is a snap. But they could just delete it. Even if I changed the password to Bite-My-Feminist-Ass, they could just call up their web host and take the whole site down. Within minutes, probably.”

“I’ve thought of that,” I admitted. “But if I play my cards right, the whole school will have the same picture on their phones, even if it doesn’t stay up on the website.”

She blinked at me. “What exactly is this low-tech idea of yours?”

“I’m going to try to humiliate Beta Rho using nothing but a couple of reams of colored paper. It will either be the best use of ten dollars ever or a complete failure.”

Lianne sat back in her chair. “I’m listening.”

I continued to outline my big idea, while Lianne’s eyes got bigger and bigger. When I stopped speaking, she just stared at me silently.

“Well?” I finally prompted her. “What do you think?” I braced myself to hear that she thought I was insane. And I probably was.

“That is GENIUS!” she shrieked. “Where do we start?”

A
fter our Thai
food showed up, we continued to scheme.

“You know,” Lianne said, pausing to chew a bite of chicken, “your odds of success are greater if we can find you a little more manpower.”

“That is true.” I offered her the pad Thai. “Want some noodles?”

She shook her head. “I can’t eat carbs. If I gain an ounce, my manager nags me.”

I lowered the carton to my lap. “Seriously? Can’t you just tell him to fuck off?”

“It’s complicated.” She got up to throw her empty carton in the trash. “Now, where are we going to find some extra sets of hands? I’m sure there are a lot more girls who want to get even with Beta Rho.”

“Sure…” This was something I’d thought about, too. “But if they all show up at the football game together, that will look really suspicious. Even drunk frat boys can recognize their former hook-ups. And if I bring in outsiders, that would be a big red flag.”

Lianne tapped a pencil on her knee. “Who would a bunch of drunk frat boys listen to?”

I laughed, because there was one obvious answer. “The Rockettes or the Laker Girls. The Swedish Bikini Team?”

Across from me, Lianne gasped. “That’s it!” She spun her chair to face her computers, grabbed the keyboard and commenced typing.

“What are you doing?”

“I know a casting agent in New York. We need
models
. Not the famous, catwalk kind. But the ones they call when there’s an automotive convention. The girls who get paid thirty bucks an hour to drape themselves over next year’s Porsche Carrera.”

“That’s going to blow my ten-dollar budget,” I pointed out.

“Honey, I’m from Hollywood,” she said, grabbing her phone. “Blowing the budget is what we do.”

Huh
. “How much do you think this will cost?”

Lianne spoke into her phone, leaving a message. “Harvey, it’s Lianne. I have a little job that needs doing. Let’s say six or eight models, for three hours next Saturday. Call me.” She hung up. “I don’t mind paying for it.”

“No, I can,” I said quickly. Money was one problem I did not have.

Lianne waved a hand as if this detail was beneath our concern. “Now we need to generate a diagram of the bleachers. Tomorrow we can go over to the stadium and count the number of rows. But estimating the density is still kind of tricky. Even with a spreadsheet.”

Jesus Christ. I’d underestimated this girl
again
. “I’ll ask my friend Graham for a photograph of the stands during a game. The newspaper must have that in a file somewhere. We can count the heads in the picture.”

“That’s a great idea.”

This brainstorm was interrupted by the sound of a distant knock on my door.

Lianne and I both silenced our planning immediately. “To be continued?” I whispered.

Is that Rafe?
she mouthed.

“Probably.”

“I’m going to need you to report back,” she whispered.

Saluting her, I slipped into my room, closing the bathroom door. The knock came again. “Bella?” Rafe called. “I have your book.”

I opened the door. “Did you think I wasn’t going to answer unless I got
Essays on the Feminist Perspective
back?”

He came into the room warily, handing me the book. For several seconds we just stared at each other. We both decided to speak at once.

“I’m sorry,” we said in unison.