The Guy on the Right Read online

  She glances around the room. “I haven’t been here since freshman year when I had to dorm. My roommate was horrible. She kept stealing my clothes. Tamara. She was such a bitch. She dipped into my Vaseline. Do you know how scary that is? Like what did she need it for? I know what I use it for, and it’s not chapped lips.”

  “TMI, Laney.”

  “For who?”

  “For this half of the living room.” I gesture to the heads turning our way.

  “Oh,” she giggles. “Well, I was only too happy to move back home. We did not bond. But I do think bondage is in her future, if you know what I mean.” She waggles her brows and elbows me, and I roll my eyes.

  “Clever.”

  “Such a smart ass. So, you done here?”

  “No,” I glance at my tablet. “I’ve got about an hour left.”

  “Before what?” We’ve never been this close in the light of day, and I’m finding it hard to keep my eyes from roaming every inch of her. Instead, I take her in doses as she turns to survey the room. Perfectly arched dark brows hover over amused brown eyes speckled with green. Her flawless olive skin is a shade darker around the thin spaghetti strap of her dress. Tiny moles dot her shoulders below her slender neck. And then there’s the dip below, a valley where a gold feather necklace rests between mouth-watering cleavage. I gather all this in a sideways glance doing my best to ignore the threatening stir below.

  “Earth to Theeeooo,” she says still waiting on my answer, turning her eyes back to mine.

  “Before I’m done.”

  “Oh, it’s like that?”

  “What can I say?” I hitch a shoulder. “I’m disciplined in my studies.” The thing is with new friendships like this, boundaries must be set, especially by me, the Teddy. Dropping everything for her will send the wrong signal. It will tell her that I am, in fact, at her disposal. I’m not that guy anymore. No matter how good she smells.

  “Fine, I’ll wait.” She pulls a ten-ton bag covered in sunflowers from the floor.

  “Please tell me there are books in there.”

  “What do you think I am, a monster? Course there aren’t any books in here. This bag is Kate Spade.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  She grins, and I’m forced to focus on the quarter-sized birthmark on top of her left hand. “To see you, of course.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Why yes, you are.”

  “Alright, QT.”

  “Cutie?” She says with a lift to her voice.

  “No, Q-T as in quiet time,” I nod toward the silent students in the room.

  “Oh yeah, okay.”

  I lift my tablet and resume my reading.

  It takes only a minute for her to break the silence. “You’re really going to make me sit here an hour?”

  “Yes,” I say without looking up.

  “Fine.”

  “Glad we’re on the same page.”

  “Such a smart ass.”

  After a few minutes of sighs, I hear the rustling of a notebook and glance over. “Ah, you did bring something to study.”

  “Yes, well kind of, I’m trying to come up with a concept for my media class.”

  “Concept for what?”

  “It’s my grad project. I have to come up with a social presence and attempt to make the brand trend.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “It will come to you.”

  She smiles, and I pretend not to be affected by the pink gloss on her shiny, plump lips. She’s a second look kind of girl. The first look at her is for simple appreciation for the stunner she is. The second look is a realization of what an idiot you were for not looking longer the first time around.

  I can’t think of Laney this way because she doesn’t want or need me to. I shouldn’t look at Laney this way because it will lead me back to square one.

  And so, I won’t.

  I’ve hung out with plenty of girls over the years I’ve been attracted to. I convinced myself, when Nora dragged me by the balls through razorblades while sprinkling salt over her shoulder, that I would never let myself be friend-zoned by any woman I had real feelings for. If the attraction wasn’t mutual, I had to move on. But Laney is different in the fact she’s been completely upfront. No mixed signals. We met at the same crossroads and that, in and of itself, makes her valuable to me as a friend more than anything else. I push all those self-sabotaging—Laney is hot as hell—thoughts away and get immersed in my reading when I smell the sunshine on her skin and feel the heat of her face next to mine. “So, what are you reading?”

  I jerk my tablet away, just as she takes a closer look and narrows her eyes. “Oh my God!” She jumps from the couch, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You jerk. You do not take your studies seriously! You’re reading a Jack Reacher book!”

  “And now everyone knows it.” I swallow audibly and stand as eyes from every direction turn our way and laughter follows. “I had ten pages left, no big deal, but, hey Laney,” I widen my eyes, “we can go now.” I grip her arm, while I shoulder my bag before escorting her out of the room. “You ass. You’re an ass. A total ass!”

  “Better than being a DICK,” I mutter, trying to hide my grin.

  I got to finish those ten pages, well actually Laney read them to me as I drove. I have to say with her thick twang narrating, it was by far the most interesting ending of a Lee Child book I’ve ever experienced. When she declared favor for favor and insisted we go to ‘Monday Church’, I had no choice but to obey.

  Shaking my head, I stare at her as she douses her taco with more sour cream and a ketchup packet she’d pulled out from her purse.

  I can’t hide my grimace. “That’s not right.”

  “Look,” she says, licking the ketchup/sour cream combo off the side of the taco as I try to hold my gag, “don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

  “Hear me now. I will never try it.”

  She rolls her eyes and mmm’s with exaggeration as she takes a mammoth bite.

  “So why is this Monday church?”

  “Dorito shell tacos, the Lort sent these to me,” she proclaims over a mouth full.

  “The Lort?”

  “Lor-t,” she repeats slowly, as if it will give me some clarification.

  “Ah, got it now,” I spout with pure sarcasm.

  She ignores it. “Of course, you do, because we’re meant to be friends. You get me.” She leans in with a sinister grin. There’s that word again. I make it a point to stop any notice of my unexpected attraction to her then and there.

  “You don’t scare easily, do you, Theo?”

  “No, I don’t scare easily.”

  “Good,” she says, swallowing the last of her taco. I have to admit the woman has eating down to a science. “So, I have an idea for my project.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We make a dedicated page being completely honest and see if it trends.”

  “What do you mean we?”

  “We,” she says, pointing between us, “meaning you and me.”

  I cross my arms. “No.”

  “Already started it while you were reading Jack.”

  “Are you serious?”

  She shrugs. “Yes. It’s all set up. The handle is @livingmyrealestlife. Technically it’s your idea, so I can’t take all the credit. I already texted you the login info.”

  I lean back in my seat. “You are serious.”

  She shrugs. “I’d follow it. It’s worth a shot.”

  “Why we? Why can’t you do this solo?”

  “Because it makes more sense and will attract more followers if it’s done from both a male and female perspective.”

  “Pass. Find another male.”

  “Nope,” she says, tossing her napkin beside her tray. “No need, I’ve found him.”

  “Laney, I’m in the Grand Band on scholarship, I have a code of conduct to follow.”

  “Then we’ll keep it PG…13ish.”
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  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. So, you’ll help me, right?” I open my mouth to speak as she continues. “You really won’t try ketchup and sour cream on a taco? Oh, I forgot to ask what your major is.”

  “Woman,” I say exasperated. “I don’t know which question to answer first or in what order.”

  “All of them,” she mumbles around the ketchup packet she’s tearing with her teeth, just as she unwraps another taco.

  “This is ridiculous,” I spin the wheel and put my left foot on green.

  “It’s honest,” she pants, “we don’t do yoga, but we both do Twister. And this is the perfect backdrop. Devin, you gettin’ this?”

  “Oh, I’m getting it,” she says through a laugh angling the cell phone to take more pictures.

  “It’s not honest, if it’s contrived,” I point out in a huff.

  “I get that, and some of it’s going to have to be a little contrived because it’s a school project and we have to make it interesting,” she grunts, twisting her body as her skirt rises another inch. I move to turn my head, but my dick refuses to let me look away.

  “Tell you what,” she says, spinning the disk. “From now on, we try to keep it as true to name as possible without tarnishing the whole point.”

  “I’m not that interesting,” I say with a groan as her ass comes into view an inch from my face when she plants a booted foot on red.

  “I’m going to need a little more enthusiasm on your part, Houseman. This is an adventure.”

  “I’ve been suckered, no, manipulated into this because I’m a nice guy, so you will get no such thing.”

  “You’re breaking my heart here, buddy, and you aren’t so nice. I see you looking at my ass. Besides, I thought you meant what you said in that yard.” Her breaths are coming fast as we struggle to keep upright.

  “I do believe what I said.”

  “So, let’s do this. Go all in. We can make fun of ourselves and help further my education.”

  “How convenient, for you.”

  “I think you’ve met your human bullshit detector, Ms. Cox,” Devin coos as she watches us struggle to reposition.

  Laney’s face comes into view when her hand lands next to mine, her head bent, her hair blowing in the breeze.

  For fuck’s sake.

  “Come on, Theo. It’s only the world wide web.”

  “I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks.”

  It’s the truth, for the most part. A single and shitty act from the girl I thought was my dream destroyed any pretense I could ever again try to come up with about myself. Trying to be perfect for her had turned me into more of an imposter than I could ever live comfortably with. It’s always hindsight that delivers the biggest bitch slap, even when the hurt has been dealt with. I’ll never stray that far away from myself again. If that means being honest over nice, then that’s what I’ll be.

  Laney prods as we end up completely tangled on the plastic and gives me a pointed look.

  “Prove it.”

  She’s so close that I can practically taste her and it’s making this test even more unbearable.

  “Fine, but there needs to be something in it for me.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’ll need to think about it.”

  “Deal.”

  “Oh my God, that’s it!” Devin bursts into laughter. “This is the best picture I’ve ever taken. I think I’ve got it, Laney.”

  “Great.” I collapse in a heap and wipe the sweat from my brow. Laney rushes toward Devin and throws her head back with a laugh before snatching the phone and bringing it to me.

  Surveying the picture, I have to admit, with the setting of the park and the sunset in the background, it screams heart-hands sunset pic, but it’s the ridiculous angle we’re twisted in that totally debunks any notion of romance. I give a deserving nod. Not bad.

  “Oh, you know damn well, this is hilarious. Hold your grudge, I’ll figure out a way to make it up to you,” she says, thumbing her cellphone at warp speed. “In three, two, one, and @livingmyrealestlife is now live! Hashtag twister ballet, hashtag new best friends, hashtag karate in the basement, hashtag suck it yoga.”

  “Jesus,” I shake my head, biting my smile.

  “This is too cool,” Devin squeaks. “I’m following. Now, are we all done here? ‘Cause Chase is going to kill me. I’m late for our date night.”

  “We’re good. You can go, bridezilla.”

  “Later, hooch,” Devin says, walking toward her monster truck. “Bye, Theo!”

  “See you, Devin,” I mutter, climbing to my feet as Laney gathers the game and stuffs it back into the box. “You don’t think this is a little lame?”

  She scrunches her nose. “I mean, yeah, maybe a little. And it will be at times, but that’s the point, right? To showcase our lameness. Look I’m no social princess, but I’m living proof of Murphy’s law and can try to find humor in any situation, and that’s what people identify with. That’s my angle. I’d be happy if all the comments said, ‘I know, right?’”

  She clutches the boxed Twister to her chest as we walk back to my car.

  “While other people take selfies in bikini thongs on yachts in the Mediterranean sipping thousand-dollar-a-glass champagne, I’ll record a more reject reality for the less fortunate.”

  “Fine, but don’t credit me for this madness.”

  She gives me a knowing grin. “This is going to be fun. You’ll see.”

  On the drive back to campus, I glance over at her.

  “So, Devin is getting married?”

  “Yeah, in November. It feels like we’ve been planning this our whole lives. It’s going to be beautiful. Hey, maybe you’ll save me a headache and be my plus one.”

  “You sure you don’t want to take someone else?”

  She glances over at me. “I’m sure. Why?”

  “You could be dating someone by then.”

  “No chance of that.”

  “You really think you’ll last that long?”

  “Oh ye of little faith. And what would it matter if I was dating? I want to take you. So, will you come?”

  “Sure, if I don’t have a game.”

  “Shit. I forgot about that. Okay, well it’s the 23rd, so let me know.”

  “I mean, I guess I could miss one game.”

  I glance over to see she’s grinning at me. “You don’t have to do that, nice guy.”

  “I know.”

  Her smile widens.

  My chest expands a little.

  Fuck.

  I don’t feel it from her. That’s the truth. I feel friendship, curiosity, but I’m not getting the vibes. Which may mean abandoning this friendship before it starts.

  “Maybe, I’ll have to see,” I backpedal and see her frown.

  “Okay, well, this is me,” she says, hitching a thumb over her shoulder as I slow to a stop.

  I lean over into her seat to see the abomination she’s referring to. “What in the hell is that?”

  “Mind your tongue, city boy, that there is Ole Faithful. And I swear, if you wish her any ill will, she will not start.”

  I scour the old two-ton truck. The color is indistinguishable between the gaping rust spots. If I had to guess, I would say once upon a year it was red. The body style can’t be any younger than the seventies, and that’s being generous.

  “Laney, that is not safe.”

  “It’s as old as my mother. A classic. And it passes inspection every year.”

  “Who do you have to bribe to get the sticker?”

  She laughs. “Well, a family friend owns the shop.”

  “I thought as much. That thing looks like the Jeepers Creepers truck. Seriously, it looks like it belongs to a serial killer.”

  She presses her lips together and glances over her shoulder longingly at the truck. “It was my gran’s.”

  Was. As in past tense. I’m an asshole.

  “I’m an asshole. I’m sorry.”

 
“No, it’s fine,” she says sheepishly. “It really is ugly as shit. I know. But I love it. It actually runs well in temps between forty and eighty degrees.”

  “This is serious logic you’re using.”

  She bobs her head. “Yep.”

  She manages to find her keys in her purse in record speed and leans over and presses a chaste kiss to my cheek. I ignore the thud in my chest. “See you, Theo. Thanks for today.”

  “See you, Laney.”

  I wait until Ole Faithful starts on the third try and watch her drive away.

  #twisterballet #newbestfriends #karateinthebasement #suckityoga #therightwaytosunsetpic #livingourrealestlife

  Grannism—Don’t give anyone the whole map, and only trust a few with directions.

  Laney

  “He’s going for it,” some guy announces to my right as I stroll through campus. Following his line of sight, I turn to see another lovestruck sucker as he drops to his knees under the Era Tree.

  “Another one bites the dust,” a guy mumbles in amusement crossing his arms while grinning at the spectacle.

  “Yep, he’s proposing,” another says.

  The Era Tree is a sprawling oak with ridiculously long branches that trace the ground around a giant trunk. The ancient oak is a campus landmark and is also the setting of a TGU tradition. Legend has it, if you walk under the Era Tree alone, you’ll walk alone forever, but if you walk with your college sweetheart, you’re cemented together for life.

  And I avoid it like the plague.

  The guy grips her hand in his, and the girl nods before he stands and hauls him to her while she squeals in his arms.

  “I think it’s sweet,” the girl next to me says shouldering her purse and clapping along with the rest of the gathered crowd.

  True love exists. I’m a believer in it, but maybe just not for the women in my family.

  We’re too loud, independent, and opinionated.

  Or maybe I’m hangry.

  “Better them than me,” I say before turning on my heel and slamming into a talking rock.

  “Couldn’t agree more.” Large, muscular hands are the only thing keeping me from sprawling into the asphalt.

  “Sorry,” I say before looking up…into the sun. Squinting, I see thick lips, brilliant straight teeth, and amused bright-blue eyes. “Sorry,” I repeat as he comes into view shielding the blinding light with his massive presence. Rusty blond hair, unbelievable build, a killer smile. My reaction is immediate. “Nope,” I say, sidestepping him.