“I ran into that blond chick in our law class.”
My body snaps to immediate attention, each muscle tightening. Going by the gleam in Jaxon’s eyes, I know exactly who he’s referring to. Perching myself on the arm of the couch, I pretend interest in the television as I eat my sandwich. “What blond chick?”
“The one dad chewed out. She sat next to you, remember?” Jaxon’s grin is self-assured as he tosses his phone on the coffee table, prepared to give the conversation his focus. Talking about girls—who he wants to do, who he’s done, who he won’t do—is his favorite subject. I will never understand how he can party so hard, and sleep with so many girls, while managing to maintain a perfect GPA. “I think she likes me.”
Eddie snorts. “You think anything with a pulse likes you.”
Jaxon ignores Eddie’s verbal jab. “She’s going to the frat party tonight. I’m going to make my big move,” he announces, grabbing hold of his dick over his shorts and giving it a lewd squeeze.
I swallow down the last bite of sandwich like its sawdust, and with it goes the territorial growl that was rising in my throat. When I speak, my voice comes out like sandpaper. “Yeah? What’s her name?”
“Jordan. Cool, huh? We match. Jaxon and Jordan.”
The thought of my cousin’s hands all over Jordan makes me want to snap something in two. Namely him. And it’s odd, because Jordan’s nobody special. At least not to me. She’s just my tutor.
“Oh that’s so adorable,” Eddie interjects with sarcasm and an eye roll. “Next you’ll have cutesy matching his and hers outfits.”
Eddie’s in a mood, and when he puts his right leg up on the table to elevate it, I know his old football injury pains him.
Standing up, I brush crumbs from my hands and jerk my chin at his knee. “You should put a pressure band on that.”
“Yeah,” Eddie mumbles. “I worked it too hard at the gym this morning.”
“Where are you going?” Jaxon calls out when I start for the bathroom.
“To have a shower,” I say over my shoulder. A cold one. “Looks like we’ve got a party to get to tonight.”
Jordan
I can hear muffled sounds of student laughter, shouts in the hallway, and parties in progress, all while I sit at my desk trying to study. A heavy textbook lies open in front of me, the macroeconomics model mocking me with its complexity. Paragraphs of text are smothered in blinding yellow. I know I made the highlights because the colored marker rests in my hand, but I don’t remember doing it.
Kyle Davis is like malware. He’s infiltrated my brain in a sneak virus attack. Every time I try and focus, he pops in my head the same way internet windows pop up faster than you can shut them down. You know when that happens you’ve opened something you shouldn’t have.
I slam my text closed and toss down my marker with disgust. It skitters off the edge of the desk and flies under the bed behind me. When I spin in my chair to retrieve it, my eyes fall to the rumpled sheets where he made himself comfortable earlier.
My pulse gives a little leap at the reminder of him lying there with hooded eyes after my shower. If only I can pretend he’s the asshole he wants me to think he is, but I know he’s not. The professor has obviously forced him into this, and don’t we all lash out when backed into a corner? When someone knows our weaknesses and can so easily betray us with them? Maybe it wouldn’t be so obvious to anyone else, but it is to me. My brother used to lash out the same way.
Turning back around, I open my laptop and go to the tab where Facebook sits open. Clicking on the search box, I type in ‘Kyle Davis.’ It’s not stalking. It’s called research, and something we’re actively encouraged to do in college. I’m sure he doesn’t look as good as I remember him. If I can just look him up and see a few inopportune drunk photos, it will clear the distraction right up, and I can get back to my textbook.
I go to click on enter when Skype dings at me. The repetitious bell chime is loud and demanding, and why wouldn’t it be when it’s Nicky on the other line.
I answer the call and my brother’s face floods my screen, the gray beanie on his head reminding me it’s winter in Australia, and cold.
My immediate smile is warm. “Hey, Nicky.”
He returns it. “How’s my favorite sister?”
My smile evolves into an eye roll. “You mean your only sister?”
“And thank God for that.”
“Har, har.”
He leans back in his chair and stretches. Halfway through a yawn, he asks, “How was soccer?”
I do the math in my head. Sydney is fifteen hours ahead so it’s Saturday morning back home. Home. A wave of homesickness rolls over me, and I have to force it back. “Good,” I manage to get out.
“Good? Is that all I get?”
“We won,” I offer.
“And?” he prompts.
“I scored two goals. One was a header in the final five minutes that clinched the game.”
Nicky shakes his head, like he can’t believe it but can, all at the same time. He’s proud, but he always struggles to put his feelings into words. “You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he eventually says and looks away for a minute.
I don’t miss the flicker of sadness in his eyes that he tries to hide, or the way he swallows hard. It doesn’t matter how much he wants this success for me, or that he wants it even more than I do, it’s because every victory takes me closer to my dream and one step further from him. We’re all the other has. It’s been the two of us against the world, right from the very beginning. And now it’s not even that.
A pang flares white-hot in my chest. “Nicky,” I whisper and raise my hand to the screen, placing my palm flat against its buzzing warmth. He raises his own, and for a brief moment we’re joined despite being half a world away. “You are too.”
“Aww shucks,” he says teasingly and drops his hand. The moment passes.
I tell him about getting hazed. It makes him laugh and hearing it warms my insides. In turn he tells me about his night out at an elitist party he went to with his best mate, Ben, and how they got kicked out when his wasted friend was caught peeing in the potted plant inside the house.
“Oh my god, that’s disgusting,” I screech. “And the guy works for a commercial landscaping business. Doesn’t peeing on plants go against every ethical code he works for?”
Nicky laughs. “I know, right?”
Before I know it, half an hour passes by and a sharp rap at my open bedroom door interrupts our chat.
“Why aren’t you ready to go?” Leah demands to know, and I half turn in my chair. Her dark brown hair is loose and curled, and she’s wearing a pair of black hot pants with a floaty top the color of ripe strawberries. It sets off her gorgeous mocha toned skin and lightly muscled shoulders.
When she see’s my brother on the screen she waves. “Hey, Nicky.”
“Leah,” he says. “How’s it going?”
“Could be better.”
“Yeah?”
“We’ve got a party to get to and a win to celebrate, but I have to wrestle your sister into a dress and get her out the door.”
“Good luck with that,” he says and yawns again. “I’ll leave you to it. Catch up with you later, Jords.” Nicky leans in, a finger hovering over the keyboard to end the Skype call. He looks up briefly, eyes the same clear blue as mine stare at me hard. “Be safe, okay?”
After his parting words, the screen goes black.
“Well … that was intense.” Leah shudders dramatically.
“What was?” I ask and shut my laptop with all haste because Facebook is now sitting wide open, Kyle’s name blinking brightly in the search box.
“How Nicky went all fierce before he hung up. It was kinda hot actually.”
“Gross, Leah.” I stand up and make a grab for the purple dress she’s scrunching in her hands. “That’s my brother.”
“What? I can’t think your brother’s hot?”