#Hater (Hashtag #2) (23 page)

“I’m not seeing how this is bad.” Sometimes women confused the shit out of me. Didn’t she want my mother to like her?

“I haven’t really done that since my mom…” Her voice faded away and everything clicked.

Ah, shit.
My mother was reminding her of her mother and all the things she was missing. “You miss your mom.”

“Every day,” she whispered, and my chest tightened.

This was a kind of hurt I couldn’t make go away. This wasn’t something I could punch or have served papers. Grief and loss wasn’t something I knew how to deal with. I pulled her closer and she snuggled in. One of the pencils in her hair poked me.

I reached up and pulled it out. Then another one.

“Sorry,” she mused.

I kissed her on the forehead. “You know my mom could never take the place of yours.”

“Sounds like something I said to your mom about you,” she mused.

“Oh yeah?” I smiled against her.

She nodded. “And I know. It’s just… hard. I want to spend time with her. I do. It’s just…”

“You feel like you’re betraying your mom?”

She glanced up. “No, not at all.”

I frowned. “Then?”

“What happens if we break up?” She rushed the words out so fast I stumbled to keep up.

“You think we’re going to break up?” Just the thought gave me chest pains.

“Not everything lasts forever.”

And then I understood.

I understood exactly why spending time with my mother scared her.

“Baby,” I murmured and lifted her off my lap. Her open laptop was nearby, and I moved it onto the floor. She was looking at me with shadows in her eyes when I turned back, and they haunted me.

I cupped her face in my hands and stared at her intently. “You can let them in. I’m not going anywhere.”

Behind her glasses, she squeezed her eyes shut.

I kissed the tip of her nose. “I love you so much. I’m keeping you. My family is your family now. I won’t let anyone take that away from you.”

“It hurts,” she whispered.

Something in my chest constricted. The pain in her voice was unmistakable.

“You were inevitable. I know that now. The minute I was handed that paper with your name on it for tutoring, it was like somehow cast in stone that you would get inside here,” Rimmel said as she pressed a hand to her heart.

Her eyes met mine. “I love you, more than anyone. Anything. And the thought of losing you keeps me up at night. You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone.”

“No, I don’t,” I said gently.

“I can’t let her in too. I can’t risk loving anyone else and losing them.”

“Come here.” I reached for her and her arms locked around my neck. I stretched out on the mattress, pulling her with me. Her body was pressed along mine and her face was buried in my neck. I held her without saying a word.

There really wasn’t anything I could say. Not really. It killed me that she hurt like this. It killed me that I didn’t know how to stop it. All I could do was love her. Love her and never leave.

“You know,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “My mother is a control freak. She’s not as lovable as me.”

The laugh that bubbled out of her eased some of the tension in my shoulders.

She looked up. Tears filled her eyes. “No one is as lovable as you.”

I pulled her glasses off and set them aside. When I rolled on top of her, she sighed and hooked one of her legs around mine. I kissed her deeply, swirling my tongue inside her mouth, and pulled her lip into mine to suck gently on the fullness. Rimmel’s hands slid into my hair, and she tugged me closer.

I kissed her with all the love I had inside me, trying to push out some of that darkness, some of that loss. I knew that feeling would never go away for her, but I wanted to at least make it smaller. I wanted my love to be bigger, to overpower that doubt.

She arched up off the bed into me. Even through our clothes, I could feel the erect pebbles of her nipples. She spread her thighs and I settled between her legs, growling in frustration at the layers of clothes keeping me from her skin.

I pushed my hips against her and she met me with a thrust of her own. I tore my mouth away from hers and kissed down her neck, nipping at the exposed skin with my teeth.

She sighed my name, and I ground my hard length into her. She moved restlessly and reached for the hem of my shirt.

Desire pumped through me so hard and fast that I didn’t even hear the door open. I just kept kissing her, trying to get closer.

Rimmel’s tongue slipped into my mouth, and I groaned.

“Yo, dude!” Braeden hollered. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Beneath me, Rimmel stiffened. Her hands that had found their way to the button of my jeans went rigid.

I lifted my head and blinked, trying to bring my sight back into focus. Braeden was standing down by my feet, staring at us with an amused expression on his face. “Did you not even hear Ivy come in the room?”

“No,” I growled. The desire was still pumping through me, and I was irritated that he was talking.

“Well, you gave her a show.”

Rimmel buried her face in my neck with a little squeal.

“I’ll be right out.”

“C’mon, blondie. Let’s give them a few.” Braeden tossed his arm around Ivy, who was standing right there and I hadn’t even seen her.

When the door closed behind them, I dropped my forehead down on the mattress beside Rimmel’s face and sucked in a shuddering breath.

“Stay at my place tonight,” I said, my voice hoarse.

“I have class in the morning.”

“I’ll drive you back.” I’d get up in the middle of the night if I had to.

“I have to finish this paper. My laptop is running really slow lately, and it’s due tomorrow.” As she made excuses, her fingers slid into the waistband of my jeans.

“You can use my laptop. It’s new. Hell, you can fucking have the thing.”

She laughed.

I groaned. “Please, baby. I can’t just leave you here.”

My lips found hers again, and they did a better job convincing than any words ever would.

“Promise you’ll let me finish the paper?” she asked and ripped her mouth free.

“On my honor,” I said solemnly and pushed up off her to place a hand over my heart.

Her eyes went to my crotch and the massive tent in my jeans. Her tongue darted out and licked her bottom lip. I groaned.

“‘Kay. Let’s go.”

I jumped up and gathered her laptop and power cord. “Get some clothes for the morning.”

She needed some closet space at my house. I was too impatient for her to pack a bag. “I need my book bag,” she said as she stuffed clothes into a duffle.

I tossed it over my shoulder and tucked the computer under my arm. Rimmel finished packing her bag and pushed her glasses back on her face. “Done.”

I took her hand and towed her out into the hall. Braeden saw us and burst out laughing.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Rimmel said to Ivy, who was standing right beside Braeden.

After we dropped Braeden at his dorm, I grabbed her face and kissed her again. Long. Slow. Deep.

“You promised I could finish my paper,” she reminded me, her voice husky.

“Yes, but I never promised anything about sleep.”

“I don’t need sleep. Just you.”

I didn’t think about Zach, football, or my mother the rest of the night. It was only her.

Rimmel

Weeks flew by.

I saw Romeo, but not nearly as much as I wanted to. Most of the time we spent together was during tutoring or stolen kisses between classes or other obligations. I longed to sneak off to his place for another night or an entire weekend.

We talked about it over texts and when we saw each other, but the past couple weeks, it had been really hard to find long stretches of time to be alone.

I was spending time with Valerie. Nothing too excessive; I was trying to take it slow. She didn’t push me, and I wondered if Romeo told her about my hesitation to become close to her or if maybe she was just perceptive. We had lunch one weekend. She took me to some place I’d never been. It wasn’t the type of place Romeo and I usually ate, with paper napkins and loud music.

This place was quiet and beautiful. The napkins on the table were cloth, and we had bread plates and special water goblets. It hadn’t been stuffy, though, or awkward; it had just been elegant.

Mostly we talked about the shelter and the plans for the fundraiser. Valerie was a very organized woman. She had notebooks and a calendar for everything. She didn’t much ask about my life. Occasionally, she would ask about Romeo, or I would mention my grandmother.

We also went around one afternoon looking at venues for the event. They were all very classy, and I worried how much they would cost. She merely brushed off my concerns and said the cost of the tickets would cover the room price.

I tried to be myself as much as possible, much to my own detriment. I was afraid if I was too much like myself, she’d be appalled and want nothing to do with me. So I always dressed nicely and had Ivy do my hair when I met with her. But I didn’t change my personality. I didn’t change my glasses.

There were some things about me she was going to have to accept. I did want her to like me—not some version I’d created, but the real me.

Michelle was beyond thrilled about the fundraising opportunity and went on and on about how lucky I was to be involved with Romeo, who had such a good standing in the community. But his status wasn’t why I was with him.

I loved him.

His eyes.

His smile.

The way he loved me.

Even though football season was over, he seemed as busy with it as ever. The NFL scout we met at the championship game called.

The NFL was interested. They were talking contracts, teams, drafting him.

Romeo’s dad was handling the negotiations. Apparently, he’d been studying up on the ins and outs of football contracts and deals since Romeo was in middle school. And since he was a lawyer and had Romeo’s best interests at heart, he made the perfect manager.

So in addition to the contract negotiations and the meetings with his father, Romeo was training just as hard as ever. He wanted this so badly, and now that his dream was right there in front of him, he wasn’t going to let it go.

I was proud of him.

When I first met him, I thought he was just another player jock. I thought he was a user, a slacker, and was lucky enough to have some talent he could exploit.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

He worked hard. Harder than most people I’d ever met. School might not be his strong suit, but he tried and he worked at it. He trained endlessly and perfected the talent he had. He didn’t take any of it for granted either.

He deserved this.

Of course, I was a little sad too. If he got drafted, where would that leave us?

I never voiced that worry out loud, never even hinted at it. I wouldn’t be anything but supportive of him, and I wouldn’t do anything to take away from his dream.

I had one last class before I could break for lunch. I was meeting Ivy and Missy at the food court. The granola bar I’d eaten in a hurry this morning on my way to class just hadn’t been enough and my stomach growled relentlessly.

I was excited for class, though.

Yes. I know. No one gets excited for class.

Except nerds.

I’d come to accept that title. I owned it.

I was getting my paper back today, the one I’d worked tirelessly on since the first week of classes. I’d researched a ton, spent hours putting together the topic and thesis. I wrote it, edited it, and then reworked it. My computer made it hard because lately it’d been running slow, and I made a mental note to take it somewhere to have it looked at.

This paper was important to me because it was for my animal science class. This class was an important part of my major, and I wanted to do a good job and prove this was certainly the correct career field for me.

Not only that, but high marks on a paper of this topic would help me stand out to veterinary schools when I graduated.

I just knew I’d get a good grade. It was well researched, thorough, and organized. I was proud of this particular assignment, and I was looking forward to seeing the high marks.

I took my seat in class and listened to a short lecture on what we were going over next week and also a recap of everything we’d gone over this semester. It was boring, and while I tried to listen, my thoughts kept turning to Romeo.

I decided when we got out of class, I was going to call him and see if we could see each other tonight.

The professor announced that the papers we’d turned in were graded and once he gave those out, we were free to leave for the day. I tucked my things in my bag and waited while he passed them out.

When he handed mine over, he didn’t smile or even acknowledge me. It was like he was trying not to look at me.

Odd.

I didn’t really think about it because I was too anxious for my grade and his remarks so I flipped up the professional cover page I’d designed and stared down at the red writing.

SEE ME!

I glanced around the room, wondering if anyone else got such an odd note on their paper. No one else looked the least bit concerned. In fact, most people were already up out of their seats and fleeing the room.

I glanced back down and flipped through the entire paper. There were no other comments or feedback. Many passages were underlined with red, but that was all.

What in world was going on?

I sat there in confusion until the last student left the room. The professor was at the front, sitting behind his desk. I flipped the pages closed and stood, clutching it in my hand.

“Professor Monahan? Was there a problem with my work?”

He looked up at me with an accusatory expression. I faltered and almost took a step back.

“I really am quite disappointed,” he said.

“Excuse me?” My heart started pounding beneath my ribcage and something in my stomach turned sour. I didn’t know what was going on here, but I knew it wasn’t good.

“All this time I thought you were a conscientious student. I thought you were truly dedicated to your major.”

Horror filled me. “I am!”

How could he think anything less?

He shook his head sadly and then looked at me like I was some sort of gunk on the bottom of his shoe.

“Do you know how serious plagiarism is?”

I looked up swiftly. “What?”

“It’s a very serious offense, Miss Hudson.”

“Yes, I can imagine it is,” I said, wary. “Why are you asking me about plagiarism?”

“Oh, drop the wide-eyed, innocent act,” he snapped and pushed away from his desk. “We both know you’re guilty and the paper you attempted to pass off as your own is not yours at all.”

“
What
!” I gasped. “Professor Monahan, I can assure you I wrote every single word of this paper and I did
not
plagiarize it.”

“Do I look like a fool to you?” he asked, leaning over his desk and giving me a look probably meant to make me think he could see through me.

It only made me angry.

“Are you actually accusing me of plagiarism?”

“Oh, I’m not accusing. I have proof.”

I snorted. “You couldn’t possibly.”

His laptop was open on his desk, and he hit a few keys and then turned the screen around so I could see. “The age of the internet has made plagiarizing papers rather simple. Students often assume we as professors are too stupid or old to realize such things exist.”

I stared down at the screen, trying to figure out what I was looking at.

“This, Miss Hudson, is a website that I and several other professors here on campus use to crosscheck papers turned in against papers that are for sale on various sites around the web.”

I glanced away from the computer and up at the man accusing me of being a cheater.

A cheater
.

If I wasn’t so freaked out right now, I’d laugh. “So you’re saying you checked my paper on this site”—I gestured to the laptop—“and it came up as a match?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Maybe a few sentences were very similar by coincidence. I mean, it is a well-documented topic.”

“Yes. I might be inclined to believe that if it had only been one or two sentences, but this was about ninety percent of the paper. Far too much content to be a coincidence.”

Suddenly, I felt lightheaded. The disbelief echoing through my body was profound. How was this even possible? I didn’t purchase this paper. I worked on it. For weeks.

“I think I need to sit down,” I said, gripping the edge of his desk.

I thought I saw a flash of something that might be construed as pity or doubt in his eyes, but then they hardened once more. “Yes. Well, you can sit down in the dean’s office.”

“Excuse me?” My fingers tightened on the ledge of his desk.

“I’ve alerted the dean. This is a very serious matter. Your very future at this university is at risk.”

“What?” I stumbled a bit but caught myself. My book bag fell over my shoulder and down my arm.

“Let’s go,” he said and picked up his briefcase and a set of keys. “I’m to escort you there.”

In all my life, I’d never been treated like a criminal. I’d never felt the squirmy sickness of panic quite like this. My hands broke out in a clammy sweat as my heart continued to race. I followed him out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the building.

The entire time I walked, I stared down at the paper, now marked in all red. It was my paper. I recognized the words on each page. I’d worked so long on it I could probably recite most of it in my sleep.

“Professor Monahan,” I pleaded as we walked. “You have to believe me. This is some kind of mistake.”

He looked back over his shoulder as we walked. “I don’t make mistakes. This was blatant plagiary.”

I swallowed down the bile in my throat and tried to calm my shaking limbs. As we walked, the wind whipped about and snow started to fall more heavily and coat the grass and sidewalk. I wondered if Ivy would wonder where I was, if she would think something was wrong.

I thought about texting her and telling her not to worry. But I couldn’t.

Something was wrong.

And I was worried.

When we walked into the staff building where the dean’s office was located, we continued through halls that smelled like bleach and lemon. Phones rang constantly and the sound of high heels clicking on the floor felt like nails on a chalkboard.

I took a steadying breath when we walked into the small entryway that led to the dean’s office. An older woman was sitting behind a desk, and when we walked in, she looked up and smiled.

I couldn’t force myself to smile back.

It took everything I had to not vomit.

“Tell him Professor Monahan is here,” the professor said.

The receptionist nodded and did as she was asked. When she hung up the phone, she nodded. “You can go in.”

On my way past, she gave me an encouraging smile. Tears rushed to my eyes, and she frowned.

“Hurry up, girl,” Professor Monahan said with his hand on the dean’s doorknob. Startled, I rushed forward and my foot caught the edge of an area rug beneath the receptionist’s workstation. I went flying forward. The paper I once thought of as my best work went soaring and skidded beneath a chair.