We Were Here: A New Adult Romance Prequel to Geoducks Are for Lovers (Modern Love Stories Book 1) (18 page)

“Bet your coaches loved you.”

“They did until I overdid it the night before State Finals.”

“You showed up drunk?”

“No, with a major hangover. I threw up in the cooler.”

“Ewww.” She pushed her bowl away. “You lost the championship?”

“We shut them out.” Pride colored my words.

“Teenage boys are weird.” Wadding up her napkin, she tossed it on her tray.

“Speaking of boys, have you seen Gil around?” The two of them were typically joined at the hip. I figured she was the best person to ask.

“I think he’s hanging out with Dawn.”

“Who’s Dawn?” I ran through a rolodex of names in my head.

“The girl he’s been seeing this month?” Her tone told me I hadn’t been paying close enough attention to my friends’ dating lives.

“Wait, I thought you two were dating.”

She snorted and the snort turned into an awkward laughter. “No!”

“It’s not completely crazy. You’re always hanging out together.”

“He’s like my brother.”

“Lies. I have a sister and she has never once looked at me the way you two look at each other. Ever.” I shuddered at the thought.

She blushed, but denied it. “No way. Girls and guys can be best friends.”

Smirking, I lifted an eyebrow. “No, they can’t. I saw
When Harry Met Sally.
”

“We’re friends.”

“Yeah, but we’re not best friends. And before you say Quinn is your best friend, he doesn’t count. He no more wants to get under your skirt than he wants to go to a strip club.”

“I disagree. Gil and I have even slept in the same bed. He’s never made a move.”

I frowned, thinking about why any guy wouldn’t make a move on Maggie. I knew I hadn’t because she was also Selah’s best friend. To avoid drama, unless Maggie would be “the one,” she was off limits. Some sort of girl code.

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t want to.” I took a bite of my sandwich, confident in being correct.

“You’re crazy.” She glanced down at her watch. “I’m going to be late for class.”

I dropped the subject of Maggie and Gil. None of my business if they were playing the platonic game.

“Don’t forget to get a costume for Thursday!” She left me alone at the table.

Costume?

“Sabotage” ~ Beastie Boys

LATE THURSDAY AFTERNOON
I realized I forgot to buy a costume. Or even a mask. Opening my closet door, I studied the contents. I flipped through my clothes and ties, hoping for inspiration. Taking out Gandalf, I set it on my desk to reach the stuff I didn’t wear often. In the back I found the garment bag with my favorite suit. The suit had a few wrinkles, but considering it had been in a bag for months, it wasn’t too bad. I shook it out. It would do.

An idea came to mind. Rather than go scary this year, I’d play to character. Or who people saw me as.

Easiest costume ever.

After I got dressed, I packed my pipe and tucked it in my suit pocket with a lighter. Eyeing my bong, I decided to take a quick, pre-party hit.

I didn’t bother with the towel or my window. One hit. No harm.

Satisfied with my buzz and costume, I swung open my door right as Jeff the RA walked by. Nose in the air and sniffing audibly, he had clearly been looking for the source of the herbal smoke that followed me like my shadow.

“Grant.”

“Hey there, Jeff. I’m headed out for the evening.”

“Nice suit. We need to talk before you take off.” He gestured behind me. I followed the direction of his finger and saw Gandalf sitting majestically on the desk in plain view.

“It’s a sculpture.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Ben. I know what a bong looks like.”

I held up my palms. “Okay, it’s not only a sculpture. It has a water feature, too.” I cracked up at my own joke.

He didn’t even twitch a lip in amusement. “I’m going to have to write you up for an infraction.”

“No way. Come on, Jeff. We’re buddies. You know I’m a good guy.” I searched my brain for something to bargain with, some angle I could work. “Aren’t you from Denver? Broncos are doing really well this season. You going home for winter break? I know someone who could get you sweet seats for one of their home games.”

“I hate football.” He crossed his arms and planted his feet. “Nice try, though. Subtle, but still a bribe. It’s campus policy. I need to write it up. Or I could lose my job.”

“Is this going on my permanent record?” I tried to joke.

“It’ll go in your file, yes.”

I started to panic, my anxiety ratcheted up with my heart rate. “Like on my official transcript? What if I want to apply to grad school or run for office?”

“You want to run for office? Like politics? Maybe you should have thought about your future before you smoked ganja.”

Who even said ganja anymore? “No, I want to get my MBA. I can’t get the job I want without it.”

“Again, you should have listened to Nancy and said no.” He quoted Nancy Reagan’s famous anti-drugs slogan.

Sighing, I shook my head and closed my eyes. “Fine. Do what you got to do. I’m late for a Halloween party.”

“You’re going to a party in a suit?”

‘“It’s a costume.” I held up my briefcase.

“Yuppie asshole?”

“Close enough, but no prize for you.”

“You’ll have to attend a disciplinary hearing next week.” He stood where I left him in front of my door.

“Fine. Let me know when and where.”

“You won’t need to wear the suit.”

“Thanks.”

The night went from mediocre to horrible in the span of five minutes. My mood followed.

At the party I stood in the corner, drinking Quinn’s version of spodie. Koolaid, fruit, alcohol—the combination worked its magic on me. After my fourth cup, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about anything.

When I woke up the next morning, my head pounded and my lip hurt. I ran my tongue over the tender skin, and tasted copper. If I moved my head, the room spun. I lay on my back, keeping as still as possible while I waited for details of the night to filter through my fuzzy brain.

Jeff spying Gandalf was crystal clear. Arriving and chugging a couple of cups of liquor out of a trashcan were less solid. Everything else fused together into loud static in my brain.

Drinking, smoking my pipe.

A room crowded with too many people. Dancing.

Loud music.

Women shrieking with screams of laughter.

Being called Alex P. Keaton by anyone who got my
Family Ties
costume.

Jo.

I shut my eyes to concentrate on the memory of Jo. What had she worn? Who did she show up with?

Her costume had something to do with feathers. Or wings. Maybe both. An angel? No, too trite for her. Swan?

Sitting up too quickly, I groaned.

Bile tickled the back of my throat as I remembered throwing up in some bushes outside a dorm. Somehow I knew it wasn’t my own dorm.

I swallowed. A painful throbbing took over my left temple. I closed one eye.

A grainy video played in my brain. Me. Standing outside the unknown dorm, shouting and slurring my words.

Dread settled in my stomach.

I’d been shouting Jo’s name.

Outside her dorm.

In the rain.

Like a drunk asshole.

With both my palms, I rubbed my eyelids, pressing into the sockets, trying to erase the memory while simultaneously filling in the gaps.

My fist making contact with a guy’s face flashed clearly into focus. I touched my lip in memory of his knuckle busting my lip.

Who was the guy?

He wore clown makeup.

I hated clowns.

Maybe he was a mime.

I hated mimes even more.

Hobo? He might’ve had a stupid sack on a stick.

Reality broke through my haze. He’d come with Jo.

I’d asked if he was her date and she told me it was none of my business. That pissed me off. Then the clown dissed my costume. I threw a punch.

Probably not one of the smartest things I’ve done. And I’ve done a lot of dumb shit over the years.

Someone pounded on my door.

“Go away!”

They kept pounding.

The last person who assaulted my door had been Jo.

I leapt up. Bad idea. Being vertical made my head throb and spin. The bile rose again. I bent over to let the nausea pass for a minute while the pounding continued.