Every novel has its own take on the romantic hero. Most novels use that classic trope that we’ve all grown tired of: the Love Triangle. Wickham lied about Darcy’s father to gain Elizabeth’s affections. Jay Gatsby wined and dined Daisy Buchanan, offering her a life her husband, Tom, couldn’t. Linton was the safe choice of my favorite heroine, Catherine Earnshaw, who chose him over a life of destructive passion with Heathcliff. Even a tan and buff werewolf boy tried to win the ever-so-witty Bella Swan’s heart over that sparkly ancient vampire lover dude.
It’s been done over and over again, and since he’d lived this through story after story, he thought it laughable when he found himself in his own real, actual love triangle. In his own story, the bad-boy-turned-wannabe-saint with daddy issues tries to keep the stubborn innocent virgin away from the trendy and emotional boy who wants to save the flowers and the planet all in a day’s work. The classics end with most of the aforementioned characters’ deaths, or the birth of half-vampire babies, but they all have a common theme: one of the two men never stands a chance, and when it came to his relationship with her, he didn’t know if how much she cared for him would mean he would win out in the end.
Still, they deserve props, the other guys who get back out into the game after losing to the obvious suitor.
Another party. Another overcrowded party where everyone does the same shit on a different day. Drinks are poured into red cups, and the music blasts from room after room. Every person I pass as I walk down the hallway looks even more bored than the last, so I find it odd that this year’s kickoff party is much more crowded than last year’s. Where do all the people come from? Has everyone become so bored with themselves that they cling to a large group of other people pretending to have amazing social lives? I’m beginning to see that’s all college is. Washington is very different from where I grew up in Florida, but colleges seem to be the same everywhere you go.
“I need to piss,” I complain to the air as I lean against the wall next to the bathroom door. A few moments later, a petite girl with blond shoulder-length hair steps out of the bathroom. Her gaze turns down toward the floor when she walks past me. She’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt that extends down to hug the curves of her hips perfectly despite her loose, even baggy jeans.
“Excuse me,” she says, and smiles at the carpeted floor as she maneuvers past me and down the hall.
I step into the bathroom and close the door. The small space smells like artificial vanilla spray. It’s quite disorienting, so I piss quickly, wash my hands, and open the door… and step into a crowd of girls. One of them looks me up and down, her eyes widening as she takes in my features. I can almost read her mind. She opens her mouth to speak, but when I look over her head, the blond girl with the killer hips is standing at the top of the stairs. I watch as she goes to grab something from her back pocket, but coming up empty, she licks her lips and rolls her eyes. I can feel her attitude from here. I had made it a point not to look for anyone for a while after the Tessa thing, but I find myself moving down the hallway toward the blonde. I’m not looking for anything serious, but I could use a decent conversation at this point.
As I near the top of the staircase, her small hand wraps around the metal post in a very delicate manner. I take a few steps closer to look at her, and she descends the stairs slowly and cautiously even though she’s wearing sneakers. Her hair is thick, covering half of her back. I watch as her eyes scan the crowd. She’s aware of her surroundings—I can tell by the way she rests her eyes on every face she sees. Is she looking for someone? I watch her teeth pull in her top lip and decide to approach her. Her jeans are rolled at the bottom, and I can make out the shape of a star near her ankle.
“Are you looking for someone?” I ask her.
When she turns to face me, her brown eyes are big, nearly too big for her face, which makes her seem slightly terrified. “I was looking for my friends, but I think they left.” She frowns.
“Oh. Do you want me to help you find them?” I offer.
Continuing to look around the room, she reaches past my face and lifts a baseball cap off of a passing guy. He grumbles and she smiles, only slightly embarrassed and somewhat desperate seeming.
I look at her, wondering why she did that. “My friend John is wearing a cap, too,” she explains. I can’t tell if she’s timid or aggressive yet, but I want to find out.
“Can’t you call them?” I ask.
“No, my phone is in my friend’s purse,” she says with a sigh. “I didn’t want to have to bring one. I knew I shouldn’t have come here. Parties aren’t my thing.” Her voice grows louder, and she begins to gesture with her hands. “And yet Macy begged and begged. It will be fun, she said—we’ll only stay for an hour, she said.”
With a little huff her nose crinkles up, and I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from laughing.
She flushes, embarrassed. “What?”
“Nothing,” I lie. She’s pretty damn cute. “Do you want a drink or something?”
“I don’t drink often,” she says softly.
“Often or at all?”
“Sometimes, but definitely not at crowded parties with a bunch of strangers.”
“Well, I guess that makes sense.” I smile, letting her know that I find it kind of cool that she’s not feeling the need to get wasted like the rest of the girls here. Or the boys, for that matter.
“It’s not like I can’t have fun without being trashed.”
“Okay.” I nod, finding her more attractive by the second. “Well, I can get you some water or pop and you can hang out with me and my friends until you find yours?”
“Um, I’m not sure.” She looks around the living-room-ful of strangers. “I don’t know anyone, and parties like this are usually pretty shady.” Her gaze moves to two drunk guys circling a group of freshman girls in small dresses.
She’s got a point.
Nate waves at me from across the room, and I look at this intriguing girl once more.
“Well, if you decide you don’t want to stand here alone, you’re more than welcome to join us over there.” I point toward the group and watch her eyes widen as she takes in the hundred or so tattoos among the lot of us.
“They’re nicer than they look,” I tease. When she smiles uncertainly, I add, “Well, some of them, anyway.”
She surprises me by barking out a little laugh and then following me over to my group of friends. Tristan stands up, allowing her to sit on the couch, and she politely thanks him. I haven’t seen him too much lately, but I’m glad he’s back from Louisiana, single and officially done with Steph’s bullshit.
“Here’s to the last year of this college bullshit.” He raises his cup and taps Logan’s. Molly joins in and adjusts herself on his lap.
“Ugh, not for me—I still have two more,” Nate complains. The girl he’s been seeing—Briana, I think—rolls her eyes, mutters what I think is a playful “Drama queen,” and grabs his cup to take a drink.
“I should have gone to a trade school.” He tilts his head back, and the girl watches him in amusement. “College fucking blows.”
“I told you you should have taken that apprenticeship at the tattoo shop,” she scolds him. He rolls his eyes and tugs at the tiny strap holding her shirt on one of her shoulders; half of her deep brown skin is showing, but I sure as hell don’t mind.
“I’m still thinking about it,” he tells her. Honestly, it sounds like a decent play, since he’s having such a hard time finishing college.
“Anyway, enough of this boring career-planning shit. Who’s this?” Molly points to the girl I met in the hallway.
“This is…” I look at her for help. I forgot to ask her damn name.
“Therise,” she says, and I get a tiny hint of an accent I hadn’t noticed before.
Damn.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” Molly laughs, leaning against Logan.
“Nice name.” Jace smirks, licking along the edges of the rolling paper in his hands.
“Wanna play a game, Therise?” Molly says with a tone I know. “Truth or Dare?” She looks to me, and I shake my head.
“No, no one wants to play that shit,” I say, glaring at Molly. Therise is clueless and looks anxious and slightly uncomfortable.
“Oh, come on. I bet it would be fun,” Jace says.
Molly nods along. “Yeah, from the looks of her, maybe you could win—”
Logan reaches up and covers his girlfriend’s mouth. I still can’t believe these two are together.
“Cut it out,” he says to her.
She rolls her eyes but stays quiet once his hand moves from her big mouth.
“I’m not having any part in a repeat of last year. That was too much drama.” Logan kisses Molly’s bare shoulder, and she smiles, for real this time, looking far less evil while doing so.
Therise looks at me with a wrinkled brow, then at everyone else and their suddenly weird energy. “What was last year?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I proclaim, and look at my friends, hoping they’ll keep their mouths closed. I just met this girl—it’s too early for her to be bombarded with this crap.
“This guy named Hard—” Molly just can’t keep her mouth closed.
“We aren’t going to talk about Hessa anymore!” Logan groans. “They’re like that reality-show couple that no one was supposed to mention.”
“What the fuck is a Hessa?” Nate’s girl asks.
Molly proudly raises her hand. “I came up with it!” she practically shouts. “I get full credit for that shit. I named those crazy fucks, and I expect an invite to their wedding.” She laughs. Her hair is a washed-out pink; it’s faded a lot, and she hasn’t dyed it in a while. It’s mostly blond now and in an elvin haircut.
“They aren’t getting married,” I snap at her.
I’m so tired of hearing about those two. I’m tired of seeing Tessa’s posts on Facebook. She’s so happy in New York; Hardin’s so happy; everyone is so damn happy.
Yay for them.
“Not right now, but I would bet money on that shit.” She smiles. “And I? I would win.” She’s drawn circles around her eyes with black pencil, and when she winks at me, she looks like a cat.
Logan adds salt to my wound by nodding sagely to this. Like it’s so obvious to everyone.
Molly waves her hand for silence among the group. “Anyway, before you all came, we were reliving the grand tale of Zed’s ex-girlfriend.”
“Wasn’t my girlfriend,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Damn,” someone says. Jace, maybe?
“Well…” Therise stands to her feet and awkwardly cracks her knuckles. “This is when I leave.” She smiles hesitantly and walks away.
I must have a pained or annoyed or angry expression—I felt all of those things—because Logan pipes up, “You may as well let her go; you’re only going to gain another enemy. She probably has a boyfriend who’ll slash the tires on your truck.”
Apparently my friends have all decided they’ll give me shit all week about my history of expensive mistakes.
This expectation that my dating life will always be one disaster after another deflates my anger a little bit. I don’t have the energy to be mad, really, when it’s always the same. “I didn’t know that chick was engaged, and I’m pretty sure it was her, not her fiancé, that did that shit,” I say, and cringe when I remember what Jonah Soto did to my car. That dude should not be able to hold a professor position here. Total nutcase.
Nate shrugs, taking a swig of his drink. “Stop sleeping with random chicks, then.”
“That was over a year ago, and how was I supposed to know that her fiancé was going to be a professor here?”
That whole weekend was a disaster. If I’d known the chick was at the club for her own bachelorette party, I wouldn’t have gone home with her. I mean, there’s a reason tradition dictates they wear those tacky feather boas and fake tiaras and that sash that reads BACHELORETTE or something. It’s like a fair-warning label so that guys don’t do something stupid—or she doesn’t do something stupid. The sash is like the first thing you’d have to take off, so it being there is a big reminder to her that, oh yeah, she’s getting married. In this case—the very next day.
It was just my luck that the only time in my life I had a one-night stand, this was the result. (I may have led my friends to believe a generally exaggerated version of my sex life, but they don’t need to know that.) The guy was cool, cooler than I would have been, until he tried to get me removed from the science program and fought to keep Hardin from being expelled. No one seemed to question why a young professor would take the side of a troublemaker he doesn’t even know. That was bullshit, but at the end of the day, I’m glad Hardin wasn’t expelled.
“Who are you all talking shit to, anyway”—I wave an arm at the group—“because Molly here has fucked half of you.”
“Watch it,” Logan warns, and everyone tenses.
But instead of arguing with him, I choose to follow after the new girl.
I don’t know her, but she seems chill and she’s drop-dead gorgeous. Yes, she reminds me of Tessa, and yes, it’s taken a long time for me to get over that one, and maybe this is a bad idea—but aren’t most things?
With all that swirling through my mind, I get up to find her.
I didn’t mean for the situation with Tessa to become what it did. I cared about her, yes, but I got caught up in my stupid jealousy and petty need for some type of revenge against Hardin for his having sex with Samantha. I did like Tessa a lot, but my feelings for her were nothing close to the way Hardin felt about her.
Samantha was amazing; she was fun and a few years older than me. That was a turn-on, but she was wild. Since this thing with Tessa ended, I’ve often thought her relationship with Hardin was equivalent to what I had with Samantha. But Samantha slept with Hardin, and didn’t see much of a problem with it. She acted like it was a normal thing to do, to sleep with my friend. He didn’t care either, of course.
I cared. I was devastated and pissed, and I let it fester inside of me, waiting for the right time to strike back at him. Tessa trusted me, even after my involvement with the Bet in the beginning. I was the one who told her the details about it, and she always came to me when she needed me. That was the problem, though: she only came to me when he tossed her to the side, and I’m not about that kind of thing. I don’t want to always be second choice. And besides, it was too much drama, and after the initial win of getting under Hardin’s skin, it became exhausting to keep running to her rescue and keep up with their childish relationship.
I should have left her alone after her psycho boyfriend hit me the first time. But no, his anger only spurred me to keep going and win. Why should he get to sleep with Samantha, then participate in the Bet, and then get to decide when everything’s okay and settled and the game’s over and I have to stop caring?
It was all so childish. I can see that now. I shouldn’t have tried to come on to her that night at her mom’s house, and I shouldn’t have said half the shit that I did. My stupidity has kept me single since then, and I haven’t heard from Tessa in over a year. The sad thing is that I miss talking with her.
I’ve been told she moved to New York City with her friend Landon, but I know it won’t be long until Hardin follows her there. As much as I hate to admit it, they have something special between them. As dysfunctional as they are, I’ve never seen two people fight for each other the way those two do. Hardin sure as hell doesn’t deserve her, but it’s not my place to interfere, not anymore.
I step outside and scan the yard for Therise, then spy her perched on top of the broken stone wall, bringing another memory to mind. She’s picking at the chipped stone, and when I approach her, she moves to jump down.
“Wait.” I hold up my hand and wave it in a gesture of peace. “I can help you find your friends or find someone to give you a ride home.”
“I don’t know.” She eyes me carefully, watching for hints of a serial killer, maybe.
“It’s only a ride home. My friends are loudmouths, but none of them will hurt you. I’ll come along if you wish. I’ve been drinking, so I can’t take you.”
I raise a brow to her; she shakes her head. “Wow, so the cute punk boy does have some common sense.” She smiles, mocking me in a sweet way.
“Sometimes,” I admit with a shrug. I reach out to shake her hand. “I’m Zed.”
She hesitates for a moment before reaching for my hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Z-ed.” She says my name like she’s afraid to swallow it.
“Nice to meet you, too, Therise.”
