Friend Zoned (Barnett Bulldogs #2) (44 page)

Oh my god, it’s so big!  I’ve been sleeping on a twin bed for the last fifteen months.  I literally can’t wait to spread out on that huge mattress.  Maybe roll around a bit.  Make some snow angles… minus the snow.  Already I’m looking forward to hitting the sheets tonight.

I just spent a little more than eight hours on a plane with a two hour layover in Amsterdam.  And France is six hours ahead of us.  So… I’d like nothing more than to fall into bed right now for a nice long nap.

When I don’t immediately respond, a thread of worry weaves its way through her voice.  “Ivy?”  Her concerned tone snaps me right out of my thoughts.

“Of course I did,” I finally say.  “There’s a short, thigh length pleated skirt, two hand woven scarves, one cashmere sweater, a gorgeous black knit top and these creamy trouser pants that your ass will thank me for.”

If watching Lexie sprawled out on top of me, wearing nothing more than a lacy little thong and a tank top is Dylan’s idea of a wet dream, hearing about all the beautiful clothes I brought back from Paris is hers.  We’re talking flushed cheeks and dilated eyes here.

And yes… it’s entirely possible Lexie could have an embarrassing moment in her shorts.  Although I hope not.

“Oh, I can’t wait to see them,” she squeals in delight, practically jumping up and down with unbridled enthusiasm.

Fashion design is Lexie’s life.  She was a budding fashionista way back in middle school before I ever cared about what top went with what bottoms.  Thank goodness for Lexie or I probably would have been much more of a walking fashion disaster than I was.

So of course I scraped together enough money and perused a few vintage boutiques to find unique pieces I knew she wouldn’t be able to get here in the States.  I hope she loves them half as much as I think she will.

“What about some hot French lingerie?”

Since Dylan is standing directly behind Lexie, she doesn’t bother turning around to admonish him.  She simply rams her elbow right into his gut.  He grunts in response.  If she hadn’t done it, I probably would have.

“Just stand there and look pretty,” she mutters under her breath.

My lips twitch at her words because he is definitely pretty.

Lexie gives me a little wink as if she can read my mind.  “Don’t let his good looks fool you, he’s smart, too.”

Of course he is.

Because gorgeous and smart are exactly the kind of guys Lexie attracts.  While I, on the other hand, had the sad misfortune to fall for a hot athletic jerk who assured me he was going to remain faithful to his study-abroad-girlfriend when in actuality, he started hooking up with other girls as soon as above-mentioned-girlfriend was out of the country.

I’ve had the last fourteen and a half months to get over Finn McKenzie.  And I have.  I am totally over him.  Unfortunately he’s been calling and texting almost relentlessly for the last week, which means he’s been occupying my thoughts way more than I’d like.

Perhaps I should say he’s been trying to call and text.  Because I haven’t bothered to pick up his calls or respond to his rather lengthy and apologetic text messages.  I mean, can you seriously believe that?  The guy has some nerve reaching out to me after what he did.  Is he really so delusional as to think we’re just going to pick up where we left off now that I’m back at Barnett?

Apparently he is.

We’d been together for about six months before I left for Europe.  And yes, I knew having a long distance relationship would be difficult but I was still willing to give it a shot.  I’d really grown to like Finn.  I literally hadn’t been gone more than two weeks when Lexie Skyped me about what Finn had been busy doing… which had been, in case you’re wondering, other girls.

And that, my friends, had been the end of that.

Lexie’s advice was to forget about my cheating asshole of an ex by hooking up with a bunch of hot French guys. 

I hooked up with two semi-hot French dudes and buried myself in dance which was the reason I’d been accepted to study at the Conservatoire de Paris in the first place.  After a few months, my heartache lessened.  I stopped thinking about Finn, my dad, his new wife, their kids and I just concentrated on soaking up everything I possibly could.  

It took some time to adjust but after about two months, I found myself with an amazing new life in a city renowned for its art and culture.  There was no way I was going to allow anything to ruin this once in a lifetime opportunity.  After about ten months, I stopped thinking about Lexie and coming back to Barnett University and started wondering if maybe I could live here for the rest of my life.

Or, at the very least, the next few years.

When I mentioned this possibility to my dad, he made it perfectly clear that he would not be footing the bill for a life in Paris and said, in no uncertain terms, he wanted me back at Barnett come August.  Undeterred by his directive, or perhaps because of it, I’d searched for enough scholarship and grant money to pay for me to continue studying in Paris.  Needless to say, I hadn’t been able to pull it off which is exactly why I was back at Barnett for my junior year.

“So, do you like it?”

My eyes swing back to Lexie who is standing there with all this hopeful expectation lighting up her face.  A tiny smile tugs at the corners of my lips because it really is good to see her after all this time apart.  “It’s absolutely perfect.”

Looking very much like the best friend I left behind fifteen months ago, a huge grin spills across her beautiful face right before she hurtles herself at me for a third time.

Sneak Peek

at

Stay

Chapter One

Shaking my head, I watch as my roommate, Brooklyn, busts out all her best moves on the makeshift dance floor.  She’s the tall blonde dancing with her hands twisting in the air almost as if she’s doing a very sad Stevie Nicks impersonation.

I almost wince.

Yeah… it’s that bad.

If I had to guess, I would say that Brooklyn isn’t feeling the slightest bit of pain at the moment.  I’m sure the liquid refreshment currently on tap is to be thanked for that.  I’m hoping tomorrow will be a completely different story.  She deserves the hangover-to-end-all-hangovers for dragging me to this God awful excuse to drink beer, get rowdy, and troll for a hook up or two.

My plan for the remainder of this evening consists of staying inconspicuously tucked away in the back corner and sipping my tepid diet soda because being a girl and walking around a drunken fraternity party is apparently an unofficial invitation to have your ass groped by some random dude.  Or should I say random
dudes
because this has now happened twice.  And a third time will very likely push me right over the edge of my douchebag tolerance limit for the evening.

The objective tonight is to keep an eye on Brooklyn and when the clock strikes twelve, drag her ass out of here… and I’m totally okay if it’s kicking and screaming.  Impatiently I glance at my cell phone for probably the twentieth time in the last two hours.

It’s only eleven.

This has officially become painful. 

I’m unfortunately snapped out of my dark thoughts on just how I will torture Brooklyn when a stray hand slides its way across my jean covered butt.

Seriously?

Even though I try to control it, my heartbeat hitches for just a moment before I spin around with tightened fists, ready to knock some unsuspecting jerk senseless.

“Excuse me,” I all but snarl through tightly clenched teeth, “get your damn hand off my ass before I break every single bone in your fingers!”  And contrary to what you might think, it’s not an idle threat.  I’ll do it.  As I turn, my eyes slam into probably the widest, burliest chest I’ve ever had the sad misfortune to inspect this up close and personal.

A sigh of disgust leaves my downturned lips before I can rein it back in.

Perfect.

Very slowly I crane my neck up, up, up until I’m finally able to glare into his eyes.  The freakishly large oaf now standing in front of me has the audacity to smile lazily, his gaze happily blurred.  “Hey sexy, want to dance?”  

The guy barely looks able to stand up straight let alone move his gargantuan body out on the dance floor.  If he goes down, it’ll be like a massive tree falling.  And I don’t even want to think about the huge mark he’ll inevitably leave on his potential dance victim.

My brows draw together in aggravation before I quickly shake my head.  “No, I don’t want to dance.  What I’d actually like is for you to remove your hand from my ass.”

Because, believe it or not, it’s still there.

He actually has the nerve to widen his grin before squeezing my butt cheek in that massive paw of his.  My eyes flare wide with shock and I think steam pours out of my ears.

Oh hell no- that did
not
just happen.

Wiping the disgust from my face, I give him my best come hither smile.  Just because I never use these kinds of tactics doesn’t mean I don’t know how.  His already dilated eyes widen like he’s just hit the jackpot.  Stepping a bit closer to the big knuckle dragging Neanderthal, I crook my finger kind of all sexy-like until he bends down.  When our lips are close enough to touch, I drag my mouth to his ear.  Then, before I can utter a single word, I clamp my fingers around his balls (which are, in case you’re wondering, oversized just like the rest of him) in what I seriously hope is a death grip.  Just for good measure, I give them a little twist.  He hisses out a breath in response.

Now that I have his undivided attention, I growl, “If you don’t get your damn hand off my ass immediately, I will continue squeezing until something pops.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly,” he squeaks, sounding almost faint.

Not a second later, he releases my offended butt cheek.

And I, in return, release his still intact nuts.  But not before I tighten my fingers one last time to drive home the gravity of the predicament this moron now finds himself in.  For about ten seconds we glare at each other before he carefully backs away from me and my nut clenching fingers.  As he does, his face gets all sad and mopey like I’ve done something wrong which is seriously laughable.

Frankly, I’m still pissed as hell.

“You’re not a very nice girl,” he mutters like a cross child before taking a huge gulp of what I assume to be beer from a big red plastic cup.

Rather unattractively I snort in response.  “Nope.  But hopefully you’ve learned a valuable lesson regarding the pitfalls of grabbing some unsuspecting girl’s ass.”  Although, gaging from his unapologetic stance towards me, my guess is that he has not taken this lesson to heart.  On second thought- “Just refrain from grabbing
any
girl’s ass.  Contrary to what you apparently think- we don’t like it. 
At all
.”

“Some girls do,” he pipes up still sporting an intense frowny face which is probably supposed to make me feel bad.  It doesn’t.

Eyes narrowing, I shake my head.  “No, we don’t.  It’s degrading and just plain rude.”

He smirks before sneering, “No one’s ever complained before.”

Not only do I find that comment completely dubious but I can almost feel my blood pressure sky rocketing.  Yep, Brooklyn is definitely a dead woman because this party has moved beyond painful to full out tortuous.  “What’s your name?”

“Alex Mc-”

I hold up my hand effectively cutting him off.  “That’s enough.”  For just a moment, my eyes fly around the general vicinity we’re standing in.  Luckily, as packed as this massive party is, it doesn’t take long to find exactly what I’m looking for.  “Excuse me,” I shout over the pulsating music at a pretty girl walking past us.  With a smile gracing her lips, she turns.  The high wattage smile slips from her face once she realizes that she doesn’t know who the hell either one of us are.

Before she’s able to make a hasty get away, I quickly launch into my spiel.  “Hi, what’s your name?”

Her gaze, which is slightly blurry as well (jeez, are there seriously no sober people at this party?), quickly bounces between Alex and myself.  I can tell she’s hesitant to give me any information.

“Stacy.”

I give her my most reassuring smile.  “Hi, Stacy, I’m Cassidy and this is,” I point to the obnoxious buffoon standing next to me, “Alex.  We’re having a little disagreement that we need settled.  Would you mind weighing in on the matter?”

With Stacy still looking uncertain, I barrel on.  “My friend here thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to walk around a party grabbing the butts of girls he doesn’t know.  And furthermore, he’s under the impression that we enjoy it.  I’m just wondering if you might have any thoughts on the matter.”

Stacy no longer looks hesitant or uncertain as her heated gaze swings back to Alex.  Then, in a big sweeping gesture, she jerks her hands out in front of her.  “What makes you think any girl would enjoy being touched by some random dude she doesn’t even know?”

Alex opens his mouth as if he might actually have a rebuttal in mind, but Stacy has other ideas.  Like screeching at him in a very high, potentially eardrum shattering voice.  “Where do you get off thinking you can grope a girl simply because you’re drunk at a party?  Is there something seriously wrong with you?  Do you have any concept that we’re living in the twenty-first century?”