In Ruins (30 page)

“You showed a video of my girl to fuck with me? Do you think that was fucking
smart
, Manny?”

His eyes go wide. “No one saw anything scandalous, and it was great material for the project!”

“
Fuck
the project!” I roar. “You think it was okay to put clips of me fucking in a school project and play it for the whole class? You think it was okay to do that to an innocent fucking girl?
My
innocent fucking girl!”

“No one can tell it was you—or her. No one saw anything!”

“Except you!”

“Dude—”

“You watched
my fucking girl
?” I'm utterly blinded with rage.

“I'm not the one who had sex in front of a camera!”

I swing.

Manny's head snaps sideways, and I throw him by his shirt into the wall, needing him away from me before I swing again and do real damage. He rubs his affronted jaw, holding his other hand up in an attempt to block my assault, but I just stand there glowering at him.

The door opens behind me.

“Tuck!” Carl steps into the room and her small hand closes around my tensed biceps.

I glance back at her horrified expression.

“Tuck, don't. Please,” she pleads.

Manny rolls his injured jaw. “Too late,” he murmurs.

I heave in angry breaths. “Apologize to her!” I demand.

Manny doesn't hesitate. “I
am
sorry. But you would've watched it too if you were me—you
know
you would. And it just worked so well for the project, and I wasn't going to use it against you, I swear to God. And no one will ever know who it was!”

“They better fucking not, Manny. Because if a single person on this campus makes even one sly remark about Carl—gives her so much as a questionable look—I will hold you responsible, and I will fucking
end
you. And if either of us gets so much of a fraction of a grade docked because of a fucking peer review, I'll know exactly who to come looking for. Do you understand me?”

He nods. His gaze lands behind me. “I really am sorry, Carl. My intention wasn't to hurt you.”

“You should have just deleted it,” she mutters. Her fingers tighten on my arm and I exhale a harsh breath, turning to face her. “Let's go,” she says meaningfully.

I nod. Yeah, we should definitely go. Before I get myself fucking expelled.

“We'll see you at the presentation Wednesday,” Carl says to Manny, far calmer than me, and infinitely more forgiving. “No more surprises, okay?”

“Yeah. I swear,” he says.

“And you better delete that fucking footage,” I add.

“Already done.”

Present Day

Finals pass uneventfully. Between cramming for tests and the tests themselves, I haven't seen much of Carl. But now that they're over I'm feeling impatient. Every moment she's not mine makes my chest ache, and at some point I realized I've just been stalling. That there will never be a way to ensure she'll forgive me with any certainty, no opportunity that will allow me to prove I'm worthy of her. If I want my girl back, I'm going to have to bite the bullet, and I've made a promise to myself that when we return to campus next month, we'll be doing it as a couple.

Overhearing Carl and Zayne chatting like old friends after our last creative marketing class served as its own motivation. Carl called me crazy when I suggested it, but I see the way Zayne looks at her, and it wouldn't surprise me if he was just waiting until he wasn't her professor anymore to try something with her.

Everyone had already gotten their grades and left, and with our group all receiving perfect peer reviews, we all ended up with A's on the project. Which means two things—that Manny was smart enough to take my threat seriously, and that all four of us will interview for the internship.

I couldn't bring myself to thank Zayne, so I just said “bye,” and I was waiting outside the door for Carl, hoping to walk her to her next class. She obviously didn't know I was waiting, and she stopped to talk to Zayne, who'd been standing on the other end of the door, saying good-bye to each student as we exited.

“Hey, Carleigh. I'll see you tomorrow at the presentation,” Zayne said, a little too warmly for my taste.

“Definitely,” Carl replied. “Listen, in case we don't have a chance to talk then, I just wanted to thank you. For, you know, everything.”

“Thank you for being a fantastic student.”

“Yeah, well, I really enjoyed the class. I feel like I learned a lot, and…to tell you the truth, it's the first time I feel like I've actually learned something practical.”

“Well, it is. Every business needs marketing, right? You can own the most phenomenal chain of salons in the country, but if no one hears about them, you won't be successful. Same goes for your makeup.”

I was stunned, and honestly, a little hurt. She'd only confided in me about those dreams after we'd made our relationship official.

“And frankly, Carleigh, you have a knack for it. Some things can be learned, but others you just get or you don't. And you have an innate grasp of how to connect with an audience.”

“I don't know about all that.” Her voice was small—humble. But she's not the self-deprecating type, which meant she actually doubted herself. Zayne didn't pick up on it. He doesn't know her like I do. He never fucking could.

“Humility is a good thing, Carleigh, but it's okay to take credit when it's due, too. Important, even. I didn't get where I am by just accepting the hand I'd been dealt, or by letting others take advantage of me. We have to show others what we're made of, yeah? Take what we deserve.” Zayne was emphatic and passionate, and as a teacher—I hate to admit—not
un
inspiring.

“Yeah,” Carl agreed. “You're right.”

“I'm glad you think so.” Something in his tone rubbed me the wrong way, though I couldn't put my finger on what.

Zayne proceeded to ask after Billy, and the fact that they seem to have formed a sincere connection hit me hard. I suspected his interest in her from the minute I saw him lay eyes on her that first day of class. The way he looked at her, how he seemed to notice her presence just a little more than everyone else's—it unsettled me from the start, and I can only hope their relationship ends with the class.

Except, of course, we'll be seeing him today.

I drive Carl to the sleek, modern office building that houses Steepman and Boyle, the big-time advertising firm where we're going to present our campaign. Julia suggested we all ride together, but Carl thought it unwise for me to be in such a tightly enclosed space with Manny. Smart girl.

We head to the eighth-floor office suite and tell the receptionist our names. The rest of our team has yet to arrive, and Zayne is apparently already in with the ad execs, so we're told to have a seat.

Julia and Manny show up minutes later, and Zayne comes by with two men and a woman, introduces us all. They tell us they'll be with us shortly, and we all sit back down to continue our wait.

I excuse myself to use the restroom. After I do my business, I straighten my tie in the mirror. We were told to dress professionally, though I doubt anyone will be looking at me, not with Carl wearing that almost-sheer white blouse and sexy navy skirt. I can't help but wonder what's underneath, and as I picture pretty white lace, I have to force my focus onto lacrosse drills, lest I have to walk into our meeting plagued with a monstrous hard-on.

I exit the bathroom to head back to join the group, and as I'm about to turn the corner I hear Zayne in conversation and I pause.

“You sure we can't entice you to come back to work for us?” some vaguely familiar voice asks, and I think it's one of the men we were introduced to in the waiting room.

“Thanks, Todd, but my mind's made up,” Zayne replies.

“You're positive? I thought the whole point of getting your master's was to be eligible for the next salary bracket? I'm pretty confident I could talk Marcy into implementing a raise early for you. You know she's a—uh—
fan
of yours. If you were willing to feed the cougar, I bet you might even get yourself a quarterly bonus—performance-based, of course.” The Todd guy chuckles as if he's delivered some hilarious quip, and Zayne returns a forced parody of good-natured amusement.

“Appreciate it, but like I said, I'm coming into a substantial inheritance fairly soon. Nothing personal.”

“But you're still teaching that class at the college, so it's a little personal,” Todd jokes.

Zayne laughs. “What can I say? I enjoy shaping fresh young minds.”

“You mean fresh young
meat
,” Todd corrects, and to my very slight relief, Zayne doesn't laugh.

“You are something else,” he admonishes instead.

“Hey—they're legal,” Todd defends, and I feel bile rise in my throat. The only
fresh
young meat
he's laid eyes on from Zayne's class are Carl and Julia, and no offense to Julia, but I have no doubt it's Carl who's caught his eye.

Zayne sighs. “You know that isn't why I'm there.”

Todd exhales his concession. “Yes, yes, I know. I was just having some fun.”

Zayne seems happy to change the subject. “Anyway, this was my last semester teaching. So I'm free. To relax, or travel on a whim—whatever I choose. I can't say I'm not looking forward to it. I've been working since I was thirteen.”

“Right, right,” Todd agrees. “Maybe it's a blessing that your father lost his company when you were a kid, yeah? You've had some adversity, learned some work ethic instead of becoming one of those spoiled, sniveling trust fund brats.” Todd laughs, but Zayne doesn't.

“I'm going to have to disagree with you on that one.”

“Fair enough. Well, you're getting that inheritance now, so all's well that ends well and all that.”

“So they say.”

Great
. So Zayne is a good-looking guy, and now he's about to come into what sounds like a serious load of cash. And he clearly has a connection of some kind with Carl. I know Carl isn't remotely superficial, but I'm not naïve enough to think that an attractive, rich, ex-professor wouldn't hold a certain appeal to any girl. And just because Zayne doesn't appear to be the amoral dog this Todd character clearly is, now that he's no longer Carl's professor, if he wants to date her, there's no ethical reason for him not to. Hell, he doesn't even work for the school anymore. He literally has nothing to lose.

And me? I have everything to lose.

Fuck. I could lose her.

Yeah, that proverbial fire under one's ass? Consider mine lit. Consider it a blazing fucking inferno.

I pass the men still talking in the hall, and without another thought, march over to Carl and grab her arm.

She starts, her hand flying to her chest, and her eyes close briefly in relief when she realizes it's me.

“I want to have dinner tonight,” I blurt.
Damn it, Tucker. A little more fucking finesse.

Carl's brows pinch together and she blinks at me.

“What I mean is…will you let me take you out to dinner tonight?” I rephrase. Not an order, not a statement, but a request. “To celebrate our win. And…to talk.”

It catches her off guard, and her pretty lips part and close twice before she speaks. “Sure, Tuck. I…” She exhales, and runs her bottom lip between her teeth—
nerves
. “I would really like that.”

And suddenly I think we might just have a chance after all.

The presentation went better than I expected. I was surprised by how seriously we were taken. I won't pretend I didn't feel out of place in the massive conference room, all contemporary sleek lines and minimalist decor, but the meeting itself was decidedly less intimidating.

Carl talked about our concept and the inspiration behind it, I explained our strategy for writing the jokes, and Julia discussed the filming process while Manny got technical about his editing program and technique, and they seemed sincerely impressed. Carl, in particular, was in her element, and I think again about what I overheard Zayne say about her having a knack for marketing. He was right, but I should have been the one to notice it—to point it out to her, give her that confidence. But I'm grateful to have that opportunity now.

After our presentation they interview us one by one, and I spend mine talking up Carl.

I take her hand once we're back in the waiting room. She is positively beaming. She knows she owned that meeting, and probably her interview, too, and she's proud of herself. She's never sexier than when she radiates confidence and self-assurance like this, and I stare at her a moment, trying to find the words to tell her how magnificent she is, how impressed I am with her, how incredibly proud.

“Carleigh, you got a minute?” Zayne calls from behind me.

I reluctantly release her hand, trying not to let my resentment show.

Zayne pats me on the back and my muscles tense. “Good job in there, Tucker,” he praises, but his eyes are on Carl. “Carleigh, do you have some time to stick around? Marcy wants to talk a little more to you about their internship program.”

Carl's eyes go wide. “
Really
?”

Zayne chuckles. “Don't act so surprised, Carleigh.” He winks.

I grit my teeth.

Carl's eyes slide to me, and I take care to hide my discomfort. This is an amazing opportunity for her and I can't begrudge it just because it's coming from Zayne. But Carl looks uncertain, and I realize she's worried about our dinner plans.

“Go, Princess. I'll meet you after, okay?”
Shit
. I just called her
Princess
in front of our fucking professor. Well, ex-professor.

Whatever, fuck him.

Two hours later I'm sitting at Kumo, the sushi restaurant I told Carl to meet me at before I left the office building. My mood is a strange combination of regret and hope.

I look around the red and black decor, accented with Japanese cherry blossoms. This place holds so many memories for Carl and me that it feels almost surreal to be sitting here.

The hostess knew right where to seat me, and I get settled in the corner table where Carl fed me sea urchin for the first time, and I joked that it looked like monkey brains. It's the same table where I got censuring looks from a middle-aged man for hauling her onto my lap and shoving my tongue down her throat. And an entirely different time when an elderly couple laughed and cheered me on for doing the very same thing.

This is where Carl told me about her salon dreams, where I promised her she'd make them come true. It's where I realized it had been exactly one year since we'd first hooked up, declared it our anniversary, and when she was skeptical that it qualified, ordered her cake and had the entire waitstaff sing
Happy Anniversary
to the tune of “Happy Birthday.” Her mortified smile was fucking gorgeous.

I tap my chopsticks against the edge of the table, grinning to myself at the memory. Tonight, it will be where I tell her I never stopped loving her. That I never could. I will tell her I was wrong to assume she knew about my father's connection to her own, and apologize. And it's where I will fucking beg until she forgives me—until she agrees to give us another shot. Because I will never let her go.

By eight-thirty I start texting her. I assume she got caught up with those marketing executives, and I know it's probably a good thing, which is why I let half an hour pass before trying to get hold of her.

She doesn't text me back.

For a brief, disheartening moment, I wonder if she's blowing me off, and for an even briefer, even more disheartening one, I worry she's blowing me off for fucking Zayne. But I've already made the mistake of believing things about Carl that were entirely contradictory to her character, and I've paid for it dearly. She wouldn't blow me off. So where the fuck is she?

By nine, I start to get anxious. I've texted and texted, and called several times, each of which have gone straight to her voicemail. My messages have progressed from a casual request for a callback to desperate pleas for her to just let me know she's okay.

Could she have forgotten she was supposed to meet me? It's doubtful, but it's the only explanation that doesn't terrify me.

By nine-thirty, I give up and leave the restaurant. I consider calling Billy, but I don't want to worry him for nothing, especially with all the shit he's been dealing with lately. So I drive the twenty minutes to her dorm. Carl and I both had our last finals today, but there's another day of testing tomorrow and half the student body is still on campus. I text a girl I know from my economics class to get her to sign me into Stuyvesant, and then spend another ten minutes slamming my fists against Carl's door, shouting her name until I've pissed off half her floor, and gotten cursed out repeatedly by pissed-off people trying to study.