Inferno Anthology (116 page)

Roxy and I just stare at her.

“Anyway”—Laney shakes her head—“I think we all know the only thing that will make you feel better is plotting a little revenge. We should hijack all his social networks and have him fess up to a violent crime.”

“And that should land the feds at our door in about an hour,” Roxy snarks. “No thanks. I’m not feeling up to any internet felonies today.”

“Sunday is Halloween.” Laney gets a crooked look in her eyes. “All kinds of freaky things go down that night.”

“Again, no thanks.” Roxy cuts her a death ray that says,
my cheating boyfriend lives to see another day
.

“So”—Laney clears her throat—“tell us about
your
weekend, Baya. Inquiring minds want to know all the dirty deets.
Dish
.” Her eyes widen. Her mouth hangs open, anticipating every juicy tidbit.

“We did it.” I pump my shoulders like it was no big deal, but I can feel my cheeks filling with the fire from last night’s lovemaking. There’s no way those three little words could ever begin to describe what really happened.

“And?” She shakes her head unimpressed with my all-too-brief synopsis.

“Well?” Roxy leans into me, the patches on her face are already clearing.

“You really want to know?” If it’ll help Roxy feel better, I don’t see why not. I honestly don’t think Bryson will mind.

Roxy and Laney both nod furtively as if I were the only person in this room to ever have sex. God—I’m not, am I?

Laney leans in. “We’re like the only two girls on campus who haven’t leaned on his crutch,” she says it serious as death.

“First, that’s absolutely disgusting, and, yet, alarmingly accurate. It turns out Bryson Edwards favorite team member is much longer than a crutch, and I’ve got the friction burns to prove it.”

“Oh, that’s totally normal,” Roxy states, quickly regaining the even tone in her complexion. “I mean the burning—not the crutch.”

“Really?” I’m mildly alarmed. “I love him and all, but I’m not sure I can handle this pain twenty-four seven. How do you live with this?” It’s a wonder anyone has sex at all. Right about now I’m contemplating the miracle of life in an all new light. Women the world over must have some seriously high pain thresholds, either that, or we’re
way
overeager to please our man.

“It goes away, genius.” Laney swats me with a pillow. “And, if you do it enough, it never comes back. You were just too shiny and new. I’m sure his body will be a perfect fit over time.”

Over time. I like the sound of that. And, yet, I suddenly wish we were past the Vicodin phase of our relationship.

“Well then”—I toss my hands in the air—“I guess I’ll have to keep at it and let time heal this wound. Although, it’d better heal quickly, I’m not a fan of setting my kitty on fire.”

They break out into cackles.

I fill them in on everything that went down at his house, Annie and his mom—the strange incident with the picture, and bumping into “her” brother. I give a stern look over to Laney because she damn well knows what I’m talking about.

“
So
—I gave you the ‘deets’ of my special night”—I say, looking right at her—“and now I want you to do the same. Who was she, and what the hell happened?” I glare over at her as a means of intimidation, but I get the feeling not too many people intimidate Laney.

“Her name was Stephanie. And I don’t do people’s dirty work for them. If Bryson wants you to know, he’ll tell you.” She shakes her head. “Look, Baya, I’m sorry. It’s sort of a big deal. I really don’t think it’s my place to say anything. Just know that he’s been self-medicating on any and every girl that would swivel her hips in his direction ever since he arrived at Whitney, but, now that you’re here, he’s hardly the same person.”

“He called me his girlfriend.” I shake my head, with tears pooling in my eyes because Bryson has something so frighteningly sad buried deep inside him, and he won’t let me in. “I know it’s silly, but it made me all kinds of happy.”

“It’s not silly.” Roxy runs her fingers through my hair. “It’s
beautiful
. And, it’s nice to know that some guys still believe in the sanctity of a committed relationship.”

That cheating boyfriend of hers clots up the air like some fornicating poltergeist.

I give a hard sniff. “Bryson is amazing.” It comes out a little guiltier than I reasoned, considering I’m gushing over my boyfriend in front of a girl who was just brutally dumped by hers.

“Bryson
is
amazing.” Laney touches her hand to my shoulder. “Just know that you’re helping him heal, and, when he’s ready, I’m sure he’ll tell you everything.”

When he’s ready. It almost sounds cryptic. What if he’s never ready? How long do I let such a big mystery linger between us?

Hopefully not long. In the meantime, I’d better double down on the ibuprofen. Something tells me this is the type of pain I’m going to come to appreciate.

The week drifts by with Bryson and I stealing kisses while Cole showers—while Cole beds down an entire sorority house in his bedroom (no joke). Bryson and I take leisurely bike rides up to the Witch’s Cauldron before class and hold each other while eating donuts and coffee, but we’ve yet to free my vagina of its inferno of pain by way of his curative friction. And, by the way, that doesn’t even sound sane because it probably isn’t even true. But, nevertheless, I’m up for another session of the lust and thrust, and Bryson Edwards is the only person on the planet I want thrusting anything in my direction.

I’m headed off to my music appreciation class, which isn’t as easy as I thought it’d be, for one, there isn’t a whole lot of appreciating going on as much as there is rabid memorization of classical snippets. I keep having to associate the music to different times in my life when it would actually suit the mood. Like, for instance, the time I was nine and I spotted my parents going at it in their bedroom. It was a trauma that left me bouncing all over the house in a panic because my brain didn’t know how the heck to organize that clusterfuck of information. So, naturally, when I hear “The Flight of the Bumblebee,” by Rimsky-Korsakov, it takes me back to that traumatic day.

A body slams into me on the main thoroughfare in the middle of campus, and I tumble back to find the bumble bitch herself—Alpha Chi’s own—Aubree Vincent.

“Well, if it isn’t little Baya Brighton.” She wrinkles her nose at me like I just let off a foul sent. “Rumor has it you still want in. Is this true?”

“It’s true.” I swallow hard because it’s sort of not, but maybe with me away from my brother, Bryson and I will be free to spend more time together—in my new bedroom.

“I talked to your brother this weekend.” A thin-lipped smile glides across her face. Aubree would be beautiful if she didn’t spackle a vat of foundation and adhere poor defenseless tarantulas to her eyelids for the hell of it.

“He mentioned it.” God, I hope she’s not planning on becoming his latest victim or, as it would more appropriately be—he would be hers. “So when’s this alternative rush taking place? Can my friend Laney join?”

“Nope, just you. Be at the bridge Sunday at midnight, and come alone. Admitting members after rush is completely against the rules. I’m doing this as a personal favor because I just so happen to like you. But, if you so much as whisper to anyone where our secret meet and greet is, I
will
find out, and you’ll be booted back to Prescott on your shiny white ass. Don’t blow this.” She breezes past me in her printed silk scarf, her long leather boots the color of honey.

“Wait!” I call after her. “Where’s the bridge?”

“Figure it out,” she shouts back.

Sunday. Why does Sunday sound familiar? Am I going somewhere, Sunday?

The picture of a ghost taped up on the window in Hallowed Grounds sends it all rushing back to me. Sunday—that’s right, it’s Halloween.

She wants me to meet her at midnight on Halloween?

Creepy.

I finally make it to class, but my mind keeps drifting back to Bryson and those electric kisses of his. I drop my pen three times, and the dark-haired boy in front of me is nice enough to return it each time.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hitting on me.” He gives a little smile. He seems sweet. Roxy should go for someone like him. “My name’s Luke.”

“Nice to meet you. And, by the way, you
don’t
know better.” I give a little smile. “Sorry.”

He spins around, and my thoughts migrate back to Bryson and the bump and grind that played out for hours.

All I can think about is how beautiful it was last weekend. Bryson and I finally had a chance to be ourselves, and it only annunciates the fact that Cole has got to be dealt with. I’ll recruit a pair of brass knuckles if necessary. It’s becoming painfully obvious that Cole is the only one standing in our way of behaving like any other rational couple. And, once his mad cock blocking skills have been taken out, and he generously gives us the thumbs up, Bryson and I will be free to take our relationship public by peeing circles around one another in the quad. Of course, I’ll make mine in the shape of a heart.

I let out a heated breath just thinking about what a task it’s going to be to talk to my brother. I’ll let him know I appreciate his efforts, but that he could kindly fuck the hell off because I’m pretty much going to date whoever the heck I feel like. Okay, so I’ll be a little more gentle than that—a heck of a lot more gentle than that, but I need him to understand I’m more than just his little sister, I’m my own person. Also, I wouldn’t mind addressing his tally mark addiction. He’s beyond stupid for throwing everything away for a good time when there’s a perfectly good girl out there waiting for him. Cole deserves to be loved just as much as Bryson does.

And if Bryson found someone special, so can my brother.

I run my idea past Bryson that night at the Black Bear Saloon in between waiting tables.

“I don’t know.” His eyes enlarge the size of beer cans. “Look, let me talk to him first. Normally, I wouldn’t interfere, but I know Cole.” He closes his eyes remorsefully as if he wished he didn’t. “And, as much as he’s your brother, I feel like he’s my brother, too. This is going to gut him a little more than if I were just your average guy. He’s going to think I betrayed him.”

The music pulsates in and out around us. People from school have already started donning their Halloween costumes, albeit two nights early.

“Okay, but do it quick. I don’t think I can handle too much more.” I lean in and press my hand to his chest. “I miss you.” I glance down at his Levis to get the message across loud and clear.

Bryson drops his towel and picks it up before spinning around like he didn’t even hear me. A gentle tap lands over my shoulder, and I turn to find Cole and some beefed up linebacker next to him. That explains a lot.

“What’s up, sis?” Cole gives a light sock to my arm. “Have you met Luke Carter?”

He looks vaguely familiar. He’s got dark hair and incredible dimples. I can see why girls might drop to their knees in front of him, but, unfortunately for both Luke and Cole, I won’t be one of them. All of my knee-dropping skills are reserved for Bryson.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I offer. “You guys want a table?” I point over to the back where most of the people from Whitney Briggs hang out.

“No, thanks.” He slaps Luke over the shoulder then it comes back to me, Music Appreciation—Luke is the boy who’s good at picking up pens and, apparently, girls. “I thought maybe you and Luke could catch a movie or something. I feel bad that you haven’t seen much of Hollow Brook. You in?”

Crap. Leave it to Cole to hand select a boyfriend for me. I’m sure he paid him not to touch the merchandise. Just the thought makes my blood boil.

“I’m working.” I nail Cole with a look that says we’ll talk later. “Or, trust me, I’d want to.” I glare into my brother. “Because I am thoroughly ready to spread my wings.” His face bleaches out. Okay, so maybe I could have chosen another analogy, but still, the premise is the same.

Bryson pops up and knuckle bumps Luke and Cole.