Someone Like You (Someone To Love Series) (4 page)

She buries my face in her neck before pulling back. And I try not to comment on the fact she smells ripe, like she hasn’t showered in days, and so does the goof just that sprung up beside her.

“This is Molly.” Kendall makes a face as she introduces me to the mistress in training. “And
this
”—she bounces with excitement—“is her brother,
Cruise
.” Kendall bows when she says his name. “Cruise, this is my brother, the
famous
baseball player. He’s going pro right after graduation, right, Morg?”

“I don’t know about that.” I shake my head. Kendall has a knack for building me up for greatness. “I’m okay. If I’m lucky the coach throws me in.” I may have downplayed my abilities, but I’m all for balancing out the modesty when meeting prospective new family members. Kendall mentioned they, too, were engaged.

“Kenny showed me some online footage.” Cruise offers up a knuckle bump and I accept. “You’re a terror out there, man. We’ll have to toss the ball around. Get a game together. My buddy owns the local gym. He’s got some batting cages on the property. So you don’t need to worry about getting rusty while you’re out here.”

I’m still stuck on “Kenny.”

“Cool.” I nod, trying to overlook the fact he just made my sister sound like a dude. “I’ll be here all summer. I plan on getting a part-time job.”

Mom wraps her arms around my waist and pulls “Kenny” in on the other side.

“Both my children are here,” she coos. “Carrington is finally starting to feel like home again. I still have so much planning to do before the wedding; a job sounds just like the thing to keep you out of trouble.” She gives my ribs a squeeze.

Molly steps in and licks her lips like a promise. That’s trouble in a tank top right there. And for damn sure I want no part of it, especially now that I know she’s Cruise’s little sister.

I glance around at Mom, Kendall, and their respective disheveled bedfellows. Seems like Carrington is the place to be if you want to get lucky. I should know, I already did.

Sure wouldn’t mind seeing Ally again.

I can’t help but wonder if I made a mistake by leaving this morning without so much as a good-bye.

The entire state is smaller than a hiccup. I’m betting I’ll see her again.

And a part of me hopes she won’t remember a damn thing.

2

DINNER AND A MOVE OUT

Ally

I
dream of white sandy beaches. I’m holding hands with a handsome dark-haired man as we run down the slippery shore. He wears his tattoos like battle scars. They race up his arms—a kaleidoscope of color on one, a ferocious dragon on the other. The warm summer sand thumps beneath our feet. The ocean is as blue as his eyes. He presses himself into the pages of my heart like a dark exotic flower. He takes me in his arms and sears his skin over my chest and my bare belly before covering me with a kiss. His hips grind against mine and it all comes back to me as I wake with a start.

My hand slaps down over the empty space next to me. It takes everything in me to peel my eyes open, gritty as sandpaper.

“No.” I moan as a bolt of pain ricochets through me.

We hadn’t made it to the mattress, had we? It must have been a dream—a deliciously dark and twisted dream. Nevertheless, something that wicked could only be produced from the bottom of a champagne bottle. I take a breath and lean up on my elbows. Gone is the Pottery Barn comforter I purchased at Goodwill for eleven dollars, my Garrison University pendant has been snatched from the wall, and my entire Disney snow globe collection is suspiciously missing.

What the…

A mild panic ripples through me as I note all of my things have up and vanished.

He ripped me off! Son of a bitch. He took my bedding and my pendant and who knows what the hell else he pilfered while I was passed out cold. And what kind of asshole steals snow globes? God, I bet he’s got some twisted
décor-based
fetish too.

Next to me, there’s a foreign-looking nightstand and an annoying blinking alarm clock—wait…I don’t have an alarm clock. Do I? My head bursts as a racking pain spears though me.

“Oh shit.” I fall back on the bed as it all comes back to me. That’s right. Pretty Girls equals champagne, equals one-night stand in Tess’s Fan-tessy suite. “Why am I so stupid?”

Wait, did that really happen? I glance around the room for evidence of said gorgeous boy toy but nary a tennis shoe is left in his wake. I probably landed here all by my lonesome. I bet Tess and Dell had to carry me—
drag
me. Figures. Not only did I get severely tanked, I had a grand delusion of the sex-god variety. But damn was it good—
he
was good.

What was his name again? Miller? Maximus? Minimus?

I sweep my legs over the side of the bed and my insides feel as if they’ve regurgitated themselves all night long. I toss on an oversized sweatshirt and go into the living room. That slight raw, burning feeling between my legs confirms that indeed Dr. Dragon Tattoo had done a thorough internal examination before he so rudely up and left. God, he probably looked nothing like I remember. My knees shake as I bring my legs together, and my insides alert me to the fact that what happened last night was very much indeed real, and perhaps worthy of a visit to the ER.

It was most likely that greasy-haired douche from the back who kept yelping at me to take it off. I’ll be dead of some exotic strain of venereal disease in approximately nine months once I give birth to a litter of greasy-haired puppies. This is precisely why I never drink. Everyone knows beer goggles are a proven scientific fact, and champagne goggles are twice as likely to make the common household douche transform into a Times Square underwear model. Just fuck.

The toilet flushes, and the door to the bathroom swings open.

My heart seizes as footsteps head in my direction.

“Morning, sunshine!” Tess smiles, her teeth glittering like a row of tiny mirrors, and everything in me sighs with relief.

“Thank God it’s just you. Why was I in your bedroom? Where did you sleep?” Panic shrills through me like an alarm.

“One—you were wasted. And two—you
needed
the bed.” She gives a little wink. “Dell and I slept in the spare.” A smile twitches on her lips. “You want eggs?” She moves the party into the kitchen, and I follow.

“No thanks. Is there anyone else here?”

“You mean someone around six foot three, black hair, laser-blue eyes?”

My stomach jumps. He
so
did look like that.

“Um, there wasn’t any greasy hair involved, was there?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

“No.” Her eyes widen just before she dives into the fridge and plucks out the eggs. “And, no he’s not here. It’s just you and me.” She gives a quick wink before yanking a pan out and firing up the stove.

I blindly take a seat at the table.

“He was cute and sweet and helped me home, sort of. He even offered me an out before he impaled me with his impossibly perfect body, but then he just up and left.”

“That’s why they’re called one-night stands,” Tess shouts over the sizzle in the pan. “Don’t get all weepy-eyed because he didn’t write you a poem and leave you a roadmap to his apartment. He was simply following the rules.”

“Rules?” This is the very reason I should never have listened to Tess in the first place. Deep down I knew I wanted something more from him. I’m stupid that way and apparently hardwired to believe in sappy, happy endings. I guess it turns out saviors in blue jeans aren’t my destiny. Nope, for the rest of the summer I’m going to be living with Derek and his pot-smoking girlfriend in their not-so-comfy RV while I save for a place.
That’s
my destiny.

Okay, don’t panic. It’s only until September and then I’ll go around and beg all the sororities to take me in. It’s not like I’ll be homeless. Plus the savings will help me buy a killer gift for Ruby. Last year I thought I’d buy her something nice to wear from the Gap and scored two sundresses from the clearance rack, but Ruby didn’t even glance at them. She was too busy trying to ride the Sit ’n Spin she had just unwrapped from someone else. I got the message loud and clear: toys rule, clothes drool.

I migrate over to the couch and catch a glimpse of a few crumpled bills lying on the coffee table, my panties and bra just beneath them.

Holy shit.

“What’s this?” I lean over and inspect the sixteen dollars like I’ve never seen US currency before.

“Looks like he left you a tip.” Tess leans over the counter and bites down a smile.

He didn’t.

He couldn’t.

I mean, that would make me a…

A strangled scream erupts from my throat.

Good God. I think I just turned my first trick.

Resentful and angry are not two good ways to drive.

I nearly mow down an entire herd of Pretty Girls as I careen out of the parking lot on my way to Starbucks. I need to ask to get off before three to clear my crap from Russell Hall, and it always works better if I’m not late while begging to be let off early. I’m more than bummed I’m not at Russell now to experience all the fun. It’s officially moving day, and everyone is excited to get summer under way. All week the dorm has been buzzing with talks of summer vacays to Europe, the Hamptons, private islands with five-star chefs held captive for my dorm sisters’ nutritional benefits. And what do I have to look forward to? At the rate I’m going, an entire array of STDs. Oh, and that tiny detail of having no actual home in which to enjoy said STDs. Ironic since Russell Hall will be empty as a haunted house. Nevertheless, I’ll be joining the ranks at the U-Haul rental station later this afternoon.

I sent a 911 text to Lauren and Kendall before I left Tess. Who better to man-bash with than two women who’ve been stung by cupid’s crooked arrow? Oh, who am I kidding? The only one getting screwed sideways by that demonic cherub is me. Both Lauren and Kendall are engaged. It’s just me who wants to commit mass penile decapitation. And there’s no coincidence about the fact I’d love for my hacking spree to begin with every man misfortunate enough to have the name Morgan. It’s probably not even his real name. Sleazeballs like him are forever changing their aliases, making women believe they’re astronauts and brain surgeons, only to have their license to lie revoked once the FBI takes them down in a sting operation. Of course, by the time the Feds get involved there are already an entire bevy of dumbasses like me left in his wake.

I take up two parking spaces and breeze inside like I’m going to hold up the place.

Penelope waves at me from behind the counter. She’s a sophomore who sounds like a squirrel and perhaps the only natural blonde on the planet I know. In my haste to spew my disdain for all things testosterone I breeze past her. I’ll make it up to her later. She’s forever asking to swap hours and days, and no matter how hard management tries to shuffle her around, she’s never content with the schedule. And if they hadn’t cut my hours to nil I would never be in this psychotic mood to begin with. I completely blame last night’s fiasco on my supervisor. That entire default to one-night-stand mode was nothing short of her doing for forcing me to seek employment elsewhere.

“Get over here, girl!” Lauren springs to her feet, and her hair bobs around her ears. She’s been my roommate for the past year and like a sister since I’ve been at Garrison—
better
than my actual sister because she’s never landed me as the not-so-star attraction of a peep show. Although unlike Tess, she doesn’t know every little bit about me. Not that I’m deliberately keeping anything from her, it’s just that I find some things unnecessary to bring up, like the truth about Ruby’s father, and my recent stint at Pretty Girls.
God
, if Lauren knew I bared my assets in front of dozens of inebriated sausage slingers, and that they all but saluted me with their swords of flesh—she’d fashion a noose out of her copy of
The
Feminine Mystique
and kick out the chair herself. Nevertheless, I miss her as a roommate—especially since she’s taking her designer closet with her. Of course, Garrison offered to find me a replacement roommate come fall, but the truth is Lauren paid for the dorm in its entirety, so there’s that.

I offer her a brief hug and do the same with Kendall. Kendall is far too gorgeous to comprehend with her dark hair and bionic-blue eyes—sort of like the douche I had the misfortune of sleeping with last night.

“What happened?” Lauren coaxes me into the seat between them. “Is this about a boy?” She’s already ordered a drink for me, an iced hazelnut macchiato, soy, easy ice, no whipped cream. Only a true friend can order your drink just right.

“Oh, I don’t think he qualifies.” I slump into my seat. “Tess gave me some advice,” I start heroically, and then think twice before revealing any more about my poor judgment last night. It’s not like I’m going to mention anything about Pretty Girls, or the fact that US currency changed hands at the end of a long disastrous night during which my questionable services were employed.

“Tess gave you advice?” Lauren looks as if someone just swiped her Prada bag. “And you took it?”

“She’s my sister.” Not that I’m proud at the moment. “It’s not my fault she’s prone to dicey advice.” Among other things.

Lauren cuts me with a look that could slice steel cables. “Her stripper name is Fan-tessy and she runs a quasi-escort service.” She wastes no time filling Kendall in on all the fun little deets. Sure, they’re all true, but they sound so much worse coming from a pair of perfectly glossed Stila lips.

Kendall’s mouth falls open and appropriately so because for one, she’s sane.

“Anyway”—I clear my throat—“I met this guy…um, while visiting my sister.” I lower my lashes and my cheeks burn with heat. “It was stupid. He was far too gorgeous, which should have been my first red flag. But I didn’t stand a chance. I brought him back, and we did it. He left before I got up this morning. End of story.” It all sounds so vanilla now that I’ve pushed it through my vocal cords.