We Were Here: A New Adult Romance Prequel to Geoducks Are for Lovers (Modern Love Stories Book 1) (17 page)

I nodded and spoke directly in her ear. “You missed their first song then. I thought the crowd would start rioting.”

She laughed and sipped her drink. Given the space and the music, we couldn’t talk other than shout a few words at each other. It was enough to stand next to her. The same scent of flowers and summer created a bubble around us in the smoky bar. I dipped my head to inhale more of her.

Inflammable Flannel finished their set to a round of low key applause, with the exception of Selah and Maggie. They hollered their heads off and whooped like Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman
. I wouldn’t compare them to uncouth hookers, but if the dog woofs fit . . .

Selah stalked up to the stage like a panther on the prowl, and immediately chatted up Mark. Maggie stood to the side smiling at Gil. I couldn’t hear either conversation, but from the way Selah kept touching Mark, I didn’t need to know the exact words to know her intent.

My ears still ringing from the speakers, I overestimated my voice and shouted, “Want to go outside?” loud enough for the majority of the bar to hear me.

Jo gave me a soft smile. “Sure. I could use some fresh air.”

Smoke hung in thick bands and the entire place reeked of old beer and spilled Jägermeister shots.

Outside, I steered us across the street and away from the cloud of smoke above the crowd by the door. I wanted to check on my car. Leaning on the hood, I patted a spot next to me.

“You’re going to get in trouble for leaning on this car. I bet the owner is some uptight yuppie.” She stood out of traffic, but didn’t rest against the car.

I chuckled. “I’m the owner.”

“Oops.” She laughed it off.

“You called me an uptight yuppie.”

“If the car fits . . .”

“I bought it used.” Not sure why I felt the need to defend my car.

“With money you earned slaving away at a summer job?” She toyed with the sleeves of the sweater tied around her waist. I took in her outfit of black leggings and white T-shirt.

I could’ve lied, but instead I went with the truth. “My parents gave me the money. In fact, I bought it for less than they gave me, and banked the rest.”

“I guess duping your parents for money is commendable.” Her tone said it wasn’t.

“Sarcasm suits you.” Without thinking, I pulled out my one-hitter. Our bet hadn’t included anything about me stopping smoking. Part of me wanted to test her. I offered it to her with my lighter. “You want some?”

She swiveled her head to look up the street. “You’re going to smoke out here in the middle of the street?”

I shrugged. “Sure. Why? Do you think one of those guys by the club is a Narc?”

“Probably not. You’re either really bold . . .”

I lit up and inhaled. “Or?” I asked, still holding the pot in my lungs.

“Completely crazy.”

Exhaling, I blew the smoke away from her. “Probably both. No risk, no gain. Basic economics.”

Her gaze flit around my face. “Probably both.”

I held the pipe out to her.

“Okay.” She rolled her shoulders back before taking it, and holding it up to her lips. After she inhaled, she coughed. And kept coughing. Handing me back the one-hit, her blue eyes watered as she waved her hand in front of her face.

“Smoke much?” I teased her, taking another toke.

Unable to speak through her coughs, she shook her head. “Not really.”

“Ever?”

She glared at me. “I’m not a boring good girl.”

I held up my hands. “No one ever said you were.”

“Because I’m smart and good at math and don’t want to marry my high school boyfriend, doesn’t mean I’m not fun.” She got the words out in between small coughs.

“Whoa. Pot’s supposed to relax you. Not work you up into a rage.”

She grabbed the one-hit back. The fire had gone out, so she didn’t get any smoke when she inhaled. “Light me up.”

“Okay.” I followed her orders and refilled it.

She exhaled almost immediately, but didn’t cough.

“Are you two smoking illegal drugs?” Selah called from across the street.

A couple guys in the crowd turned to stare at us. Jo dropped the one-hit at our feet.

“Really cool, Selah!” I shouted back at her, picking it up and tapping the tip on my bumper before stuffing it into my back pocket.

Selah gave me a ridiculous wave. I flipped her off.

“What’s the deal between you two?” Jo stepped into the street to cross.

“We’re friends.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Just friends?”

“We tolerate each other, but to answer your unasked question, we did hook up last year.”

“I see.” Those words could mean a whole bunch of stuff in girl language.

None of them good.

“Don’t Believe the Hype” ~ Public Enemy

WITH MY GRADED
midterm in hand, I sprinted to the library as soon as economics finished.

Only Jo sat at our table when I arrived. I slapped the test in front of her and stood back to assess her reaction.

“Ninety-five-point-seven.” She blinked several times and her lips pressed together before she nodded.

“Round it up and what do you get?” I grinned.

“An A. Congratulations.”

“Where do you want to go celebrate? I thought we could drive up to Seattle. Maybe go to dinner.”

“There are restaurants here in Olympia.”

“Don’t you want to get out of this backwater town?”

“It’s the state capital.”

“It still manages to feel like the middle of nowhere. Come on, I’ll treat. You pick the day.”

She gazed up at me.

I expected to see happy excitement in her eyes. Instead, they held trepidation. “What? What’s going on? We had a deal. We made a bet.”

“I know.”

“What? You made the bet because you didn’t think I’d get the grade. Is that it? Now you’re welching?”

“We already hung out. On Saturday.”

“Saturday didn’t count. Shouting a few words at each other while terrible music played doesn’t come close to hanging out.”

“We stood around outside in between bands. There was drinking. That’s hanging out.”

“Why are you arguing semantics with me?”

Sighing, she wound a few long strands of hair around her fingers. “I don’t want to be some sort of prize.”

I sat down at the head of the table, confused. “We had a deal. We negotiated. We shook on it.”

She got up to write something on the board, not making eye contact with me. “I showed up Saturday in good faith you’d get at least an A–. So we’re even.”

This wasn’t the way things were supposed to work out. Saturday night had been a bonus, but not the real deal.

“We agreed on dinner for an A–. On me. Going to the diner with all my friends, and you paying for your own fries doesn’t count.”

She faced me. “It counts.”

“What does a guy have to do to get you to go out with him?” I leaned back in my chair.

“Ask me.”

Her two words changed everything.

I never had to work for anything in my life. Not even boarding school. When I got kicked out of one for breaking rules or smoking pot, my parents found another school willing to take my full tuition. Smart enough to coast, that’s what I did. Good looking enough to have girls ask me out worked for me. I could’ve dated anyone I wanted. They knew it. I knew it. Everything had been too easy.

Then I arrived here on this rainy campus in a podunk city on the wrong coast. What mattered two years ago, meant nothing now. I was adrift and out of my element. Sure, I managed to cover it up with the same bravado and cocky attitude, but clearly Jo saw through my bullshit.

And happily called me out on it, without me having to mention a thing.

Ask her out?

How stupid was I?

I’d been playing it so cool, I didn’t think to be direct.

Clearly, for the first time, how deeply I’d underestimated Jo hit me.

Before I could fix the mess I created, Curtis and Cardigan walked in holding hands. When they saw us, they quickly broke apart and took seats on opposite sides of the table.

Today had been full of revelations. I wonder what the odds were for their relationship.

“I invited Jo to our Halloween party this weekend.” Maggie dipped a crouton into ranch dressing and ate it. Her salad bowl contained tomatoes, cucumbers, a few black olives, and croutons, but no lettuce.

Evidently, Quinn had harangued her into guilt.

Somehow he’d managed to convince both the Dean of Students and his academic advisor the protest had been a performance piece. Even got his advisor to write a letter of support since nothing was damaged and no lettuce harmed. Or something. The tree-hugger had mad persuasion skills.

“And? Is she coming?” I focused on deconstructing and reassembling my turkey sandwich into the proper order of bread, meat, tomato, lettuce, cheese, and bread. The tomato should never touch the bread.

“She said she had other plans, but might stop by.” She crunched on another crouton. “But I got the feeling she didn’t really mean it.”

I frowned at my tray. I could man up and ask her out, but every signal she sent me told me to back off.

No way was I going to stick out my neck and get rejected. Benton Grant didn’t get rejected. Rejection wasn’t something I’d experienced and I felt fine with avoiding it.

I jabbed my finger into the center of my sandwich. My appetite had disappeared.

Maggie prattled on about party plans. “Quinn’s making something called jungle juice. He’s buying the fruit today and will start marinating it in whatever liquor he can get a hold of. He mentioned a source for Everclear.”

“With Everclear?” Basically pure alcohol, it packed a serious punch, and should’ve been illegal . . . and was in a couple of states

“It might be the one night I stick with beer.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Sounds like it should be renamed hangover juice.” I bit into my pickle. The sourness matched my mood. “We made something similar in boarding school with oranges and vodka. Soaked the orange wedges, then ate them. What looked like a healthy snack appropriate for a Saturday soccer or lacrosse match got us seriously messed up.”

“You got drunk
at
the matches?” She sounded shocked.

“Not when I played. Well, not really drunk. More buzzed. I played better with a little buzz going. It made me more aggressive.”