You and Everything After (2 page)

Our mom always says that Nate’s the romantic one. Me, I’m all numbers and practicality and logic. But I don’t know, I think my romantic-side is alive and breathing—it’s just tortured. It’s this sliver of my soul that feels certain that there’s only one girl out there who could ever love me, and her love wasn’t meant to last forever.

“
Hahahaha
! You are sooooo not the sexy one,” a chick’s voice squeals from behind me so loudly that I’m compelled to turn around. That, and she said the word
sex
, pretty much an automatic for me. I glance over my shoulder, and at first all I can see are two blondes. I can’t quite make out their features, but if pushed, I’d say they were both probably pretty damned sexy. When they pass me, I breathe in and the air smells like the ocean. One of them is taller than the other—lean, but built, clearly a runner. The other one is curvy; she’s wearing a sundress that, if I had to guess, was hiding no bra, and probably a pretty sexy pair of panties.

“You’re, like,
predictable
sexy,” the tall one says, and I hear a bubble snap from her gum. “I’m like
ninja
sexy.”

I can’t help but smirk at what she says. This chick’s funny. And I’d have to say, that might just give her the edge on sexy. I keep my gaze forward, pretending to look at something on my phone screen on the table, but I notice the pair of them slide into a booth across the room.

“What’ll you have today, Ty?” Cal says, pulling the pencil from behind his ear to write down our order. I don’t know why he bothers asking. Four weeks we’ve been coming here, and I’m pretty sure we’ve ordered the same thing every time.

“Cheeseburgers,” I say, nodding to Nate, who’s now standing behind Cal and waiting to slide back to his seat.

“Oh, hey Nate,” Cal says, writing down our order, and putting the pen back in its spot somewhere within his disheveled of hair and the mesh Budweiser hat he wears every single day.

“I’m starved, man. Today’s practice was brutal. It’s just…so damned hot,” Nate says, pulling his own phone out and looking at the screen. I’m glad he’s only half paying attention to me, because my focus is dedicated to the booth about twenty feet away.

“Do you have any low-fat dressings? Like, at all?” the curvy blonde says, a strand of her hair wrapped around her finger when she asks.

“We have Italian,” says the older woman taking their order.

“Yeah, but is it just oil? That doesn’t mean
low-fat
. Is it fat-free or low-fat?” This chick is high-maintenance.

“It’s…Italian,” the waitress says. A small chuckle escapes my lips, and the other girl, the
ninja
, looks my way briefly. I don’t know why, but my heart kicks a little at getting caught.

“She’ll have the Italian. Just put it on the side,” the ninja princess says, and the waitress walks away.

“Good thinking. It’s low-fat if you put it on the side,” the diva says. My ninja princess just stares at her, watching her pull out a mirror and check her lipstick; then she flips her gaze to me. This time, I don’t panic; instead, I just lift the right side of my lip in a tiny grin to let her know I’m with her—hell, I’m
so with her.
She shakes her head at me in disbelief, and then returns her gaze back to her friend.

“Putting the dressing in a different bowl doesn’t change its chemistry, Paige,” she says, and I smirk again.

“What’s so funny, dude?” Nate interrupts, but I shake my head and hold my hand up against the table.

“Hang on, I have to hear this out,” I whisper; he bunches his brow before turning to look at the two girls behind him who have me completely rapt.

“Then why the hell did you make me get it on the side, Cass?” she asks, and I commit that name to memory the second it leaves her lips.

“So you could use less,” Cass huffs back.

“That’s stupid,” Paige says.

“Yes, I see that now,” Cass says, stepping out from their booth to head to the restroom area. She gives me one last smile before she leaves, and I hold up my empty beer glass to toast her—the sexy ninja princess, with the patience of gold, and the next girl I want to get to know in Oklahoma.

Chapter 2

Cass

“Is it bad that I’m excited? I shouldn’t be so excited. I should play it cool. Right, cool…
phew
…deep breath, and ready. Okay, I’m being cool. How’s this?” Paige only rolls her eyes and picks up her stride. “What? Not cool? It’s the shoes, isn’t it? Or my shorts? I should have worn a dress, or something cuter. I’m so bad at this.”

“Jesus Christ, Cass! You look fine. You’re cute. Boys are going to think you’re cute. Just like they did back home. If you’re going to get like this every time we go to a party, I’m going to start going without you,” Paige fires back her short fuse with me, and my nerves kick in quickly.

“You’re right,” I say, blowing out a huge breath into the few strands of my hair that have found their way in front of my face. “I wish Rowe would have come with us.” Rowe’s our roommate. We have one of the big rooms at the end of the hall, which means there are three of us in a room, and Rowe seemed pretty cool. I liked her music, and she seemed like she was hungry for friends outside of her tiny circle—just like me.

“Ugh. I don’t. I don’t know about that chick. She’s…
quiet
,” my sister says, punctuating that last word like there’s something wrong with being quiet. I’m quiet. Or at least, I was. But I left that all behind in high school. Here, no one knew my history. No one knew about my bad choices for boyfriends—and the reputation that only took months to create and a thousand miles to run away from. Here, I was going to be loud, and confident, and important, and someone’s girlfriend. And I would settle for nothing less.

“You’re just being a bitch. She’s nice,” I say, feeling defensive of my barely eight-hour-old friend.

“Probably. But I still don’t like her,” Paige says, making those annoying last touches on her hair she always makes before she knows we’re about to enter a room full of strangers. I should probably do the same thing, tuck hair behind an ear, or make sure my lips are pink or shiny or kissable or, I don’t know. Paige did my makeup. That’s her thing—hair, fashion…exteriors. Me, I’m more of the crack-open-the-beer, chug-faster-than-the-guys, and then kick-their-asses-in-something kinda girl. I brush my fingers through my hair anyway though, because change is good.

The second we open the door, we’re weaving through a crowd of people. We’re at some old apartment complex, right off campus. One of the fraternities took it over for housing. The living room is filled with smoke, which makes everyone look just a little dirtier.

College parties aren’t like they seem in the movies. They’re not even close. There isn’t some band playing in a corner, or some DJ spinning records. It’s just an iPod plugged into a nice set of speakers, playing the same rap album over and over again. The girls here aren’t all wearing major label designer clothes. Most of the guys are wearing hats, and they sport newly minted beards that haven’t been groomed properly—and
way too much
cologne. It’s just an apartment overcrowded with people, most of whom are gathered around a Goodwill sofa in the living room or the giant table pushed against a wall in the dining area.

“I’ll get us beer,” I say to Paige, doing my best to push through the group of girls who are gathered around the kitchen island. My experience has me waiting for them to say something to me—or spill their drinks on me on purpose—but instead, I slip through unnoticed, their conversation continuing without pause as I move through them.

I grab two cups and a marker, writing
PAIGE
on one. I’m about to write my name on the other when my hand suddenly writes out the name
ADRIANNA
. I put the pen cap back on and can’t help but smile at the idea of being a mystery woman, just for the night. Once I’ve filled each cup from the keg, I slip back through the crowd to find my sister.

“Adrianna?” she asks, taking a sip from her cup and pointing to my persona scribed on mine.

“Yep, tonight I’m Adrianna,” I say, taking a big gulp, and challenging her stare with my mouth pressed in a hard line—just like Adrianna would.

“You’re weird,” she says with a slight eye-roll, turning her focus to the rowdy crowd of guys piled on the couch in the living room. Nudging me to follow, she leads us closer.

“Oh shit!” one of them yells, leaning to the side with his controller in hand, as if his body movement actually had an effect on what his character was doing on the screen. They’re playing
Battle Wound
. I recognize it immediately.

“Dude, you suck at this, Cash! Give your turn to Preeter; he’ll save your ass,” one of the other guys playing yells.

“Fuck no, man! I can save this shit. Just move out of my way…” Cash starts, and then we all watch as his guy on the screen flies through space and gets absolutely ass-hammered with alien bullets.

“Shit,” his friend says, tossing his controller on the table. “I’m out. Cash, you suck!”

“I don’t suck. I just need the right partner,” he fires back at his friend, who just flips him off while he leaves to get another beer.

I don’t even hesitate, grabbing the open controller off the coffee table and flopping myself onto the old couch cushions between two very large guys. “You’re right, Cash,” I say, giving him a wink. “Your partner bailed on your ass. Let’s go again. I got your back. Who wants a piece?” I ask, instantly realizing the sexual innuendo I just threw out there. A few of the guys seem to have picked up on it, and they chuckle. Back home, that would have mortified me. But I let it roll off of me now, especially tonight, because I’m
Adrianna
!

“You’re on, princess,” one of the bigger guys next to me says, pulling his body forward and leaning his elbows on his knees. Paige has found a spot near me along the sofa arm, and she’s already surveying the room for some guy to hit on. There are a few here that are typical Paige targets—I’m pretty sure the two I’m stuffed between are football players.

“Okay, watch my tail,” Cash says, biting his lip and leaning, just like he did last time; we run our guys through the dark corridor of the space ship. He has no idea what he’s doing, and I would venture to guess he hasn’t played this game before. That’s okay, though, because I’m about to make him look like a bona fide video-game nerd. I’ve played every version of
Battle Wound
at least a hundred times, and I know all of the surprises. I’m shooting milliseconds before the bad guys attack, leaving in our wake a digital hallway full of carnage as our soldiers run through the various scenes on the screen.

“Cover me!” I yell, surprising Cash, who almost fumbles his controller out of his hands.

“Oh, uh…okay,” he says, looking from me to the screen, not really sure what to do. It doesn’t matter. I know where the explosives are hidden in this level. It’s one of those secret weapons only people who read
Gamer
magazine know about—one of those tiny tips printed in the margins of a recent issue. My fingers work the controller, pushing my guy into a roll with his weapons drawn. I barely miss the bullets flying at me—Cash is clearly no use as a backup—and fire away at the barrels stashed along one of the walls.

“You’re so dead, peaches,” big guy on my right says.
Peaches
, I like peaches. Not sure I like the nickname, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to love kicking this guy’s ass. But I don’t really have anything against the fruit. Just three more seconds.
Two
.
One
.

The explosion is the best part. They really upped the graphics on version eight, and the way it melts everyone when the pod explodes is cool as hell. I know Cash is going to be pissed, because he thinks we’re dead, too. But he’ll know soon enough.

“Shit, Cash! She’s worse than you,” my peaches friend says.

“You are so taking that back in about ten seconds, Marcus,” says a voice from the other side of the room. It’s the guy I saw at Sally’s yesterday—the one who laughed at my conversation with Paige. He’s still in a wheelchair, and I’m not sure what that means. I didn’t mention him to Paige yesterday, because I’m not sure how she’ll react. She isn’t what I would call…well…nice. He’s really cute, and I can tell he must work out like crazy, because his shoulders actually have that cool dent that runs along the entire length. He smirks at me now, just like he did at the restaurant, and I can feel my blood pump just a little faster from his stare.

“I don’t think so, Ty. Chick just nuked us all,” Marcus
peaches
says, and while he’s talking, I watch the screen, where Cash’s character, and mine, are rescued by a cloaked starship that suddenly appears and saves our bodies before they melt. Since tonight I’m Adrianna, I stand up with both of my hands in the air, turning to face my opponents, pumping one fist a little higher than the other in victory.

“You’re so dead…
pumpkin
,” I grin, tossing my control back over to Cash, and backing away, serenaded by a few whistles and the sound of Marcus’s ego being absolutely torn to shreds by every other guy in the room.

“Uhm, do I need to teach you how to flirt?” Paige asks, hooking her arm through mine, while we head out the back door to the large patio where everyone else seems to be gathered.

“What? You think that’s going to turn guys off?” I shrug at her, lifting myself up to straddle the block wall around the patio.

“Cass, how do I put this?
That
? It doesn’t really make a guy think about taking your clothes off. You pretty much made that entire room of men feel inferior,” she says, her attention split between me and some tall jock
who
just sat on the other end of the wall.

“Maybe,” I say, swirling the last remnants of beer in my cup before chugging the last sip. “But there was one I don’t think minded all that much.”

Ty

Sexy ninja. It took her less than five minutes to have every videogame-playing asshole at this party by the balls.

“Dude, that was hot,” I say, punching Nate on the shoulder while everyone else in the living room scrambles to recover—Marcus and his brother, mostly. Once Cass defeated the game, they shut the Xbox off, clearly not wanting a repeat ass whooping.

“You have a strange set of standards for what’s hot, man,” Nate says, handing me an extra beer and heading to the back patio. The second we pass through the door, I see her sitting on the wall on the other side.

“Maybe I do, bro. Maybe I do,” I say, not able to take my eyes off her. Her legs are tan and long, and I love that she’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt. The high-maintenance chick that’s obsessed with salad dressing is with her, and she looks like she’s dressed for a goddamned prom. “What do you think…freshman?”

“I don’t know. Yeah, probably, I guess,” Nate says, half paying attention and pulling himself up to sit along the block wall. “If you hit that, you’re keeping that shit in her room, though. I need my sleep, and I’m not hanging around the hallway waiting on you to get some.”

“Oh, Nathan. You and your beauty sleep,” I tease, doing my best to eavesdrop on their conversation a few feet away from us. Cass keeps flitting her eyes my direction, trying not to smile. It’s cute, the way she’s afraid of getting caught.

“Come on, bro. You owe me one,” I say, untying one of Nate’s shoelaces and pushing forward to approach the two blondes.

“Goddamn it, Ty. I don’t owe you shit, and you know I hate it when you fuck with my shoes,” Nate says somewhere behind me. I’m already zeroed in on everything in front of me though, and the adorable smile playing out on Cass’s face as she bites the side of her bottom lip, trying not to blush.

“You read
Gamer
,” I say, knowing full well she does—based on the ass whooping she displayed a few minutes ago. I don’t sleep well, and when I can’t sleep, I play video games—
all
of them.

“Maybe,” she says, sipping at the beer in her cup. She’s being coy; it’s cute. “You…read
Gamer
?” she asks, one eyebrow cocked upward.

I grin in response, wink, and then tip my cup back finishing off my beer. Her cup’s empty too, so I take this opportunity. “Get you another?” I ask, brushing my hand into hers just to see how she reacts. She looks down when I do, rapping fingers against the cup where I touched skin—almost like she’s not used to being touched that way.

“Yeah, I’ll have another,” she says, handing me her cup. I notice the salad dressing blonde scoot in closer, nudging her in disapproval.

“Relax, I’m not an asshole. I won’t drug her,” I say, and her friend just stares at me, hard, her brow low and her facial expression clearly not trusting me at all. She grills me with that gaze for a few seconds before turning her attention to Nate, suddenly forgetting all about me.

“Be right back,” I say, holding both cups in one hand and pushing myself back inside.

The crowd around the keg is thick; I move toward the kitchen and pick up a few smaller cups, filling them with the tequila I brought. I pour eight shots, putting them on a plate in my lap, knowing I can probably talk Nate into doing a few with me. I know he said he was
done
with this…but I think he’ll play along just long enough for me to get in with Cass.

By the time I get outside, the other blonde—
Paige
was her name, I think—has made herself at home on Nate’s lap; I catch his glance and wiggle my brows at him. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes a little. I know if he truly
hated
having this girl crawl all over him like she’s doing—he’d put an end to it. My brother might think he’s done with his partying ways, but he also has a hard time saying no to certain things.
 

“Shots?” Cass says, wrinkling her nose.

“Beer line was long,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. When I turn back to her, I hand her the still-empty red cup from my lap, but not before noticing the name she’s scribbled on it. “Adrianna, huh?” I ask, glaring at her and wondering why she’s pretending to have a different name. I know her name’s
Cass
—I heard it loud and clear the other day, and there’s no fucking way I was going to forget it.

“That’s me,” she says, pulling it from my hand and kicking off from the wall, “and I’ll just get my own beer then.”