Country Kisses (3:AM Kisses Book #8)(15)
“Just try getting rid of me.” Marley hikes up and smacks him with a kiss. It’s all so ridiculously sweet it makes my teeth ache just watching. “I’d better catch up with Baya and see what needs to be done about the upcoming inventory.”
Piper pulls Marley back by the fingers. “This girl right here is the entrepreneur of the century. She literally took a few rags and stitched her way to riches.”
“Really?” I perk to attention. “I’d love to pick your brain some time. I’m dying to get into business for myself one day.” The sooner the better. My scholarships have been few and far between, and it’s been Caila filling in the financial gaps for me. Of course, she’s happy to do it. She made the offer herself multiple times before I ever agreed, but there’s not a scholastic day that goes by that I don’t feel a pang of guilt over the fact it’s her physical body that allows me to partake in the proverbial student body.
“Anytime!” Marley touches a hand to my shoulder before her eyes round out at the sight of my scar. I don’t go the extra mile to hide it from estrogen card-carrying members, and Wyatt, well, he’s taken. She clears her throat as her face brims with color once again. “And that other thing you might like to talk about—that would be the perfect time to kill two birds with one stone.”
The two of them take off in semi-coital bliss with their arms wrapped tight around their waists, their lips pecking at one another at least a dozen times before heading out the door.
“That, right there, is what I want someday,” I whisper mostly to myself, but when I come to, I note all three of my best friends gawking at me with marked sadness. I know what they’re thinking—the walk of shame seldom leads to places like that. They’re right, of course. But, for me, it’s pretty doubtful any road will ever lead me to that storybook happily ever after.
A week drifts by, and the new semester begins with a rainstorm walloping us from every angle. It’s a dark and angry day with growling charcoal skies, winds battering us at exhausting speeds. You need to lead with your head just to force your way through nature’s fury.
I’ve laid low for the last few days, as in sequestering myself to my dorm, with the exception of a quick trip to the grocery store to build my stockpile of Twinkies and Ding Dongs. I can’t help it. I eat when I’m nervous, and that little tryst with Cade has me tangled up in a bungee cord of emotions. What if he’s on the lookout for me? What if the big trio was so impressed they’re just itching to make some music again? They want to play the vagina—mine to be exact. We did have a good rhythm going there—albeit a rather short one. And, dear God, did I just refer to my girl parts as an instrument? That’s ridiculous, of course. But, if it were an instrument, it would definitely be a wind—something I didn’t exactly give city boy an opportunity to blow for the evening.
I finally tried out that big blue bugle Caila gave me, and it sure put some pep in my step, but nothing like my flesh-covered bed warmer was capable of. Piper found the vile plastic penis lying on a towel yesterday and got after me to put “Papa Smurf” away asap. Honestly, I thought it was hilarious the way she raged on and on about the dangers of self-inflicted injuries caused by nefarious penile weaponry. A part of me wanted to laugh and let her know that her brother wielded the naughtiest, most vaginally destructive weapon of them all.
Come Monday, my first class of the morning is Applied Business Theory. I give a quick glance around the enormous stadium seating-sized room and find a near empty row near the front. I’ve found most of the people here at WB are in love with the anonymity of the back row where they’re free to live-stream music right into their ears, or shop lazily on Amazon while the professor drones on, but I can’t see my attention straying. I need to zero in on what’s being preached from the scholastic pulpit. I’ve got one rickety scholarship, one shot to get this right, and I’m taking that degree gold all the way home to Tennessee. My phone slips out of my hand as I navigate my way through the folded-up theater seats and nosedives into the row ahead of me.
“Excuse me,” I whisper to the girl seated down below with a dark head of curls and a pencil at the ready. She glances up with her smooth skin and glassy green eyes that echo those of Scarlett’s. She looks sweet enough, with her heart-shaped face and sugary smile. Most people at WB are friendly to a fault, and I’m glad about it. “I seem to have dropped my phone.” I point to the glittery blue bit of technology sitting on her jacket, out of place like a mermaid washed ashore.
“Oh!” She snaps it up and hands it over. “I can’t help but notice your accent!” she strums it out with a touch of an accent of her own. “I love it! I used to live in Franklin about a million years ago.”
“Really? I’m from Beckem, just a spit and a kick from Nashville. Nice to meet you!”
“Sammy!” She scoots her hand toward me, and I’m quick to shake it.
“Cassidy.”
The professor swoops in, and I quickly take a seat, jotting down every word he says regarding all things business.
Once the hour is through, I rush to my second class of the day, Basic Principles of Marketing, up one flight of stairs and down the hall. By the time I scuttle inside, half of the seats are taken. It’s just one oversized classroom with traditional wooden desks, not the stadium seating and the comfy cushioned goodness of the last hour. I scoot up front and find a few spare seats near the window. Just as I’m about to excuse my way down a very crowded row, everything in me freezes.