Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)(15)

“The short version is my car broke down at the bottom of the southside entrance and a water polo player almost ran me over as I was walking home.”

Her face goes unnaturally still. “A water polo player?”

“I don’t think it’s broken, but it’s still really swollen and sore. So now I’m crippled and without a car.”

“Which one?”

“Reagan Reynolds––”

She gets quiet for a beat, the tension in her shoulders softening. “Word of caution if you plan to sue, the water polo players are gods on this campus.”

“Sue?” I practically shout, my heartbeat suddenly racing as fast as Zoe’s G wagon down Pacific Coast Highway.

I hate conflict. I hate it. It would never even cross my mind to do such a thing. “I would never…I…I mean, regardless of who he is. I can’t…I couldn’t––”

“Relax, Alice. I only mentioned it because Reagan’s parents are well-known Beverly Hills doctors.” Although she shrugs casually, there’s nothing casual about this conversation. The weight is back in her stare. “Every one of us who’s grown up with money has been drilled since birth that anything we do could bring on a lawsuit.”

What an awful way to live. Never knowing what someone’s true intentions are. Never knowing if all you’re valued for is your money.

“Do you know him?” I have to know if he’s anticipating me coming after him for money. If that’s the reason he’s been charming me. Or, whatever––stalking me.

“My mother knows his parents. She’s sold them a lot of art.”

Zoe had mentioned that her mother was one of the biggest art dealers in the world.

“But I don’t know him personally, if that’s what you mean. Only of him. Everybody does. He was on two championship winning water polo teams. The first when he was only a freshman, and he scored the winning goal against UCLA.” Then gleefully adds, “And he’s hot as fuck, so pretty much every girl on the West Coast knows who he is.”

“I guess.” Staring out the passenger window, the side-by-side beach houses, most of which look like they were built in the seventies, blur into a streak of color.

“You guess?” She’s all big eyes and feigned outrage. “Have you seen that face? Have you seen that body?”

The reverence in Zoe’s voice makes me chuckle. I’ve never been much for school athletics. I don’t get the crazy obsession with it. And I definitely didn’t peg cynical Zoe as a Speedo chaser.

“Fangirl, much?” I tease.

A slow grin transforms her face. “We have baseball, basketball, soccer, and water polo teams at this school and only one of those has won seven national titles. Those guys get a lot of love.”

“Warm fuzzies, or bumping uglies?”

“Both.”

“What’s his deal anyway?” I can’t deny I’m a little intrigued––regretfully.

“Who, Reagan?” Zoe clarifies and I nod. “Sounds like someone’s nursing a cru-hush.”

This earns her an exaggerated eye roll. I’m not crushing on anyone. It’s a mild interest. A fleeting curiosity. I haven’t entertained a legit crush since the third grade. I had one long-term boyfriend in high school and we parted ways as friends because we were both smart enough to understand that there was a life to be lived out there, somewhere, and hanging on to each other would’ve only held us back. Since then I’ve had one thing on my mind and one thing only. Get my film degree. Live my dream.

“Hey, don’t get me wrong. I one hundred percent agree. I fully support your mancrush.” She raises a manicured hand, stacks of skinny sparkly rings on her long fingers. “He can run me over anytime.”

“I don’t have the time for a crush. I have two years and just enough money saved up to graduate. It’s that he’s been super eager about giving me rides to class since the accident and I want to make sure I don’t need to invest in pepper spray and a set of brass knuckles.”

She snorts. “He’s a good guy. I’ve seen him with a couple of different girls in the last two years, but not the worst by far in that crew.” A sneaky smile appears. “And FYI, I have a Taser gun in the glove compartment in case you ever need it.”

Zoe pulls the G wagon into the trailer park. Yes, there’s a trailer park in Malibu. Granted, it’s rather ritzy for a trailer park. The trailers look more like cute little bungalows. Some famous people even live there from time to time. Still a trailer park, though.

“We’re going to the next home game,” she tells me. “If you’re going to be here for the next two years, you should at least see one.”

In a momentary bout of madness I picture Reagan Reynolds in a Speedo. “I’ll think about it.”





I knock on the sliding glass door to my aunt’s royal blue trailer with white trim and get no response. The minute I let myself in her scarlet macaw squawks. That bird hates me. I’m no bird expert but I’m almost positive he’s hurling parrot profanity.

A voice coming from the back room breaks into the squawking. “Oh, don’t…no, don’t do that. Goodness’ sake…”

“Aunt Peg?”