Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)(20)

“Moxie is for mousy twelve-year-old girls yearning to make it on American Idol. What you did was borderline cause for a restraining order.” She studies me. “Why do you want to drive me? Seriously, why insist? You can walk away from all of this. I’m happy to let you.”

Tension rides up my back. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t be asking.”

“You can’t get around this campus on crutches.”

“I mean why do you care, Reagan?”

Two things happen at once. Something inside of me wakes up from the dead at the sound of my name being spoken in her voice, and that something travels straight to my dick. I shift, pull the hem of my t-shirt over my shorts.

Then my father’s face crops up. Those two things should never occur at the same time and yet sadly they have.

My smile loses its shine because the prior makes me hard as Valyrian steel, and the latter kills my boner instantly. I don’t think a girl’s voice has ever made me hard before, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. The second would kill anyone’s boner. Probably won’t be the last time, either.

No one on this planet knows the real story of the family Reynolds and it’s going to stay that way. Deflection is the name of my game and I mean to play it to the bitter end. I can’t tell her that I’m ashamed of my father. That he’s everything I don’t want to be. So I whittle it down, reduce it to something that will make sense to her.

I send her a casual smile. It’s become second nature and therefore not hard to summon. “I feel responsible. It’s my fault you’re in this mess and I need to fix it.”

The weight of her stare on the side of my face is palpable. I’m seconds from piling on more bullshit to my explanation when she speaks.

“Okay,” she quietly concedes. So quietly I have to look at her face to make sure I heard her right.

“Yeah?”

“You can drive me to my Thursday night study group. It’s off campus, on PCH. That’s more important. But only on the condition that you drive me. I’ll fend for myself on the days you can’t.”

“Deal.” A grin spreads across my face. A real one. “Now email me your schedule.”





Chapter 9





Alice


“Why aren’t you ready?” Zoe asks as soon as she and Blake step into the suite. Zoe places a tray with four iced coffees on a side table and we all reach for one.

Have I mentioned the suite? It’s decked out like a penthouse at the Four Seasons. Or what I imagine a penthouse would look like. 60-inch flat-screen television with cable and Netflix, abstract art prints on the walls, rugs, and a feather-stuffed couch. All courtesy of Zoe’s decorator. Not kidding.

It stinks like school spirit today because both of them are wearing tight-fitting Malibu U Water Polo t-shirts and frayed jean short shorts.

I glance at Dora and find her stuffing a powdered donut hole into her mouth. She shrugs and pauses the show we’ve been watching.

“Ready for what?” I ask.

Perching her pink mirrored sunglasses atop her head, Zoe gives me and Dora the once-over. “The water polo game.” Her tone suggests I’m an idiot, her expression says more of the same. “You said you’d come.”

“I said I’d think about it.”

“We don’t have time to debate details. We’re playing Cal today. It’s gonna be jammed.” Zoe’s scrutiny moves to Dora, giving me a precious moment’s respite. “You too, Red. Let’s go. Chop, chop. Out of the maternity clothes.”

“But…” Nose crinkling, powdered sugar dusting the corners of her lips, Dora looks adorably put out. “We’re watching Gigolos…and the guys forgot Steven’s birthday.” She examines her oversized teal-colored sweatpants and frowns. “And these are really comfortable.”

“Yeeaah,” is Zoe’s answer to that. “Time for an intervention. You’ve been mainlining that show since you discovered it and enough is enough. Go put on some clothes that don’t make you look like a middle-aged third-grade teacher from Poughkeepsie who gets off by creeping on her young, shirtless neighbor from her upstairs bedroom window while he’s washing his car.”

“Wow.” I choke down a burst of laughter. “That’s a mouthful. You put a lot of thought into that one.”

“Sounds like someone is speaking from experience,” Blake snickers.

Dora pops another donut in her mouth, this one glazed. “Have you ever even been to Poughkeepsie?”

Zoe blinks. And blinks. “Do you want to die a virgin, Ramos?”

Dora freezes. She’s the epitome of wide-eyed innocence. “How do you know I’m a virgin?” The note of challenge in her voice makes me smile. She so seldom sounds confident that it’s nice to see her flexing some muscle.

Zoe crosses her slender arms and cocks a hip, her glossy lips lifting in a smug smile, and with each silent moment that passes, Dora’s confidence fizzles.

Swallowing the last mouthful, she puts down the box of donuts and sighs. “G-gimme a few minutes to get changed.”

A few minutes after that I hear Zoe’s voice coming from Dora’s room. “No, you’re not wearing that…because you’re not...because…Blake, explain it to her.”