Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)(33)

“Hi, Layla.” Reagan smiles. One of his well-oiled ones. The one he uses for cover. I don’t know who he’s fooling with that smile.

Layla’s dark almond-shaped eyes dart between me and him. She’s late to realize he doesn’t intend to say more. “I guess I’ll see you in class.”

“Yeah, see you later.”

Layla reluctantly leaves and a few taut minutes of silence happen. I’m about to speak when he beats me to it.

“I think I have something for you.”

I’m immediately suspicious. And although I’m endeavoring not to jump to the wrong conclusion, we’ve already established that it’s not so easy for me. That said, I trust Reagan. He’s proven himself worthy.

Saturday night was…heavy. A turning point for us, I think.

He shared very personal information with me. I did the same with him. I still can’t believe I did that. It’s way out of character for me to speak about myself. And yet with Reagan it felt natural. Unforced. The definition of which completely escaped Jack, my one and only relationship.

“Umm, okay…like a job?” I get out between sips of water.

“No. A puppy.”

At my blank stare, he grins. “Yes, a job. Jesus, don’t look so suspicious. I’m not going to ask you to blow the entire water polo team.”

Water comes shooting out of my nose. I nearly cough up a lung. He gets up, his chair scraping back loudly, and starts pounding on my back.

Once my coughing fit ends he sits back down and explains. “Coach is looking for someone to take pictures and some video…maybe even tape an interview or two for a recruiting campaign.”

I take a gulp of water and exhale. Work? Work that has me filming? Holy crap, I really did fall down a rabbit hole.

“Really?”

“Really,” he says, clear-eyed, earnest.

The heavens part. I’m on the verge of happy tears. But then old instincts die hard. Grim-faced, I ask, “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing––except your eternal gratitude.”

My smile is back. I want to launch myself at him, hug his beautiful face. I really wish I could. But…friends only. Which is why I say, “Deal.”





Chapter 13





Alice


“So what does this new job pay?” Even Nance can’t contain her excitement. A day later and I’m still doing backflips in my mind.

After Reagan got done with his last class, he picked me up in front of the library and drove me to meet his coach, a stern man who closely resembles an elderly Viking.

Coach Becker explained what his needs are, what he requires of me, and what he considers is the best time for me to film the team. Which is when I explained to him that light would be a critical factor as far as best time of day to film was concerned.

He cracked a small, painful-looking smile––this man does not look like he smiles a whole lot––turned to Reagan and said, “I’m satisfied.” And that was that.

“Two grand! Two freaking grand to film and take pictures. Isn’t that amazing!”

I’m officially the new videographer and photographer of the Malibu University men’s water polo team. Well, according to his coach, I am until I have enough footage for the athletics department to produce a recruiting video for high school prospects.

For now, they’re paying me for the raw footage. A professional production company is supposed to put together the finished product. But I figure this is my big chance, dropped from the heavens into my lap, and I’m not about to squander it.

I have the software on my Mac to produce it myself. If Coach Becker likes it, the athletics department might pay me for the finished product instead of outsourcing it. And if they don’t I can use it as my sample submission for the internship. Either way, it’s a win. I have a source of income––and Reagan to thank for it.

“It’s so exciting. And you said a boy got you the job?”

Boy? Yeah, no. There’s nothing boyish about Reagan. Except for the occasional regrettable Anchorman reference. Notice how I also don’t mention that the boy who got me the job is also the one who played a part in my ankle being injured.

Speaking of the man/boy, I step outside my dorm to find him waiting for me in the Jeep, crooked smile already in place. It’s Thursday night and I’m headed to study group, the one he insisted he drive me to.

He jumps out and opens the passenger side door for me. I wasn’t aware that men still did that sort of stuff, and I gotta say, I love it.

I mean, I’m all for women’s lib. Hell, I’m as liberated as they come, but chivalry should never ever die. Let’s go ahead and put that in the Constitution. Only a monster would object.

“I gotta go, Mom,” I say to her while he looks down at me with smiling green eyes. “My ride is here.”

“All right. Call me tomorrow. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

I get in, slip my cracked iPhone into my messenger bag. The crutches go in the back and the Jeep pulls away from the curb.

“My stepmom,” I say because after our talk on Saturday I know he’s wondering.

“Do you speak to her every day?”

“Sometimes.” Knowing what a delicate subject this is I don’t chase any of the questions I’m dying to ask him.