Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)(36)

“Why did you say you may never get another chance earlier? That was kind of dark.”

I shrug casually. Little does he know there’s nothing casual about this topic for me. “We all assume we have a long life ahead of us, but you never know.”

His face twists, so I elaborate.

“My mother died at twenty-nine of ovarian cancer.” His face falls, his taco suspended in mid-air and all but forgotten in his hand. “My grandmother died of the same thing at forty…” I made peace with the knowledge that life is fragile and temporary long ago. It hardly fazes me to discuss it. “Time is a gift, not an entitlement.”

He puts down his taco and swallows, face wrecked by sympathy for me. Sympathy’s the one thing I have no use for.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a low raspy voice.

At fifteen, Nancy sat me down and explained that it could very well be hereditary and I would have to get regular checkups. It’s then I decided that I wasn’t going to waste one precious minute––whether there were a million of them or less. That I wouldn’t let an expiration date hanging over my head rule my life.

“It’s why I live my life without shame or regret. As long as I’m not willingly hurting someone else, I do what pleases me.” I take another huge bite of my taco. “Eat what pleases me.” And smile around it. I’d like to add fuck who pleases me but that would be a lie.

Staring at my mouth, Reagan reaches out, and before I have a chance to move away, he wipes a spot of sauce from the corner with his index finger. Then he sticks the same finger in his mouth and sucks it clean.

“You’re my hero, Jersey.”

I just about die.





Chapter 14





Alice


“Am I picking you up tomorrow from the library or your dorm?” Reagan asks without even bothering to glance up, his attention fully on my camera bag. He’s already diving into it, investigating its contents, before I can answer.

We’re parked on the bleachers by the indoor pool, practice having finished only twenty minutes ago. I shift in my seat, raise my Leica, and look through the viewfinder.

Life is stranger than fiction. It really is. Five weeks ago I was alone in an unfamiliar place. The less than proud owner of a junker that was more trouble than it was worth, and a sprained ankle.

Now I’m the official videographer for the men’s water polo team––a dream come true. I have a posse of girlfriends. The ankle’s almost completely healed. And then there’s Reagan…my chauffeur…my dilemma…the object of my dirty fantasies. The guy I spend all my spare time with, which makes the prior statement a problem.

Immediately following our first taco night––what he’s calling Thursdays––the texts started coming in and most of them look like this…

Big Deal: jumping out of an airplane?





Me: Uhhh what?





Big Deal: you said you’d try anything.





Me: With a parachute?





Big Deal: yes bailey.





Me: Yes, then. But only after a thoroughly accredited instructor teaches me how. I don’t have a death wish.





Big Deal: yeah. you haven’t even had sex that’s better than food yet. might want to put that on the list before jumping out of a plane.





Me: Go away.





It hasn’t been dull.

“You don’t have to pick me up. The ankle’s almost as good as new.”

“I’ll pick you up from the library.”

We’ve had this conversation multiple times. It started with him insisting he drive me to each practice I filmed because I needed someone to “carry my precious camera equipment.” According to him, taking the shuttle would’ve “placed it in grave danger.” I couldn’t very well thwart all the effort he put into this harebrained explanation so I agreed.

After having spent every spare minute together for the past few weeks I can say without a shadow of a doubt that Reagan is one of the good guys. He’s not just a pretty face and a hot body. The man/boy is all heart. He’s sweet and understanding, and despite the fact that he sees me as an asexual amoeba with a dry sense of humor, I like him.

I like his company. I like his shitty film quotes and his curious nature. I like his upbeat attitude. But most of all, I like that Reagan doesn’t have a single mean bone in his body. Basically, he makes it impossible not to like him.

He said he’s not looking for a relationship. Translation: he wants to play the field. Got it. Message received. No judgment. He was warning me off. Except every hot stare I get from him says otherwise and the more time we spend together the harder it’s getting to ignore them.

Thus, the dilemma. Which is not really a dilemma for him. Only for me, the one in this “friends only” agreement who can’t seem to remember that.

“Can I see the camera?”

“No.”

I stick my leg out, stretch out the ankle. I’ve been doing a lot of rotational stretching exercises. It’s close to completely healed but I’m still being extremely careful with it.

The boys had a late practice today. A scrimmage. Four on four. I got tons of usable footage with my cinecamera and finished with stills.