Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)(38)

He shakes his head, loses himself in thought for a bit. “Patagonia…The Great Wall of China. Iceland. Kenya…” He smiles, warming up to the subject. But that smile slowly creeping up? It’s nothing but trouble.

“New Jersey.”

“Jerk,” I grumble and he laughs. “Go ahead and laugh it up, asshole. New Jersey is not known as the Garden State for nothing, I’ll have you know.” I take more pictures while he wipes his eyes, the laughter slowly dying.

Entering the arena through the locker room door, Brock approaches. He’s a big, intimidating guy on any given day. Wearing sweats with a hoody up and a black backpack slung over a shoulder like he is now, however, makes him look a little murdery.

Seeing us, he smiles knowingly. Whatever he’s assuming, he’s wrong.

“I’m going to the store. You need anything?” he asks Reagan, stops at the bleachers where we’re hanging out.

“I’m good. Bailey and I are going out to eat.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“Neptune’s.”

“Cool. Mind if I come along?”

“Sorry, man. Just us.”

Totally awkward silence ensues. During which a flush starts at my collarbone and covers my entire face faster than you can ask what just happened.

From behind the viewfinder, my eyes slowly lift. Feeling awful and complicit in this rudeness, they meet Brock’s with a silent apology in them. Meanwhile, Reagan continues to fiddle with my camera.

“Guess I’ll see you at home, then. Bye, Alice.”

“Yeah, bro. See you later.”

“Bye, Brock.”

While Brock walks away, Reagan gently tucks the camera back in its protective case inside my camera bag. “Ready?” he says, doing everything in his power to avoid eye contact.

“Ready.”





Reagan


It’s midnight by the time I roll in. My stomach’s full and my mind’s at peace. Spending time with Bailey always leaves me feeling better. She’s a shot of serotonin to my restlessness. Even after she chewed my ass out about being rude to Brock. Not a lot of people I can say that about. As a matter of fact none, now that I really think about it.

I enter the dark kitchen and find the man in question in his underwear, standing in front of the open refrigerator door with the light illuminating his face. He frowns when he sees me, grabs a quart of milk, and shuts the door. Okay, maybe I was a douchebag, but he was stepping on my time with Alice and I didn’t much appreciate it.

“Hey,” I throw out as I drop my backpack. I get nothing in return, only the silent treatment as payback.

I grab a water bottle out of the fridge while Brock opens the milk and takes a long drink, his stare never wandering from the side of my face.

“Listen, dude––”

“Uh huh––” he interrupts, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and pushes off the counter, walks past me. “Next time you want to spend alone time with your girl, just say so. No need to be a dick about it.”

He’s halfway down the hall, headed to his bedroom, when I remember to speak. “She’s not my girl.”

His door bangs shut.





Chapter 15





Alice


“So you guys aren’t fucking?” Zoe says––loudly, to my great misfortune.

“Shhh, keep your voice down.” I look around the library and find some curious glances being thrown in our direction.

“No…” I whisper, slouching lower down in my chair. I take another furtive glance about the room for anyone I may know. That or the man in question. Nobody catches my eye, so I lean over the table. “I’ve been friend-zoned.”

After spending all our free time together for the last two weeks, I can say that I’ve been zoned beyond a shadow of a doubt.

I don’t know what exactly happened the night that he was rude to Brock. Since then, however, he’s been completely hands-off. The texts haven’t stopped. We still spend way too much time together––that hasn’t changed. The difference is that he hasn’t come within an arm’s length of touching me. As if I’m contagious.

I’ll never understand men.

“I h-hate that. I’m always f-friend-zoned,” Dora commiserates.

Zoe’s flinty hazel eyes bounce back and forth between me and Dora. “That’s because you two losers allow them to friend-zone you.” She shakes her head. “Who does that?”

I’m pretty sure that was rhetorical but I tuck my hair behind my ear and raise my hand anyway. “Umm, I do.”

Dora’s hand shoots up. “Me too.”

Zoe exhales tiredly, sucks in a deep breath. “We’re going to have to fight fire with fire to fix this.”

I chuckle. “This isn’t a fight.”

“Isn’t it?”

Wearing a vintage David Bowie t-shit, shredded skinny jeans, and lemon yellow sandals, Blake walks up to the table and sits. She’s so cool she makes everything I deemed cool before her look uncool. Out of her Louis Vuitton messenger bag, she pulls out a Mac Air and a textbook. “What did I miss?”

“Alice is not fucking Reagan Reynolds.”