Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)(74)

That mutherf…I push the door open with fire shooting out of my eyes and ears.

Marshall is sitting behind her desk, leaning back in her chair, with her hands casually laced on her lap. As casual as her posture is, her expression is entirely different. On the opposite side of her desk, standing, Simon levels me with a look of pure contempt.

“So this is where the complaint came from?” I exclaim, completely flabbergasted. “He’s using his friend’s access to a professional editing machine, and he has the gall to accuse me of having an unfair advantage?”

Marshall’s irritation turns on Simon who suddenly looks sheepish. She lets him sweat it out with a full minute of uninterrupted silence.

“Your reel will be included, Alice. Now can you please shut the door. I need to explain the definition of unfair advantage and ethical practices to Mr. Lewis.”





“I can’t belieeeeve I didn’t see what a miserable piece of shit he is. I should have known. I really should have. That date was a major sign.”

I pace in circles in my tiny dorm room. No space to do much else.

“The date?” the beautiful man lying on my twin bed with his skilled hands tucked under his head says.

“Yeah, that date. The one I will forever regret.”

I stop pacing and look him over. He dangles his feet off the side as he stares up at me with his eyes blazing and a tiny smirk lifting one side of his mouth.

“What are you thinking right now?” I ask. “You have a weird look on your face and I’d like to know what this means.”

“Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly. I just found out I was almost gaslighted out of a chance to work with James Cameron. I would like to know what my boyfriend thinks.”

Ooooh, shit. Did I say boyfriend? Out loud? I halt, wide-eyed, waiting for him to either get weird, or give me a thumbs-up.

“You just handed me the perfect excuse to beat the shit out of him. I’ve been looking for one and you just dropped it right in my lap––say that again.”

“That I was nearly robbed by Shady Simon?”

“No, the boyfriend part.”

“Oh.” I crawl on top of him, straddling his lap, and in zero to sixty, his dick gets hard under his sweatpants. I lift the elastic waistband and stick my hand under, palm his shaft. “Is that okay? That I call you my boyfriend?”

His eyelids get heavy and his nostrils flare. He wraps a hand around my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. A face-holding, to-die-for, we’re-officially-a-couple kiss for the ages.

“You better. Otherwise we’re going to have a problem. Now, be a good girlfriend and take off your panties.”

“Aye aye, captain.”





Chapter 27





Reagan


The distant sound of a phone ringing wakes me up. It takes me a while to realize that it’s mine. Alice is already sitting up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes when I fumble around and somehow manage to turn the lamp on. As soon as I glance at the screen of my iPhone and see the name, my stomach drops and blood rushes in my ears.

It’s Foz calling. Which can only mean this is about Brian. “Hey, Foz,” I say, my voice cracking from disuse.

“Reagan…” My name hangs in the air, suspended for what feels like an eternity, implying everything and saying nothing. A sharp pain spears my chest.

“What is it, Foz?” I say louder this time, force out the words. It’s impossible to take a full breath. I know what’s coming. I’ve prepared myself for years, rehearsed it in my head a thousand different ways. At least, I thought I did. Because it doesn’t feel any easier right now.

“It’s Brian,” he finally offers up, confirming what my gut was already telling me. “I’m sorry, man. I’m…I’m really sorry.”

The pressure gets to be too much. The dam breaks. My body goes limp, my head falls into my hands, and tears fall down my face.





Alice


It takes me forever to get Reagan dressed and into the Jeep. It’s like he checked out. He cried in my arms for ten minutes and then he just checked out.

Located downtown, I drive to the police station very slowly. Not only do I not know where I’m going, but I’m worried about Reagan. All he’s done is stare blindly out the passenger side window for the past twenty minutes.

At the station, we check in and the officer manning the desk tells us the detective handling the case will be out shortly. Reagan’s face pinches in confusion. Otherwise he remains silent.

Detective Mahomes, an attractive black man probably in his late forties, inspects the both of us closely as he greets us. Then he escorts us down the hall to his desk and gestures to two empty chairs next to it.

“Have a seat,” Detective Mahomes invites, and we fall into the chairs opposite him.

“I don’t understand why I’m even here,” Reagan remarks. He still sounds out of it, not like himself. “Foz Whitaker identified the body, right?”

Mahomes nods. “He did. He was at the scene shortly after I arrived.”

“Then why is this a case? He overdosed. End of story. My brother has…” Catching the error, Reagan pauses. “Had a long history of drug use.”