Still Jaded (Jaded #2)

He knew me so well. "Yeah. You know Corrigan—he'll be freaking by noon if he thinks I'm still pissed at him."

Eyes knowing, he nodded but said nothing. Then he stood and ran a hand through his hair, his Mohawk was flat. Bryce shook his head and yawned again. "I need to wake up."

"You've got somewhere to be today?"

He reached for his shirt on a chair. "I'm meeting with my coach for breakfast and then with the team for lunch. I'm meeting the trainers in the afternoon."

"So you'll be around, when?" I put my toothbrush down and waited.

Bryce shrugged his lean shoulders and grinned as he eyed me up and down. "I'll be back by tonight. That's for damn sure."

I rolled my eyes. "Are you staying here or at your mother's?"

Bryce cursed. "You really think I'm going to put up with my mother?"

"So you're staying here?"

"We lived together in Spain."

"Yeah, but it's different when you have family here."

"What about you? Your mom's still in town, isn't she?"

I grimaced at the thought of her. "Dad won the house in the divorce. He signed it over to me so I don't have to put up with my mom."

Bryce zipped up his jeans and regarded me for a moment. His eyes held so many promises, but then he waved over his shoulder as he turned to the door. "I'm heading out. I'll see you later."

He left the door open, and I heard the front door click shut. The sound seemed to echo, almost painfully, and I was struck by how big my home was, how empty it was. After a second, I shook my head, cleared my thoughts, and moaned in protest—I needed to get ready no matter how much my body wanted to stay in bed.

I tried to hurry my shower but, as I bounded down the stairs, realized I'd need another shirt. My tank top wouldn't hold up against the air conditioning in class. I hurried back up, finding a cute white sweater that matched my blue top and white ruffled miniskirt. At the door, I slipped on white flip-flops and hurried towards the garage. As I got into my car, I was, again, struck—this time by the absence of the red Miata. It seemed weird, like it should've been there, but it was just another reminder that Bryce was back.

He was back…

I sighed and gunned the car. When I parked outside of Corrigan's frat house, I cringed at the thought of going in there. They all knew my issues, but I should've been used to it. My personal crap had been splashed across the European tabloids on a regular basis; a few frat brothers were nothing compared to that experience.

But I didn't get out of my car.

I should head in there. I should apologize. I should enjoy embarrassing what girl he had in his bed, because I knew he would have one.

But I didn't. The idea of seeing Corrigan died. A different knot had taken root in my stomach, and I turned the car around.

When I got to campus, the odd knot in my gut was gone. I forced it out. And I had enough time to check my mail and grab a coffee. The mailroom was no sweat—no one got their mail before eight in the morning, but the coffee kiosk, however, was another matter. I was seventh in line with another four behind me. All of them had the same hurried, irritated expressions on their faces. I started to space out my surroundings when the line shifted and someone screamed.

Suddenly, everyone was awake, and no one was in a hurry.

I looked around and saw that one of Corrigan's frat brothers had spilled coffee on a girl. She had her auburn hair in two dreadlocks and wore a pink top under overalls, untied white sneakers, and no socks. I liked the outfit, but I could tell whatever-his-name-was didn't give a damn.

"You—you—you—oh my God!" she finally ended her scream. Her hands were outstretched in the air. Her blue eyes snapped in anger.

"Hey, dude. Come on. Accident, seriously. I'll pay for a coffee." And there was Corrigan's brother speaking in his true tongue—dumbass.

"I don't care about the coffee. What am I going to wear? I commute an hour to go to school here, and I don't have a change of clothes. I have to walk around like this. I probably have second degree burns because of you."

"Raz," he offered as he gave her a lopsided grin and flipped his blonde mop to the other side of his head.

"What?" she growled.

Steam rose from the top of her head. It wasn't the coffee.

"That's my name. Raz. What's yours?" He held out a tanned arm and flashed a charming smile.

Oh yes, Raz was the stereotypical frat boy.

"Like I want you to know my name. I don't even want to associate with you."

"Oh come on, don't be like that. Hey…uh…" Raz looked around with an easy shrug. Then his eyes lit on me.

I groaned.

They sparked alive. He snapped his fingers. "She's got clothes. She's, like, rich. She'll help."

The dreadlock girl swung glowering eyes my way, froze for a second, and then exclaimed, "Getting help from her would be like getting more coffee spilled on me. No thanks."

As she stomped away, she frantically rubbed at the coffee stain.