Good Boy (WAGs #1)

Wes puts on his best humble face. But he’s not very humble, so it’s a stretch for him. “Please? I’ll stop being an ass.”

“Is that even possible?” Blake tosses his keys in the air and catches them. “Fine, bud. Let’s go. Just stay out of the backseat, because that spot is special to me and Jess now.”

Both Wes and Jamie look horrified, but Blake just laughs. He gives me a kiss on the forehead and a promise to call me later. Then he and Wes depart.

“So.” Jamie shoves his hands in his pockets. “You want a lift? I’ve got the car now.”

“Sure.”

I follow my brother to the building’s parking garage downstairs, but he’s awfully silent. We get into Wes’s SUV before he says, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why lie and say it was a joke?”

“It was a joke. But now it’s not.”

He sneaks a look at me. “Does that make sense?”

“Blake doesn’t always make sense,” I point out. “But he’s pretty great anyway.”

Jamie snorts. “You and Blake. That’s some trouble right there.”

“Why?” I’m ready to be offended. My family always assumes the worst of me.

“Well, he’ll want glitter and zoo animals at your wedding,” Jamie replies with a snicker.

“What wedding? I said I was dating Blake, not marrying him.”

My brother is quiet for a moment. “I know you’re a commitmentphobe. But now that the shock is wearing off, I can sort of see you two together. And Blake is the kind of guy that when he falls, he falls hard. Before today I never heard him speak about any other girl the way he talks about you.”

Oh boy. There’s a lump in my throat when I think about how well he treated his horrible ex even after she crushed his spirit. God, I hope I don’t fuck this up. I can’t even argue with my brother calling me a commitmentphobe. My longest relationship lasted nine weeks, and there was a two-week spring break in the middle of it.

“I’ll be good to him,” I say quietly.

Jamie gives me a smile, and there’s no judgment in it. If I’m lucky it will stay that way.



My brother drops me off at the dorm, where I make a hasty clothing change. Violet is in our room, sitting on her bed.

“Hey! How was your week off?” I ask, stripping out of yesterday’s clothes. I reach for a button-down shirt and pull it on before I even notice how silent she’s been. “Violet?” I prompt, turning for a better look. “You okay?”

Her eyes are red. “I had my meeting.”

“Already?” I shove my feet into a clean pair of pants. “Didn’t it go well?” I can’t imagine that Violet failed her exam. Ms. Know-it-All was well prepared.

“I got a B-minus on the pharmacology exam,” she says with a sniff.

“God, I want a B-minus,” I say, hunting around for some socks.

“My mother is going to kill me.”

This gets my attention. “Why? That’s ridiculous.”

Violet sighs. “I’ll get a lecture about setting an example. The Smith family has been demonstrating excellence in medicine for a hundred years, blah blah blah.”

“Wait, what? How is that your problem?”

“It’s this school. This place. My parents have an inflated idea of our importance.”

I think this through while putting on my socks. The Smith School of Medicine and Nursing has never been more to me than a name etched on a limestone facade.

But…my roommate’s name is Violet Smith.

“Oh shit. You’re that kind of Smith?”

She nods miserably.

“And a B-minus is the end of the world because your name is over the door?” I’m trying to listen, I really am, but in ten minutes I have my own meeting.

“There goes my spring-break trip to the Bahamas,” Violet mumbles. “I was really looking forward to it.”

“I’m sorry,” I say kindly. I’ve felt family pressure, that’s for sure. And I’m pretty sure mine was even deserved. “But you have to be proud of yourself for you. They won’t be able to lord vacations over you forever. You have your own life.”

She gives me some teary thanks, which I barely have time to accept. I grab my coat and my backpack and slip on some shoes, and then I’m out of there.

Halfway to the director’s office, it hits me. If Violet got a B-minus, then how tough was the grading on this exam? Just like that, the confidence I’d felt earlier this morning drains right out of me, and when I open the director’s door, my knees are shaking.

“Jessica, come in!” she says, waving me toward one of the heavy wooden chairs in front of her desk. Carol Taylor is in her sixties, with bright blue eyes and a quick smile.

Her friendly face does nothing for my nerves, though. It’s her job to maintain the excellence of the program. And if I’m not excellent, I’m sure they’ll show me the door.

“Let’s get right to it,” she says as my stomach rolls. She opens a file folder and pulls out my anatomy exam. I can see the skeleton outline on the first page. “An A-minus on your Anatomy and Physiology exam. Keep up the good work.”

“Thank you.”

“Nurse Hailey liked your observational work.” She’s skimming some notes on a page. “And then there’s your pharmacology score…” She flips the page.

I brace myself.

“Hmmm.” She leans closer to the exam booklet.