The Shameless Hour (The Ivy Years #4)

“Sure,” I said. I guess he wasn’t staying for lunch. I was disappointed, too, which was weird. Because I hadn’t wanted to see him at all in the first place.

“I’ve got a study session now,” he said by way of explanation. “But I’ll see you tonight?”

“Why?”

“We have to do some work on our project.”

“The one that’s due six weeks from now?” My tone practically dripped with attitude. Nobody had been nicer to me this past week than Rafe. But I couldn’t help mouthing off. Because I didn’t want his babysitting. And it bugged the shit out of me to even look like I needed help.

“I don’t do things at the last minute,” he said, his face serious. “That isn’t my style.”

I didn’t think before I spoke. “Rafe, I have proof that you sometimes act very impulsively.”

His face shut down, making me sorry I’d said it. “See you later. Maybe seven.” He left, pulling the door closed behind him.

Rafe left me alone with my sandwich and a thudding heart. He was gone so fast I didn’t get a chance to say thank you for making me go running. Or for making sure I didn’t starve to death in this room.

God, I was such a bitch.

After eating lunch I took a shower. I’d spent more time in the shower these past forty-eight hours than anywhere else. The ink markings were almost gone from my skin. But almost wasn’t good enough.

I toweled off, then dressed in a turtleneck and jeans. Not that anyone would see me. I didn’t plan on leaving my room again. I’d missed two classes already today, and the third was beginning without me.

But classes weren’t my real problem. In two hours, I was due to arrive at hockey practice, where the Brodacious photo would have already made the rounds. My friends were going to see that picture. Then they would wonder about the caption.

And talk about it.

There was no fucking way I was walking into that locker room today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that.

I sat on the edge of my bed and pressed my fingertips into the corners of my too-hot eyes.

Fifteen

Rafe

Soccer practice was brutal that afternoon.

Coach ran us like greyhounds. And just before practice there’d been a little cloudburst, so the grass was damp and slippery. My knees were screaming by the time it was done, exhausted by the constant stop-start torque required to change direction as I dribbled the ball.

By the time the whistle blew, it was too dark to see the ball.

Bickley clapped a hand on my sweaty shoulder as we walked into the locker room. “What a lovely little stroll we’ve had this afternoon,” he said. “I feel so refreshed.”

“Coach was in a mood, wasn’t he?”

“That he was.”

My roommate and I went straight to dinner after showering, just barely making it into the Beaumont dining hall before closing time. When we got back to our room, Bickley threw himself on the sofa. But I gathered my Urban Studies stuff and headed for our door again.

“Where are you headed?” my roommate asked.

“Uh, upstairs. Bella and I are paired up on a project.”

“Reeeally.” He grinned. “That could be just what you require. She’s quite the slapper, I’ve heard.”

My blood pressure kicked up several notches on Bella’s behalf. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bickley spread his hands. “It’s a shame that she prefers hockey players, though. Maybe she’d make an exception for a soccer player. It’s a similar enough game — we’re all trying to get the round thing into the goal. Maybe she’ll let you put your round thing into her goal.”

“Shut your mouth,” I growled, walking out and letting the door slam. If I’d stood there a minute longer, I can’t say what I would have done to him.

Fucking Bickley.

I headed upstairs and knocked on Bella’s door. I was more than a little surprised to hear her say “come in.” Pushing the door open, I saw Bella on the bed. She looked a hell of a lot better than when I’d walked in here a few hours ago. Wearing clean clothes and a slick of lip gloss, she looked more like the Bella that I used to see. “Hey,” she said, her eyes flickering up into mine.

“Hey yourself.”

“I just need to tell you something quickly, and then I never want to speak of it again.”

“Um, okay?” I chuckled.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and braced her elbows on her knees. “The reason I went into that frat house last Saturday night was that I needed to tell one of the guys something.” Bella took a sudden interest in her fingernails. “My doctor told me that I’d caught an, um, infection. Not a serious one. But contagious.” She looked up to meet my eyes for a fractional second. “I got it within a short time frame, though. So that means I didn’t have it when we, uh…” She crossed her arms.