“I don’t want to be good, Rafe. I want to be bad. Very bad.”
Dios. “I don’t even want to know,” I said, and we began walking again.
Yes you do, a little voice nagged. You absolutely want to know.
Twenty-Three
Bella
It was Saturday, and I’d been to all my classes this week. Maybe it’s not much of an achievement, but every time I stepped outside the Beaumont gates, I still felt eyes on me. That freaking picture was still up on Brodacious, although Lianne had informed me that a set of photos of the new pledges dressed in drag had replaced me at the top of the page.
So that was something. You had to hand it to an organization which attempted to embarrass its own members almost as badly as the women they were finished with. They were equal-opportunity assholes.
At any rate I wasn’t going to flunk out of school. But my social life was over. My hockey friends had twenty hours of practice a week and a full game schedule on the weekends. Not that they’d forgotten about me. The week I’d staged my vanishing act, my phone lit up with texts from Pepe, Graham, Rikker and Trevi. They invited me to Capri’s. They sent me funny videos.
They tried.
But all I sent back were excuses. And when they didn’t give up, I started ignoring them altogether. They were busy, anyway, and I wanted them focused on hockey, like they should be. Last year, the hockey team was my whole world. Lately, my world was confined to entryway B.
And I had a dangerous case of cabin fever.
Grabbing the book that I was supposed to be reading, I stuck my feet in my Chuck T’s and headed down two flights of stairs. I knocked on Rafe’s common room door.
“Yeah!” The sound of his voice sent a happy little shiver up my back.
I opened the door to find him sprawled out on a generous leather sofa. “Hi,” I said, feeling shy all of a sudden.
He sat up. “Hi. You okay?”
“Sure.” I came in and shut the door. “Except there’s a small spider on the ceiling over my bed, and it’s staring at me.”
He smiled, and I felt a little flutter down below. Damn that smile. “You want me to kill it?”
“What?” I asked, swaying under the effects of his sexy mouth.
“The spider? Should I kill it?”
Focus, Bella. “No. But could I, uh, read down here for a little while? I just need a change of scenery.”
Something warm flickered through those big brown eyes. “Sure. Come on over.” He bent his knees to make room for me.
I sat down, noticing that all the furniture was fancy. “Nice place you got here.”
“It’s Lord Bickley’s.”
“Ah.” The seat was so wide that when I stretched my legs out there was still plenty of room for Rafe’s.
He did the same, then picked up his French book again.
I turned my attention to my own reading. But after ten minutes or so, I got in trouble for tickling the arch of Rafe’s foot, which lay within arm’s reach.
“Not fair,” he said, jerking his foot way. “I have enough trouble with irregular French verbs without your help.”
“Sorry.” Even though his ticklish foot was still right there, I didn’t want to make a nuisance of myself. Rafe had become my best friend during what was otherwise the worst semester of my life. He was more important to me than I was capable of expressing.
At my end of the sofa, I struggled to read another essay for Women’s Studies. College coursework was all about theories, and after four years I was a little sick of them. On the other hand, my real life this year had been about as pleasant as walking repeatedly into various stone walls. So maybe the theories were the way to go.
Rafe’s suitemate Mat emerged from his room. “There’s a game tomorrow,” he said. “I was thinking of giving you the spread plus one…”
“No thanks,” Rafe said quickly.
I poked him in the thigh. “You didn’t even hear what game he’s talking about.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Rafe said from behind his book.
Mat snickered. “Fine. Later, guys,” he said, grabbing a knapsack off the floor. “I’m going to lock myself into a study carrel until my physics homework starts to make sense.”
Rafe gave his roommate a salute as he left the room. And the two of us on the sofa went back to our reading. At least Rafe did. My book wasn’t nearly as interesting as the warm weight of Rafe’s leg against mine. Instead of plowing through the next feminist theory, I indulged in a private fantasy. In my dirty little mind, I crawled onto Rafe’s body and tossed his book on the floor. Then I put my hand in the center of those fine abs, rubbing him gently, feeling all that muscle beneath my palm.