The Shameless Hour (The Ivy Years #4)
Page 89There was a very real chance that I’d end up in a dean’s office trying to explain myself. “I’ve thought of that. And I think I’d just come clean. I’d show them the photo on Brodacious. And…” This was not going to make Rafe happy. “I’d tell them that I was roofied that night at the Beta Rho house.”
Rafe stood up so fast that I jumped. He went over to the window. As I watched, he took a long, slow breath and then let it out. When he spoke again, his voice was tight. “Did I just hear that correctly? They drugged you?”
“I think so,” I whispered.
“Jesucristo. How did I miss that?”
“I think you were busy carrying me up the stairs. And I purposefully didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want you to go to the cops.”
“But why, Bella? That fucker should be in jail.”
“I was mortified, Rafe. I was ashamed, okay? I finally understand why girls who are sexually assaulted don’t report it.”
His fists clenched on the window frame. “Were you assaulted?”
“No sir,” I shook my head. “But I’m still ashamed.”
“First I want to do this thing at the football game. I want to make a point.”
“He’ll get the point when his ass is in jail.”
“But it’s all of them!” I yelped. “They do what they’re told! And I can prove it with two reams of colored paper and a dozen rent-a-babes. It’s poetry, Rafe. Their ugly prank begets mine. It’s just like that gravestone you showed me. ‘Killed by a log he made.’”
Rafe scrubbed a hand across his forehead. “Your plan is brilliant. You're the cleverest girl I know. But it’s also risky.”
“All good things are risky,” I countered.
Slowly, Rafe lifted his eyes to mine. Our gazes locked. Rafe lifted an eyebrow in that maddening way he had.
Shit. All good things are risky, I’d said. And yet I wouldn’t even take a risk on him. I was such a shit.
“I don’t expect you to be there,” I said quietly. I’d been such a shitty friend.
“Why?”
His eyes practically bugged out. “You think I can just go about my Saturday business, take in a movie or whatever, all the while wondering if you and Lianne are going to end up roofied in some closet at a frat house?” In a rare fit of temper, Rafe delivered a swift kick to the foot of my desk chair. Then he put his hands on his head and stared up at the ceiling. “Sorry,” he managed.
“I promise to be careful.”
He dropped his arms, looking grumpier than I’d ever seen him. “Yeah? Well I’ll just be watching to make sure that you are.”
I wondered what Lianne would have to say about that. Rafe stood in front of me, looking ten different kinds of hot. He had a sort of maddening alpha-male scowl on his face. I wanted to launch myself at him. I could kiss that frown off his face. I could scale him like a tree until I had him muttering Spanish curses in my ear. I could strip him down, and finish what we'd started the other day. And when we were done, I could lay my head upon his chest — my boyfriend's chest — and go to sleep.
The urge was strong. But I didn’t give in to it.
"Do you happen to have any graph paper?" I asked instead.
Twenty-Seven
I aged about twenty-seven years on the day of the football game.
Bella and Lianne had begun their day by renting a van and parking it at the edge of the tailgate lot. As far as I could tell from their plan, they wouldn’t be in any danger until halftime. But I showed up about two hours before game time anyway, because I wanted to be present if any assholes arrived on the scene.
When I found the girls, Lianne was busy signing autographs for all the models they’d hired, and Bella was handing out matching V-neck Beta Rho sweatshirts.
I could see how this would go down. Those assholes in the Beta Rho section were going to take one look at those models’ tatas and do anything they asked. And then when they discovered they’d been tricked, they were going to be pissed. At Bella.
Que desastre.
Marching over to the van, I saw Bella look up in surprise. “Hi,” she said. “You know this game doesn’t start for a while, right?”
“Then you have plenty of time to listen to me.”
Bella gave me a look. But then she followed me around to the back of the van. “What’s the deal?” she asked, folding her arms. Her cheeks were flushed in typical Bella style, her eyes flashing with mischief. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for this girl. But apparently I hadn’t convinced her. Or worse — she didn’t care.