The Shameless Hour (The Ivy Years #4)

“Cool.” It was pretty great to hear my efforts were appreciated. But at the end of the day, what had I really accomplished? I wrecked their self-aggrandizing party, and I proved they were morons. I probably made two hundred new enemies in the process.

Oh, the drama. In my heart, I wasn’t cut out for drama. I just wanted to be close to my friends again and feel comfortable with myself.

There had been precious little comfort and happiness this year, and all of it had come from one man. My heart gave a creaky little squeeze when I thought of Rafe. If I was lucky, he’d come barreling in here in the next half hour demanding that we finish our Urban Studies project.

Wait, what? My brain did a slow replay of that strange little desire. But there it was. I’d become accustomed to seeing one particular devilishly handsome face every day. And except for that glimpse in the dining hall, I hadn’t gotten my daily fix.

He’d probably turn up soon. And if he decided to work on something else tonight, I’d see him tomorrow. That was soon enough, right?

Of course it was.

But ten minutes later, I was eyeing the clock again, calculating how long ago Rafe’s shift had ended. Maybe he’d gone out with his teammates?

Maybe he was chatting up some cute Alison lookalike and asking for her phone number.

“Shit!” I yelled. Why the hell did that idea bother me so much?

“What is it?” Lianne yelped, dashing into my room. “Did anyone call?” Her blue eyes were round with worry.

“No,” I said quickly. “Just, um, stubbed my toe.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “Don’t scare me like that. By the way, I’ve counted twenty-seven uploads to YouTube.”

“Awesome,” I said.

“This is the best day of my life,” Lianne said from over my shoulder. “Who else needs to be pranked?” she asked. “I’m ready to do it all again.”

It was official. I’d created a monster. A very small one, with flawless skin.

By midnight, I was a twitchy basket case. While the interwebs continued to erupt with glee over my victory, my own phone was utterly silent.

And Rafe had never showed.

The urge to see him had reached painful proportions. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that when I’d sent him away he might actually stay there?

I was lonely tonight. Sure, I could have called a few of my hockey friends. Pepe or Trevi would have been surprised to hear from me, but they probably would have been happy to see me.

But Pepe and Trevi weren’t who I wanted to see.

Rafe was probably asleep by now. Here I was, having some kind of freaky revelation about how much I cared about him. And he was right downstairs.

“Fuck it,” I whispered to myself, shoving my feet into my Converse high-tops. “I’m goin’ in.”

I was half-way down the stairs when I realized I’d get some strange looks from Rafe’s roommates when I showed up in a tiny little tank top and flannel PJ pants. But it was really too late to worry about that.

There was an encouraging stripe of light underneath their common room door. I knocked.

Nothing.

I knocked again. Since I’m not exactly famous for propriety, I tried the door, which opened in my hand.

The common room was empty and both bedroom doors were shut. I thought I heard male voices, but when I tiptoed to Rafe’s door, there was only silence. The sound must have been coming from Mat’s room.

The right thing to do was to go back upstairs and wait to talk to Rafe in the morning. But… in for a penny, in for a pound. I tapped on the door. “Rafe? It’s Bella. Can I come in?” I listened to the silence. Then I opened the door.

Both beds were empty. “Fuck!”

Mat’s bedroom door opened, and he stuck his head out. “Can I help you?”

“Where’s Rafe?” I probably should have apologized for breaking and entering. But when you’re trying to re-enact the romantic ending of a chick flick, there just wasn’t time.

“Um.” His roommate ran a hand through tousled hair. “The library?” he guessed.

“Which library?” I demanded.

Mat gave me an irritated look. “How would I know? He likes Central Campus.”

“Thanks!” I called over my shoulder. I ran out of the room, and down the stairs. I’d forgotten my coat, and it was cold out. Very cold. But the romantic heroines of movies didn’t worry about that sort of thing, so neither would I. Beginning a nicely paced jog to Central Campus Library, I had to hold my boobs in crossed arms, because I’d neglected to wear a bra.