Chapter Six

*Caroline*

“Wake up and get me a cigarette, bitch,” cries Vampire Bill, the African grey parrot that’s in his cage on my nightstand.

I ease up and glare at him from my bed.

Ryker stayed over with Penelope, my roomie and best friend, last night, so I pulled the parrot from her room into mine. Nothing kills the lovey-dovey mood like a parrot telling them to “Get your bony ass down the road and get a job.”

He was rescued by Penelope from a bunch of cigarette-smoking, belligerent, low-class morons. Our neighbors from across the street, they left him on the side of the road on their move-out day, and Penelope ran out to save him. She says he’s hers, and I guess he is, but I like to think of us as co-parents.

When I stretch and reach out to pet him, he fluffs his feathers and rubs the back of my hand with his head. I study his misshapen right wing, the one that keeps him from flying, and hand him a cracker from the box on the table. Regardless of the things he says, he’s an affectionate creature, and I have a soft spot for him. He reminds me of, well, me—a little broken but still fighting.

“Time to make this day my bitch, but no smoking for you,” I say, hopping up out of bed and putting on some new workout leggings and a T-shirt. Deadpool is on the front saying, Yeah, I’d do me. I sweep my hair into a french braid and head out to the den of the house I share with Penelope. Her mom left it to her after she passed away, and it’s in a quiet neighborhood near campus.

No one else appears to be up yet—thank God—so I bring up the YouTube channel on the TV for my yoga session of the day.

Later, after several attempts at this ridiculousness, sweat drips off me while I push my legs as far apart as they’ll go and grasp my toes. I call it The Crotch Widener Pose, but I don’t think the trim girl in the video would approve. She moves into another position, and I fumble around on my mat, trying to get up. “What’s the point of this,” I mutter, weaving as I try to stand still on one foot, my arms straight and pointed at the ceiling, one foot tucked into the bend of my knee. “Look, I’m a rocket man,” I announce to no one. “Should have brought Vampire Bill out here so he could critique,” I say on a laugh. Then, I catch a glimpse of myself in the glare from the television and wince at the scrunched-up face and strands of hair that have fallen loose from my braid. Ugh. Definitely not a Dani kind of girl.

Ryker walks into the room wearing flannel pants and no shirt. He comes to a halt when he sees me and rakes a hand through his golden-blond hair. “Damn. Any clue how many captions I could put on this image—”

“Trust me, she can caption them herself,” replies Penelope as she follows him into the room and swats him on the ass. With her copper hair up in a messy knot and her red glasses perched on her nose, she looks slightly mussed and happy in her pjs. I’m not surprised considering the number of times I heard her calling out his name last night. I’m thrilled they’re in love and all that jazz, but dang, enough with the awesome sex already. I make a mental note to pick up some earplugs at the Piggly Wiggly.

“Bedsides,” Penelope adds. “No one likes an audience while they’re exercising.”

“Especially when they’re short and gravitationally challenged like me.” I laugh and continue into the next pose. “Be glad I wasn’t in downward-facing dog.”

“Namaste, Care. Please continue your workout,” Ryker says then gives me a broad grin as he heads off for a shower.

I finish up just as my phone rings with a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Caroline Lockwood?” It’s a man with a distinct Boston accent.

I grip the phone tighter. The only people I know who’d be calling me from that area is the design firm I signed my graphic design internship with. “This is she.”

He clears his throat. “Ah, yes, this is William Connor. We met a few months ago when you came up for an interview at Prescott Designs.”

I nod even though he can’t see me. “Yes, hello! It’s great to hear from you. I’m so excited to see you in May.” I let out a nervous laugh. Getting that prized spot was the highlight of my year. “I even already have a place to live. My cousin has a great apartment near downtown and she’s setting up a room for me. All I have to do is graduate and move—”

“Ah, well, I have bad news. We’ve had to make some cutbacks here at the firm, and we’re canceling.”

“Oh.” I take a seat on the couch. “Why? Was I not right for the program? I mean, I know the competition was tough, but I’m one of the best. Are you—are you sure there hasn’t been a mistake?” I nailed that interview. I know I did. My GPA is stellar and my portfolio is kickass. Ma even bought me a pale gray power suit from Barney’s, and my makeup was demure but stylish, my pink and black hair slicked back in a tight bun—

“No mistake, and I’m sincerely sorry. It’s not you. We’re cutting the program entirely.” A long sigh comes from his end. “I’m in the process of calling several interns and letting them know, Ms. Lockwood. You aren’t alone.”

My hand rubs my forehead. Boston was the only thing keeping me going, knowing I’d be out of here soon. “I see.”

“I’m aware it puts you in a bind, and I’d be happy to suggest a few places that may have openings for interns. I’ll email them over to you. My advice is to apply immediately.”

What he isn’t saying is that all the spots at the best firms have been filled. Shit. Boston was the perfect city—close to home yet far enough away that Ma couldn’t pop in and surprise me.

“If you want to take a gap year and reapply next year, we may reopen it then.”

A gap year would mean moving back in with my parents. Not in a million years.

We end the conversation, and I stare down at my phone for several seconds, resisting the urge to throw it across the room. Instead, I head to the kitchen for some much-earned coffee.

“How was Cadillac’s last night?” Penelope asks a few minutes later when she comes into the kitchen. She’s changed from her pjs into jeans and a Buckeyes shirt—another one. Nice.

I sit down at the table near the bay window. “Jess, Connor, and the chess champs were there so I hung with them.”

“Did you see him?”

My hands tighten. “He had two girls with him. Looks like he’s expanding his harem.”

She frowns and takes cinnamon rolls out of the oven. She must have put them in earlier. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I decide to not dwell on Noah and give her the rundown from the phone call. She listens, her head cocked, eyes studying me. I see worry in her gaze.

“Dang. Sorry, Care. I know this isn’t how you wanted to start off the new semester.” She pours sugary icing on the rolls and brings me one. Like Ma, she thinks food solves everything.

I look down at it, mentally tallying up the carb points. “I shouldn’t eat this.”

Her hands go to her hips and she gets a little scowl on her face. “Are you on this diet thing again?”

I snort. “I’ve been on a diet for seven days, but all I’ve lost is a week. Heck, all my cardio consists of is walking to the fridge—hence the attempt at yoga.”

“You’re talking crazy.”

“No, I’m serious. Ma is short and curvy, and I got the gene. My muffin top is a three-layer cake!”

“Why do this to yourself?” She exhales a breath and sits down across from me. I sense a lecture coming.

“Pen, you don’t get it.”

Her eyes are kind as she takes my hand. “Stop comparing yourself to others. That isn’t the Caroline I know.”

“I know…but I keep thinking about those horrible nicknames—”

“That was a long time ago.”

“But,” I remind her, “you never heard people call you those things.” I run my fingers over the rim of my cup. “And then Trevor…” I blow out a breath, my head going back to the popular, crazy-good-looking guy in high school, the one who admitted at prom he’d only asked me because his friends dared him to take the chubby girl to the last big party of the year. Most of the time I don’t think about him or the horrible, awful feeling that crawled inside me when he pulled that, but I’m slipping. I’m losing my confidence. My mojo is MIA, probably hiding in a corner eating a bacon salad. Topple that with the bet Noah made with his friends two months later? It'll break you apart so bad you'll never be put back together again.

“Trevor was an asshole, a stupid immature boy. I’ve never met him, but if I do, I will slay him for you. Heck, I’ll sic Vampire Bill on him. His claws are sharp.”

“I know life is too short for self-hatred and carrot sticks every day, but damn, have you seen Dani up close? She’s practically a supermodel.”

“Enough of that.” She jumps up, opens a junk drawer, and comes back with a compact mirror. Flipping it open, she holds it in front of my face. “Look at you. Your eyes have these little golden sparks, and…come on…your boobs are amazing—much better than my titlets.” She smirks. “Hey, remember those two tennis guys who got into an argument over who was going to buy you a drink at Caddy’s once? They nearly came to blows over you, Care, and you dissed them both. You have something about you, a little extra sparkle that makes men nuts.”

I laugh. “Pretty sure it was those kickass shoes I had on that night—you know the ones, the four-inch leopard heels.”

“Those are great shoes, not denying it, but…it was you. You’ve got sass, baby.”

I sigh. “My sass packed her bags and left months ago.”

Her lips tighten, and I figure she’s remembering how I moped around the house and refused to go anywhere he might be freshaman year when her Jess and I roomed together. “I know, I know. You haven’t been your usual confident self. Don’t let seeing Noah with her—”

“Noah?” asks Ryker as he waltzes into the room, fresh from a shower.

I arch a brow. “No offense, QB1, you’re my boy and all, but you are the last person I want to talk to about him."

He holds his hands up. “Message received. Don’t talk about one of my best friends in front of you ever.”

There’s an awkward silence, and I frown. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be the friend everyone walks on eggshells around.

“I know he’s your friend,” I mumble. It makes things even harder. Normally, I never would have chosen Noah for a hookup—too hot, too aware that every girl in the room wants him—but the way he treated me, touched me. The things he told me. And jesus christ his coc-

Whoa. Don’t even think about him or that.

See, there I go.

I take a sip of coffee as Ryker exchanges a long look with Penelope and then glances back at me. “He’s my friend and you are too, so don’t sweat it.” He shrugs then moves to the sink to wash out his mug and tells Penelope he needs to check in with his advisor.

My ears perk up. “I thought you senior studs would be focused on the draft instead of classes.”

He nods. “Some are. Noah and I are still working on our degrees—” He gives me a sheepish look. “Shit, there I go again. Sorry, Care."

I clear my throat. “Pfft, it’s fine. So you might be the number one draft pick, right? Some kind of NFL superstar?” Yes, I’ve been keeping up with the media coverage even though I haven’t let on.

His blue-green eyes gleam. “Right, but I don’t want to be an NFL superstar—I want to be THE NFL superstar.” He says this with a lilting Game-of-Thrones style accent and places his hands behind his head, flexing as he preens.

I snort.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” Penelope sashays over, wraps her arms around his shoulders, and kisses him.

“PDA much?” I consider tossing a cinnamon bun at them, but it looks too pretty.

They ignore me.

My hands curl around my mug, and I stare down at the table, thinking about Noah.

I let myself get sucked in by a player, and I should’ve known better. I know how guys like him operate.

Thoughts of my father creep in. Frank Lockwood's the kind of man women have always gushed over. Even nuns blush when he walks in a room. A tall, strapping, handsome man with a wide smile, he and my older brother Paulie own a successful plumbing company back home. And Ma? She knew he was a cheater. I heard the whispers about him in the neighborhood and even from my friends. He can unclog my pipes anytime. Can’t keep it in his pants. I recall a morning when I walked in on her in the laundry room with my dad’s shirt clutched to her chest as she picked at the lipstick there. But the biggest, most awful part? I watched him come out of a former teacher’s house and give her a passionate kiss once. He never saw me, and sometimes I wonder if I’d said something, maybe things would have changed. Perhaps. Perhaps not. I was only twelve and terrified my parents’ marriage was over, but that same night he sat down to dinner with us as if nothing was amiss.

And when Ma brought him pie, he pulled her close and kissed her.

Beautiful men with enough charm to win over a nun are trouble. It’s why I pick the nice quiet ones; it’s why I have my rules.

Ryker’s moaning brings me back. His hands cup her ass.

“Geeze, guys! Your bedroom is literally down the hall.” Grabbing my coffee and the cinnamon roll, I flounce out of the kitchen and go to my room.

“Sexy mama, gimme a bite!” greets me as I walk in.

I snort at Vampire Bill. “Ah, you can be sweet. Sorry, dude, this bun might make you sick. How about a celery stick? They’re in the fridge, and we both know I’m not gonna eat them.”

He cocks his head. “No!”

I rub his head. “Smart bird.”

* * *

Later that day, I head to my appointment with my advisor in the fine arts building, a huge modern structure full of classrooms and personal student studios. I spent a lot of time there last fall, prepping my portfolio. Waylon has one of the best graphic design programs in the country, which was a deciding factor in me coming so far south to attend college.

“Caroline! So wonderful to see you,” says Dr. Alfonsi as I walk into his office. A handsome man in his fifties with a broad grin and gray at his temples, he’s elegant and stylish in an expensive, well-tailored suit. He’d fit right in at a street cafe in Rome sipping a morning espresso.

He’s from the Bronx area, and when he saw my hometown on another professor’s advisee list a few years ago, he traded to get me on his.

He gives me a smile and indicates I should take a seat. “You must come to dinner soon. Anne and I have a pre-med student you should meet. I never brought him up before because he was seeing someone, but not anymore. He comes from a good family in Brooklyn—”

“Don’t start with the matchmaking, Dr. A. I’m over guys right now.”

In the past, he’s asked me over for dinner and then a “nice young man” shows up and joins us. One was gay, one picked his nose, and one asked to borrow money from me. I usually go along with those setups because, well, Anne is a great cook, and the food reminds me of home.

He frowns, the deep lines on his forehead creasing. “Is something bothering you, dear? Has some young man broken your heart?”

I sigh, not going there. What would I say? “I’m fine, but Prescott canceled my internship this morning.”

“Oh, no.” His brow knits, and I guess I should have smiled more when I walked in the door, but it’s hard to pretend when this new semester, new you thing isn’t working for me no matter how many pep talks I give myself.

“I’m sorry, dear. You look terribly unhappy. Let me know if I can write you a new letter for any applications. I’ll do some checking to see if I can find some open spots, but odds are it will be tough.”

I sigh. “I know.”

He takes my schedule from my hands and looks it over. He’s wearing a smile when he looks up at me. “This lineup of classes will put you to sleep, Caroline. Come on, spice it up a little. Let’s switch one of these out for something exciting.”

“Just a few easy classes and I’m out of here.”

Sayonara Ohio, sayonara Noah.

He glances down at the paper and taps his chin. “I’m thinking you need a humanity elective. How about Social Psychology 410 with Dr. Cartwright? He’s very entertaining. No pillow required.”

A tingle of excitement hits. “Oh! That class is legendary. Rumor is you need special pull—or you have to be an athlete.”

He smiles. “You have pull with me, and Dr. Cartwright owes me. Would you be willing to take it?”

Why not? “Sure.”

He pats me on the back. “Good. I’ll take care of updating your schedule. Now, let me set you up with this fellow. Did I mention medical school already? Mike is very, very handsome. Your mother would be thrilled.”

He met my parents when they came to visit me one year and had us all over for a cookout.

I shake my head. “Pass.”

He cocks his head, his face growing serious as he studies me. “I don’t mean to meddle, dear. I just can’t help myself.”

I shake my head. “You and my ma are a lot alike.”

He grabs a Post-it from his desk, scribbles on it, and hands it over to me.

I take it, staring at the phone number. “Dr. A—”

He waves me off. “Do what you want with it. You never know, he might just be a good friend. You look like you need one,” he finishes quietly.

Dang. I must really be off.

A long exhalation comes from me as I tuck the number in my purse. “Fine.”