“Fitzgerald!” one of them exclaims. He waves his game controller. “You want in?”
“Another time,” Fitz answers.
Rex flops down in an easy chair and gestures to the only other free chair. “Sit down, cutie. Summer, you can stand.” He laughs loudly at his own joke before saying, “Kidding. Fitz, your ugly ass can remain standing.”
I sink down on the chair he indicates and find myself drowning in brown leather. This is the biggest armchair on the planet. I feel like a toddler trying to sit in the big-people chair.
Rex introduces me to his teammates, and it’s hard to keep up with all the names and positions he spits out. Turns out they’re all offensive players—two tight ends, a running back, and a wide receiver. Rex is also a receiver. “Lockett, Jules, Bibby, C-Mac. This is Summer Di Laurentis. She needs a favor.”
“I’ll do it,” one player says instantly. Jules, I think. He’s really cute, with chin-length dark hair, dimples, and a diamond stud in one ear.
I grin at him. “You don’t even know what I’m asking.”
“Doesn’t matter. Ain’t none of us gonna say no to a face like yours,” drawls C-Mac, who has dreadlocks and the cutest baby-face I’ve ever seen. If it weren’t for his tree-trunk biceps and huge pecs, I’d think he was fourteen years old.
“Girl, for real. You could be asking me to let you wax my balls and I’d say yes.” This comes from Lockett, the smallest guy in the room. And by small, I mean he’s probably five-eleven instead of six-five, and one-hundred-and-eighty-pounds instead of two-fifty. As in, a normal-sized human male.
“Oh.” I swallow my laughter. “Well. I mean, that’s a big commitment.”
Rex snorts.
“If you agree to help me, there is a chance I’ll be handling your balls, though.”
“What!” Fitz sputters, turning to scowl at me. “Dean said you just needed models.”
“Dean?” Lockett leans forward, recognition filling his dark eyes. “Oh shit. Dean Di Laurentis? Heyward-Di Laurentis? You’re Dean’s sister?”
“Yup. And I need six models for my fashion show,” I explain to the football players. There are only five of them in the room, but if at least two or three agree, I’m sure they could recruit the number I need. “We’ll have to take measurements and do some fittings. And like I said, I might accidentally touch your junk. Sorry in advance.”
“Never apologize for touching a man’s junk,” Rex tells me.
Bibby, a tight end with a bushy red beard, looks curious. “What would we be modeling?”
“Swimwear.”
“Dibs on the Speedo!” Lockett says immediately.
C-Mac’s hand shoots up. “Dibs on the thong.”
I’m surprised at how easy this is. But in case they’re pulling my leg, I offer more details to judge their sincerity. “The show is a month from now, right before spring break. I’m still in the design stage, but if I get a commitment from you, we’ll take measurements in the next few days and start fittings in a couple of weeks. We’ll also do some runway coaching—”
“I don’t need runway coaching,” Lockett interrupts. “I’ve watched America’s Next Top Model.”
“Same,” Jules chimes in. “Tyra’s got nothing on me.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Yup. These are exactly the guys I need. “So you’re in?” My gaze conducts a sweep of the room. “All of you?”
Everyone nods. “We’ll be there,” Rex promises.
“She needs one more, though,” Bibby says. He glances over at me. “I’ll ask Chris.”
I have no idea who Chris is, but I reply with, “Sounds good. Thank you.”
He shrugs. “Anything for a Di Laurentis.”
Rex nods fervently. “Your brother used to chill here all the time. He was good friends with a lot of our seniors.”
“I know.” Before I can stop it, a lump of sorrow rises in my throat. “Beau’s death hit him pretty hard.”
It hit me pretty hard too, but I don’t say that out loud. Beau Maxwell played quarterback for Briar for three seasons and died in a car accident last year. After I’d heard the news, I’d locked myself in my room at the Kappa house and cried my eyes out. Dean doesn’t know this, but Beau and I made out once. It was a stupid drunken thing, and we both swore we’d take it to the grave because neither of us wanted to deal with my brother’s wrath.
My heart squeezes painfully as I realize that Beau really did take our secret to the grave.
“Beau was good people,” Rex says gruffly, and the mood in the room grows somber.
“Anyway.” Fitz clears his throat. “We should be taking off.”
“I’ll start a group chat for us on MyBri,” I tell the guys. “And thank you so much for doing this.”
They don’t let me leave right away—first, each one has to swallow me up in a bear hug, while Fitz watches with resigned eyes.
“Does every single hetero male on this planet fall in love with you on sight?” he mutters when we’re outside again.
“No. Some fall in lust.” I spare him a pithy look. “And some fool around with me and then pretend it never happened.”
He halts about five feet from our cars. “I’m not pretending it didn’t happen.”
“No? So you’re avoiding me for no reason, then? Just for funsies?” Gritting my teeth, I bulldoze past him.
He catches up to me as I reach the Audi. “Summer. Come on. Wait.”
“Wait for what?” I snap. “For you to decide that I’m worthy of your time and attention?”
His brown eyes widen. “What—”
“Isn’t that what it boils down to?” I cut in, bitterness staining my tone. “I’m not someone you want to spend time with.”
“That’s not true.”
“Fine. I’ll amend that. I’m okay to hook up with, but I don’t deserve a conversation about it afterward.”
“Stop saying those words,” he growls. “Worthy. Deserve. That’s not what this is about.”
“What’s this?” I burst out, my frustration levels skyrocketing. “Seriously, Fitz. What is this? You rub up against me outside Malone’s, and then you drive away. I get on my knees for you in the locker room, and then you disappear for two days. I have no clue how you feel about me at all. So forgive me for assuming that you don’t want me.” My mouth twists in a humorless smile. “Why would I ever think that, right?” Sarcasm creeps into my voice. “I mean, a guy runs for the hills after I blow him. That means he’s super into me, right?”
Guilt flickers in his eyes at the mention of the blowjob. But he remains maddeningly silent.
I grind my molars together. Soon they’ll turn to dust, that’s how pissed off I am. “I have a date with Hunter this weekend,” I find myself declaring.
That gets me a response. A muscle in his jaw twitches, and then he mutters, “Since when?”
“He asked me last week.” I hit the key fob to unlock my car. “And you want to know why I said yes? Because it was really frigging nice to be asked on a date by someone who isn’t, I don’t know, ashamed of me.”
Fitz exhales slowly before speaking. “I’m not ashamed of you,” he murmurs. “I’m just…”
“You’re what?”
“I’m bad at expressing myself.”
“Bullshit. You’re the most articulate person I know.”
“Not when it comes to sharing feelings.” He sounds as discouraged as I feel.
“Feelings? Oh, you mean you have those?”
Every muscle in his face goes taut. It’s the only outwardly discernible sign that my accusation upset him. His expression is completely shuttered. “I’m not good at this shit, Summer.” The words are hoarse, strained.
“Good at what?” I clench my fists in exasperation. “It’s not that hard, Colin! You either want to be with me, or you don’t.” My fingers tremble on the door handle. “So which is it?”
He hesitates.
He actually hesitates.
A ball of hurt clogs my thro
at. I gulp it down best as I can. “Wrong answer,” I mutter, and then I get in my car and slam the door.
22
Summer
A few days ago, Fitz was the one avoiding me. Now we’re avoiding each other.
If he’s in the living room with Hollis and Hunter, then I’m in my bedroom. If I’m in the kitchen, then he’s somewhere else. Our townhouse turns into a pathetic game of Musical Chairs: The Room Edition, as we do everything in our power not to share the same space or breathe the same air.
But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I shouldn’t be anywhere near him. Because when I am, I’m either touching his dick or sucking it, and I refuse to let that happen again.
As usual, Fitz and the guys have already left for practice by the time I’m ready to head to campus. I have another check-in with Hal Richmond this morning. Yay. Fun times. Can’t wait.
I drive to Briar and park behind the admin building, but I don’t get out of the car yet. I’m fifteen minutes early, and damned if I’m going to spend any extra time with Froghole. Instead, I crank the heat, load up an old playlist, and start singing along to One Direction’s “No Control.”
I’m still humming the same song ten minutes later on the way to the dean’s offices. Man, why did 1D ever break up? They were so frigging magical.
“Get back together already,” I moan, at the same time that a dark-haired girl rounds the hall corner.
She jumps in surprise. “Sorry, what?”
I wave my hand flippantly. “I was talking to 1D. They need to get back together.”
She shakes her head, visibly saddened. “I know. It’s heartbreaking.”
As much as I’d love to spend the rest of the day—hell, the rest of my life—discussing the huge hole that the loss of One Direction left in my soul, I force myself to keep walking. I can’t afford to be late. Each time I see Froghole, I swear he’s even more condescending. It’s like he goes home every night and practices all the things he can say to make me feel like dog poop under his shoe.
Today, he doesn’t disappoint. The patronizing attitude makes an appearance before my butt even hits the visitor’s chair, as he asks how my dad’s golf game with Dean Prescott went this past weekend. “Must be nice being able to fly to Florida just for the day to get a round in.” His tone isn’t overtly sarcastic, but his eyes tell a different story.
I stiffly reply that I don’t keep track of my father’s golf or travel schedule, and proceed to give him an update about each of my courses.
When we get to History of Fashion, Froghole leans back in his plush chair and asks, “How are you liking Professor Laurie? You know, he received several plum offers to teach at the other Ivys, but he chose Briar partly because of me.”
“Because of you,” I echo, hoping my skepticism doesn’t show on my face.
“My mum attended North London Collegiate with Anna Wintour. Fancy that, right?” His fake accent becomes more pronounced. At least, I still think it’s fake. My dad never got back to me with proof of Froghole’s birthplace.
“Fancy that,” I say with a faint smile.
“Anyhow, they’ve remained in touch over the years. Anna made an appearance at Mum’s birthday celebration last year. Erik tagged along, and I convinced him that Briar would be the best fit for someone of his renown.”
“Cool.” I honestly can’t think of anything else to say.
“I assume you’re enjoying his course?”
“Sure. It’s fine.”
“Just fine?” He tilts his head. “Based on the feedback we’ve received thus far, it sounds like it’s a smashing success.”
“The class itself is interesting.” Hesitation washes over me as I debate whether to go on.
Maybe I should say something about the winking. And the touching. The shoulder squeezes, the hand caresses. His fingers on the back of my neck.
But Mr. Richmond already doesn’t like me very much, and I’m not sure what his reaction would be.
Tell him.
My mom’s voice fills my head, urging me to be direct. I know that’s what her advice would be. Mom never holds anything back.
“I enjoy the subject matter,” I continue, before stopping to take a deep breath. “But…Professor Laurie…” I exhale in a rush. “He’s a bit creepy, if I’m being honest.”
Richmond narrows his eyes. “Creepy?”
“Yes.” My mouth suddenly feels dry, but my palms are clammy. I wipe them on the front of my jeans. “He touches my hand a lot, and my shoulders, and his gaze stays on me a little too long—”
“You must be misunderstanding,” Richmond interrupts. “Erik is a friendly chap. That’s one of the reasons everybody adores him.”
I bite my lip. “That’s what I thought at first—that he was just being friendly. But I think it’s more than that. I don’t like it when he touches me. I find it inappropriate—”
“Summer,” the assistant dean interrupts.
“Yes?”
“As a beautiful girl, I’m sure you’ve grown accustomed to being admired, perhaps often enough that it’s led to the assumption that when someone is acting in a friendly manner or paying extra attention to you, there’s an admiring or sexual connotation to it—”
My jaw falls open in shock.
“However, I’m certain that you’re misinterpreting whatever signals you believe Professor Laurie is sending.” He leans forward in his chair and clasps his hands on the desktop. “Do you realize that throwing around statements such as these could seriously threaten and potentially destroy someone’s career?”
My own hands aren’t damp anymore. They’re dry as dust, and I curl them into tight fists on my lap. “I’m not trying to destroy anyone’s career. I…”
“Would you like to lodge a formal complaint? If so, we can begin the process right now. You should be aware, however, that it can often be a lengthy process, as well as difficult for all parties involved.”
My eyes start to feel hot. “I, um…”
Impatience lines his forehead. “Summer. Will you be lodging a formal complaint against Professor Laurie?”
After a long moment of indecision, I say, “No.”
“I see.” Richmond rises from his chair. “Well, do let me know if you change your mind. Until then, I advise you to be prudent before making these kinds of accusations—”
“I wasn’t making accusations,” I protest. “You asked what I thought of him, and I told you he makes me uncomfortable.”
Richmond rounds his desk. “I’ll see you next week, Summer. Let me walk you out.”
Later in the afternoon, I’m still smarting over Froghole’s dismissive behavior. But at the same time, I’m also starting to question myself. The descriptions I’d given Richmond sound kind of flimsy when I replay them in my head.
He touches my hand a lot, and my shoulders, and his gaze stays on me a little too long.
That doesn’t exactly scream “highly inappropriate behavior!” The more I think about it, the more I wonder if maybe my original assessment of Laurie was correct, and he’s simply a very friendly man. The fact that Richmond openly admitted that Laurie is known for being a “friendly chap” only makes me doubt myself more. If the assistant dean doesn’t think Laurie’s friendliness is anything to be concerned about, maybe I shouldn’t either?
Ugh. I honestly don’t know.
“Ow!”
Madison, the sophomore whose measurements I’m taking, jerks in discomfort, alerting me to the fact that I’d cinched the tape way too tight around her boobs.
“Sorry,” I say hastily, loosening the hold. “Let me finish with the bust, and then we’re all done.” I look over at Bianca, who’s sprawled on the ornate couch flipping through the latest issue of Vogue. “Thanks so much for agreeing to do this, by the way. I think it’ll be a blast.”
“Thanks for asking us. I’m super excited,” Bianca admits.
“Me too!” Madison bounces on the heels of her socked feet. “I can’t believe you convinced the foo
tball team to walk the runway in Speedos.”
“Not the whole team. Just six of the players.” I wink at her. “Six very hot players.”
Her expression lights up. “Oh my God. I can’t wait for the after-party.”
When Bianca messaged me to say she and five sisters were down to model in my show, I’d sweetened the pot by telling them they were all invited to the after-party. Not the official Briar-hosted one, but the after-after-party with the football team. I already got Rex to agree to host us. All I had to say was “sorority girls” and he was on board.
“I can’t wait to see the final designs,” Bianca gushes. “The pics you sent of the sketches are so hot.”
“Yeah, they’re boss,” Madison agrees.
“Thanks. I’m excited to see them on you guys.” I jot down Madison’s bust measurement and then roll up the measuring tape. I tuck it and my little notepad into my Prada tote. “All right. Perfect. I’ve got everything I need. Next time I’m here, we’ll do a proper fitting and—”
“What the hell is going on?” Kaya appears in the doorway, suspicion darkening every inch of her pretty face.
“Hey, Kaya,” I say cheerfully.
Bianca warily gets off the couch, while Madison scurries out of the room like an animal that’s just sensed a thunderstorm brewing.
Kaya glares at me. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to take some measurements.” I sling my purse strap over my shoulder and root around inside the bag for my phone.
“What for?”
“For none of your business,” I chirp.
Bianca makes it Kaya’s business quickly enough. “Some of the girls and I are walking in Summer’s fashion show.”
“Well,” I hedge in, “it’s not my show. The Fashion department does this every March.”
Kaya ignores me. She’s too busy staring Bianca down. “Why would you walk in her fashion show?”
Bianca falters for a beat. “Because it sounded like fun.”
“So fun that you didn’t think to ask me if I wanted to do it too?”