The next day, Nessa and I were working on a paper in the dorm commons.
"Basically if you lived in the 1500s and you had hella money, you could just pay the church to erase all your dirty little secrets and sins. So then the Protestants showed up and were all like like nah, that's some bullshit."
"I think Professor Evans would love to read that as your definition of the Protestant Reformation."
I was mumbling, staring at the blank page on my MacBook. But in Nessa's silence, I glanced up to see her watching me, a mischievous glint in her eye. My lips tugged down in a frown. Protestant reformation really wasn't that scandalous.
Nessa definitely wasn't thinking about history.
"So...last night."
I pointed at my laptop. "So...paper."
She ignored me.
"Did you and Bren work things out?"
"We..." I tried not to blush, but heat rose on my face anyway. Tingles of pleasure worked their way through my limbs at the memories. "Yeah." A casual shrug. "We worked things out."
"You're not going to give me details, are you?"
I shook my head.
"Who am I supposed to live vicariously through if not you?"
"Find a good, spicy book."
Nessa didn't miss a beat.
"So it was spicy, huh?"
"Well, it's Bren. He's...yeah."
At the moment, I was inordinately inarticulate. But it was impossible to describe the things that happened between Bren and me. Not just last night, but every time. It wasn't merely a physical thing. And yet, it was definitely physical. And, well, verbal.
Bren liked dirty talk.
And for his birthday, I'd given him a free pass to unload on me every single dirty thought he had.
But Nessa didn't need to know that my heart was going wild, my skin crawling as I relived the words that Bren had murmured, his breathing labored.
Oh, god. If I lived in the 1500s, I would definitely owe the church a lot of money for my sins. Sins that all had to do with a brown-eyed boy.
She snorted and shook her head.
"Okay, hot stuff. Let's get going on this paper."
"Alright, Wednesday," I said, thankful for the change of thoughts.
"Hey." She scoffed at me for the Wednesday comment.
I wasn't phased. "If you're going to call me hot stuff, I'm going to call you Wednesday."
"Is that your real name?"
Grayson, with his dimpled grin and dark-blue chinos, strode toward us, walking from the direction of his dorm room.
"No," Nessa said pointedly while at the same time I smiled and said, "Yes."
She was glaring at the side of my head. I just knew she was. I couldn't see it, but I could feel it.
A grin grew on Grayson's face as he pulled up a chair next to us. He sat down in such a bro way, dramatically whipping the chair out, twirling it around, and straddling the seat before leaning on the backrest.
"Wednesday." He mused over the word. "I love that." How he said it was earnest and soft, and if Nessa didn't get butterflies by the way he was staring at her right now, there was no hope for her. She didn't need someone's life to live through or a spicy book.
She had her spicy piano man.
I stifled a snicker at the thought.
"So," Grayson said, clearing his throat and looking down at the textbook between Nessa and me. "Are you working on the paper for Western Civ?"
"No," Nessa said pointedly while at the same time I smiled and said, "Yes."
Again.
Grayson's smile slipped into a smirk. He was secretly in love with Nessa's begrudging attitude. Okay, maybe it wasn't a secret. "I'm gonna believe Madie, I think," he said. "Can I join you? I wanted to talk to you about something anyway."
"Well, I don't want to talk to you," Nessa mumbled, staring at her laptop. Refusing to look at Grayson. It only made me that much more curious about what went down at the gala.
A soft chuckle.
"I was talking to Madie."
A rare flush worked its way up Nessa's neck, but she didn't say anything.
Grayson stared at her for a moment, a look simmering with amusement on his face. He wasn't put off in the slightest by her refusal to acknowledge him.
Eventually he turned to me, and I couldn't help but be curious about what he would say.
I'd never have guessed that it would be about Bren.
"Did you know that your boyfriend knocked Brodie down a few pegs?" Grayson questioned, leaning forward.
My stomach clenched.
"I knew he talked to him."
"Yeah," Grayson said, rubbing his jawline. A rueful half-smile momentarily graced his lips. "I suppose that's one way to say it."
The implication behind his words did not sit well with me.
"Did he not just talk to him? Bren said it was just a talk."
Grayson made a face. It was a I-don't-know-how-to-answer-that face.
"Did they fight?" I pressed.
My words were coming breathy and quick. As much as I enjoyed the idea of Bren breaking Brodie's nose, I hated the possibility of another potential assault charge following him.
"No, no, they didn't fight," Grayson quickly reassured me, and I breathed a sigh of relief. "But Brodie has been acting weird ever since their...talk."
Cocking my head to the side, I silently encouraged Grayson to go on.
"Brodie and I go way back, you know. Like...played Mario Kart in his basement until two o'clock in the morning on his 14th birthday kind of back. He wasn't always like this. He was never the jock with a stick up his ass. In fact, he was always the more mild-mannered one between us."
I could feel the annoyingly deep line on my forehead crease. It was hard to imagine Brodie as anything other than a...Chad.
Greyson sighed. "I don't know. But he's acting weird. And frankly, I'm worried." His brilliant blue eyes pierced me in a moment of seriousness. "About him, but also you."
"Hey, Nessa. Can I talk to you for a second?"
Those bright blue eyes hardened at the sound of another male voice. Grayson whipped his head around, glancing at Nessa with a frown—who appeared startled at the interruption—before looking up at the intruder. An even deeper frown formed on his face.
Nessa was quick to recover. "Oh, I don't—"
"Please. Just real quick."
"Fine. What do you want, Jonathon?"
The jackass that ditched Nessa at the gala shuffled on his feet. A backpack was slung over his shoulder casually, but the firm part in his hair screamed anything besides casual. He glanced uneasily at Grayson and me before swiveling his attention back to Nessa. "Can we talk in private?"
"Why?" Nessa shot back. I could see the anger boiling just behind her irises. Anger with the hint of humiliation. Pretty sure she'd been avoiding him all week, not wanting to face the guy who basically admitted she meant nothing to him besides an opportunity at sex. And I didn't blame her.
"Nessa, it'll only take a minute."
I had to admit, it was a little fun to see Jonathon plead. Hopefully, he got down on his knees. It would serve him right.
"She doesn't want to talk to you, asshole," Grayson cut in coldly. "So either say what you're gonna say here or hit the fucking road."
I stared wide-eyed at Grayson, not expecting to hear such a biting tone from him. Jonathon's attention jerked toward the football player, too. His eyes flared. His lips twitched. But before he could bite back, Nessa pushed up from the table. "Fine," she said firmly, breaking apart the rising tension between the boys, "let's talk over there. But make it quick."
Jonathon flashed an annoyingly smug grin as Nessa followed him across the room so they could sit at the table by the windows.
At the sound of Grayson's scoff, I turned to look at him.
His eyes were dark, watching Nessa and Jonathon with close precision. A tick in his jaw was visible as he stared.
I tried to find something to say, but Grayson found his words first. "That prick completely blew her off at the gala," he spewed. "Why is she giving him the time of day?"
I wasn't sure if the question was actually directed at me or not. He didn't look away from Nessa, his eyes flicking over her.
"Hopefully he's apologizing," I muttered, unsure if he expected a response.
"I don't give a shit. He doesn't deserve the chance to apologize."
"Sometimes it can be hard to give up on finding the good in people and face the facts." I tucked my hands in my lap, lacing them together tightly. "Trust me, I know."
That got his attention off of Nessa. His eyes were kind and sad as they looked at me. "Quinton?"
I nodded.
"I get that. I do. But he was your long-term boyfriend." His gaze cut back to the couple by the window. "Not just some asshat that sat next to you in Biology for a few weeks."
He had a point, but still. I had a point, too. "Nessa just wants what any girl wants—any person wants."
He raised a brow.
"To be cared about."
Grayson's mouth twisted. Before he could object, I added to my statement. "Not that I'm saying Jonathon cares about her. He's clearly a dick. I just mean it can be hard to make yourself stay objective in the dating world. Don't be too hard on Nessa."
"If she's trying to hang onto the good in people..." He shook his head. "Why does she find it all too easy to hate me? Even after—"
He bit off, looking away.
I leaned in, considering if I should ask for him to finish that sentence.
Curiosity won out.
"Even after...?"
"Nothing," Grayson was quick to say. He sounded resigned, though.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he did care when Nessa was so quick to dismiss him.
Giving up, I leaned back again. We both sat there, staring at Nessa with Jonathon. When she began to laugh at something he'd said, Grayson shook his head and stood up.
"Well if you find out, let me know."
"Find out what?"
Grayson's dark brows were drawn together. "Why she hates me."
"She doesn't—"
He cut me off. "I'll see you around, Madie. And be careful about Brodie. Something is up with him."
And with that, Grayson Everett stalked away.
When Nessa came back to his empty seat, her smile faltered.
But as much as I wanted to ponder what was going on between Grayson and Nessa, my mind kept wandering back to what he'd said about Brodie.
What the hell did Bren say to him?
🤍
A little bit of history and mystery in this one.
Hope you enjoyed!
xoxo