Page 27 of Bad Man on Campus

“I can’t believe you’re making me walk,” Dooley says as I reach for his hand and pull him up from where he’s sitting on the wall, toying with his phone.

“This girl just won’t shut up about Kace and the car crash,” he says. His words punch me in the gut.

“What do you mean? What more is there to say?” I’m hesitant to ask because I’d frankly rather not know, rather remain blissfully ignorant. At least for the night. But Dooley’s brows are pinched together tighter than two boobs in a sports bra.

“She’s got a photo of the car at the auto shop and a caption calling for an investigation.”

“Poo on her.” I wave a hand. “She can’t call for an investigation on social media. As if.” It has to be true. I ignore the pinch of worry. Kace says we just need to ride it out until something else happens that’s more interesting for the student body to fixate on.

Dooley slips his phone in his pocket and smiles at me. “You must be right. You’re Glory Rose, the new campus sensation.” A jolt of discomfort shakes me, but I shake it right back. No more hiding from life.

“And you must be Dooley, the delusional campus mayor.” He laughs and we walk the quarter mile while Dooley tells me the places I’ll go here on campus as if it’s a social kingdom rather than a college.

“You may be new here, but it’s so obvious you’re not a freshman. You’re too worldly and wise.”

“Worldly? I don’t think we can count a couple of years at a local community college in Pennsylvania.”

“Aah, but you are a wise old soul.”

I snort. “I wish.” Heaving a sigh, I don’t tell him that’s sadness he sees in my old soul, not wisdom. I ignore the question in his arched brow because there’s no way I’m sharing the tragic and decidedly unwise mistake that changed me from innocent freshman material to someone who hovers on spending time in jail with one wrong move. Someone who might be in jail right now if Kace hadn’t stepped in. Shit. Dooley knows all about my most recent stupidity. Subject change needed right now before my smile disintegrates.

“How about you, wise old senior?”

He waves a hand. “Senior? No, I’m a fifth-year fool who doesn’t know when enough is enough. But I’m having a ball, so there’s that. Plus, my dear, I too was a transfer student from another college. We unwise transfers need to stick together, shall we?”

And just like that, we put an arm around each other and a bond appears in my heart instantly, as if Dooley is a magic Band-Aid.

We walk in the front door and my nerves buzz with excitement, my mouth lifting in the kind of smile that used to be my norm. This place is exactly the way I imagined it would be, exactly like a college pizza hangout should be, the quintessential hot spot where everyone goes to see each other and be seen, to let loose and be carefree kids with their promising lives stretched ahead of them. I could swear I’ve been here before. Familiarity hovers in the photograph-covered panel walls, the long scarred-up bar, and the sturdy high-top tables and booths. The dim lighting and the smell of popcorn and stale beer. It’s like a million places, the ones at all college campuses, the ones I’ve seen in movies and TV shows.

Planting my soul firmly in this time and space, a giddy bubble rises to celebrate being here. I’ve finally arrived, made it past the barricade of my penance. My head turns up to the beamed ceiling and my eyes close. I wish you were here in the flesh, Sky. But I have you with me, in my heart and soul. This is for you.

“Glory.” I open my eyes to see Kace heading for me, his eyes boring into me as if he knows what I’m thinking, sadness muting the smile on his face. He has a glass in his hand, but it looks more like ice water than a drink. Besides, he would be drinking beer if he were drinking.

Spreading my arms, there may as well be no one else in the room as I take him in a hug when he reaches me, planting a kiss on his lips, opening up and needing to drink him in to feed the life, to stay present and appreciate the moment.

“Ahem.”

Kace lets me go and I’m surprised it’s not Dooley who’s interrupted us. It’s Fitz. He wears a tight smile that with a one-millimeter adjustment to the side of his mouth could be a frown. Dooley has disappeared into the crowd.

“Can I get you a beer?” Fitz says, his gaze aimed at me.

“Not tonight,” Kace answers and I want to protest, but I only smile. I so much want a beer, want to be normal, enjoy college and being twenty-one like everyone else, not some broken soul, but he’s right. This is a special night. There’s plenty of fun to be had without drinking. I don’t need a drink to celebrate tonight. To get past the sadness. Because I’m too happy, carried away with the excitement. My chest vibrates with the music and my feet tap to the beat.

“Let’s dance,” I say. It’s my specialty and I know Kace will indulge me for at least a little while before he surrenders me to the floor. He takes me by the hand, abandons his ice water, and we dance. Before too long, I find myself in his arms as the DJ plays “Ain’t No Sunshine” by Bill Withers.

“You bribed him to play this song,” I accuse, holding one hand around the back of his neck where I play with the fine hairs, and one hand over his heart, feeling it pump strong and steady. Mine is beating like crazy, as much from being in his arms and staring into those all-seeing eyes of his, as from the exertion of dancing to the previous three songs.

“What was your first clue?” His eyes crinkle at the corners and he leans his forehead against mine, his breath intoxicating me with his essence, his excitement, that thing in him that connects to that thing in me like bonded protons and electrons swirling together, inseparable.

“Spend the night with me, sunshine.”

“Never a question. That’s the way it should always be.”

His answer is a light kiss, a touch of his lips against mine, a public-dance-floor kiss meant to tease and to promise, a place marker for the night to come, like his name on my dance card for later. Much later. My chest fills with the enormity of my exploding heart, emotions, all good, clogging my breathing as the song ends and he lets me go.

“I could use a glass of ice water,” I say, my voice deep and raw like I’ve been smoking cigarettes for a hundred years.

He chuckles. “I’ll have one waiting at the table for you.”