Page 2 of Notorious Man on Campus

“Yes. One of your favorite dishes.” I nod and head for the dining room with no intention of eating whatever the fuck she cooks. On a good day I might eat a meal cooked by a woman without waiting for someone else to take the first bite like a royal taste tester. Long story rooted in my childhood. Though there was a time I’d eat anything Nyla cooked.

Now she has my gut twisted to hell. She’ll probably spit all over my food or possibly has a poison vial ready to dose my plate. Half kidding. Dylan sends Allie out the back door and follows me into the dining room, taking the seat next to me at the big old banged-up table for twelve. Roman sits on my other side. I’m across from Trey Eagleton, aka eagle eye, the SPU hockey team’s goalie, Kace’s replacement at the table. Also Kace’s replacement as captain of the hockey team, which is unusual for a goalie. I hear he’s a sure thing for the Mike Richter Award for best NCAA goalie.

I’m trying to hold my shit together. There’s no way I can tolerate having Nyla cooking for us all semester. Seeing the girl who nearly undid my family every day, the girl who turned my brother into a fool and me into a fucking traitorous asshole, isn’t going to work for me. If I’m honest, it wasn’t all her fault. But that fact makes her no less my enemy and doesn’t lessen the fact that she could spill my secret and ruin everything in my life, tear my family apart, and kill my chance at the NFL at any given moment, if I sneeze the wrong way.

Why would she do it now after four years?

Why is she here now if she doesn’t have some kind of agenda? Which can only be bad for me.

Claire Majisky, in all her fleshy glory, the best cook at St. Paul University and the entire Northeast, as far as I’m concerned, walks into the room carrying a big-ass platter of steak and puts it at the end of the table. Nyla follows right behind her with another platter filled with potatoes and vegetables and puts it down in the empty space reserved for it.

“Listen up jocks,” Majik commands. “We have an assistant cook this semester. Approved at the end of last year by Kace and Brick.” She flashes her eyes in my direction with no change in her always neutral expression. She outdoes me in the look-of-stone department and I admire her talent for it almost as much as I admire her cooking ability.

“Meet Nyla Rhoades, the new assistant cook. She’s also my scholarship recipient and a full-time student here at SPU.” She looks around the room and there’s a smattering of congratulations, and some nods of approval. Nyla smiles and her eyes dart around everywhere except at me before she looks down. She takes a deep breath as if she’s bracing herself.

A cold shiver goes through me as I instinctively brace myself. Here comes the bad news, although I already classify the news of Nyla’s presence on campus and in our kitchen as a shitshow of hellish proportions.

Majik puts a hand up signaling the room to quiet, then she looks at me with implacable confidence, and speaks in that rumbling voice of hers that sounds like boulders moving.

“As part of her scholarship award, Nyla will be receiving room and board.” Majik pauses a beat, but doesn’t blink, her eyes still on me. Every muscle in me goes rigid. My pulse roars as if I’m racing through a tunnel and I can’t see a thing, have no idea what to expect ahead except that it’s bad. Very bad.

“She’ll be staying here at BMOC House.” Majik folds her arms across her mighty chest, daring me to defy her. “The back room is hers and it has a strong lock. I shouldn’t need to say it, but I will. Nyla is off-limits to all you filthy animals.” One corner of her mouth twitches in what passes for a smile. Another one of the things I like about Majik is there’s never a danger of a sunny smile erupting on her face.

Nyla watches me but I remain focused on Majik as my mind frees itself from petrification. I force a deep breath to slow my heart rate so I can speak in a neutral voice.

“Absolutely not,” I say. The edge in my voice is minute, but it’s there. Fuck. I don’t need anyone to know about my intolerance for Nyla, but no way can she stay here. We converted the storage room off the back of the kitchen for Majik so she could stay over when it snows. It may be technically Majik’s to loan to Nyla, but no fucking way. Several long beats of silence fill the room.

“Then I quit.” Majik doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t frown or smile. Her arms remain folded across her chest, rising and falling with perfectly normal breathing. Everyone at the table is still and quiet, except the tension has ratcheted up as if the oxygen has thinned and we’re all competing for a dwindling supply. I’m getting the stare-down from every guy in the room, mostly questions in their eyes, some confusion, and a whole shitload of anticipation. Dylan nudges me with his leg under the table.

“You wouldn’t,” I challenge Majik. My voice is steady, but scratchy. I clear my throat. “You need to work.” My mind churns, rational thought fighting a heated battle with runaway emotions, fear and desperation chief among them.

“I’ll get a job over at Kappa Kappa Gamma.”

“What would happen to Nyla’s scholarship?” Dylan asks.

“She would keep it, stay with me at the girls’ house. I’m sure they’d appreciate the extra help in exchange for a small room.” There’s some uneasy stirring and I get nudged on both sides by Roman and Dylan.

“You’re dead set on this?” It’s a useless question since I know the answer. My gut churns and I can taste the bile of defeat rising in my throat. As much as it pains me, I know I have no choice. She knows I have no choice. My housemates confirm my lack of choice with the release of tension and relieved breaths.

Majik shrugs one of her enormous shoulders, the death-threat look returning to her face, worse than a scowl. She doesn’t care what I think or say because she knows I’d get holy hell if I let her leave. Majik is part of the growing legend of BMOC House, started four years ago when Jack Hunter, the legend himself, hired her.

“It would have been nice if you’d asked or given me a heads-up before she moved in,” I say in a low, casual voice. On the inside, I shout how outrageous this is, even for Majik. She knows I know Nyla, that we have a connection. The horror of what Nyla might have told her starts spreading panic like cracks in a windshield until I clamp down, literally clenching my jaw. She wouldn’t have spilled all the dark secrets to Majik, wouldn’t have taken a chance going against me, knowing I’m established here. But there’s something more to this deal with Nyla than giving some needy chick a scholarship.

“I knew you’d be reasonable.” Majik doesn’t elaborate, thank fuck, but I know she knows something about my history with Nyla and I need to find out what. There’s no way I’ll ask her, especially not now in front of the guys.

Then it hits me. In bringing her here, Majik has actually chosen Nyla over me. The sting of betrayal spreads across my shoulders like I’ve been lashed.

You knew better than to trust a woman, didn’t you?

I turn away from Majik’s implacable stare, pain shooting across my shoulders. My gaze shifts to Nyla and I send my silent message. I’ll be having a private talk with her later. The air vibrates with the tension between us, the low murmurs in the normally loud dining room enhancing it. She looks away and I know my message is received.

Probably everyone in the room knows I’ll be visiting her room later. I’ll have to come up with something to say to the guys about me and Nyla, but I’m not going to worry about it now. Turning back to the food Majik and Nyla set on the table, I reach for a T-bone steak on the overfilled platter, concentrating on the aroma and filling my stomach in spite of the unease.

“Let’s eat,” I say. I can’t let her get to me and I can’t exactly afford to go without a meal. “Food smells … decent.” Everyone’s looking at me as I fork a steak onto my plate because I’m never the first one to eat. I stare back, arching a brow at Dylan, and he moves quick.

“Smells more than decent.” He gets a steak on his dish and has the first bite in his mouth before I pick up my knife. The room revs up to the usual mealtime raucous commotion and I watch Majik go back to the kitchen, Nyla following her. But Nyla glances over her shoulder at me. It’s not a happy look. It’s unreadable and that’s the most troubling thing of all because she’s usually an open book to me. Or she always was. Back when.

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