Page 7 of Notorious Man on Campus

Liar. I can’t stand the way she makes me feel.

“Don’t fool with her.”

Fuck.

She gives me one of those knowing looks. I don’t speak since she hasn’t asked me a question. My emotions skip over hot coals everywhere in my head, landing nowhere.

“I don’t care if you want to pretend you hate her, I know better. In fact, I’m here to give you an assignment. It’s important to me, so don’t fuck it up.” Another full stop while she pins me with her gray eyes, her hands on her massive hips. She’s wearing her usual uniform of a white cook’s coat and stubby gray-smeared ponytail. The joke is she’s bigger and tougher than half the linemen on our team. Except it’s no joke. My chest tightens.

“What’s the assignment?” I’m ninety-nine percent successful at keeping the trepidation from my voice. Why is it she can always strip away the don’t-give-a-fuck attitude that I could swear was emblazoned on my soul? Why do I fucking care? After this year, she’ll be another woman I’ll never see again. Hardening my face and my heart, I meet her gaze.

Her whole face softens, the steely-eyed look, the grim line of her mouth all disappearing. My heart races again like she’s pulled the trigger of the starter gun. On the inside, I scream, Don’t fuck with me, but I manage to keep up my guard, maintain my hard look. I can’t let her get to me any more than she has. I don’t need a fucking mother. I’m a man. Full grown and in eight short months, I’ll be totally fucking independent.

“You need to watch out for Nyla. She needs someone to help her fit in here. Since she already knows you, you can introduce her around and make sure she doesn’t get lost and I don’t mean around campus. I mean in the crowd of snotty overprivileged kids.” She takes a breath, probably because she’s not used to talking that much. This must be crazy important to her. I want to shout that I’m the worst possible person to take care of Nyla, that being at her side every day is the last torture I want to inflict on myself, but I keep my mouth zipped since I can’t possibly explain away my extreme gut-punch reaction to this so-called assignment. Nyla is no one’s pushover. Snobs will need to duck and run if they take potshots at her. I saw how she handled herself in high school. She wasn’t exactly miss popularity, but she didn’t take shit either. There’s no way I’m agreeing to this deal.

“I won’t have a lot of time—”

“Don’t make fucking excuses. You have enough time. I’m counting on you. Especially to make sure none of the hornballs in this house try to take advantage of her.”

“What makes you think I’m not one of the hornballs?”

She gives me her most evil half-smile. “Because you’re not. You know how to control yourself. If there’s one thing I’ve noticed over the past three years, it’s how deliberate you are with girls.”

“I’m not gay, if that’s what you’re implying.” I don’t take offense, but I’m not sure what the hell she’s thinking.

“No shit,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I meant that you don’t entangle yourself with women, you keep clear of the drama, you don’t get your balls bunched up by any girl in particular, you don’t have crushes. You flirt and you hook up and that’s it. Clean and under control.” She stops and takes another breath and I worry maybe she’s overtaxing herself. A real pinch of concern tightens my chest. “Not that I think it’s any way for you to live your life. In fact it’s damn unhealthy, but that’s a conversation for another day.”

“Well, shit, Majik. I almost thought I was going to have to thank you for the vote of confidence.” I smirk. My concern about her eases, but it’s replaced with the discomfort of her dissecting me accurately and coming out with an unfavorable prognosis.

No matter. I live by my own standards. I don’t need her approval any more than I need approval, or anything else, from any woman.

“Glad you’re accepting your assignment. You can start today.”

A hard knock on the door interrupts any response I might have, although my mind spins itself into a vacuum leaving me with nothing to say. Start what?

Then the door flies open and Nyla rushes inside, right past Majik, before spinning around and gaping at the woman. She looks between me and Majik, fear and concern etching her otherwise creamy smooth face.

“Too late,” Majik says, her face and voice neutral but no less intimidating. “I know all about your late-night meeting. Like I told Brick-boy here, no worries.” She pauses and I roll my eyes. Nyla is speechless and still nervous as she stares at Majik as if the woman is speaking in tongues. Can’t say I blame her. “In fact, meet your SPU campus guide and social mentor. Consider Brick your new college buddy and advisor on all things not academic or cooking related.” She pauses to let the directive sink in. I watch Nyla, but she doesn’t meet my eyes, still staring openmouthed at Majik.

“My college buddy?” She shakes her head and, after a beat, she laughs. She has nerve, but she always did. Majik nods.

“Don’t come to me with your problems,” Majik says to her without a smile. She lumbers to the door and shuts it behind her on her way out. The click of the knob clangs in my head as if I’ve been locked in jail. Trapped.

“What did you tell her?” I give my anger free rein and aim it directly at Nyla.

“Nothing. I told her we went to school together. That’s all. I swear.”

“You didn’t tell her you dated Jimmy?”

“No, not even that I worked for your family. My references are robust enough so I didn’t need to go back that far. Not that I would have mentioned your family anyway. I know Majik loves you like a son, or at least like a nephew.”

“Hardly.” I try to dismiss her words, but that disease called hope still infects me, and her words are like a fresh exposure.

“That much is out now, isn’t it? I told the guys you worked for my family. But you told them you dated Jimmy and you had no right to—”

“No right to speak about my own life?”

“We have an agreement.”