Too Sweet: Chapter 11

AISHA’S MOANS, TOBY’S GROWLS, and the bed slamming against the wall wake me up a few minutes past midnight.

Again.

Toby spent the weekend here, and judging by the size of the bag he brought yesterday, he won’t leave anytime soon.

Aisha’s not known to keep her men around longer than a night or two, so Toby might be a keeper. In her book, more than one night is grounds for a happily ever after. All the more that Toby already was in her bed.

And he was the one to call it quits last year.

I stuff two earphones in my ears, starting Nico’s playlist to drown them out and get some sleep. I’m not mad at him anymore. I dissected what happened, taking the evening apart on a molecular level. I overanalyzed every second and realized not only was his reaction normal and justified, but his anger meant he was disappointed.

Maybe he likes me.

The real me.

I’m catching at straws, but I can’t stop thinking about him, no matter how hard I try.

“Go” by Delilah plays in my ears, hitting all the right nerves and lulling me back to sleep. Nico has great taste in music—nothing rowdy, loud, or heavy.

The next time I wake up, it’s bang-on six in the morning, the house perfectly silent.

Half an hour later, showered and dressed, I enter the kitchen, where Toby’s making himself at home, brewing coffee in nothing but a pair of gray slacks hanging low on his hips. His colorful tattoos dance across his muscular back with every move.

“Morning,” he says, smiling like the cat that got the birdy as he pushes a cup my way. “I love Mondays, don’t you?”

“If I had three orgasms, I’d probably love Mondays, too.”

He swallows a large gulp of his steaming coffee. It must hit the wrong pipe, and he breaks into a coughing fit. “You heard, huh?” he wheezes, coughing some more. “Sorry, we thought you were asleep.”

“I was, but my sister would wake the dead. Don’t look so mortified. I’ve had years to get used to this. Aisha’s always been a screamer.” I take an apple from a fruit bowl on the counter, snapping off the stalk before biting in. “And you’re not the quietest, either.”

An expression of bemused horror spreads across his face, and he parts his lips, but Aisha’s voice cuts him off.

“That’s why I bought you those cool headphones.” She appears in a short silk robe, rising on her toes to kiss Toby’s lips, the scene R-rated when she slides her hand to his groin, making him jump back. “So you won’t eavesdrop.” She looks over at me. “While we’re on the subject of noise pollution, we’re inviting a few friends over on Friday for board games. Either make yourself scarce or get a playlist ready.”

“Since when do you play board games?”

Aisha shrugs, stealing Toby’s coffee. “Since I’m dating a nerd. Toby here is a D&D king.”

“It goes to show how much you know about D&D,” he says. “They’re called masters, not kings, and I’ve never played that. I hear it’s fun, though.”

Aisha shrugs again, utterly disinterested. “Whatever you want to play, as long as there are shots and a tiny chance we’ll get bored and hit the club, I’m game.” She shoots me a stern look. “I’d ask you to join us, but I know it’s not your thing. You’d be bored.”

I wouldn’t. I’d probably have a better time than she would, but what’s the point in arguing?

My good mood sinks like a stone flung in a river. “I’ll stay out of your way.”

Aisha never wanted me to spend time with her friends, fighting Dad to the bone whenever he said she had to take me to the movies with her. Any other day, her blatant ‘I don’t want you around’ would fly over my head, but today I’m disappointed. Nico will probably be here on Friday, having fun one room away while I’m locked in my bedroom.

“Alright, good,” Aisha chirps, shoving a travel mug Toby filled with coffee into my hand to silently send me on my way.

◆◆◆

“Time’s up, kitten,” Brandon hollers, entering the auditorium. “Deal or no deal?” He strolls closer, smiling at Blair, who sits a few rows down.

“No deal,” I reply, leaning back to increase the distance between us after he stops a mere foot from my desk. “Should I expect you not to ask permission next time?”

“Alright, alright,” Mr. Finch says, entering the room, wearing his signature no-nonsense expression. “Settle down, everyone. Brandon, unless you want to repeat freshman year, I suggest you get out of my class.”

Brandon’s jaw tightens as he leans over the desk. “I’m not an animal, kitten. I won’t touch you unless—”

“Out, Mr. Price,” Mr. Finch clips. “I won’t ask again.”

“This conversation is not over,” he seethes, staring me down before he turns around and marches out the room.

As soon as he leaves the auditorium, Blair’s attention is on me. My stomach churns, the first tendrils of a headache settling in. This won’t be a good day. I know the reason behind her ugly scowl. She’s jealous…

God knows why. Brandon’s no prize, and I’m far from interested. He’s vile, using Blair whenever he wants a break from sleeping around with half the girls on campus. She’s the only one he comes back to for more, but the relationship Blair dreams about won’t happen.

She cocks an eyebrow, her eyes shooting daggers my way before she nonchalantly turns away, focusing on Mr. Finch. Not even five minutes later, she excuses herself and doesn’t return for the rest of the lecture.

Mr. Finch bores everyone in the auditorium, his voice sending half the students to sleep. Instead of making notes, I spend the hour writing lyrics.

I’m the first one out of there once class is dismissed but I stop dead when I glance at the opposite wall of the corridor, wallpapered with pictures of me.

Well, my face, not my body. Not a single picture of me naked exists, so these must’ve been photoshopped. They look like stills from a porn movie.

The woman uses toys, palms her breasts, sits on someone’s face, or holds someone’s dick. So many pictures of her on all fours pushing big dildos up her ass or being taken from behind in the shower. There’s one in the backseat of a car where she spreads her legs wide, jamming two fingers inside her pussy…

Cheers erupt around me as students leave their classes, stopping to admire Blair’s collage. I know it was her idea. She did this before, back in high school, but the pictures she tampered with back then were just lingerie models.

The football players howl, sauntering down the corridor, sleazy eyes jumping between me and the wall of pictures.

I can’t unglue myself from the spot.

I can’t utter a single word, and I can’t peel my gaze away.

Brandon stops beside me, draping one arm over my shoulders. “Nice rack, kitten.”

“It’s not me,” I whisper, tugging my rings. “They aren’t real.”

“Your tits aren’t real?” he cackles, pulling me in.

“What did Jake always say?” Jessie Longman, Jake’s best friend yells, exiting the auditorium. He elbows his way to the exhibition, snatching a picture of the woman sucking someone’s dick. “Blow Job Lips. Fucking perfect!”

“What’s this gathe—” Mr. Finch halts beside me, glaring at the wall, his face redder than Santa’s hat.

“Those aren’t real,” I mutter again, pressing my hand to my lips, feeling sick and dizzy.

“Calm down, kitten. Nothing to be embarrassed about. You’ve got the sexiest body I’ve ever seen.”

“Mia!” Cody booms somewhere close by.

Within seconds, he’s right next to me, shoving Brandon away, and Colt’s there, blocking my line of sight. In a confused daze, my legs move on their own accord as they usher me out and across the parking lot.

“Are you okay, Bug? Do you need to puke?” Conor jogs up, opening the back door to Cody’s Mustang.

“What happened to your face?” I ask, pointing at a trickle of blood from his split lip.

“I couldn’t hit Blair. She’s a girl, but I could and did hit Brandon.” He beams, demonstrating the right hook he sent Brandon’s way. “Felt good.”

“Please don’t do that. It’s pointless. He won’t give up, and all you’re doing is proving Nico right. I’m trouble, and—”

“You’re trouble? You did nothing wrong,” Cody growls, securing my seatbelt. “It’s them that need to grow the fuck up. And Nico’s an idiot. Who cares what he thinks?!”

“I do,” I mumble, hiding my face in my hands. “Ugh, this is why he doesn’t like college girls, isn’t it? All that drama… I can’t even blame him. I mean, this is ridiculous!”

“Um… Mia?” Conor summons my attention, turning around. Confusion flickers across his face as he stares from the passenger seat, his eyebrows pulled together, barely visible under the curls kissing his forehead. “Are you…” He shakes his head softly, dismissing that, and tries again. “Do you like Nico? Like, like like him?”

“Like like like him?” Colt repeats, hopping in beside me. “You should go back to high school, bro. And you only now realized she likes him?”

“I don’t like like him,” I blurt out, a whole level too defensive. “I mean, he’s nice and caring and hot—” I slap a hand over my mouth, then hide behind a veil of hair, my skin warming under the blush spreading like a flame over my cheeks. I’m sure the triplets need no more. “Ugh, okay, fine. I do like him. I’m sorry…”

Cody forces a short, pained chuckle, readjusting the rearview mirror. “Hot, huh? I’ll give you that, but nice? Come on! That’s overkill. We’re nice, Mia. Don’t let his looks fool you. Nico’s not an easy guy to deal with. He’s a short-tempered, arrogant, foul-mouthed control freak, and you can’t stand up for yourself. He’d swallow you whole.”

“He’s not that bad,” I mutter, glancing between Conor and Colt only to find the former digging through my bag for snacks and the latter glaring at Cody. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Colt says, marshaling his expression into what I think he believes is relaxed but looks more like he’s trying to smile while chewing a lemon. “All good. How about we take you out for coffee and ice cream?”

I lean to the side, nuzzling my cheek against him. “Sounds nice.”

◆◆◆

“Ah, just who I wanted to see.” Finn Ash, the football team’s cornerback, steps in my way.

Whatever he wants, I don’t have time or energy to deal with another football player who’s undoubtedly here to do me a favor. Considering the plan Justin mentioned without divulging information, it’s safe to assume Finn’s in on it, too.

I’m almost jogging down the corridor toward the recording studio where Six is waiting, overly excited about a track he’s working on. He called while I was having lunch with the triplets and asked if I could write the lyrics.

Reluctantly, I stop, adjusting the strap of my bag to grip it so I can use it as a weapon if need be. It’s not every day I’m approached by someone from the football team, if not counting the quarterback himself.

I glance around, checking if there’s anyone else nearby, but no. We’re alone. The thought makes my heart beat a little faster.

“Why did you want to see me?” I ask, inconspicuously unzipping my bag to easily access the pepper spray.

“What are you doing tonight? Wanna grab dinner?”

My eyes widen, and my mind reels. I check the corridor again before a light bulb lights up over my head. “Those pictures weren’t real, Finn. It wasn’t me. My face was photoshopped in.”

“I know. I’m doing graphic design, and that was a lousy job. I’m not asking you out because of the pictures.”

“Then why are you asking?”

He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’re cute. I like that you don’t let Brandon get his way. You’re intriguing, and I want to get to know you.”

“Oh, um… thank you,” I mutter, believing none of it.

“So? Can I pick you up tonight?”

“No, sorry.”

“Come on, one date. I’m not trying to put a ring on you. What’s the harm in grabbing dinner? You’ll leave if it’s not fun and no harm done. We’re not all idiots, you know?”

“I’m sure you’re not, but—”

“Mia, you alright here?” Six rounds the corner, emerging from a side corridor. “Come on, we’re on a tight schedule.”

I send Finn an apologetic smile. “I have to go.”

“Yeah, okay, but think about it. I’ll find you later.” He winks before strutting away.

“What did he want?” Six asks as we fall into step toward the recording studio.

“He asked me out.”

“Shut up!” he yells, pushing me away playfully. “No way, you little liar. You’re not his type.”

I’m a bit taken aback by his disbelief. He knows I’ve been out on a few dates, but he’s acting like I just grew a second head. “How would you know what his type is?”

“I see him at the frat parties. You’re not the type any of the football guys go for, Mia. You’re too… soft.”

Don’t you just love when people judge you by your style? I love pretty dresses, but that doesn’t mean I’m soft. I’ve always taken care of myself, growing up without a mom, because Faith Harlow wasn’t cut out to be a parent. She was overwhelmed by the responsibility, too young to appreciate kids.

She was only sixteen when Aisha was born. She tried to suck it up for a few years, but just when she started to regain her independence, I happened. An unplanned accident that destroyed all her plans.

She bailed, craving the life she never had because she got pregnant at fifteen.

Dad did his best to juggle his career and raise two daughters, but he wasn’t around much, traveling the world with his F1 team. The person who was supposed to be responsible for me and Aisha—our grandad—battled alcoholism until he died four years ago. I’ve endured years of bullying, ridicule, and humiliation, but I never let any of that define me.

Am I socially awkward? Sure. It’s hard being the life of the party when I’m excluded at every turn. I’m an introvert by necessity, not choice. I’m quiet, wary, and weird, but I’m not soft.

“So? What did he want?” Six inquires when I come in the recording booth, dropping my bag.

“I told you. He asked me out.”

“Fine, let’s say he did. You know there’s some hidden agenda there, don’t you? Don’t be stupid, Mia.”

“Of course, because no one could possibly be interested in me otherwise,” I clip, putting the headphones on.

“Hey, don’t get upset. I didn’t mean it that way, you know? I’m sorry, it’s just that—”

“Put the music on.”

He shuts up, the words wiped off his lips. A second later, the beat starts in my ears, and words flood my mind.