The Social Experiment Page 4

  “Thank God it’s warm in here.” Mindy rubs her hands together and chatters on and on about being a fall girl. We put our orders in, black and bitter for me, like my heart, and a pumpkin spiced delight for her before picking up our drinks and finding a seat near the pot-bellied stove in the back.

  “I’m a sucker for a fire.” Mindy scoots in close. Those luminescent eyes of hers settle over mine. “Speaking of fires, try to douse the one in your pants, would you? Your reputation has wafted over to Bixby. Do you know how disgusting it is to hear girls gossiping about taking a ride on the freaking Colossus? You keep this up, and I’m going to demand that you delouse, deflea, and de-venerealize yourself before our next visit.”

  “Deflea and de-venerealize aren’t words found in the English language. You should consider transferring to Leland before Bixby turns your brain to mush,” I tease.

  “I’m pretty sure deflea is a word, but nonetheless I am thinking about transferring.” She shrinks in her seat a notch.

  “What? You just got there.” It’s been two weeks. She mentioned not getting along with her roommate, but that’s just about every person on campus freshman year. “You’ll settle in. Don’t think that your roommate has to be your best friend. Go out and meet some new people. Give it some time.”

  “Wow, you’re really campaigning hard for me to stay put.” Her cheeks brighten with color, and suddenly I feel like shit for not employing a little more sympathy. “But you’re right. I just can’t seem to get my groove, though.” She glances over her shoulder and does a quick double take. I look up to see what’s caught her attention, fully expecting to find Boomer—my roommate for the past four years. Mindy hasn’t exactly kept her infatuation with the walking hulk a secret. Boomer is a great guy, but he knows damn well that my sister is off-limits.

  I try to make out the sea of faces milling around, and then like a slap in the face I see her.

  Sophie stares right back at me, and the two of us do our best imitation of a deer in the headlights.

  Crap. Can’t breathe. Can’t think. I sure as hell don’t know how to get out of this uncomfortable situation. And just as quick as it came, the moment passes.

  Sophie’s friends shuttle her off to a table near the front, and she takes a seat with her back to us. I’m not sure if I’m thankful for that small mercy or not.

  “A Meyer sighting in the wild.” Mindy turns around and makes a face. Mindy and Sophie were good friends. The best of friends for years. In fact, I haven’t seen Mindy get that close to another person ever since. In a way, we both lost a hell of a lot when my life blew to pieces unexpectedly. “I bet you get a lot of that—the Meyer sightings.”

  “Not really.” Not until last night—and for sure not until this afternoon. The memory of Sophie’s mouth melting over me swims through my mind, and this time I’m not so quick to boot it out.

  “Don’t judge me”—Mindy leans in hard, her brows knit with something just this side of heartbreak—“but I sort of miss her. And believe me, I still think she’s just as big an A-hole as that brother of hers for what he did to you.”

  A groan works up my throat in lieu of words. “I’m pretty sure she only knows what he fed her.” And what he fed her was a bunch of bullshit. Braden was a good guy until he wasn’t. At least that’s my version of the story. At this point, we all staunchly stand by our truths, and unfortunately, Sophie is caught in Braden’s twisted reality. “It’s her brother that’s the A-hole. I wouldn’t paint her with that brush.”

  “Are you kidding? If you knew the things she said, you wouldn’t be so quick to count her out of the equation.”

  After Braden and I imploded, Sophie and Mindy had an implosion of their own, each choosing to stubbornly stand by their brother’s side—neither really aware of the facts. I never filled Mindy in on every last detail, just the bare bones. But the bare bones were still pretty damning. And I’m positive Braden painted himself as some savior to his sister. He’s too caught up in his own delusions to recognize the truth.

  Mindy glances back before taking a careful sip of her coffee. “You know it wouldn’t have killed her to say hello. If I had seen her at Bixby, on my scholastic turf, I would have at least offered a wave and a smile. Not a big smile, but just enough to let her know that I’m not interested in holding onto a grudge. That’s how you know they’re still wrapped up in it emotionally—they’re still as freshly pissed as they were the day it happened.” Her brows do the wave as she taps her bright blue nails over the table. “What exactly happened again, anyway?”

  “Nothing important. How are classes?” I’ll do anything to change the subject. And right about now, I’d do anything to take Mindy and bolt out of this place. No matter how hard I try to concentrate on my sweet baby sister, every cell in my body seems to gravitate toward Sophie. Probably some psychological aftereffect of what just happened. It wasn’t an hour ago that my tongue was leashed around hers.

  Mindy scoots her seat over, effectively blocking my view of the back of Sophie’s head. “I couldn’t care less about classes. And by the way, you were staring.”

  Crap. I shift in my seat and down half my coffee. It tastes like a thousand cigarette butts were seeped in boiling water, and now I’m wishing I went for the mocha cup of sugar the barista was trying to upsell. Sophie tasted minty. So damn sweet.

  “Earth to Rowen.” Mindy waves her hand over my face. “So, do you ever have any run-ins with Braden and Becca?” She rubs her arms in an effort to keep warm as if readying for a cozy fireside chat.

  Braden and Becca. I try to blink them out of my mind, but it’s as if this afternoon were determined to dig up the cemetery of my past and haunt me with all the bitter details.

  “Nope. So far, so good.” That’s not entirely true. There were a few close calls. I had Becca in a business law class, and I dropped out before she knew I was in it. Took it the very next semester, drama free, just the way I like it. “Look, Min, we need to change the subject or this headache I’m nursing will blow out the side of my skull. And as comfortably numb as that might make things for me, I’d much rather be sitting here, living and breathing, talking about you. So tell me anything about Bixby.”

  A moment of stunned silence floats by while Mindy tips her head, analyzing my words. Mindy is smart as a whip. I’ve never been able to put anything past her, not that there have been a lot of attempts, but on the rare occasion, Mindy is the one person who seems able to see right through my bullshit.

  “Bixby is boring without you,” she says it low, dejected. “But since you’ve offered your sage advice, I’ll take it. A few of the girls have invited me to hang out. I’ll take them up on the offer. And a few of the boys have, too.” Her eyes twitch out the window. “You wouldn’t mind if Boomer was one of them, would you?”

  A harrowing, deep, full-bellied laugh explodes from me, and Sophie turns around. Our eyes hook onto one another for a fleeting second, stopping my laughter right in its obnoxious tracks, and she turns back around with a jerk. “I’d stick to the girls for now.” I frown over at my sister. “It’s your freshman year. Trust me, there will be plenty of time for boys—like when you’re thirty.” That’s been my standby answer for years, but the closer we crawl to thirty, forty sounds like a much better option.

  We chat for the next half hour, with Mindy doing the heavy lifting in the conversation, and me nodding and prodding myself to say just about anything to convince her that I’m listening. And as much as I might want to, my attention is torn. The entire right side of the room radiates a nuclear level of heat from where Sophie is seated. And just as I’m about to lose my gaze in that dark Cherry Coke-colored hair of hers, she and her friends stretch to life and casually stroll right out the door.

  Mindy glances over her shoulder to see what has my attention. “And there she goes. I guess she’s novel to you, seeing that she’s a freshman. Don’t let her spook you, though. If you can handle her brother and Becca Carmichael of all people, dodging Sophie Meyer will be a
cakewalk.” She stands and offers me a quick hug before pulling the keys from her purse. “I’d better go, too. Text me sometime so I won’t feel like such a loner. And you can bet I’ll be rooting from the stands come Friday.”

  “Good. I’ll look for your smiling face.” Mindy sits with our parents near the fifty-yard line, and I always offer a thumbs-up in their direction before heading onto the field.

  We make our way out, and I do a quick sweep of the vicinity—nothing but maples and aspens with leaves in a rainbow of citrus-colored hues. I don’t see a trace of Sophie or her girlfriends, and I’m relieved, but that kiss still has me gripped by the balls.

  “Drive safe, okay?” I offer another quick hug to my sister. “Text me when you get there, so I know you got home.”

  “Will do, Dad.” She gives my cheek a hard pinch. “Stay away from those Meyers. I don’t like the funk they put you in.” There’s a level of concern in her dove gray eyes that I’ve never seen before, and I force a tight smile.

  “Don’t you ever worry about me. I’m fine. I don’t think about them, and neither should you.”

  Mindy struggles to turn her head, but her eyes are still pinned to mine. “I do think about them, though. I think about how wrong it was what happened to you.” She shakes her head, blinking back tears. “Stay away from Soph, Rowen.”

  “Excuse me?” I’m so thrown off by the warning I can’t help but wonder if I heard her right.

  “Stay away from Sophie Meyer.” Her eyes enlarge, serious as stone. “I saw the look on your face. Yes, she’s gorgeous. Who cares? She’s off-limits.” She glances down a moment, looking as if she’s about to vomit. “And for shit’s sake, stop shaking your junk at whatever slutty coed will have you. You were a one-woman man up until that whole Becca fiasco. Make it happen again. At first I got it. You were hurt. You wanted to prove to the two of them, and yourself, that you didn’t need her, but that time has long since come and gone. If you really want to get under their skin, and heal yourself at the very same time, you’ll find a sweet girl and get happy again.” Mindy takes a deep breath and composes herself after the mini tirade. “Now—kill ’em at next week’s game.” She gives my cheek a light slap and stalks off in the other direction.

  What the hell was that about? What the hell has this entire day been about?

  I head for Holt Hall, stunned by the events of the afternoon—Sophie and that kiss still burning a hole through my brain, my heart. I cared a lot about Sophie when Braden and I were friends. She was another little sister to me at the time. But I wasn’t feeling too brotherly when I saw her last night, and I sure didn’t have one ounce of familial affection for her this afternoon. Nope. Sophie is all grown up, as gorgeous as can be.

  Stay away from Sophie Meyer, my sister’s words pulsate through my mind like a demonic heartbeat. It would have been easy if not for this afternoon—if not for what Dexter Houston’s delusion dream team has in store for the two of us in exactly one week from today. But I won’t be back for that second kiss. There’s no way in hell I’m volunteering for that.

  There’s enough adrenaline coursing through my veins to power a 747 as I speed to my dorm.

  I won’t be in that room next week waiting to land my lips over hers. Sophie shouldn’t be there either. But I can feel the tug at my ego hoping that she will—hoping against all logic and reasoning that I will, too. I would never have even dreamed of kissing Sophie—maybe for a split second last night, but at that point I was already nurturing a hard-on.

  Nope. Sophie Meyer’s kiss is definitely off my list of things to do next weekend.

  At least I’m hoping it is.

  Upon Further Analysis

  Sophie

  The week skips by like the bleating of lamb to the sexual slaughter. Rowen Garret and that kiss—those kisses—he doled out have been playing on a loop in my mind ever since that destiny based debacle. It’s clear that destiny has lost her mind. There is no way any fate in the universe would have paired the two of us together considering our rocky pasts.

  In each of my classes today, there’s been a light buzz regarding the Social Experiment, as their first-round guinea pigs share their twisted tales to anyone and everyone who will listen. Things I’ve learned: one, my experiment was simply a run-of-the-mill exercise that almost everyone who got into my lusty group experienced. It’s refreshing to know that the tongue-twisting dilemma I was faced with also plagued a multitude of my perverted peers. And by the looks of it, the equally perverted geek gods over at the TSE will be commandeering our lives into the ground for the next five frisky weeks in a row. Two: there will be far more than spit swapping taking place if the perverted people at the TSE have their way.

  Yeah, right. If Leland University wants to be known for its coital collegiate charm, then be my gullible guest. But I’m guessing that both faculty and alumni alike will revolt long before that ever happens. It’s certainly not happening with yours truly. I plan on keeping both my cherry and my hymen intact long after I’ve vacated Dexter Houston’s experimental stomping grounds.

  Rowen and that heated kiss sear through my mind, and I’m quick to shoo them away.

  In fact, the deadliest, most damning rumor I’ve heard thus far regarding this satirical social experiment was in line at the food court this afternoon—all footage from the previous weekend is currently undergoing heavy edits. Soon, the questionable geniuses over at the TSE will whittle together an entire reel of cinematic cringe-worthy moments that I will die a slow and tragic death if my brother ever gets wind or sight of. Which brings me to the mission set before me. Barge the hell into Dexter Houston’s office and demand my dignity back. There’s no way I’ll let them earn one YouTube tainted dollar while riding on my digitally altered coattails. I’ll barricade the door shut with my body if I have to and segue straight into hostage negotiation mode. Although, something tells me negotiations will grow rapidly hostile should he review footage of those heated kisses Rowen and I shared. I’m no fool. Everyone knows heat like that equals ratings, and if Rowen and I brought anything to the hot and heavy table, it was heat and plenty of it. Yes, Braden will suffer a major cardiac malfunction if he channel surfs his way to my steamy lip-lock.

  I can just imagine Braden and Becca cozied up in their apartment, settling for a nice night in, perusing their selections for the evening, and stumbling upon yours truly sucking face with the affirmed enemy of the state. Rowen has not only been persona non-grata for the last few years, he’s been relegated to the speak no evil category of existence. I honestly don’t remember the last time my brother or I dared to whisper his name in fear of calling him to us like some demon incantation. Nope. If Braden sees physical evidence of me locking lips with his adversary, he might not make it to kill either Rowen or me. Just the sight of the travesty is enough to stop my brother’s heart cold. And a dead brother is something I can’t afford, considering I’m already down one nuclear family member. And to make things worse—I not only Frenched his archenemy, I went in with my tongue a waggin’, ready and willing for round two. I should have run like hell when I had the chance. That would have been a colossal blow to his ego—penile pun intended.

  Classes for the day are all thankfully through. I’ve already told Vi and Ember that I’d meet them at the Underground for a quick dinner. I have an essay to write and six comments to make on the student boards before I call it quits on another day. It seems like this entire week has been an awful climb to the inevitable weekend. There’s another home game tomorrow night, then the day after I’m to report for duty in Dexter’s naughty lab. All week I’ve feared catching a simple glimpse of the university’s star quarterback. What would I do? What would he do? Would he make a beeline for me and my ultra-friendly lips? Or does he want to run because he’s suddenly far more repulsed by me than he ever thought possible?

  I try my best to shake all ruminating thoughts of that colossal douchebag out of my mind. Instead, I take in the crisp autumn air, scented with the pines, admire the sere
ne gray skies, the aspen trees rioting in colors ranging from Cougar cardinal to golden yellow. It’s a rainbow of all of fall’s greatest offerings. Last year, while I was still filling out my college applications, it was this moment right here I was waiting for. There is nothing like fall in Moon Ridge. I had long since romanticized what my freshman year would be like, and in every heart-shaped scenario it was always fall playing its apple red harmony in the background. Ironically, Rowen Garret may have starred in one or twelve of those little schoolgirl fantasies, but that’s neither here nor there. I had no clue that my secret superpower was turning nonsensical daydreams into a harsh reality. If I had that little tidbit way back when, I’d be selling off my Internet start-up to investors in Silicon Valley for a cool eight billion right about now.

  Instead, I’m only steps away from ground zero, the psychology department that houses that coward that has this entire campus in a sexual tizzy.

  “Sophie!”

  My foot hits the first marble step that leads to the building, and I freeze.

  “Sophie.” Braden pops up and snags my backpack from me. We share the same dark hair and hazel eyes, but Braden has some indiscernible features of my mother’s buried in his face, and it both charms and alarms me each time I see him. The backpack thing is a spine-breaking habit that he initiates each time he sees me on campus. Usually I’d snatch it right back and lecture him on treating me like a six-year-old, but I’m ironically tongue-tied at the moment. “Where you off to? You got a class this late?” He winces toward the Gothic looking hall with its thirty-foot arches and limestone walls covered with those offensive orange posters falsely advertising that a love connection could be yours today! It’s pretty clear no marketing majors utilized their gray matter in the making of the Social Experiment’s ad campaign.