Hard Facts by Penny Clarke

21

Summer

“I hate studying,” Natalie drops her head into the open textbook on the table. “I’d rather go running.”

Morris snorts, highlighting a line in his own textbook. “Not in this rain.”

Natalie turns her head to stare out the window at the particularly stormy day we’re having. She mumbles to the rest of our study table, “I’d rather be struck by lightning than study.”

“Did you know,” Grayson says without lifting his head from his laptop. “Two-thirds of lightning casualties take place between the hours of noon and six?”

I check my phone, holding it up for Natalie to see. “You’ve still got time.”

She mulls it over. “Gray, do you think I’d get superpowers?”

He shakes his head, chuckling softly. He glances up, meeting my eyes—

And immediately drops them, staring back at his screen to type away at his assignment.

I return to the calculation I’m working through, pretending I didn’t notice.

A moment later, I slide my practice test across the table. “Done.”

“Already?” But Grayson picks it up, moving his computer out of the way to grade it.

Waiting for him, I twirl a blonde curl around my finger, glancing around the rest of the library. Students mill about, alone and in groups like ours, their voices drowning out the steady pitter-patter of raindrops on the window. Mountains of textbooks topple over desks and tables, even a few chairs. And I can point out more than a few Busy Beans coffee cups. The very air vibrates with the hum of students panicking over tests and essays and lack of sleep.

Ah, midterms.

For once, Gray and I can openly work on our tutoring in plain sight. Because all of campus is studying, so why wouldn’t I ask my super smart boyfriend for a little help?

Since apparently everyone else needs his help, too.

Natalie needs me to quiz her on abnormal behaviors. Can we get a rain check on the retirement home visit?

Rylie wants another opinion on her mixed media art piece. Tell Sophie I’ll be there next weekend for story time.

Levi’s research paper is riddled with historical inaccuracies. I’ll have to spend all night correcting them.

Even Morris, whom I thought reasonably capable of maintaining his grades, has asked for Grayson’s input on an address for his public speaking course.

I guess I can be grateful that Walsh, with her own color-coded system for passing exams, has taken on the brunt of Spencer’s studies. Because every single other person comes to Gray for their academic rescue.

He’s all too happy to oblige.

If I thought it sucked to have him ditch me before, then that’s nothing compared to now. When he’s this close, right across the table, and he avoids looking me directly in the eye. I can’t even confront him in my Scary Sexy Summer getup again. I’d look ridiculous, accusing him of using his friends as a buffer, so we don’t have to talk about that night. So we can just ignore it ever happened.

Not that I even want to go there again.

Nice.

He rocked my world off its axis.

And I only made enough of an impression on his to warrant an it was okay, but it’ll never happen again.

One step forward. Two fucking hundred miles back.

“Summer Prescott.”

I glance down at the table. Start copying information from my stats book into my notebook as an excuse to not look at the guy approaching our table. “Hammond.”

Fuck, am I pissed at Hunt. Like it wasn’t enough I woke up the morning after Grayson drove me crazy with pleasure, only to find him distant and saying how nice it was, but then my eyes had to be assaulted by what I found on my phone. A dick pic. Really. Even if a small voice reminds me that I’ve solicited them in the past, it still irks me that he thinks I’d want one now. My other old hookups have gotten the hint. I’d even deleted all the dating apps from my phone. Summer Prescott is officially off the market. There’s only one guy she wants any more.

Unfortunately, he just also happens to be the only one that doesn’t want her.

If Hunt is offended by my blatant brush-off, he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he looks over my head at Natalie, who is all too eager to return his charming smile.

“Hey, Hunt,” she just about sighs. “I tried that cookie recipe you gave me.”

“Yeah? What’d you think?”

She gives one giant chef’s kiss. “Delicious. My roommates thought so, too.”

At girls’ night, I throttle my pen. I’ve heard them mentioned more than a few times among Gray’s friends. But I hadn’t probed further. Probably because, despite having all the qualifying requirements, I’ve never been invited.

That’s not true, though. Kennedy invited me, once. A long time ago, last semester. But I’d been… Hesitant. I’d needed distance. To keep her away, like I do everyone when they get as close as she had.

Not that it matters now. Because Natalie’s made it more than clear that I’m not welcome.

It’s fine, though. I don’t care. Hell, I have a whole sorority house of girl friends, what do I need more?

Hunt and Natalie chat, while the rest of the table’s occupants grow more tense. I’m about to snap that Hunt should just go, no one wants him here, when he asks Natalie, “So, we still on for Thursday night?”

“Yes, definitely, of course,” Natalie rushes to say.

He laughs and finally leaves, though not before sending me one last suggestive look. And I think maybe Grayson sees it, too, since he lifts his head from my practice test with a look more thunderous than the storm outside.

Only to turn to his friend. “Natalie, for real?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she ducks her head into her textbook.

“The guy’s an ass. You can’t seriously date him.”

“I don’t want to date him,” she leans over the table to hiss. “I want zucchini.”

A screech. Morris’s chair scratches on the floor as the quarterback surges to his feet. He’d been tapping his highlighter on the table the whole time Hunt stood there. Now, he tosses it down and grumbles, “Bathroom.”

“One or two?” Natalie squints at his tight expression. “That’s a number two face. It was the salad dressing at lunch, right? I warned you, balsamic vinegar is not compatible with your delicate constitution—”

“Nat, please.”

“Everyone poops, Theo. Some just do it more explosively than others.”

With a roll of his eyes, he’s gone, too. Gray watches him, then turns back to Natalie. She avoids his flat stare by flipping aimlessly through her textbook, huffing, “This is some double standard bullshit, and you know it. Sure, you can lose your virginity to a professor, but oh, when Natalie wants to boink the hot playboy—Look, I don’t see why you can even complain, she’s had a piece of the summer squash.”

My eyebrows go way up, and not only because Natalie directs one condemnatory finger at me.

Grayson’s phone rings. He picks it up, glances at the number, then frowns at Natalie. “I have to take this. And she was a teachingassistant.”

Our table’s down to two when he heads off to a private corner to answer the call. I’m a little surprised it doesn’t immediately fall to one, with Natalie thinking up some reason to leave, too. Even more surprising is that she stays, leaning back in her chair with a pout.

I return to my studying, even though I’m not focused on my book at all.

“Do you…” It’s embarrassing, how quickly I glance over at her. She picks at her bandaged hand, half-covered by the sleeve of her hoodie. There’s been no sign of any bracelets since the night she got her stitches. “Do you think I’m being an idiot, with this Hunt thing?”

Well.

When it comes to guys and sex, I’m all for using my vast experience to dispense a little helpful advice.

But this feels like I’ve just been handed a social grenade.

I say slowly, “I think… A woman is entitled to take charge of her own needs.”

“For sure. I masturbate, like, a lot.”

Did I say grenade? I meant land mine. Because I’m fairly certain I’m about to step on something hidden, fragile, and altogether way too combustible.

“Right,” I stall, not sure where to go from there. I stare at my stack of textbooks, all of my studying materials, then rise from my seat. “I have to find a book for, um, a paper.”

Natalie’s shoulders slump, but she sends me off with a shrug. Not even ten feet away, though, Grayson returns. Pocketing his phone with a wide grin.

“I got it,” he catches hold of my arms. “Well, an interview. To start.”

“Oh? Oh!” The internship. Nolan’s assistant had called me earlier in this week to say the recruiters would be sending out calls this week, but I’d stayed silent, if only because I’d wanted to see Gray’s reaction when he got it.

Worth it, I think, basking in his pleased smile. The way his eyes light up with pride. I’d only given a small nudge in his direction, but I know, I just know, he’s going to take it all the way.

I glance back at Natalie, zoned in on her studying now. He’d told his friends I was helping with the Prescott internship, so it won’t come as a surprise when he gets accepted. They just don’t know what I’m getting in return for all that help. The tutoring. A fake boyfriend.

Loudly, for her benefit, I say, “Come over tonight. We’ll celebrate.”

He hesitates, and I prepare myself for more disappointment. The last few times he’d come over had been when Francie was cleaning, or Liz was practicing. Or when I was out. And he hasn’t slept over. Not in a while. Not since that night.

I hate that I miss him when he’s standing this close.

So I give a convincing performance of Natalie’s nonchalant shrug and cross my arms over my waist. In a low voice so Natalie can’t hear, I tell him, “We don’t have to do anything—”

“Sure, we can watch more killer shark—” he speaks at the same time.

We pause. Then start over again.

“Unless you want to, that sounds like fun—”

“—We should focus on studying, anyway.”

Jeez, I thought we were over this awkwardness. Needing to be away from this, I give him my excuse of needing a book from the floor below, but he catches my hand to stop me.

“I finished looking over that stats quiz. You got all but three right. And you only missed one on chemistry. You’re doing really well. Getting the hang of it.”

“I learn from the best,” I shrug one last time, before walking away.

Chemistry, statistics. Science, math. Grayson Rowe makes them easy. Makes them understandable. I’ve been doing well in those classes for some time now. I could probably wrap up the second half of the semester without his help.

And I hadn’t let it on.

I tell myself it’s because I want an A in both those subjects. For the internship. For maintaining my sorority clout. Hell, for that stupid bet he has with Morris.

The truth—the real truth—I’m not quite ready to let him go.

So lost am I in these thoughts, I don’t notice the heated voices in the library stairwell at first. Not until I’m almost right on top of them and I pause, rain boot halfway to the next step, to listen.

“—cancel it,” comes a harsh growl.

“Look, dude, I didn’t realize she was with anyone. She’s been all over me—”

Another furious snarl. I peek over the stair railing, just in time to see Theodore Morris knock Hunt Hammond back into the landing wall.

“Like that’s fucking stopped you any other—” and I don’t hear what Morris says next, as he whispers low and menacingly close to Hunt’s—for once—alarmingly sober face. He lifts the stoner even higher by his jacket, until his toes barely graze the floor. And when Morris pulls away again, I catch, “—get it? Stay away from Grayson. Stay away from his girlfriend. And you stay the fuck away from Natalie Mason. Cancel the fucking date.”

Hunt nods, holding up his hands in surrender. Morris shoves him away. After he’s gone, the quarterback leans against the wall where he’d just had the stoner’s body pinned, and clenches his fists through his blond hair.

See, I have a bad knack for discovering things I’m not supposed to know.

I don’t intentionally set out to find secrets.

But they find me.

And I wish to hell I’d never discovered this one.

When Morris finds me sitting on the top step, hands on my lap, he freezes.

We stay like that, for a moment, eyeing each other up. Until he asks, “You make a habit of spying on people?”

“You make a habit of roughing up your best friend’s dates?”

His face remains stony and unreadable. Then, without a lick of remorse, he keeps heading up. Back to our study table. Back to Natalie.

Natalie, who had been eager in confirming her date with Hunt. Because she’d been excited at the prospect of someone taking interest in her. Who has complained, on more than one occasion, how hard it is to get laid on this campus. Natalie, with her baking and her bracelets and her pink hair and no filter, who only wants what has always been so easy for me to get.

Who has no idea what she’s being denied.

My fingers curl into fists. “You’re not worried I might tell her?”

Morris doesn’t even flinch, so sure is he of his answer as he walks past me. “No. We all know that you keep secrets.”