Ruthless Noble by Alley Ciz
Sneak Peek of Looking To Score (#UofJ1)
#Chapter1
Kayla
I’ve just put the key into the lock of the dorm I’ll be calling home for my sophomore year at the University of Jersey when my phone rings, blaring “Whip My Hair” by Willow Smith.
I swipe to answer the call. “Hey, Bette.”
“Kay! Back at school yet?” It’s an innocent enough question, but I can tell my sister-in-law is fishing.
“Yup, just got here,” I answer, using my shoulder to hold my phone to my ear so I can wheel my two large suitcases inside.
“How’s the dorm?”
“Hold on.”
I switch the call over to a video chat and let her come on the tour of my new place.
The setup is nice with its four bedrooms and two full baths. I’ll have to share the space with three roommates, but I’ll have one of those bedrooms to myself, which is a major perk.
Bette oohs and aahs as we pass the first set of rooms, continuing down the hall until it opens into the communal living space. There’s a living room to the left with a red couch and loveseat bracketing a wooden coffee table, all facing a decent-looking entertainment center.
“Nice TV. Eric would approve,” Bette comments, referring to the large flat-screen my brother would undoubtedly appreciate. Boys and their toys, after all.
Off to my right, separated by a gray laminate peninsula island, is the kitchen decked out with a full-sized fridge, stove, microwave, and dishwasher—score.
“Better tell G he has to bring his own chair when he comes over for dinner.” Bette points to the four barstools at the island.
The mention of one of my closest friends here at school instantly brings a smile to my face. As a person who prefers to stay out of the limelight, the star power forward for the U of J Hawks basketball team is the least likely candidate for a bestie, but Grant Grayson—G to us—is a rare breed of human.
“He’s not going to let a little thing like not having somewhere to sit keep him from coming over if food is involved.”
The dude is a bottomless pit. He should weigh like four hundred pounds, but with his metabolism and the grueling workout regimen he maintains to play D1 basketball, he’s all ripped lean sexy lines. He could pass as Tyrese Gibson’s brother and is almost too good-looking for his own good.
“Nice,” Bette murmurs as I walk into the only bedroom with its door open—mine.
I nod in agreement, taking in the full-sized bed, desk, and large wardrobe.
“You nervous about meeting the new roomies?”
I shake my head even though, yes, a part of me is. To tell the truth, I was a little apprehensive when we were picking our living arrangements. I liked the idea of the apartment-style dorm but wasn’t—and still am not—sure how to feel about having to live with two strangers. My history with cheerleaders is precarious at best, but Em (Emma) wiggled herself into my heart and mended it enough to take a chance on having two of her squadmates as our new roommates. I figured the devil I knew—in this case, Em—would be best.
“You will tell us if you have any issues. You hear me, Kayla?” The steel in Bette’s tone tells me I flipped her mama bear switch. She spent years of her life raising me through the worst of mine, and I hate when I provoke this side of her.
Hell, the main reason I stay at school instead of at my childhood home less than an hour away is so she’ll actually live in the same state as her husband. You would think she’d have eased up after a year without…issues.
Are you really complaining about the fact that she wants what’s best for you?my conscience asks.
No, because outside of when Moms Taylor was alive, Bette is the only “real” mom I’ve ever had.
“I’ll be fine.” I hope.
The sigh that comes through the phone is heavy enough to be bench-pressed. “Is it really so wrong to wish you lived at home? The commute isn’t bad.”
“I like living at school. Besides”—I heft my bags onto the bed—“aren’t you the one trying to tell me it’s good to step outside my comfort zone?”
“I hate when you use my own advice against me,” she grumbles.
I roll my eyes. She’s ridiculous when she misses me.
“You taught me well.”
She makes a face, not at all comforted by my platitude. “Fine. Just don’t forget if you need me, I’ll be there. Baltimore is an easy drive.” This is true—three hours to home, four to the U of J.
“I know. Now, if you’re done helicopter-parenting, I’m gonna go unload the rest of my stuff from Pinky so I can unpack.”
“You joke, but you love me.” She blows me a kiss.
“Very much.” I give her the most exaggerated wink possible and hang up.
Outside, I find the aforementioned Pinky—my two-door, hot pink with snow white trim Jeep Rubicon 4x4—and grab the last of my bags.
I can’t believe the summer break is already over. As much as I put up a strong independent front for Bette, there is a large part of me that is going to miss spending time with my family.
With all my belongings brought in, I pull out my MacBook and bring up my Spotify playlist. Before the electric beats of Ed Sheeran can fill the room, a video chat notification pops up.
“Is this some kind of check-on-Kay tag team you and Bette are doing today?” I ask as the smiling face of my oldest and dearest friend James Taylor fills the screen.
“Don’t act like you don’t love us, PF.” Whereas everyone who uses the nickname he bestowed upon me when we were younger says the two letters P and F, my smartass cradle-to-grave bestie loves to pronounce it as pff.
“Whatever you say, JT,” I retort with a grin, angling the screen so we can see each other while I unpack my animal print bedding.
“Anyway…” He gives me the Lord you test my patience look I’ve experienced more than a time or two in our almost twenty years of life. “You good? You settled? You meet the roomies? Do I need to worry about them?”
Blowing out a breath, I take a moment before responding to his rapid-fire questioning. Like Bette, he’s only asking because he cares. He—along with E and Bette—has been there for me through all the bad and helped serve as my strength when I broke.
Neither one of us likes being seven hundred miles apart, but again, like I did with Bette, I insisted he put himself first for once.
“I’m good. I’m at school. As you can see”—I wave a hand at the partially made bed—“I’m still getting settled. The roomies are still at cheer practice, and I’ll be fine.”
His brown eyes darken dubiously at the way I draw out the last word to multiple syllables.
How much time has to pass before everyone stops handling me with kid gloves?
I’m almost done unpacking when I hear my roommates return home. I let my eyes fall closed and inhale a calming breath in an effort to rid myself of the bugs-crawling-under-my-skin feeling the sound of the door opening brings with it.
You can do this. Look how good things turned out with letting Em into your life. Think of how different your college experience would be without her. Plus, wouldn’t it be nice to have more female friends your own age instead of always hanging out with high schoolers?
There’s not much time to reflect on my inner thoughts because Em rushes into the room.
“I’m so happy you’re here.” Arms wrap around me in a fierce hug.
As both a flyer and a base on the Red Squad, U of J’s co-ed cheerleading squad, Em is your typical gorgeous cheerleader; Britney-Spears-in-her-prime-level muscle tone, shoulder-length chestnut brown hair, cognac-colored eyes framed by Ellen-Pompeo-perfect eyebrows—seriously, so perfect and even—and average height, though at five-five she looks huge standing next to me. What can I say? I’m a shrimp.
“Thanks for letting me move in early.” I return her embrace with the same amount of enthusiasm.
“Gurrlll…we’re here anyway.” She hops up onto my bed. “I’m just glad you took me up on the offer. I wasn’t sure if you would or not.”
Until two days ago, neither was I.
“Quinn, Bailey, get your asses in here and meet Kay,” Em shouts.
It doesn’t take long for the door to my bedroom to be filled with a Demi Lovato Latina lookalike and a girl so pretty I want to call her Cheerleader Barbie.
I’m a little intimidated by our other roommates.
My pulse starts to pound and my hands get clammy as flashbacks from high school hit me.
Don’t jump to conclusions, Kay.
The mental pep talk does nothing to talk me off the ledge of panic, but when Quinn—Ms. Lovato’s twin—gives me a beaming smile and waves, it starts to ebb. I’m mature enough to know better than to lump all cheerleaders together, but it’s hard to fight my instinct for self-preservation.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Em give me an encouraging nod, and another layer of reservation falls away.
“Wow!” Quinn walks over to the huge makeup artist kit open on my desk. “This is such an awesome setup.”
“Thanks. My sister-in-law is a stylist so she hooks me up big time. If you ever need anything, let me know. She lets me abuse her discount.”
“Shut. Up.” He eyes go round as saucers as she does her best impression of Mia Thermopolis being told she’s a princess.
Em giggles like a loon, and even I can’t help being charmed by such a genuine reaction.
“Oh yeah. Kay lets me use it all the time with her,” Em confirms, joining Quinn at the case and riffling through the contents, trying to scope out all the new additions.
It doesn’t escape my notice that the last time I smiled this much when meeting someone new was when I met Em, G, and CK, the fourth member of our tiny crew.
Could this be a sign?
Those warm fuzzies start to cool when I look to where Bailey, the blonde, stands in the doorway, still not entering the room. She must find me lacking in my blue V-neck I like to party and by party I mean take naps tee, jean cutoffs, and royal blue Chuck Taylors—at least that’s the impression I get from the forced smile on her face.
Quinn breaks me from the awkward stare-down by coming over and flipping the ends of my long hair between her fingers, fanning the strands out so the colorful highlights underneath show more. “Did your sister-in-law do this?”
“Yeah. She’s always foiling in new colors. I swear it feels like I’ve had the whole rainbow in here.” I circle a finger around my head. “It’s easiest for me to let her do whatever she wants. My only rule is I have to stay predominately blonde.”
“I love it.” Quinn’s perky friendliness catches me off guard, but not gonna lie, I like it.
“We’ll have to take a pic later.” I move around her to load four more pairs of shoes into the organizer leaning against the wardrobe. “She’s going to die when she sees your color.”
“Thanks.” Quinn fluffs her long, straight, perfect-shade-of-red locks with a beaming smile. “It’s a bitch to maintain, but I love it.”
I bet it is. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard Bette complain about how fast reds fade.
“Well…after I make her jelly, I can almost guarantee she’ll send you something to help with that before the week is out.”
Bette may be fiercely protective of me, but she also has the biggest heart of anyone I know. How the hell E managed to lock her down as his wife, I’ll never know.
“Emma, best roomie recco ever!”
“I know.” Em gives me a wink.
My heart may be lodged in my throat and a sheen of sweat may be coating my skin, but with each interaction with Quinn, the anxiety starts to ease.
I hate how whenever I’m outside my familiar bubble, I feel like retreating.
You didn’t always feel that way.
“We were thinking of going to Jonah’s for food. Wanna come?” Em asks a few minutes later.
Oh, a burger from Jonah’s would so hit the spot right now.
My automatic response would normally be to say no, but as I look at the hopeful expression on Em’s face and the excitement on Quinn’s, I think, Why not? Baby steps.
Ignoring a bored-looking Bailey, I offer to drive.
“You have Pinky?” The way Em starts bouncing on her toes tells me everything I need to know about how she became close with Quinn.
“Who’s Pinky?” Quinn asks as we make our way into the living room.
“My Jeep.”
“You named your car?”
Why am I not surprised that the first time Bailey speaks to me, it’s full of judgment?
“She’s worthy of a name,” I shrug.
“You have to see her. She’s so cool,” Em gushes. “She’s all pink, white, and animal print.”
“Really?” The deadpan way Bailey voices the question is lost on Em because she loves my Jeep almost as much as I do.
“Oh yeah. Basically, Barbie has nothing on Kay’s Jeep.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
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