Wild Card by Ashley Munoz
Chapter Eight
The poundingon my bedroom door was aggressively unique. The person on the other side drummed out a staccato beat from a Mariachi song. I pulled the covers over my face and groaned into the sunlight that had slipped in between my blinds.
“Mal, wakey-wakey!” an obnoxious voice yelled through the door.
I knew that voice, I adored that voice…but today was just too early to deal with him. I threw my pillow at the door, as if it could hurt him or tell him to go jump off a cliff.
“I know you just threw something toward me—that’s rude, Mallory Nicole!”
“You are abusing the key I had made for you!” I yelled before tossing the covers back and gingerly crawling out of bed. Why hadn’t I drunk anything the night before to at least give purpose to the pounding in my head or the thudding pain in my chest?
I blinked against the bright hallway and briskly poked my head through Taylor’s open doorway. Her room was empty, which meant she probably had asked Gareth to come get her the previous night. I’d have to text her later to make sure.
“She lives!” Juan sang out from the kitchen, where he had a dish towel tossed over his shoulder.
“Barely,” I replied, scratching at my head, realizing a little too late that I still wore just my underwear and a black camisole.
A loud appreciative whistle sounded between what I believed was the fridge and where I was standing.
“Ouch, Juan. Holy shit, what’s wrong with you!” I covered my ears.
“Open your eyes, Mal, and stop being such a baby. Explain this look. Right the fuck now,” he ordered from his spot at the sink. Juan was always flirty, which always lightened the mood in the room. I’d met him during one of my philosophy classes two years earlier, and we’d been sharing coffee every Saturday morning ever since.
I blinked open my bleary eyes, wishing I could just shut them again and go back to bed.
“Why are you here so early?” I reached for a Danish he must have brought with him. No way in hell Taylor had purchased the white box of delicious fluffy bread.
“You first.”
He bit into a pastry, giving me a sexy smirk.
His eyes hadn’t stopped roving over my form—or its lack of clothes. Juan was one of my best friends, completely platonic, but he liked to give me shit when I actually found a way to look attractive. I could count on one hand the number of times he had given me that look. I really needed to start putting in more effort.
With a sigh, I sank into the stool and took a bite from the Danish.
“I went to a team party last night…it’s a bit of a long story, but let’s just say Taylor can never know what I’m about to tell you.” I paused mid-bite and narrowed my eyes. “Ever.”
Juan paused his chewing as well, his eyebrows rising in curiosity.
I moved on, taking another bite. “Anyway, the guy I almost banged ended up walking out on me and telling me I ruined everything.”
The truth tasted bitter on my tongue, ruining the cherry taste left behind by the pastry.
“I’m sorry.” Juan choked on his food. “You looked like that”—he waved his arm at me, crumbs flying toward my face—“and he walked out, saying you ruined everything?”
I sighed. “Yes. It wasn’t great for my ego, in case you were worried.”
My best friend bent over the counter, laughing. Some of his food flew from his mouth, making me tilt backward on the stool.
“Juan, seriously?”
“I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat, grabbing for water. “Was the dude gay?”
“How am I supposed to know? He essentially went down on me, was about to fuck me, but stopped with his hand on his zipper.” I banged my head against the counter a few times.
“He went down on you?” Juan ran the water at the sink for a second before turning. “How was it?”
I lifted my head with a smile I couldn’t hold back.
“That good huh?” He whistled again.
“He knew exactly what he was doing, Juan. Oh my god, and…he went, like…lower too.” I stood, moving toward the coffee machine.
“Lower?” He raised an eyebrow, following me with an empty mug.
“Lower, you know…like stuff we only see in porn.”
Juan choked on his food again. “I think we might be too comfortable in our relationship, but Mallory, my sweet flower, that is not just stuff you see in porn. Men and women eat ass all the time.”
Turned away from him, my eyes widened, and I was suddenly super interested in the warning label on my Keurig.
“I can see that I’ve somehow made you uncomfortable, so let’s move on.” He laughed, turning away from me. “Why aren’t we telling Taylor about you getting an orgasm?” Juan opened my fridge, knowing I’d want the creamer.
“How do you know I…”
“Because you look like you had the best orgasm of your life last night, and well, with what he did to you, it’s hard not to come from that.”
I blushed, feeling my face heat. Just thinking about his tongue inside me, his fingers moving, and that thumb he pressed…god. I needed a fan.
Clearing my throat, I shook the creamer. “I told her I wasn’t going to do anything with the guy…I just don’t want to hear anything about it from her since I gave her such a hard time about it.”
“Okay, but can we at least tell Hillary?” My friend sipped a glass of water while watching me fiddle with the coffee maker. I was doing everything backward today, as I realized too late. Juan noticed and thought it was hilarious.
“Of course we can tell Hillary—hell, she’ll probably die from laughter then I can have those strappy shoes of hers that I like,” I joked, finally getting the top of the machine to engage and shut.
I didn’t want it to slip that Hillary was the one who’d made me look so cute to begin with, or that she had been in on this entire thing from the beginning. Juan would feel left out. I explained the entire card situation and game and everything I had planned to do to my second best friend, watching as his face took on different expressions, until finally he let out a heavy sigh and asked, “So, this guy…who was he?”
Juan was a solid six feet tall with whiskey-colored eyes and dark brown skin. His hair was a deliciously soft black, almost like feathers, and it was always falling over his eyebrow or forehead. Hot was an understatement. He was drop-dead gorgeous, and I had wished a million times that we had any kind of chemistry, but we just didn’t.
“Elias Matthews?” I wrinkled my nose at the question in my tone, because it was stupid. I had no idea who he was, and he’d had his tongue on my nipples and on my mouth. He had kissed me, and something told me he wasn’t the type of guy to kiss on the lips. So why did he?
Juan spit his water out.
“Elias Matthews, as in the pitcher for the Devils?”
I shrugged. I still had no idea what position he played, and thanks to Elias’s dark and broody answers, I hadn’t gotten any real information about the freaking card game.
“Girl…that’s…” Dark hair fell into Juan’s eyes as he shook his head at me, as if I had done something wrong to make Elias ditch me in his bedroom.
“I know,” I muttered, totally irritated all over again. “He was hoping for Taylor…guess he only knew her by name or something because he thought I was her the entire time.”
“The entire time?”
“Yeah, until he asked what kind of car I drove…isn’t that a weird thing to ask?” I sipped my coffee, looking outside. The sun was bright, nearly zero clouds in the sky. The heat was already setting in, like a preheated oven. My mind raced with all the things I had to do. I needed to hit the gym before my shift at the bookstore, run by the bank, get gas, and go to the library to filter through school newspaper clippings from the last two decades.
Sigh.
It was going to be a long day.
“And you told him…?” My best friend waved his hand forward, waiting for me to answer.
This was the part I wanted to forget, because the reporter in me was disappointed in myself. How could I fuck up so horribly? He’d already assumed I was Taylor; the correct answer was supposed to be ‘white Beemer,’ but no. I’d messed up, because for two seconds there I had wanted the gorgeous man devouring me to want me, not her.
“I slipped” was all I admitted before fixing my coffee with more creamer. Creamer made everything better.
Juan just smiled at me with his straight white teeth and shook his head.
“Maybe he’s stalking Taylor, but hasn’t gotten a picture of her yet…but that’s a weird thing not to get first, ya know? Like, you should stalk someone based off their looks, then get into the other freaky stuff—what if they’re butt ugly? What a waste.” Juan licked the cherry filling off his fingers while shaking his head back and forth, like Elias not doing his research was a total disappointment to him.
“I don’t know…the entire card situation was weird to begin with. None of the girls knew who would be meeting them in the room. It’s entirely possible that the guys didn’t either, at least not beyond name.” I shrugged, still itching to investigate.
“I agree that Taylor probably shouldn’t know about it, but do you think she’s in trouble, or in any danger?” My best friend’s voice softened with concern.
“I didn’t get the dangerous vibe from this guy…more like he was planning on something and I had ruined whatever the plan was, but not in a ‘kidnap you and bury your body way’…more like a ‘I wanted to surprise you with a new car’ kind of way.”
“Well, just be careful—both of you.” He pointed his finger while grabbing his cell phone. “If you guys need a temporary roommate, you know I’m down.” He leaned in for a peck on the cheek. Right as he pulled away, he smiled and said, “As long as it comes with the chance to share a room.” He headed for the front door with a quick, flirty wink.
I followed him, crossing my arms and feeling like I was wading through sludge. Damn high heels had killed my feet.
“Wait—you didn’t mention why you were here so early.” I held the door after he’d opened it.
He shrugged his shoulders, a bright smile meeting me as I waited for him to explain, but he didn’t. He just watched me, then when he was about to leave, he asked, “If this guy hadn’t stopped, if he hadn’t been a complete dick and ruined it…do you think you would have wanted to see him again?”
The question caught me off guard, mostly because I hadn’t considered the what-ifs. They were always too painful to take into consideration. Ever since Taylor had entered my life, I stopped thinking about ‘what if.’
“I don’t know…” I shrugged.
Juan’s brown eyes narrowed on me with a seriousness I hadn’t seen from him in a long time.
“Let’s just say he did it, all right. The next day he took you to breakfast and called to set up another date. Would you go?”
“I don’t know…I guess, I mean yeah. If he didn’t want Taylor and had actually gone through with it, then yeah, I’d let him call me. I’d want to date him.” It was as honest of an assessment as I was willing to give. Sure, if I met the right guy then I’d want to date him. I was a senior in college, and I wouldn’t mind meeting Mr. Right. I had no issue with settling down as long as I could still pursue writing.
Juan stared at me a beat longer then let out a sigh. “I just want you to be happy. You don’t see yourself the way we do…the way most guys do. You think they only want Tay, but it’s because you intimidate them.”
I let out a sound similar to one a baby elephant would make.
“You do—you’re gorgeous, brilliant, have the entire world at your feet. When you look at people, it’s like you know their innermost secrets, and you aren’t sure if you’ll expose them or not. You may have been awkward in your body at one time, but I can assure you”—he lowered his eyes, taking in my stature entirely—“that isn’t the case anymore. Someone is going to come along and be the one to make you finally believe it. Just make sure you remember you’re worth it. No one is doing you any favors, baby girl. You’re the prize…the pot the players ask favors to win.”
My eyes began to water as I processed his words. They were an ointment to some jagged scars I had on my self-confidence…especially after the night before.
“I love you.” I walked into his arms, feeling his wrap around me in a tight hug.
“I love you too. Not enough to ever go, you know…lower on you, but I love you like my little sister.” He kissed the top of my head before pushing me away, and I laughed, swiping at my face. “I’ll see you.” He winked and walked out the front door.
I locked the door behind him and walked back to the living room, thinking over what I needed to do in order to get ready and get out of the house. Heading back toward my room, I found my phone and texted Taylor to make sure she was okay.
Me: You at the estate, recovering?
I didn’t like to call it ‘Dad’s’ or her ‘mom’s’; either one was associating familiarity in a way I wasn’t ready for. A few seconds went by before I saw the little dots bounce around on the screen.
Taylor: Yeah, I needed some of Bev’s chicken noodle soup, but I’m feeling better…thinking of going to get my nails done with Mom.
I watched the screen to see if she’d extend an invitation, but I already knew she wouldn’t. She never did. It wasn’t that they hadn’t in the past; it was just that I always turned them down. I didn’t feel comfortable around Jackie because she always compared me to Taylor, as if she was threatened by my mere existence. So, if I was vulnerable, showing my ugly nails at a salon, she’d find a way to bring up my diet and talk about something Taylor was doing differently to make her nails look so much better. Taylor always chided her mother for doing it, but after a few outings, it got old.
I looked down at my nails, just thinking how laughable it all was. I was a daddy’s girl through and through, but not in the spoiled princess way. No, I had been helping my father work on cars back before he’d made his millions. My mother had died when I was ten, so he was left doing my hair and picking my clothes, telling me it was normal for girls to wear t-shirts and jean shorts to the swimming pool even when all the other girls my age had on colorful, frilly swimming gear.
He was harsh but fair, loving but distant…until he met Jackie.
By then his wealth was plastered across our local news channel and magazines. He and I both knew Jackie and her single mom routine were just a ploy for money and comfort, but my dad wasn’t hard on the eyes. I was fairly sure Jackie had shown up for the bank account, but she had stayed because she fell in love with him.
I set my phone down, trying to brush off the feeling that always came when I started comparing my life to my stepsister. Juan’s words bounced in the back of my mind, even as I thought back to being in high school and how much prettier everyone said she was when they compared her to me. How much more socially accepted she was, how it was always her who had the dates while I was home working on my computer. How, even now at twenty-one years old, it was Taylor a devastatingly handsome man wanted instead of me.
You ruined everything.
I grabbed my clothes and headed for the shower, hoping I could wash away these feelings that always seemed to drown me.
* * *
My back achedfrom hovering over my laptop and notes. I had a kickass outline created and several color-coded sticky notes ready and set up in my study notebook…but each space that should have had bullet points or notes written in was empty. I had practically nothing to go on from my little jaunt to the Devils’ party, and to top it off, there was a tiny chance I was in a bit of legal trouble because of it. I was avoiding the baseball field and their local hangouts at all costs, which wasn’t great for my desperate need for a source and more information. I needed to interview someone, but every time I even considered getting up the nerve to saunter toward the locker room or practice field, I got physically ill.
Grabbing for my phone, I sorted through a few texts from Hillary and Juan.
Juan: Pizza 2night?
Hillary: Bring salad and I’m game
Juan: Mal?
Hillary: Malllllorrrrrryyyyyyyyyyy
Juan: She’s ignoring us
Hillary: I bet she’s at the library. She always has those headphones in…
Juan: And that horrible music blasting
Hillary: I actually dig some of those nature sounds…they mix violins and guitars in there too. Don’t shame her for loving some relaxing instrumental.
Juan: Mallory Shaw, answer us. I’ll bring a bag of lime-flavored hips
Juan: I mean chips. And my famous guac
I smiled down at my phone, seeing that it had been well over thirty minutes since their last text. Biting my nail, I knew I wouldn’t be able to really enjoy myself until I’d cleared my head.
Me: Sorry, I was in the library…I’ll be there in thirty
Gathering my things, I left the library and bypassed the parking lot. When I needed to get clarity around a story, I often needed perspective or just inspiration to dig deeper, try harder, and just…do better. I knew I was a decent writer, but every now and then Trevor would get inside my head and ruin any confidence I had regarding my story.
With this specific one, I was already grasping at straws, so I was needing inspiration more than ever.
I checked my phone for the community transportation schedule and grabbed a seat on the downtown commuter bus. I watched my reflection in the window as the dark city flew by, and the empty seats reminded me that most people were home with their loved ones. This was my last year of being free like this, not being pressed down by a job or a family…freedom to just hop on a random bus and head into the city with no one knowing or caring where I went.
The idea of it burned my chest. I knew my father still wanted me to get involved with his businesses—he’d even offered to purchase Kline Global so I’d get a paid position. The laughable offer had forced me to leave that specific dinner early. I hated when traces of my dad disappeared and the wealthy tycoon took its place. My dad before the billions would have told me to work for the internship, to earn it. Sometimes it felt like he’d died shortly after my mom did, as soon as he’d married Jackie.
Finally, the bus pulled into the snug space reserved for its massive size, and people shuffled off, heading in their own directions. I pulled my backpack on, gripping the black straps, and started downtown toward the one place I hoped to be the following year. Located only two blocks down and one street over was the news giant, Kline Global. Okay, it was a giant in the same way people viewed David who had killed Goliath. David was clearly the badass hero, mightier than the most feared warrior in the land…but dude was tiny. Kline Global sat snugly in the middle of an empire, only taking up space on one measly floor, but still…I stood on the sidewalk with my head tipped back, staring at the enormity of the gleaming glass windows that speared the sky.
I knew it was closed, the hour well after everyone had gone home, but there were still a few lights on inside, likely a few people cleaning. I walked closer to the front door and ran my finger along the engraving for the company whose internship I craved more than anything.
Sweeping my finger over the K always seemed to calm me down, the L was a woosh of air to my chest, the I, N, and E all small flutters in my stomach. I closed my eyes, imagining myself a year from now, walking out of these very doors, bursting into the bustling city…headed home to my own apartment that I didn’t have to share with anyone. A smile crested, and my chest felt light.
Kline Global only extended one internship spot a year to graduating students of RFU, and that internship often led to a paid staff writing position. Several of the staff on the school paper wanted the spot, and many only wanted it for its proximity to the famous glamour magazine that had blown up recently, but either way, KG was their foot in the door.
KG worked strictly to bring awareness to injustices happening around us. From local communities to third world countries, it reported on those stories, doing whatever it took to ensure they began trending and got people talking. They’d recently done a story on a young woman just two cities over who’d been raped, but the guilty party had nearly gotten away with it because he was a local football star. Their articles and stories were featured by major celebrities who dedicated their free time to helping in developing countries, sending foreign aid as well as standing up against social injustice in our own backyard.
It was the kind of journalism that made me want to be a writer, the kind where real change could be made. I wanted to do something with my writing, make a change, help someone find justice in something…report on what mattered. Sure, I loved the funny parts of social media like the next person, but there was something burning in me that just aligned with Kline Global and its vision.
I closed my eyes, tracing the lettering and taking a few deep breaths.
“You’ll get it, Mal. You’ll get it,” I whispered to myself then turned on my heel and headed back toward the bus station.