Be with Me(Wait for You)(6)

By: J.Lynn

“I don’t know,” I said finally, voice hoarse. Willing myself not to make more of a fool out of myself, I forced a smile. “But if I do, you’re going to help me learn, right?”

“Yes!” Jack beamed. “I can teached you!”

“Teach,” Jase murmured, hooking his arms around Jack’s legs. “Like I said, little bud, she’s probably got better things to do.”

“Nothing is better than riding a horse,” Jack argued.

Holding on to his brother, Jase straightened and glanced at me. His expression was shuttered, and I wished I hadn’t mentioned the horseback riding. Jase probably thought I was being serious and trying to find a way to see him.

After this, I honestly never wanted to see his face again.

That hurt to realize I felt that way. Before the kiss, we had become friends—good friends. Texting. E-mailing. Talking whenever he came with Cam. And now that was ruined.

I will not cry. I will not cry. That was my personal mantra as I shuffled back to the truck and climbed in, using my good leg to propel me up. I will not cry over the jerk. I also told myself to stop staring at Jase, but I watched him with his brother up until mine returned.

“You ready to head back?” Cam asked as he closed the driver’s door.

“Ready.” My voice was unnaturally thick.

He glanced at me as he turned the ignition. He frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, and cleared my throat. “It’s allergies.”

The doubtful look on his face was expected. I didn’t have allergies. My brother knew that.

Cam dropped me off in front of the West Woods complex. After asking him to tell Avery I said hi, I carefully exited the truck and headed up the narrow walkway toward Yost Hall as I dug out my key card.

I’d gotten lucky with the dorm situation. Because I was a late registration, all the rooms in Kenamond Hall and Gardiner Hall, dorms usually reserved for freshmen, were full. I almost didn’t get a dorm. The day before classes had begun, I showed up at the residential life department, praying they could put me somewhere—anywhere. My only other option was to live with Cam, and as much as I loved my brother, rooming with him was the last thing I wanted.

Tears were shed. Some strings were pulled, and I ended up in a West Woods suite-style residence hall, which was so much better than the tiny matchboxes called rooms in the other halls.

Using my card, I slipped into the cool air and headed for the stairwell. I could’ve taken the elevator to the third floor, but I figured the walking and climbing were good for my leg since I hadn’t been okayed to really do anything more active. I would be soon, though. I had to be, because if I was going to get back into the studio in the spring, I needed to get my as**s back in shape.

I was panting by the time I reached the door leading to my suite. It blew my mind how my body went from being the Terminator to Sponge Bob in such a short period of time.

Sighing, I swiped the card and stepped into the living room of the suite. I wanted nothing more than to climb into bed, shove my head under the pillow, and pretend today never happened.

But that would be asking for too much.

I blew out a breath when I saw the hot pink scarf dangling from the doorknob to the bedroom. Closing my eyes, I groaned.

Pink scarves were code word for enter at your own risk. In other words, my roommate was getting some sweet, sweet lovin’. Or they were inside quietly fighting, and if they were quietly fighting, they would soon be loudly fighting.

At least I still had access to the bathroom.

I hobbled over to the worn brown couch and plopped down with the grace of a pregnant mountain ram, dropping my purse beside me. Kicking my bum leg up on the coffee table, I stretched out, hoping to relieve the dull ache in my knee.

A thump on the other side of the wall caused me to jump. I glanced over my shoulder, frowning at the wall. No more than a second later, a muffled moan raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

It didn’t sound like a happy moan on the verge of the big O kind of moan. Not that I knew what that sounded like. The few times I had sex ultimately ended with me cursing every romance book out there that led me to believe I’d be sailing through the clouds. But it didn’t sound right.

Keeping my leg on the table, I stretched up, straining to hear what was going on in the room. Debbie Lamb, my roomie, was a junior and seemed like a really sweet girl. She hadn’t crucified me for ruining what would’ve most likely been a semester not sharing a room until I showed up, and she was really smart and quiet.

But her boyfriend was a different story.

A few seconds passed, and I heard a very distinctive male grunt. Cheeks burning, I whipped around so fast I almost gave myself whiplash. Grabbing a pillow, I shoved it over my face.

They were most definitely having sex.

And I was sitting out here listening to them like a creeper.

“Oh God.” My voice was muffled. “Why am I in college?”

A dull pain flared in my knee as a reminder.

Slowly, I lowered the pillow. The door across from me, leading to the other bedroom that shared the suite, remained closed. I hadn’t seen our suitemates, not once, since I started school. I was partially convinced that they were invisible or were llamas or under the witness relocation program, forced to hide in their rooms. I knew they weren’t dead because I heard them sometimes while I was in the living room. They always quieted when they heard me moving around in the suite.


Propping the tan pillow against my chest, I reached into my purse and pulled out my cell phone. I briefly considered texting Sadi, but I hadn’t spoken to her since I left the dance studio in July. I hadn’t spoken to any of my friends since then.

Most of them were in New York City. Sadi was starting at the Joffrey School of Ballet, the same school I had a full scholarship to attend. They were living my life—my dream. But the scholarship hadn’t been canceled. The instructors had placed it on hold, promising me a spot next fall if my injury was healed.

I dropped my phone back in my purse and then leaned back, holding the pillow close. Dr. Morgan, the specialist at WVU who’d done my surgery, believed I had a ninety percent chance of healing completely, as long as I didn’t suffer another injury. Most people would think those were good odds, but that ten percent scared the crap out of me, and I refused to even consider it.

Forty-some minutes passed before the bedroom door opened, and Debbie stepped into the suite, running a hand through her shoulder-length brown hair, smoothing the ends down. She saw me, and her face flushed red.