2
Madison
* * *
Rehearsal ran late, so by the time I walked into the pizzeria right near campus, Rory was already waiting at the table with our drinks.
“I’m sorry,” I rushed out, sliding into the chair across from her. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”
“Not long,” she answered. “Just enough time to order us some drinks and a pizza. I hope you like pepperoni.”
“Is it even pizza if it doesn’t have pepperoni?” I quipped, hanging my bag on the corner of my chair and settling back into the seat.
“How was rehearsal?”
I made a face. “Exhausting.” It wasn’t lost on me that I probably shouldn’t complain about my passion and major in college, but it was the truth. Besides… “I do love theater, but this play is not one of my favorites.”
Rory’s ginger brows lifted. “Romeo and Juliet is a classic, though.”
“Yes, a classic that reeks of toxic masculinity. All of them were so guided by male pride and anger. Women were seen as weak and submissive.” I lifted my soda, shuddering a bit. “And Juliet was thirteen when she married Romeo. Gross.”
Rory wrinkled her nose, propping her chin in her hand. “Is it strange playing a thirteen-year-old in love?”
“Love.” I scoffed. “They were totally in lust. And yes, it definitely pushes my comfort zone, but I suppose it will just make me a better actress.”
“Ah, I guess you fall on the side of thinking of Romeo and Juliet as a tragedy and not a love story.”
“Suicide, murder, and pride are not my idea of romance,” I said, trying to keep my voice light and conversational. In reality, there was a knot in my stomach, the tight yet familiar sensation of panic lying in wait, threatening to rob me of all calm.
I hope I don’t have nightmares tonight.
Swallowing down the impending doom stealthily climbing up the back of my throat, I refocused on my friend and smiled. “But I can totally appreciate why some people consider it a love story.”
Rory nodded. Her shoulder-length red hair was pulled up in a small ponytail high on her head, and it bounced with the movement. “For the record, I’m not one of those people.”
“Ah, just another reason to like you,” I mused, then deftly steered the conversation away from me by asking about her major and passion: photography.
By the time the waitress arrived with our giant pizza dripping with melted cheese, I was relaxed again.
“This looks so good,” I said, stomach grumbling appreciatively.
Cheese stretched all the way from the pan to the plate when Rory dished up the first slice. Laughing, she scooped up the long strings to pile them on top before handing the plate to me. Setting it in front of me, I grabbed up my napkin to unroll my fork.
Yes, I use a fork to eat pizza. I’m not a savage.
“So…” Rory began, sliding an equally cheesy slice onto a plate for herself. “Are you going to tell me why you’re avoiding him?”
I glanced up as she plucked up a round pepperoni to pop it into her mouth.
“Actually, I was hoping to avoid that too,” I admitted, not even bothering to pretend I didn’t know who we were suddenly talking about. Evading her gaze, I twirled some of the extra melty cheese around my fork and slipped the bite between my lips.
Warm, gooey flavor burst over my tongue in the form of tomato sauce, creamy mozzarella, and grease. The crust was thick and hand-tossed, tender as I chewed. Even so, I couldn’t revel in this carb-lover’s dream because he was ruining it.
Ugh, men ruin everything.
“Did he do something?” Rory asked.
Despite my previous and very passionate thought, my very first reaction to that question was to defend him. Exactly a reason to avoid him like the plague.
I paused in chewing and looked up. Across the table, our eyes met.
Rory offered a small smile. “I know we haven’t really known each other long, but we’re friends, right?”
My heart pinched. I was friendly with everyone but not really friends with anyone. I preferred to keep people at arm’s length and my relationships to surface level. It was just easier that way. But I couldn’t deny having a friend—a real one—appealed to me. And Rory was definitely friend material. The thing with Rory was… her boyfriend, Ryan, came with her. And Ryan came with Jamie.
Jamie a.k.a. the person Rory was asking me about. Jamie was also Westbrook Elite.
Elite were the very best of our exclusive university, the male swim team everyone coveted and revered. Ryan and Jamie were two of Westbrook’s best swimmers. I’d been exceedingly skeptical about them, considering the last date I went out on was with an Elite… and he would have raped me had Rory not shown up and stopped him.
Jonas Hughes was just further proof of why men in general couldn’t be trusted. But men with money and influence? They were the worst of them all.
Problem was it was hard to keep those two men at arm’s length when they literally stopped Hughes from attacking us again. Even harder when they opened up their dorm room for us when we were too scared to go home. Jamie gave me his bed and slept on the floor without so much as one complaint.
His sheets smelled faintly of chlorine and expensive cologne, a scent I still thought of weeks later. I’d never met him until that night… but it had been enough.
Enough to scare me silly.
Aware Rory was still watching me, waiting for an answer, I pushed the memory away to say, “Of course we’re friends.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she smiled. Leaning over the table, she said, “So about Jamie…”
“He’s very charming,” I commented, taking another bite of the pizza.
Rory laughed. “That’s one way to put it.”
“You don’t think he is?” I was almost offended she would think otherwise.
But then I reminded myself, You should think otherwise too.
“Oh, no, he definitely is.” Setting down her fork (See? I’m not the only one to eat pizza with a fork), she lifted her soda. Wide, stormy gray eyes studied me over the rim of the glass as she sipped. As she lowered it, she said, “He’s a lot like Ryan.”
“Well, considering you’re dating Ryan, I’m assuming you don’t think that’s a bad thing.”
“It’s overwhelming. Especially at first. They’re bossy and stubborn.”
I jabbed my fork in her direction. “Exactly. And it’s those exact qualities I try to avoid in men.” In a much softer voice, I muttered, “Even if they are ripped with muscles and have a giant wingspan.”
Rory looked amused. “Jamie does have a wide wingspan.”
I glanced up. I wasn’t jealous. I was just curious. “You’ve noticed?”
Her face screwed up. “Hard not to when all the Elite act like life is clothing-optional.”
We both laughed. I mean, them walking around in Speedos definitely didn’t hurt their popularity.
Rory’s laughter ebbed, leaving behind a more solemn look that made the pizza stick in my throat as if I’d suddenly forgotten how to swallow.
“You like him, right?” Her voice was gentle, but the words made me feel like I was being stabbed.