Bad Man On Campus
By Stephanie Queen
Sample Chapters
Chapter 1
Glory Rose
It’s two weeks until my chance for redemption, until I start at St. Paul University.
It’s been three years since I’ve seen him. He’s coming home to Birchtown, Pennsylvania this weekend, before beginning his senior year at St. Paul’s. I heard about his return from my mother, who heard it from the hairdresser that his dad is remarrying. Even his mother is coming back for the wedding, having a mini family reunion. Except for Sky.
Of course, I’m not invited to the wedding, but he’ll be there, so I call his old friend Charlie to find out where they’re going out afterward, because I know they will. Charlie tells me they’re going to The Old Coaly Grill. I plan to show up.
* * *
The last time I took this much bother to dress and do my makeup was the last time I saw him. Back when I was carefree, like Mary and her little lamb. Pathetic, but I’m determined to move forward. Most of my dress clothes are too loose because I haven’t bought any in three years. And I haven’t eaten much in three years.
I reach into the back of my closet to find a pink polka-dot sundress from high school that I no longer have a right to wear. It’s like false advertising. There’s nothing pink-polka-dot about me anymore. I should be wearing a dress peppered with skulls and crossbones or a big yellow warning sign, at the very least. Note to self: go shopping soon to update my wardrobe to reflect my new status as damaged and dangerous.
I wonder if he’ll remember the dress. If he’ll remember taking it off me. The heat of anticipation rushes through me, but on its heels comes a cold frost warning me not to count on the flowers blooming today. They’re elusive little buggers. Like gay pink polka dots, an illusion.
With no idea how this night will go, how he’ll react to seeing me, I only know I need to try. Because I’m tired of being sad and lonely and full of self-pity every night. I don’t know how my parents even stand me.
No wonder they’re happy I’ll be leaving for St. Paul’s soon. The adventure I’d planned three years ago, delayed by stupid good intentions, fate, and poor decisions.
Not to mention the death of my best friend. Followed closely by probation, the rescinding of my scholarship, loss of my driver’s license, public humiliation, and lots of therapy.
Picking up the old tube of his favorite peony-pink lipstick, I open it, my hands shaky.
“Steady girl.” I apply it, managing not to turn myself into a clown, then fluff my hair, the gentle curls falling where they will, the way they always do, and I stand. My strappy white sandals are out of date, but I need the three-inch heels because I want to be able to kiss him on the lips if I have the opportunity. I’m tall at five seven, but he’s very tall. Something in my gut flutters and I laugh out loud at myself, a half-amused, half-derisive sound.
Picking up my small bag, I throw the strap over my shoulder and run down the stairs. My parents have already gone out, so I leave them a note. I’d text them, but it would be a waste of time since they’re text illiterates. I tell them not to wait up, but I don’t go into details. I don’t know what the details are anyway.
When my Uber ride pulls up to the curb, my heart starts beating like a drummer playing Wipe Out, too wild to be healthy.
This is it. Deep end of the pool. Ready or not.
* * *
As soon as I take two steps inside The Old Coaly Grill, I see him. It’s like looking at a mirage, like I’m dying of thirst and he’s a big blue lake.
Kace Jennings was my high school sweetheart, the love of my life. Still is. If I let my heart have a say, let the wounded vestiges of my emotional capabilities try to function, even a little. Like an old rusty motor trying to start and sputter, I feel it, that spark of pure heart-pounding joy at the sight of him.
Who knew my battered heart was still so capable of anything but weeping and despair?
He looks larger than life, bigger than I remember. Or maybe I shrunk. My estimation of myself is smaller, though I’m working at pumping air back into the life I once had. Kace’s hockey-god muscles fill out the dark T-shirt he’s wearing.
Frozen for an instant by flooding memories, comparing them against the reality of him now, I almost drown in the emotions.
Maybe this was a mistake. He turns his head and I step aside out of his line of vision, not wanting him to see me, taking in the sexy dark stubble on his strong jaw, letting the sight of his full sensual mouth shoot like an arrow through my heart. And ending right between my thighs. Those lips, that mouth . . . I clear my throat. My heart pounds and I can’t help remembering the feel of his mouth on mine, the taste of him, like candy for my soul. Like crack for my pussy.
God, I’m hopeless. What the hell am I doing here? You’re not here to torture yourself, Glory Rose. You’re here to get on with it. Get on with living.
Taking a hesitant step forward, I beg the fates to let me have him in my life, in my future. The fates owe me, don’t they? Maybe not.
But they owe him, and no one will love him the way I did. We were first loves together and there’ll never be another first. He deserves a chance at having that back again even if I don’t. If it’s even possible to go back.
They say it’s not possible. That I have to move forward. Easy for them to say. They don’t know what I’d be leaving behind. Shit. Taking a deep breath, tired of my own self-pity, I move forward into the bar. If I can’t go back, I need to at least find out if there’s a way to go forward that includes Kace and me together. There’s no way to start over until I try, then I’ll know, one way or another.
I circle around the bar and head in his direction, taking my time, willing the lump in my throat, that’s probably my heart, to settle. I need to behave normally. I’ve come so far in these three years, I can’t let myself fall back to that inconsolable dysfunctional waste that I was right after the crash.
Straightening my spine, I take some more deep breaths as I get closer. Nerves rumble and vibrate through my gut like I just ate an army of bees. Charlie spots me and smiles, waves me over. Shit. Am I ready for this? Getting close, I can feel Kace’s energy, smell his scent, almost reach out and touch the mirage that’s everything I remember and more.
He turns around and our eyes slide together like magnets aligning, like the stars and universe have slammed into place in a cosmic shift, fitting exactly back together after having cracked apart.
The little-known thing about cosmic shifts is that they suck all the air from a soul, suspend time, and make a girl question the line between reality and the dream world.
My body takes the last step forward on automatic pilot and I reach out, muscle memory taking over. But he doesn’t move, so my hand lands on his arm, unable to resist his gravitational pull, like I’m no more than a star in his orbit.
Charlie speaks first, his voice floating from outside and seeping into the connection between me and Kace, breaking the spell.
“Glory, it’s great to see you. Don’t you look like the gorgeous sweetheart you always were.” Charlie stands and gives me a hug in greeting. He’s warm and gracious and I know his hug is genuine. I’ve hidden myself away for the most part these past three years, not out of fear, but out of lack of will, out of setting priorities and working on building myself back up into a presentable person. We break from our hug and now convention would dictate that Kace and I greet each other, but the awestruck connection that first hit us is replaced by awkward tension.
This is my show and my time. So I throw myself into the deep end. Again.
“Hi, Kace. I’d ask how you’ve been, but I’ve been reading and hearing about your hockey team for the past three years so I know you’ve been doing spectacularly well.” It’s true.
A superficial and distant observation, like an ordinary fan, like I know nothing about his past or his family. Or how he feels up against my back in bed, spooning naked until dawn when he has to get up and rush home before our parents discover we’ve spent the night together.
“Glory Rose.” He says my name like a prayer, like he’s sleep walking and I’m in his dream. I know how he feels, can feel myself slipping back under his spell as he stands, as he steps into my space. His scent, his energy, his essence overwhelm me, letting loose all the emotions that I’d so carefully corralled, controlled, managed like a good girl, in the name of moving on and starting over.
When he wraps his arms around me, the bands of restraint I’d imposed turn to paper. They don’t stand a chance against the holy warmth inside the space of Kace Jennings’s hug, the solid, hard feel of him unnerving and soothing all at once. Tears flow with the inevitable ease of a summer stream, natural and real and refreshing because I don’t bother stopping them.
He whispers in my hair, something about how beautiful I am, how good it is to see me, how he hopes I’m doing well. And I feel it then, the deep well of sadness in him, the extent of how superficial his spectacular hockey accomplishments are to him. My tears stop because I can’t feel sorry for myself, not for another minute. I want to fill whatever I can of the void in his soul that I caused three years ago, because there’s not enough sorry in the universe to make up for the past, for the loss, but there is the future and joy to be had. I’m convinced of that, especially in this moment. Until he lets me go.
“I’ll get us a round of drinks,” Charlie says. “You still drink lite beer, Glory?”
I nod. It’s a simple gesture, too small for undoing the last three years and the vow I made not to drink. But it’ll be okay. I’m not driving. And I need it tonight, this once, to settle my nerves, to be half normal with Kace after all this time. Charlie leaves in a hurry, heading in the direction of the bar and getting lost in the crowd.
“We might not see him again,” I say. I let the noise of the bar, the smell of beer and jukebox music pin me in the moment, keep me focused on now. Never mind the jittering of my guts, the deep need gnawing at me to jump Kace’s bones.
He smiles, part sad, part bemused, like he’s not sure I’m real, not sure what to make of me because I’m not the same girl he knew. He studies me and I know he notices how skinny I am.
“You don’t look like you’ve changed since the day we graduated,” he says, “except I know you have.”
Boom. There it is. He’s braver than I expected. Braver than he was three years ago when he left for college. But the wounds were too fresh then to talk. My smile falters.
“I’m skinnier,” I say, not so bravely. Then I suck it up. “No, you’re right. I have changed. I’ve come a long way. Time. Hard work helps. Needing to move on, to think of my mom and dad and deal with . . . life.”
He nods. “I’m so sorry, Glory—”
“You? Sorry? For what? You did nothing wrong.” Of all the things he could say, this is worst of all. And it makes no sense.
“Yes, I did. I should have supported you, been there for you. I should have called you yesterday when I got here.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, taps and scrolls and shows me the unsent text. To me. “I was too chicken to send it. Too fucking chickenshit to call or knock on your door.”
