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Love, Lies, and Too Many Guys

Page 6

by Erica Lucke Dean

“Sorry.” She flashes a contrite smile. “Continue.”

“I’m thinking I should consider putting myself out there again.”

“Go on,” she says, clearly determined to coax every last detail out of me.

“I’m only talking about going on a few dates. Nothing serious . . . yet.” I’ll be damned if I sleep with some guy I don’t even like, simply to get it out of the way.

“Excellent plan—oh!” She grins. “I heard Scotty Baker is single again.”

“No.” I wince, remembering Scotty’s toothy grin. “He’s way too eager. And he smells like he bathes in Axe.”

She wrinkles her nose. “He’s not that bad.”

“I beg to differ. And we’re talking about my hypothetical first time. Shouldn’t I at least be attracted to the guy?” Love is my ultimate goal, but according to Mom, men have been losing their virginity without being in love since the dawn of time.

“Okay, fine. You’re right—hey! Didn’t you say your mom suggested a list? We should make one and include every cute, non-asshole on campus.”

“Right.” I roll my eyes. “So I can pick the best one and convince him to break my seal?”

Nicole lights up as if she thinks I’m serious. “That’s brilliant! But I doubt you’ll need to do much convincing.” She arches an eyebrow and holds out her hand. “What are you waiting for? Pull out your phone.”

“Why?”

“Duh, we need to surf the campus directory. Check the Greek news on CampusBuzz . . . see who’s single and looking.” When I don’t take the bait, she huffs as if channeling my mother. “How else will we populate your list?”

I lower my voice to a hiss. “I’m not making a list of potential fuck buddies.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Nicole’s dark eyes sparkle, and I can almost see the line forming in her irises.

“Forget it!” Without giving her a chance to argue, I scoop up my pile of panties and matching bras, and head to the register to pay.

“Don’t worry! I’ll take care of everything!” Nicole shouts after me.

Famous last words.

3

After breaking the bank buying underwear, Nicole and I make a pit stop at the Beanery—the coffee-shop-slash-café in the town square, a few miles from the Springer University campus—where I count change to afford an extra-large white-chocolate mocha latte. Hold the whipped cream. But with a hot-pink bag filled with unforgiving lingerie judging me, I resist the urge to order one of their famous cinnamon rolls.

Nicole flops into the leather chair beside me, raises her steaming cup, and taps it against mine. “Here’s to not popping your cherry!”

I take a huge gulp of coffee, scalding my tongue in the process. “So much for keeping things on the down-low.”

“Down-low, shmown-low.” She laughs and flips through the thousands of CampusBuzz contacts in her iPhone while I debate throwing caution to the wind and getting the gooey cinnamon roll after all. The undiluted anxiety currently coursing through my veins should burn off any excess calories.

“What part of ‘I’m not making a list’ did you not understand?” I imagine a line of overeager jocks and frat boys forming in front of the sorority house.

“Pull the stick out of your ass and play along.”

“Sorry. Can’t. I gave up social media for Lent.”

“Ha. Ha,” she deadpans. “You know, just because we make a list doesn’t mean you’re compelled to sleep with any of them. Think of it more as a directory of guys you’d consider dating.” Nicole glances at me over the top of her phone, and suddenly she’s nine again—plotting to take down the bully who made me cry at summer camp.

“I guess when you put it that way . . .” I slump into my seat, scanning the coffee shop for prying eyes. A few of the girls from Zeta Nu—a rival sorority—congregate around the glass bakery case, and I wait until they make their choices and move on before letting Nicole know the coast is clear. She may be the world’s pushiest bitch, but she’s always had my back. I have no reason to doubt her now. “Let’s do it. Give me my options.”

“What about Jordan?”

“Jordan . . . Keller?” I choke out the name as a twinge of something close to fear swirls around my insides. I haven’t spoken more than two words to him since freshman orientation when he caught me staring at his pierced eyebrow and lower lip. My thighs clench as the mere thought of him lifting his gaze in my direction sends a deep shudder through me.