Page 66 of Love, Lies, and Too Many Guys

“Stop being so mean to him. He’s not that bad.” Downplaying how much I like Jordan ignites a wave of guilt in me. He may not be who Nicole would choose, but he’s the only guy in the whole damn lineup who sees through the bullshit—who sees me for who I really am.

Nicole halfheartedly picks through my clothes. “I don’t like him.”

“Why?”

“He wears eyeliner! Has piercings—in his face, no less! Dyes his hair the color of algae . . .” She ticks off each offense on her fingers. “Shall I go on?”

“Please don’t. There’s a real person under all that makeup and shiny jewelry. And he’s hot! Tall and muscular. With pretty eyes and full, kissable lips.”

“In your dreams, maybe. Even the damn bottle wouldn’t land on him.” Nicole laughs. “What the hell did you two talk about last weekend?”

“You know. The usual stuff—classes, upcoming Greek events, the basketball playoffs.” I lie like a dirty rug.

“Boring. I knew he wasn’t worth your time. You’re too smart for him. Steer toward Elijah. He adores you, he’s gorgeous, and the guy has a future. I heard him tell Jeremy he’s premed.”

I can’t look her in the eye. She knows med school isn’t a selling point for me. My dad’s a doctor, and I’m still cleaning up the path of destruction he left in his wake.

Mom’s words come back to haunt me. She may be wrong about a lot of things, but not this. I need to carve my own path . . . dictate my own future. My dream of becoming an engineer is on the line. Springer has one of the best programs in the Southeast, but if I can’t cover next semester’s tuition, I won’t be coming back. My grades are good enough for Georgia Hope, but even with that and loans, I’ll still come up short—and that doesn’t even include room and board, or my sorority dues. Thanks to Dad’s income, I don’t qualify for grants. If I don’t get one of the dozens of scholarships I’ve applied for, I don’t know what I’ll do.

Nicole continues as if I didn’t completely ignore her comment. “What’s Keller’s major? Fine arts? Music? What sort of job will he get with that? You wanna tell your kids you lost your virginity to the guy who details Daddy’s car?”

“You don’t know that! He seems smart.”

“Smart people do not dress like eighties punk musicians.” She pulls out a sheer white blouse from the back of my closet. “Now, this I can work with. Where’s the lacy red bra you bought?”

I point her toward my underwear drawer, and she digs through the Hanes factory rejects until she unearths the high-end items from our shopping spree.

She holds up the bra. “If you wear this under the white blouse, paired with the Rag & Bone jeans and my strappy red heels, you’ll look hot. Even better than naked if you ask me.”

I snatch the red lace from her fingers. “You do realize they make you wear bowling shoes at the bowling alley.”

“Your point?” Nicole blinks at me like a mechanical owl.

I roll my eyes. “I’m saying, your strappy heels are a waste.”

She lets out an exasperated huff. “Who cares what shoes you wear after you get there. You need to look hot walking into the bowling alley.” She drags the shoes from under her bed. “Wait until they get a load of you in these!”

I hate myself for understanding her logic. “Give me the damn shoes.”