Crushed (Rushed #2) (4 page)

I leaned in and whispered in his ear, "I don't need protein and fat. I'm not drinking tonight. I'm doing the opposite—going to ADIS."
 

"Shit, Morgs." His look softened.

"Keep it to yourself, okay?" I took a deep breath. "Everyone knows I have to do it. But I haven't told anyone else I'm going tonight. I couldn't stand their pity or their judgment.

"Oh, and just so you know, I'm on social probation for the semester. Don't spread that around, either. Only the standards board knows for sure."

"Why are you telling me?" He looked puzzled.

"I need a friend." I was sincere.

"And I'm it?" He stared at me like he was debating whether I was telling the truth or pulling his leg. "Fraternizing with the help. You must be desperate." He grinned that roguish grin of his, the one that made his dimple crease. "Are you sure you can trust me?"

I shrugged and smiled at him, but my heart was pounding out of control. He was teasing and pulling my leg. Seth was the king of teasing. But his words held a lot of truth—I was desperate for a true friend I could confide in. And I had just handed him the power to blackmail me and lend truth to the rumors that were already flying.

"Just trying to even the balance of power," I said, as evenly as I could.
 

His eyes lit up, like he knew I was still trying to make amends. He pulled me into a hug. "Selfish, babe. You want cover for when you pretend you're partying." He rested his chin on the top of my head and whispered, "If you need a ride, call me."

Seth was a good guy. I returned his hug and blinked back tears.
 

Dakota

I got to school early, registered, paid my fee, and took a seat in the back of the class. My dad had chewed my ass off when I told him about the fine. He lectured me for half an hour on my stupidity. It had cost him real money. Dad hated paying for shit that could have been avoided.

My buddies at the frat were preparing for a night of first-class partying. Most of them hoping to get laid. And I was in school to learn all about the dangers of drinking. It was a joke. Until
she
walked in.

My pulse raced. My palms sweated. My dick went involuntarily hard. An absolutely stunning girl stood silhouetted in the doorway—blond, slim but with the kind of figure I found sexy as hell. Fresh-faced, no makeup. Her cheeks pink from the cold. Her eyes warm and bright with exercise and expectation. Her hair curled into the faux fur that rimmed the hood of her coat. She wore flat Ugg boots and yoga pants that left just enough to my imagination.
 

She hesitated at the door, like she was uncertain and nervous. My hero instincts kicked in. I liked her sweet vulnerability. Just as I was about to get out of my chair and play gentleman, introduce myself and see where things led, I stopped cold, recognizing her with a start.

Morgan Peterson? Without makeup.
Shit.
 

You'd think my dick would have gone soft at the sight of her. The damn thing didn't. My pulse involuntarily sped up. What was it about Morgan Peterson that turned me on even when I was furious with her?

Morgan

He
was here. Oh, crap, crap, and triple crapola!

Why? Why, why, why me? Of all the Alcohol and Drug Information School sessions in the world, why did he have to be sitting in
mine
? If I had had a cloak of invisibility, you can bet I would have used it.

My heart took a nosedive for my stomach and hit with a splash. On a scale of one to ten, it would have gotten a ten for style and the way it somersaulted and made my stomach turn over.

I hesitated in the doorway, looking over my classmates and fellow law-breaking, hard-drinking minors. My hopes of finding an anonymous, sympathetic crowd were dashed. I mean, if anyplace, this was the place for compassion and support, right? We'd all screwed up one way or another. And been dumb enough to get caught. But I didn't imagine any of the rest of them had almost been run over by one of our fellow classmates.

His eyes went round and wide. For half a second he looked like he had when he'd been perched over me, making love to me. His expression had been so sweet then. And passionate.
 

My breath caught involuntarily. Just like it did every time that stupid recollection sneaked up on me. If I could erase that particular memory, I would have. Of all the things I couldn't remember from that night, that was the one thing I couldn't forget.

 
He leaned forward in his chair, like he was about to rise out of it to greet me.
 

A spark of recognition crossed his face. He froze and fell back into his seat.

Screw you, Dakota Bradley.

I abandoned my plan to slip in almost invisibly and scoop up the least prominent spot to sit. I uncrossed my fingers. Stupid finger crossing had failed me. Crappy superstitions.

Nobody dissed me and got away with it. I was a lot of things, but I wasn't a coward. Dad had taught me not to cower before an enemy. Face them head-on.

I unzipped my coat, shook my hair, and walked straight toward Dakota until I stood directly over him. "Fancy meeting you here." I slid into the seat next to him with the full intent of making him uncomfortable. Damn him. He deserved it.

"Morgan." His voice was hard. "I almost didn't recognize you. Not wearing your war paint? What happened? Lose your makeup trowel?"

I laughed to put him in his place. "You silver-tongued devil!" I paused for effect. "Or are you just the devil? Sometimes it's hard to tell." I laughed again, drawing attention from a couple of guys sitting around us. "Following me around?"

"I was ordered by the prosecutor to attend this particular session." The look in his eyes was positively glowering. "You must be following me."

"In your dreams, Tau Psi. Wasn't your meeting with him just this week?" I stared Dakota down and kept my chin high. "I signed up last week." I tilted my head and studied him. "Did they order you to go to a victims' panel, too?"

He paled.

Yeah, I was a witch for bringing it up. But then, I had a reputation to maintain.

"Yeah." His voice was soft and almost sounded guilty. "I'm sure you knew that."

I shrugged. "No. Just a lucky guess." I smiled sweetly at him and made a point to look like I was thinking hard on something. "When did you say it is? I wonder if there's still time for me to apply to be one of the victims."

He paled. "Shit. Can't you let that go? I didn't hit you. Okay? I didn't even see you."

I took a deep breath. "Yeah, too bad for you. Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, right?"

"Morgan—"

The instructor walked in just then, along with a bunch of last-minute stragglers.
 

"Class! Everyone take a seat. We're on a tight schedule. I'm Dr. Smith. But you can call me Larry."

He was pale, stale, and middle-aged. I thought,
Oh boy, this is going to be fun.

Every one of the twenty or so seats was full. Great, a full crowd. Of mostly guys. There were only two other girls. Mercifully, I didn't recognize anyone but Dakota.

Larry shut the door. "Nothing I like better than having a bully pulpit before a full house!" He grinned devilishly.

It was dead silent.

"Lighten up, people! This isn't torture. This is more like mildly boring punishment. It's irritating having to miss a night of drinking and partying, isn't it?" He reached into the bag he carried, pulled out a sheaf of papers, and handed the stack to the guy next to him. "Take one. Pass them around. Confidentiality agreements. Non-disclosures. Signing them is optional."
 

That wicked grin of Larry's deepened. "Participating in class without signing one is strictly prohibited. You're all ordered by courts to be here. Most of you are in college. You figure out what that means." He laughed.
 

"'In order to build the trust necessary to be honest about personal behaviors and experiences, participants must honor the confidentiality of all in attendance.'
 

"That's right out of the instructor's handbook. And absolutely true and essential. What goes on here stays here. If I, or the courts, get wind that any of you has violated the trust of another participant, any agreement you made for leniency and continuance will be voided. And you'll be at the mercy of the prosecutor and the courts.

"The university may seem large, but the community is actually very small. Don't push your luck." He handed around a box of cheap pens. Then he passed out workbooks like we were elementary school kids.

I signed the stupid confidentiality form with a flourish, realizing that it could be my salvation. If I was brave enough to take it. Or got the right opportunity.

Larry collected the signed forms and stuffed them in his bag. "'The mission of the Alcohol and Drug Information School, ADIS, is to promote public safety by reducing the number of injuries and fatalities due to driving under the influence of alcohol and other drugs.' That's a quote from the website.

"I'm here to teach you effective decision-making skills, with the goal of reducing recidivism. My job is to provide you with accurate information about alcohol and other drugs to assist you in making changes to your high-risk substance use behavior." Larry paused. "So much for the official part of my speech. Now for a pretest. You have ten minutes to complete it. Log in on your laptop or phone with the password you were issued when you registered…"

A stupid pretest. Just what I needed. As I logged in and began taking it, it met my meager expectations. Lame. I glanced over at Dakota, wondering how he was answering the questions.

He was deep in thought. But when he caught me looking at him, he turned his back on me and covered his phone like I was trying to cheat off him.
As if.

Question number one—have you ever blacked out after drinking too much?

No. I only went to sleep in an alley. Not the same thing.

Too bad it was only a yes-or-no question. No elaborating. This wasn't an essay test. I rocked at those.

Dakota

Morgan was trying to see my answers. The snoopy bitch. I turned my back on her. Morgan didn't have a hard-earned rep as the bitchiest of the Double Deltsies for nothing. She had a heart as hard as diamonds. Yeah, according to the scintillating materials science class I'd taken, diamonds were still the hardest substance on earth. The rock hounds hadn't met Morgan. She put diamonds to shame.

But nothing shamed her.

Somewhere beneath that hard exterior she put on was a complicated, sensitive, passionate girl. That beautiful girl rarely came out. Only when Morgan was hurting and dropped her prickly crustaceous shell. And that was usually because of Zach. The only times she opened up to me were when he'd hurt her. Each time was like a sucker punch to my gut. I didn't know why the shit I was the guy who had to pick her up and put her back together. I didn't know why I put up with it.

Morgan and I had our own sorry past. If you can call it that. Is a one-sided love affair and a few hookups a past? Or is it just fucking stupidity in every sense?

The simple truth is, I fell hard for her our freshman year. Against all reason and common sense. Before I realized she was into Zach.
 

Shit, even at a university with over twenty thousand students, the one girl I'd wanted had already fallen for my ex-best friend. Zach and I had had a major falling out the summer before, just after we graduated from high school. That was before our recent patching up of all the shit between us.

Zach had just gotten a job as a houseboy at her sorority. Without it, he would have been SOL as far as paying for college. His parents didn't give a crap about him and refused to help pay for anything. The most popular guy from my high school class was now the Double Deltsies' servant. And I didn't give a damn.

On the other hand, through a stroke of luck, and a lot of schmoozing, I'd pledged the best frat on campus. My absolute top choice. This was a group of guys I would have connections to for life. Guys with connections. Guys going places. Guys who knew how to have fun. My future looked rosy, as my grandma would say. While Zach was struggling.

Even with Zach and my statuses reversed from high school, where I was always playing second to him, and roughly ten thousand girls to choose from, Zach had gotten Morgan's attention. And didn't want her.