Infinite Fear (9 page)

Another year later…

I try her number once more. Jade is still
terrible at answering her phone; some things never change. This
time though, she does actually answer.

“Hello,” she whispers, obviously
irritated.

“Guess who?” I say with a smile.

“Oh my gosh, hi!” she yells. I hear a
muffling sound over the mouthpiece, along with Jade apologizing
profusely to someone.

I wait for a few seconds, hearing more
shuffling and a few more small apologies on her end.

“Hello?” I ask questioningly.

“I’m here. Sorry, I was in a lecture,” Jade
replies.

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that,” I
say. I’m not really sorry. I’ve missed her voice. But
why the hell is she answering her phone in the
middle of class?
“Just checking in to see
how you’re doing.”

“I’m great. I miss you though,” she says
sadly.

“Maybe I’ll pop by and see you sometime
soon,” I say.

“I’d love that, but hey, can I call you back
a little later? I have to get back to this lecture,” Jade asks.

“Sure,” I say, before ending the call.

I stand and stare up at the
red brick building looming before me.
How
soon is soon, Jade?
I had no idea that when
Jade sat me down and made me fill out those hundreds of college
applications that something would actually come of it. A few
somethings, actually. Not that the choice was hugely difficult,
when one of the acceptance letters was from Brown, and they even
offered me a scholarship. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I
pulled the Mustang into the parking lot, very concerned for my baby
after the fifteen-hour drive from Georgia.

Jade is going to freak the hell out!

I walk up the stairs and
ask the depressed-looking RA where her room is. Surprisingly, she
immediately offers up the room number. So much for student privacy.
I expect the door to be locked, since she is in class. But when I
try the knob, it turns easily in my hand.
This shit would never happen in my neighborhood.

I step inside and can immediately tell which
side of the room belongs to Jade. The bed is made without a single,
solitary crease in sight. The pencil tin on the bedside table is
filled with sharpened pencils, not a nib out of place. I hope that
Jade doesn’t have classes all day. Waiting in this room alone for
the next six hours could get really boring, really fucking
fast.

I take out my phone and open it to the
camera’s images. The little girl’s smiling face greets me. Jade may
not be as excited when I tell her about Shana. It has been
horrible, keeping this from her for a whole year. Playing dumb when
she mentions Shana. I’m done with the female species. I have to
focus on myself for a change, and not worry about finding the next
overnight accommodation for my dick.

Just as I’m about to walk over to the
window, I hear a shuffle in the hallway, followed closely by a
muffled, yet angry-sounding female voice. Shortly afterwards, the
doorknob turns. I smile in anticipation of Jade’s familiar
face.

Only it’s not Jade’s
familiar face
. In walks the roommate, the
girl I remember from the picture Jade showed me last year. I see
that she still hasn’t discovered her smile.
But then there are those eyes.
For a
brief moment, all I can do is look directly into them. For a few
more moments, I am absolutely transfixed, lost in them. A few
seconds later though, I right myself and examine her, wrapped in a
robe with a towel turban wrapped haphazardly around her hair. She
glares at me with a look that could freeze whole countries in
fucking summer.

I want to say hi, or something witty, or
clever, but all that comes out is, “You’re not Jade.”

“Well, obviously not,” she spits. “What the
hell are you doing in here, and why?”

I think that’s my cue to get the hell out of
dodge, before someone yells assault. I stand and smooth out the
creases on Jade’s bed, just the way her OCD likes it. As I turn to
walk towards the door, I catch the angry girl’s eyes leisurely
examining my body, eyes sweeping approvingly across my chest,
trailing down to my jeans and beyond. I said I was done with women,
but this is an opportunity I can’t pass up. I look up and the
steely gaze returns immediately to her face. Her eyebrows return to
their angled and angry positions.

“Well?” she asks, looking at me
expectantly.

“Name’s Jackson,” I reply, holding out my
hand, and unceremoniously pulling it away when she looks at it like
it carries a life threatening disease. I clear my throat and
continue. “I’m an old friend of Jade’s, so I decided to drop by and
surprise her. This is my first week at Brown. Glad to see the
welcome committee is so friendly.” The statement comes out which
much more sarcasm than intended. I’m truly amused by how hard this
girl is trying to be unaffected by this situation.

“Jade’s in class, she’ll be back later.
Usually people who drop by, call first to figure that out,” she
says, trying to sound bored.

I study her. Drink her in,
more like it. I can’t drag my eyes away from hers.
It’s fucking insane
. I
feel so damn captivated. But gawking like an idiot is not exactly
flattering. I’m pretty sure I have her rattled. But what I can’t do
is let this seemingly crazy woman know that the feeling is so
mutual.

“Did you miss the part where I said
surprise?” I say cockily. “Don’t you think a phone call may have
defeated the purpose slightly?”

In attempt to display some sass, she puts a
hand on her hip. “So I’m sure you can come back when she’s here.
And you can leave now. Some of us need to get dressed and get to
classes. I hear the hallway is a nice place to loiter,” she
quips.

I don’t want to leave yet. A wise and very
hot undercover cop once told me that one day, I’ll meet someone,
and one look will make me forget that anyone ever came before her.
And standing here in this dorm room, for the first time in my life,
my reaction to a woman is not relegated to my groin. For the first
time ever, it’s my heart that’s pounding…

Scared of Beautiful – available on Amazon
and in paperback – keep reading for a preview…

http://amzn.com/B00LJAYYJS

An excerpt from Scared of Beautiful (Scared Series
#1)

Maia…

The sunlight filters through my dorm room
window. I squint, adjusting my eyes to the bright glare. It’s a
typical Providence spring morning. I know I’m late because my
roommate’s bed is empty, made to hotel standards with impossibly
perfect corners. “Shit,” I mutter to myself and fling my legs over
the side of the bed. That dream, that damn dream. It haunts my
subconscious and screws up my days. I dream it so often that I
casually refer to its aftereffects as my dream hangover. When I
wake up, I feel like I’ve been slamming back tequila shots all
night. The time on my alarm clock reads 9.30am, which means that I
am half an hour late for Comparative Literature. Still, I decide
against rushing, since there’s only thirty minutes left of the
lecture anyway, and make my way to the bathroom at the end of the
hallway.

My shower wakes me up sufficiently to decide
against crawling back into bed and continuing the day there.
Wrapping my hair in a makeshift towel turban and donning my
bathrobe, my shower caddy and I make our way out of the communal
bathroom. Halfway down the corridor a shout breaks me out of my
daze. “Watch out!” Without thinking, I press my body against the
hallway wall and my arms automatically fly up to protect my face,
still clutching my caddy. My heart is racing and an all too
familiar knot of anxiety has formed in my stomach. When I
eventually muster the courage to open my eyes, I’m greeted by a
stocky dude carrying a football. “Are you okay?” he asks with
obviously feigned concern.

“Fine!” I snap. “But consider playing with
your shit outdoors!” I turn on my heel and walk towards my dorm
room. I soldier forward indifferently, but my hands shake
uncontrollably, ever so slightly, and I swallow repeatedly to quell
the nausea that my anxiety has spawned.

Clearly after my disturbed sleep last night,
this day is not going to improve at all. I reach my door and
strongly consider climbing back into my pajamas and reading Jane
Austen until the sun comes up tomorrow. Turning the handle, I
realize that I had forgotten to lock the door before my shower.
Just as well, because I also forgot to take my key. “Oh shit!” I
yelp as I’m greeted by the sight of an unknown male seated on my
roommate, Jade’s previously crease-free bed. The male’s face is a
mixture of shock and amusement, although the glare I give him
should shake him out of his reverie and should send the strongest
of men running for the nearest hills.

“You’re not Jade.” That’s
all he says. No
sorry for scaring the shit
out of you
or
you
may be curious as to why I’m in your room
.

“Well obviously not,” I retort. I’m well
beyond the ability to fake pleasantries today. I haven’t had my
morning coffee yet. “What the hell are you doing in here, and why?”
I snap.

The guy stands, and I notice the crease he
leaves on Jade’s bed. Little Miss OCD is going to be slightly
pissed about that, but to my surprise, before answering me he turns
to spread out the offending wrinkles with his hands. He obviously
knows Jade well. In the four months that Jade and I have known each
other, I’ve never seen a guy on her side of the room. I’ve never
actually seen a guy with her at all. This may well be her new man.
As he is perfecting the bedding, my eyes can’t help but do a once
over of his body. He’s tall, maybe about six foot two, with skin
the color of perfectly cooked caramel, and his dark hair is cut in
a neat crew cut with impeccable lines. As he angles his body to
skim the bed’s edge back to its earlier neatness, I notice that his
arms flex tightly under his white t-shirt. His frame is lean and
athletic, and I can just make out a tattoo on his left bicep, and
another of a musical note on his neck. His ass looks equally
impressive in his distressed blue jeans. I’m careful to avert my
eyes back to his face and resume my steely gaze before he turns
back to face me.

“Well?” I ask impatiently.

“Name’s Jackson,” he answers, raising his
hand politely. I leer down at his outstretched upper appendage as
if he has leprosy. He pulls it back, a quizzical look on his face.
“I’m an old friend of Jade’s so I decided to drop by and surprise
her. This is my first week at Brown. Glad to see the welcoming
committee is so friendly,” he retorts sarcastically, but as I meet
his eyes, I notice a glint of amusement there.

“Jade’s in class, she’ll be back later.
Usually people who drop by call first, to figure that out,” I
answer with as much feigned boredom as I can manage. He is very
distracting, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I am very
intrigued. He has the most amazing full lips and what I thought
were dark brown eyes. But now, as I see them catch the sunlight
from the window, I notice that they are a kaleidoscope of light and
dark brown, with an ever so slight hint of green.

“Did you miss the part where I said
surprise? Don’t you think a phone call may have defeated the
purpose slightly?” he answers cockily.

“So I’m sure you can come back when she’s
here. And you can leave now. Some of us need to get dressed and get
to classes. I hear the hallway is a nice place to loiter,” I reply
sarcastically, annoyed by his arrogance.

His face lights up with mischief.
“Oh there’s no need for you to put clothing on, on account of me. I
don’t have a problem with what you’re wearing. Just saying.” He
smiles and allows his eyes to scan up and down my body.
This guy is incorrigible!
Even with my robe, I suddenly feel extremely naked and
exposed. Then I notice the cheeky dimple that has formed on his
left cheek, and I realize he’s being a smart ass.

Coming soon: Scared of Forever (Scared Series
#2)

About the Author

Jacqueline Abrahams is the author alter ego for an
ordinary mum to three children (two human and one canine) and wife
to one husband. Born in South Africa, she now calls Sydney,
Australia her home.

A collector all things books and bookish, she in an
avid reader and has a tiny obsession with filling bookshelves. When
she's not preoccupied wearing her aspiring author or mummy hat, she
is working her way towards completing a degree in Primary and
Secondary Teaching (with an English major of course!)

Scared of Beautiful is her debut novel, the first in
The Scared Series, a standalone New Adult Romance series.