The Valentine's Dare (The Sycamore Serial Book 1) (3 page)

“Even if you were dating someone, Mason Pryor wouldn’t be the best choice,” Lacy said. “I
heard
something about him.” There was tantalizing mischief in her voice.

Leila and Kierra both waited, neither of them trying to tease the secret out of her. They’d both learned that when it came to Lacy, keeping secrets was her Kryptonite, and the more you wanted to know it the longer she’d tease you with it. Without any prompting or pleading, she spilled like a drunk sorority girl’s beer.

“Okay, fine!” she said, throwing up her hands. “I can’t keep it in. You know me too well.” Lacy glanced back and forth, then leaned in closer to them. “I’ve heard that every year, Mason hooks up with the Matchmaker during the dance instead of his date. He’s done it since he was a freshman. It’s kind of his thing.”

Kierra glanced at him, where he stood next to Frankie and Thomas. She could definitely imagine Mason pulling something like that. “Well, he definitely won’t be getting together with me. And I won’t be setting him up with either one of you. You deserve better than getting ditched at the dance by some guy.”

Lacy shrugged. “Last year his date was Sam Pierce. She’s a lesbian. I doubt she minded being dumped for some hot girl.”

Last year the Matchmaker was Anna Banks.
Kierra wasn’t surprised he’d hooked up with her. Anna was tall, blonde, and endowed with perky boobs that any straight guy would go after.

She was also walking over her way.

“Oh boy, incoming.” Leila grabbed Kierra’s empty plate. “I’m going back to the snack table.”

“Me too.”

Kierra watched her friends desert her, wondering just what exactly it was about Anna Banks that made neither one of them want to be around her.

“Hello Sierra,” Anna said, twirling her hair around one manicured finger. “I wanted to talk to you about my date for the dance.”

“It’s
Kierra,
and I haven’t made any decisions yet.”

“I know.” Anna smiled in a simpering manner. “That’s why I want to make sure you know Mason and I are going to the dance together.”

Frowning, Kierra glanced in his direction, but he wasn’t looking at them. “I thought you two broke up.”

“Every road to destiny has a few bumps along the way.” Reaching out, Anna put her hand on Kierra’s arm and squeezed, her eyes wide and faux-emotional. “Mason and I are meant for each other. He wants to get back together, I know it. But first he needs to be reminded why we were so good together. You understand, don’t you?”

I understand that you’re crazy and controlling,
Kierra thought, but she just smiled on the outside. “Right, sure. But I thought the Matchmaker is supposed to arrange blind dates. It’s not really blind if you know about it, is it?”

Anna’s face fell, and suddenly her hand on Kierra’s arm was more Terminator than friendly. “Listen, you’re new here. You don’t get how it works, so I’ll explain it to you.” She leaned in close, her voice low and threatening. “I’m the Residential Coordinator. I decide where everyone lives next year. If you want that fourth floor apartment, you’ll do as I say and set me up with Mason. After all, you can’t have him as a date, so what do you care?”

“And if I don’t do it, I’m guessing that you’ll find a way to keep us on the fourth floor.” Kierra broke Anna’s too-tight grip on her arm and flashed the crazy bitch her best fake smile. “Sure, whatever, I’ll set him up with you. I’m sure you two will be like peas in a pod. Satisfied?”

“Oh, yay!” Anna clapped her hands together, beaming. “I knew you would get it. Remember: you don’t get to date anyone at the dance. Mason is
mine.
”

Like I wanted him anyway.
“Got it.”

“Oh, and by the way,” Anna reached into her purse and pulled out a little notebook, “this is the guide to setting up the dance. From Matchmakers past to Matchmakers future. Have fun!”

“I will!” Kierra said, matching her faux-excited tone with her own sarcastic one. Anna seemed not to notice, sashaying away on her heels without a care in the world.

Lacy and Leila slid up next to her as soon as she was gone, handing over a plate of snacks. “If you’re not going to date anyone, might as well eat whatever you want.”

“What was that about, anyway?” Lacy asked.

“Trust me, you’re better off not knowing. I think she keeps those nails long so she can butcher her enemies.”

If I toss all the names up above my head and just let them fall where they may, does that count as matchmaking?
Sitting in the middle of her new living room, partially unpacked boxes around her, Kierra was trying to arrange 80 mostly unfamiliar names into perfect pairs. She held Anna’s little notebook in one hand, with notes about each Sycamore resident and tips for putting the right people together for the dance.

“Who’s Thomas Dorsey again?”

“Mason’s friend.” Lacy held her hand up above her head. “Super tall. Blond. Basketball stuff or something.”

“He’s a point guard,” Leila said, watching Kierra take notes. “You should put him together with that chick who has the blue hair.”

“Grace Telling? She has a boyfriend, I thought.” Kierra checked her notes from Anna.

“She
had
a boyfriend last year. He shipped off to sea or something.” Lacy shrugged. “Guess he’s sailing around the world now.”

“He was in the Air Force, not the Navy.” Leila sighed. “You need fresher notes. You’ll have to start meeting everyone, and fast. Are you sure you’re the one who should be doing this?”

“If it means I don’t have to date anyone on Valentine’s Day, I’m in.” Kierra crossed out her notes on Grace and put down that she was single. “You know how Valentine’s Day goes for me.”

Lacy and Leila exchanged a look. “Just because you’ve had a few bad February 14
th
s doesn’t mean you should swear off the day. Are you
really
sure you want to stay single for all of college? Wouldn’t it be nice to have a boyfriend? Wouldn’t it help?”

Kierra frowned at Lacy. “Help with what?”

“Getting over Brooks,” Leila said. “Hey, you’re not waiting for him to come back or something, are you?”

“No!” Kierra felt her cheeks go hot. She crossed her arms defensively. “Why in the world would I want that asshole back? He doesn’t even go here anymore. He got kicked out of school!”

“For now,” Leila pointed out. “His father will be getting him back in as we speak. With enough money and lawyers, he’ll be an Arterberry student in no time. It’s
so
unfair. You can tell us if you still have feelings for him, you know. It’s understandable.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to shake a guy like that,” Lacy said. “He got you all mixed up inside. We get it if you’re still trying to untie all the knots he put you in. But that doesn’t mean you put your life on hold.”

Kierra opened her mouth to object, but just then her phone rang. She took it out of her pocket, gave the screen one glance, and sent the call straight to voicemail. “I don’t still have feelings for Brooks. With all the things he did… I’d be crazy to get back together again.”

“Who was that?” Leila frowned at Kierra’s phone. “Why didn’t you pick it up?”

“It was just spam or something,” Kierra lied. “A telemarketer.”

She couldn’t tell if they bought that or not, but thankfully Lacy’s knack for changing the subject came in handy. “French language club! You should join the French language club. I know how you like French.”

“I guess? It would help to speak it with actual people instead of just a computer program.” Kierra picked up Lacy’s name and tried putting it next to Thomas, but it didn’t seem to work. “Why do you want me to join clubs, anyway?”

“Sycamore is about socializing.” Lacy beamed at her, faded pink and blonde hair wild around her head. “If you’re not going to date, you should join a club. Or a few clubs! That way you can meet all the people you’re supposed to be setting up,
and
you’ll have something to do to distract yourself from the breakup.”

It actually wasn’t a bad idea. Kierra
did
like the thought of brushing up on her high school French, since she planned on studying abroad in Paris before she graduated. “Sure, I’ll sign up for French language club, if it makes you happy.”

“Also book club,” suggested Leila, walking over to where her open box of books sat on top of the couch. She rummaged through it and picked out a book. “I’m sure there’s something in here that they’ll read. Why do you have a copy of
‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’?”

Blushing, Kierra shot up and snatched the book from her hand. “It was my mom’s, I swear. You know I’m on birth control. See - look.” She opened up the front cover to show her the spot where her dad had signed it all those years ago. “It’s the only thing I have that he wrote to my mom. Everything else she burned… kind of like us last night.”

“Wow, that’s really… sad. Sorry.” Leila set the book aside. “If you don’t join the book club, you can do the scavenger hunt club.”

“Scavenger hunt club!?” One of Kierra’s favorite things from her childhood was scavenger hunts. “Maybe this whole club thing isn’t as lame as I first thought it was.”

“It really isn’t!” Lacy jumped up excitedly. “I’m in seven of them, and it’s the best thing ever.”

“She only ever actually goes to hair dye club,” Leila said. “The other six, she went to the first meeting and never again.”

“I’ll go when I don’t have any homework,” Lacy grumbled.

“You don’t have to convince me. I’ll go to the clubs. Why be in Sycamore if you’re not
really
in Sycamore?”

Lacy squealed, giving her a hug. “You’ll love it here, I promise.

CHAPTER THREE

Clubbing

French club was held every week in the Sycamore House common room.

Unlike the events, Sycamore House clubs were open to other residents and even off-campus students. There were a surprising dozen people already in the common room when she got there, waiting for things to start. It wasn’t just Sycamore’s reputation for being the most beautiful, spacious house that drew everyone to it - the attractive foreign exchange students from France were also the draw, she’d learned that afternoon. Three gorgeous blondes straight from Aix-en-Provence, with perfect accents and even more perfect boobs.

Everyone else in the room was a guy.

Great, I signed up for the horny drooling dude club.
At least there were actual native speakers in the room that she could learn from. Kierra took a seat on one of the couches, fiddling with her phone and trying to pretend like she didn’t feel left out by the fact that everyone else there seemed to already know each other.

Of course, she had a message in her voicemail inbox.
Too bad they don’t let you delete those without listening to them.
The last thing she needed in her head was the sound of Brooks Allen’s voice. She stared at the screen of her phone, debating whether she should play it with the speaker covered or just throw the whole thing out the window.

“Alright gang.” Thomas Dorsey, the tall basketball-playing blond she’d thought about setting up with Lacy, stood up and got the club started. “I might not have the best French skills, but I do know when it’s time to get going. So let’s-“

“Sorry I’m late!” Mason rushed in, his hair mussy and his book bag slung haphazardly over his shirt and blazer. “Professor Harring’s class ran late.”

Professor Harring taught a notoriously difficult Advanced Calculus class. Kierra was surprised Mason, the funny guy with two rich friends, was taking his coursework.
Either he’s smarter than he looks or he’s just a masochist,
she thought, watching him take a seat between two of the French-speaking bimbos.
Figures he would sit there.
After just a few days of distantly knowing Mason Pryor she already had him pegged as a womanizing ladies’ man.
No doubt the mysterious bet he has going is about how many dumb blondes he can bang his senior year of college.

Kierra would hate him, if he weren’t so handsome and didn’t make her laugh. As if sensing her focused ire, he glanced over, met her eyes, and smiled a goofy, charming, 100 watt smile.

And she smiled back, melting like a chocolate bar in the hot July sun.
Damn that boy.
She had to fight to rip her eyes away from him, frowning off into space and nearly missing the beginning of French club.

They did brief introductions and then went over the verbs: aller, étudier, manger, and a dozen others Kierra knew by heart. She was glad to practice her accent, though, especially on the French transfer students - and, as it turned out, Mason.

He had an excellent command of the language, his “
Il y aura un orage ce soir”
rolling off his tongue as easily as an
“Je voudrais un croissant au chocolat.”
His plus-que-parfait rivaled hers by a thousand. By the end of the meeting she found herself gravitating away from the other amateurs and towards him, wanting to polish her faltering French accent against his own.

The only problem was, the sound of him purring in French set her blood rushing through every vein in her body.
Keep it together, Adair,
she thought, trying to hide her warm cheeks.

“Have you ever heard the story of the two potatoes?”
Mason asked in French, a grin on his face.