Sexiled: an enemies-to-lovers standalone Read online

  She blushes, bringing to life the faint peppering of freckles across her face. “Oh. Thanks.”

  “So as far as the peaches bet goes. I’ve got this limited edition peach flavored rum. If you want to come with me and drink some Morgan.”

  She frowns. “Did you really just say, ‘do I want to drink some Morgan?’ Did I hear that right?”

  “Uh…yes, I did. Is there a problem?”

  She folds her arms. “First the peach thing and now this? No, I’m not going to ‘drink’ your ‘Morgan’, Morgan. What’s that a euphemism for, anyway? I mean, do I even want to know?”

  I twist my face up. “What on earth are you talking about? I wanted to know if you wanted to get a drink of Captain Morgan. As in, the rum that you pretended to get all over your tank top earlier.”

  Her eyes widen. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. I thought that was some slang for you and your…never mind. My mind is clearly in the gutter today.”

  I laugh. “Your mind is really going a mile a minute. I’m just curious if there is more to you than meets the eye. Which we could figure out over some Captain Morgan, or another beverage, peach iced tea even, if that’s better.”

  She sighs. “You know, I’m just going to be honest. I’m feeling a little off today. I probably wouldn’t be the best drinking partner. I don’t feel much like partying.”

  A girl after my own heart.

  “You think I want to go socialize in the middle of a bunch of college students?”

  April looks down at her feet, twisting them in the sand.

  “Let me talk it over with my friends and see what they’re doing,” she says.

  April turns around and heads back toward her gaggle of friends. I get the feeling like she’s not going to take me up on my little invitation as her friends set up their towels on the grass in the sun to dry off from the hosing down they just took.

  “Who was that?” Luke asks when I return to the group.

  “Her name is April. Turns out, she wasn’t drunk.”

  Luke’s eyes widen. “No shit? She was punking us?”

  I nod. “There’s something about her. I need to get to know her better. You ever get that feeling?”

  “Oh yeah. I know exactly what you’re talking about and it’s often not a good sign, dude.” And he laughs, a full-on belly laugh, as he walks away.

  4

  April

  “Am I seeing things, or was Morgan Kennedy just flirting with you?” Maya says, twisting her head back to where Morgan and his alumni friends are standing around, chatting in the sun.

  I sit down on a towel in the grass between Maya, Faith, and Alex. “He asked me to have a drink with him.”

  I chuckle, thinking of how I misunderstood what he said about ‘wanting to drink some Morgan.’ I don’t even know why my mind went there.

  Maya puts her hands on her hips. “So? Are you going to?”

  I shake my head and shrug. “I’ve put up with enough today. He’s not my type, anyway. I figured I would just spend the day hanging out with you guys.”

  Alex squints, leaning back on her elbows. “I don’t mean to push, April, but how would you know what your type is? You’ve been dating the same guy since high school. You’ve had,” she looks down at her watch for a moment, “about two weeks and six hours to marinate in your life as a true single person. Hardly enough time to determine what your type is, if you ask me.”

  Maya waggles her eyebrows and adds, “Well, if your type is the kind of guy who gives you that ‘really wants to fuck you’ stare—and looks like he can back up that stare with action, you’d be in luck. That’s what he’s doing right now, if you were wondering.”

  I glance over at him again. His sunglasses are on the top of his forehead now. Is he really doing that just to look at me?

  I give a dismissive wave of my hand. “Really wants to fuck me! Exactly. You nailed it and that’s pretty much what Matt went after too. Guys are only out for one thing.”

  Maya puts her hand on my forearm. “I’m just going to say this. It might sound crazy but hear me out. Instead of viewing it as him using you, you could be using him. For your own purposes.”

  “My own…purposes? And what would those purposes be?”

  “You need a rebound!” Faith blurts out. “Honey, we’ve watched you wither away all year with Matt. He was an emotional vampire who sucked the life out of you. My goodness, just have a little fun! Have a drink with a hot guy. There’s nothing wrong with that. We’ll vicariously enjoy ourselves through you since most of us are in relationships.”

  “Guys, I don’t think that…” I trail off.

  Okay, even though I wouldn’t let the girls tell me who he is, Morgan definitely has this other-worldly magnetism about him.

  I see a couple girls from the bad girl crew, as we call them, Jessica and her stepsister Jazmin, walking up to Morgan and Luke in bikinis, being all flirty.

  Morgan’s body language is turned away during their conversation, and he seems disinterested. As they walk away, he puts his sunglasses down and gives another glance our way.

  Maya says, “Listen, if I made the first move on my boyfriend in the shower, you can go and talk, have a drink, whatever, with this guy.”

  A rush of anxiety fuels through me. “You guys, I don’t think so. I think I just want to go home and—”

  Maya cuts me off. “Someone once taught me that there are some opportunities in life you won’t get back. Being flirted with by the hottest guy ever is one of them. Just pretend he’s a volleyball game…or something you like to do.”

  “Maya,” I protest meekly.

  “Yes?” she whispers back.

  I open my mouth to speak, but don’t say anything, because there’s nothing more to say. My gut is telling me to go talk to the guy. But I’m honestly a little intimidated by him. The Morgan Kennedy? Ugh. I don’t even want to know what he’s known for.

  But then I do.

  “No more excuses.” Maya jumps to her feet, then pulls me up. “Come on.”

  Together, we head over to where the guys are standing next to the brown brick of the frat house.

  She whispers in my ear as we walk. “For once in your life, go with your gut. I saw you when you were chatting next to him. You were practically drooling. For the next twenty-four hours, give in to what you really want and live a little. This isn’t about Morgan. It’s about you taking what you want. Got it?”

  “I’ll try.” I stumble over my words. Apparently, she’s in a really good, slap-happy mood today, especially after reuniting with Grant and coming back to school for a visit from the city of Chicago, where she now lives.

  “We’re going to play a really fun game,” she hums, and my insides churn.

  “No. Not ‘Have You Met April?’,” I cringe, thinking back to Maya’s version of this game we used to play to prank each other freshman year.

  The game involves introducing one of us to a group of strangers, then leaving each other stranded after the awkward conversation opener had been unleashed.

  Maya approaches the guys with a big smile, dragging me behind her.

  “Hi, everyone. Good game back there. I’m Maya, Grant’s girlfriend.”

  “Holy shit, Grant crushed it today in the baseball game! Congrats to him,” the cute one standing next to Morgan says. Luke, I think.

  “Yes, it was a good game.” Maya turns back to Morgan. “Morgan, have you met my friend April? She wanted to accept your offer for a drink.”

  I start to shake my head, but instead take a deep breath and calm myself.

  I say, “Well, we both could come.”

  Maya holds up a finger. “I would love to come hang out with you all, but the thing is, I kind of just reunited with my boyfriend today, and I have to, uh, celebrate that.”

  “Oh.”

  Maya adds, “I’ll leave you two to do your thing,” and heads off once more toward our friends.

  “I’d love to get a drink with you,” Morgan continues. “But you se
em nervous. Maybe you want to go back with your friends. I won’t be offended if you turn down my offer.”

  I summon some inner strength, nervous as it makes me. I realize Maya is right. I’m pulled to Morgan, and I might as well go with this.

  “I’m not nervous,” I argue, despite my obvious nervousness. My knees feel like they might buckle at any time. I picture Matt, and anger inside me builds. “Let’s get that drink. Do you really have peach flavored Captain?” I add.

  “Yep. Follow me.” Morgan leads me up the fire escape stairs and through the back entrance of the fraternity house.

  I look down and see my group of girlfriends all blowing kisses to me as I walk up the steps.

  “You ever been here before?” Morgan asks.

  “Yeah, my friends kinda date a lot of Alpha Z’s,” I say. I think back to the epic night we had in the house winter term, where I embarrassingly admitted to all of my friends after a few drinks that I have a fantasy of hooking up with some sexy potential boss.

  Like that would ever happen.

  “What about you? Who do you date?” he asks, leading me up the stairs to the third floor.

  “Can we make a rule today? No talking about our dating lives,” I say.

  Bringing up anything to do with Matt is literally the last thing I’d like to talk about.

  “Sure, we can do that.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “The president of the Alpha Z house has an open-door policy in his room at all times. And an open bar with a terrific view of the campus.”

  We pass a few groups of people milling in the hallway, clearly violating the house’s no alcohol policy. It’s a running joke among students really.

  “So, did you used to live here?” I ask as he opens the door to the president’s room.

  He nods. “I lived across the hall from this very room when I was a senior.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Couple of years.”

  I imagine him as a senior, loving life and crushing it. It’s a known fact that the rooms on the third floor of the Alpha Z house denote seniority.

  We head into the president’s suite, and it is a pretty amazing set up. There’s a couch and a desk with speakers. The windows look out over the volleyball courts below.

  “Do you have fond memories of this place?” I ask, making conversation as he pours a couple of peach Captain and Cokes for us.

  “Can I be real with you, April?” he says, handing me one of the cups.

  “Of course. Be real.”

  “This place holds a lot of really fond memories for me, but now they are tainted. My little brother would come and visit me from Western Illinois University every few weekends when I was a junior and senior, and he was a freshmen and sophomore.”

  “Oh? And why are they tainted?”

  “Well, he was all about traveling and languages and music. I was the athlete of the family, and he was the cultured musician.”

  “That’s awesome…a musician,” I say, noting he didn’t respond to my question about why the memories are tainted now.

  He smiles faintly. “Yeah. I just had a flashback of him playing in here. He got really into this sort of obscure Argentine rocker he found when he was a sophomore, Andrés Calamaro. Michael used to play his stuff on guitar, singing Spanish, and it would carry through the halls.”

  It’s not lost on me his use of the past tense when talking about him. “You said ‘used to.’ You don’t get to see him much now?”

  He clenches his handsome jaw. “He passed away from a brain tumor.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry.” I feel my heart, already heavy today, shatter for Morgan.

  Morgan’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and he continues. “We had no idea at the time. I do have some fond memories here that I’ll never forget, though." Silence passes between us and I watch Morgan swallow. He seems distant. "So, yeah, it’s a little surreal to be back here.”

  We lock eyes for a few moments. There is so much information contained in that glance.

  Now that I know to look for it, I can see past the cocky, façade into pained eyes. I want to help him, I want to make him feel better, but I also don’t want to pry because I know better than most that grief has to be processed on your own time and terms.

  So I simply muster a neutral expression and hold his gaze for as long as I can, trying to convey that I am also a human who has felt the pain of loss. Our eye contact causes a chill to run down my spine. There’s an intensity bubbling up within me that I was not expecting to feel when I walked up these frat house stairs five minutes ago.

  A few more beats of silence pass. The energy of the conversation has certainly shifted. On the other hand, I’m no stranger to grieving the ones closest to you, so I’m used to these sorts of silences and emotions bubbling to the surface.

  “You said your brother’s name is Michael, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cheers, then. To Michael.” I raise my Solo cup in a toast.

  He clears his throat and then musters a smile, though I see his eyes turn down when he raises his cup. “Cheers.”

  The breeze picks up through the open window and moves across the room. The sun is still shining and the sound of music and carefree partying surrounds us. Just two strangers sharing a drink and a moment of silence.

  Morgan looks out onto the green grass below, and I wonder what he’s thinking about.

  “Hey, what’s the name of that Argentine singer again?” I ask.

  He comes and sits on the couch with me. “Andrés Calamaro.”

  I find the Bluetooth speaker in the room and sync it with my phone, then pull up the artist’s music and pick the first song that I find, “Una Bomba,” and I play it.

  It’s like nineties reggae-rock with Spanish lyrics, and definitely has a head bopping beat to it.

  “Do you know what he’s saying?” Morgan asks.

  “Yes, do you?”

  “Really, you do? No, I don’t speak Spanish. Well, just a little.”

  “He’s saying, ‘A bomb never falls in the same place twice. But if you want, I’ll give you a kiss in the same place twice.’”

  Morgan laughs. “Damn. You’re bilingual, too…you are the whole package, aren’t you?”

  I shrug, trying not to blush. I’ve never been referred to as ‘the whole package’ and I’m not quite sure how to take the compliment. I sit back on the couch with him. “Spanish class since middle school should count for something, right?”

  We listen to the song which is somehow upbeat, slow, and romantic all at the same time and we fall into silence again.

  “My mom died when I was a teenager,” I say. It comes out as a little bit of an awkward comment, but Morgan shows only receptiveness on his face. Something about his changed demeanor makes me feel heard, so I go on. “Seven years ago. I still think about her every hour. It’s her birthday today. She would have been fifty-two.”

  Morgan turns his eyes back to meet mine, and something about his look sends chills reverberating through my body.

  He raises his glass. “Cheers again, then. To your mom, April.”

  We take another drink. The buzz is starting to hit, and I feel nice and warm and fuzzy.

  “How long ago did Michael pass away, if you don’t mind me asking?” I inquire.

  “It was last September.”

  I think about my mother, knowing how Morgan must be feeling in that first year of the grief cycle. The first year is the worst.

  He twists the black bracelet on his wrist. “I still think about him every day.”

  There's something about his openness with me that makes my body grow warm. Maybe it's the drink. Or the depth of his eyes right now and how they’re almost brooding. His hair matches the richness of his eyes.

  Heat pools in my body as he locks his gaze onto me.

  Leaning forward, I touch his hand to bring his bracelet closer to my eyes and read it.

  More heat in my stomach ignites
. Like some part of me is boiling over, ready to explode.

  I haven’t touched a man, aside from Matt, with the open possibility of romance in, well…ever.

  I started dating Matt right after my mother passed away at the end of eighth grade. Matt was there for me as a friend during a difficult time in my life, and that summer we became more than friends. Our courtship was a tentative and naïve one from the start. Sure, we might not have had the best relationship, but cheating, or even flirting, with another guy, was never on the table for me.

  But now there’s Morgan.

  He’s a whole hell of a lot of man, and quite a jump from a boy like Matt.

  After I note the bracelet has a date from last September engraved on it, I let go of his wrist and let his hand slip away.

  “How old are you?” I say, then backtrack, feeling a little nosy. “Never mind, you don’t have to answer that.”

  “I don’t mind answering. I’ve got nothing to hide. I’ll be twenty-five at the end of the month. You?”

  “Just turned twenty last month.”

  He grins. “Your name is April…and you were born in April.”

  “Yeah, my parents got real creative with the naming,” I snort. “Taurus pride.”

  “You’re a Taurus? What does that even mean? Are you some kind of bull?”

  I laugh, but he doesn’t flinch.

  “Oh. You’re serious. You don’t know what the signs mean?”

  “Aren’t those signs just silly nonsense that people make up to sell horoscope books?”

  “No. It means I enjoy relaxing places like the beach, and listening to music, and soothing aromas.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, everyone likes those things.”

  “No, I really like aromatherapy candles. My mom and I used to shop for them all the time. Your birthday is in late May, which means you’re a Gemini.” I pull out my phone and look up Gemini. “Here, are you talkative, whimsical, and maybe you have two dueling interests?”

  He gives me a blank stare. “April, you’re not seriously into that stuff, are you?”