Page 11 of Bedding Rose
Me:Rose. (!)
Me:Rose, you better not push me. (!)
Fuck! Fuck.
* * *
The Next Day
I lieand tell my dad I’m going to the doctor for a nonstop migraine. It’s the only thing I can think of to get him off my back and get away from the job site for a few hours.
I feel like the fucking psycho she accused me of being when I park at the college campus. But I’m already in this deep. Screw it. I pull the parking brake on my truck and slam the door shut before strolling through the grounds, eyes peeled for Rose. I’ve reached a tipping point.
My father raised me to be a pit bull. To latch on and not give up. And last night, all I could picture as I laid in bed was some guy hurting Rose—shoving her, hitting her, calling her a piece of shit, making her believe she’s unworthy … my imagination’s gone off the deep end.
Perhaps Dad pulled me out of the underbelly of our work too soon. Maybe I’m more suited for that kind of shit than the respectable management position he wants me in now, because I’m itching, festering, needling to hurt someone. And that need is infecting me, turning me into this sick, twisted stalker.
Maybe I’m blowing this all out of proportion. Maybe nothing that traumatic happened to Rose. But I have to know for sure because these nightmares are burrowing into my brain and writhing around unchecked, taking over my thoughts and turning me into an insomniac. At this point, I don’t just need to know, I crave it.
I grab a soda from inside the Student Union building before strolling outside into the crisp morning air, ignoring the looks I get. The tattoos sleeving my arms have earned me side-eyed glances since the day I got them. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m not wearing a winter coat like ninety percent of the nerdy short guys shuffling around here. But they wouldn’t be wearing a coat if they’d been up since five, hauling wood and wallboard and climbing beams on an eighteen-story building. I shucked off my coat and my Walker Construction polo when I got here, so I’m walking around in a white tee that’s on the thinner side. It probably shows off the work on my chest. Whatever. I don’t care if I fit in with these preppy punks. I just want to find Rose and put an end to this idiotic worry winding me up tighter than a nun’s twat.
Every girl who walks by with a set of black curls turns my head, but none of them is her. They don’t have those red lips that keep popping up whenever I close my eyes or a sad, soulful green gaze. I grind my teeth back and forth in frustration as time wears on. I need to get back to the site, I’ve left Jorge in charge at the new hotel we’re constructing, and he has a habit of skimping on safety.
Five more minutes. Just five more,I promise myself as I walk over to the Center of the Universe on the west side of the campus. It’s this stupid concrete monstrosity some artist built with two intersecting tunnels that form a big X. There’s a third tunnel that shoots up to the sky like a giant skylight and plummets into the ground. When you stand on a grate in the middle it’s supposed to feel like you’re in the center of a star. What it actually feels like is standing in the New York subway tunnels. It’s ugly and drab and carries the faint stench of rot from all the dead leaves moldering under the grate.
Fucking artists.
It’s not even great concrete work. Parts of it are pitted more than others—I could go on about the workmanship, but amongst all the students scurrying around like ants, I spot Lily, one of Rose’s friends, walking to class.
“Lily!” I call out, raising a hand and striding forward. “Hey!”
She turns, flicking her light brown hair and smiling flirtatiously until she realizes I’m not smiling back. Lily’s … to say not my type is an understatement. She’s one of those high-maintenance chicks who thinks the sun shines out her asshole.
It takes her a second to recognize me, so I decide to reintroduce myself and speed the process up.
“Angelo. Quique’s friend. Rose’s brother, Enrique.” I give the quick rundown without mincing any words as I shove my hands into the pockets of my cargo pants.
“Hi …” she trails off, clearly waiting for me to explain myself.
But then, I find myself at a loss for words. Shit, what can I ask without it getting back to Quique that I’m sniffing around his sister? Does Lily know about Rose’s cutting habit? Or am I wasting my time?
“Have you seen Rose? I was supposed to meet her.” The lie slips out and it’s as good as any, so I roll with it.
“Um, I think she’s got an English class or something right now.”
“Crap.” Of course, she’s in class. And never home. And avoiding me. “Has she seemed … off lately?”
Lily’s eyes widen in this excited but almost predatory way that girls get when they scent gossip. “What do you mean?” She takes a step closer and her disgusting floral perfume invades my mouth.
I take a sip of soda to wash away the taste and also to buy myself time to think of something to say. I end up going the nonverbal route. I give a shrug, as if I don’t care.
“Did something happen?” Yeah, she’s practically frothing at the mouth. This could go either really well or really badly for me.
“She didn’t tell you?” I try to twist it, to turn it on her, make her wonder if Rose trusts her.
Her face twists into a thoughtful expression as she purses her lips and tries to think. “Was it the Alpha Tau party? I told her she didn’t have to come with me—One sec.” I hear the quiet pulse of Lily’s phone as she pulls it out of her back pocket. “Oh, look. She’s texting me. She must be done with class.”
Before I can stop her, Lily’s texted Rose and I watch with a sinking feeling in my gut as Lily’s phone vibrates in her hand. Her manicured nails curl around it as she lifts it to her ear. Her gaze turns steely as she glares at me before she turns, without a word, and strides away from me. I’ve been iced out.
