Everything Unexpected
* * * *
Everything Unexpected
a novel
Copyright © 2016 by Caroline Nolan
Cover design by
Okay Creations
Formatting by
JT Formatting
All rights reserved.
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the authors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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To my husband,
Because sometimes, the best lovers are best friends first.
FIRST COMES LOVE,
Then comes marriage.
Then comes—err
Wait…
Five Years Ago
LOUD THUMPING BEATS of overplayed hip-hop blasts from the floor to ceiling speakers found all throughout the house. Discarded empty red plastic cups scatter the floor while those that are still half full are left to sit on any available space in the room—in between the DVD’s that fill the bookcases, among the workout magazines on the coffee table, and on every inch of the enormous mantle that hangs over the never used fireplace.
People are in every crevice of this house. Every corner is occupied with drunk college students, laughing, yelling, dancing. Groups of girls are grinding against each other in the middle of the living room, their bodies moving to the overly loud beats of Eminem. And from the corner, a cluster of fraternity brothers holler and whistle at them when they aren’t too busy competing against each other on who can down their beer the fastest. There’s a group sitting on what little furniture still remains in the room, rolling and smoking weed, passing joints around in a circle, the air around them turning thick and foggy. Just walking past them is enough to give me a little high. Up the stairs, I watch a couple pair off, opening and closing bedroom doors, looking for an available room to start their own private party.
This is the mirror image of any stereotypical college party found in any college movie ever made. Right down to the beautiful girls, football player jocks and every other social circle in between in attendance. Only, unlike the lead character from all those movies, I’m not the brooding college quarterback nor am I the loner who doesn’t belong. I’m not the guy who wishes he could be anywhere else. In truth, I actually enjoy these parties and come for the exact same reason everyone else does.
To have fun.
I scan the crowd around me but many are faces I don’t recognize. Though the view isn’t bad. Most of these strange faces belong to beautiful young women with their long hair flowing, tanned skin glowing and lips full of bright smiles.
Attending a clichéd fraternity party at a Southern Florida University definitely has its perks. Short skirts and low cut shirts—sometimes even a simple bikini top is the preferred school uniform. I’ve been around it my entire life. Being a native of Florida, I’ve become accustomed to seeing half-naked girls everywhere. It’s the reason I can also always tell who the out of state people are. Especially the guys. The ones who came here from Kansas, Ohio, or Michigan. They’re the ones who usually have their mouths open and tongues out, eyes wide and head spinning.
To be fair and not to single out the guys, the out of state girls are often just as easy to spot. The ones that relish in the notion Mom and Dad are no longer around to see what they’re wearing—or rather, what they’ve left off. The ones who aren’t used to summer weather all year long. The ones who believe the more skin you show, the more local you’ll seem.
Walking into another room, my eyes fall on a brunette who must really be trying to come off as a pure Floridian. Her pink tank top is cut so short you can see ribs. It has the words
Baby Doll
written across her chest in sparkly letters. Her exposed hips and stomach twist and turn as she dances, her barely covered chest bouncing slightly under the thin fabric.
As a twenty-one year old junior, these kind of movements grab my attention. I dare you to try and find a red blooded college guy who wouldn’t look. But I know everything from her outfit to her dance moves are skillfully planned out because when Baby Doll looks my way and catches me staring at those sparkly letters, she doesn’t give me a dirty look. Instead, her lips curl into a flirty smirk, flattered by my attention. So as much as a twenty-one-year-old male’s eyes like to look, twenty-one-year-old females like to be seen.
“Shane! Over here,” Bryan my best friend yells at me, cocking his head to the side, indicating for me to follow him.
His loud voice carries over the speakers and breaks the eye contact between Baby Doll and myself. She may not be my type but it doesn’t stop me from silently thanking the University of Miami for accepting imports from all over the country.
I work my way through the kitchen and the heavy crowd that’s fused itself around the counter and continue to the back room of the house. I still have yet to recognize anyone, but that’s not all that surprising since I no longer attend
this
school. Nearly two years ago I dropped out of business studies and transferred to another school a few miles up the road. I’m currently majoring in a subject that’s captured my attention ever since my high school art class—photography.
Not everyone was excited about the change. A
‘fool hearted and reckless choice’
I heard relentlessly. Leaving behind a business degree which guaranteed me stability in the future for the ridiculous pursuit of a hobby that had very little chance of becoming anything more than just that. My father’s words exactly.
“What kind of career do you expect to have with an art degree? You’ll be taking children’s school pictures if you’re lucky!” he told me, clearly frustrated.
My mother, on the other hand, was much more accepting. But that’s Charlotte Carlisle for you. She believes in following one’s passion. After all, she had done so with my father years ago when he started his own company. She stood by me and my choice. She came to my defense and assured me my schooling would continue to be paid for. She went up to bat for me against my father, arguing I was young and now was the time for me to explore all my options. She made the case that there would always be time for me to find my way back into business if ever that needed to happen and if that’s what
I
wanted. She’s really one of the only people I know who can stand up to my father like that.