Finding Dandelion (Dearest #2) (8 page)

My face flushes again. Oh my God.
Been there. Done that.

“Mom, stop. You’re embarrassing me.” Nothing freaks me out more than talking about guys, kissing, or sex with my mother. I used to think she was shy too, but since the cancer, she lets it all hang out.

“Don’t feel ashamed. Embrace it. Stop feeling sorry for me. Figure out what you want, and go after it. That’s what college is for. If you find you don’t like your major, change it. But don’t live quietly. No regrets, okay? Promise me.”

I’m surprised when fat tears roll down my face. Knowing that my mother, the only person I have on the planet, almost died reaches into a part of me I didn’t know existed. I never cried when she was sick. I thought she needed me to be strong. I held it in until we got word it was in remission and then I bawled until my eyes nearly swelled shut. I was never a big crier before that, but I’ve had a hard time shutting down those floodgates since then.

I sniffle. “No regrets. I promise.” I pull the phone away from my face to take a deep breath. “Mom?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you, and I’m really proud of you. You’re the best parent I could have had.”

Fortunately, she skips the joke about how she’s my only parent. Which isn’t true, of course. I have a father somewhere. Or at least he’s the one who deposited sperm, played house until I was ten and then took off because he “couldn’t handle the stress.” Whatever that means.

“Sweetheart, you’ve made it easy. I love you.”

* * *

Despite the pep talk from my mom, the week starts out painful, every class a drag, every shift at work irritating.

By Wednesday, though, I no longer want to dropkick Laura. She seems to be picking up her end of this partnership and is actually helping around the art lab. She’s a techie and can solve any student’s software issues in the time it takes me to identify the problem.

Since we coordinate everyone else’s schedules, we get the choice spots, so I take a few midday slots each week. I use my time to finish some new designs for Professor Zinzer, who stops by on his way out each day.

Zin is cute. He’s older, maybe in his late sixties, and wears a different-colored bow tie every day of the week.

“Ms. Hart, now don’t be offended by this, but are you sure you’re a business student?”

His question surprises me. I brace myself for what I’m sure will be some kind of insult because I know my grades haven’t always been great. My business professors are so nitpicky and annoying. They’ll love my presentations but dock me a full letter grade on projects because of my clothes or the streaks in my hair. They want me to wear conservative clothes and tie my hair up in a bun. #HellNo At least I look pretty normal when I’m hanging in the art department.

“I’m sorry, sir, what?”

“Your work for me is spectacular. I’m wondering if you’re not a pro masquerading as a student.”

Exhaling in relief, I smile. “You’re too kind, but I can assure you that I’m very much a student.”

Zin drags a nearby chair to my desk and sits. He glances around the bustling lab and then lowers his voice. “I don’t say this often because the kids around here are usually full of their own virtue, but I wanted to let you know that you have a lot of natural artistic talent. Your drawings are spectacular and your graphic design top-notch.” He scratches his chin. “You know, if you ever want to audit some courses in my little nook of the universe, I could make that happen.”

I knew he was happy with my brochures, but I’m a little floored by his compliment. I rewrote his marketing materials, drew some original artwork, scanned them in, tweaked the colors in Photoshop, and had everything printed out for his approval before he asked. But I figured that’s what the job called for.

“Thank you, Professor. I’d really like that.”  Actually, I’d love it.

After only two weeks of business classes, none of which have been particularly inspiring, I’d be crazy to pass up his offer even if it means my schedule will be jam-packed.
Then I wouldn’t have to lie to my mom.

He reaches for a laptop and pulls up a screen of class listings.

“Some of these are full, but take a look and see what catches your eye. See me tomorrow with your top three choices, and we’ll go from there and figure out what we can work into your schedule.”

My day gets better when I bump into Jenna on the way home. We grab some mochas, and she surprises me when she loops her arm through mine as we walk down the street like we’re the oldest of friends.

“Okay, girl. I know we haven’t had a chance to hang out, and I want the scoop. Dish.”

“That’s a little broad, Jenna.” I laugh. “What do you want to know?”

“Any hot men in your life? I love Ryan, but sometimes I need to live vicariously through my friends. Plus, I’m taking this romance writing class this semester, and I’m out of ideas.”

“I don’t think I have anything juicy enough for your class.”

“Weren’t you dating that guy last semester?”

“Pshaw. That’s over. Way, way over.”

She frowns. “Bummer.”

“Not so much. He’s an ass.” We walk in silence, and I bump her with my hip. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but I did kinda hook up with someone last weekend.”

Her eyes widen like she’s won the lottery. “Shut up! When?”

“At the club. When I was blowing you off, I was busy with this beautiful guy in the green room.”

She squeals like a teenager, and a few people on the corner turn to watch us.

“He made my toes curl. He was so gorgeous. Tall, totally ripped, messy brownish-blond hair. The best kisser.”

“Yum!” She shivers dramatically, and I laugh again. “Are you going to see him again?”

I shake my head. “No. It’s not like that.” Although I wish it were.

She frowns again but then sighs. “At least you have some good spank bank material, though.”

I don’t bother fighting the smile that peeks out on my face. “Definitely.”

“Speaking of tickling the taco, my sister threw a sex toy party, and she said it was a blast.” A snort of laughter bursts out of me.
Tickling the taco?
Jenna smiles conspiratorially. “I’m thinking of throwing one later this semester. This company demos all their stuff while we get trashed. Sound like fun?”

Still chuckling, I nod. “Count me in.”

“Good. Now maybe you can help me talk Clem into it. She’s too hermetically sealed. I want to help her loosen up.”

I tense. I’ve said hi to Clem all week, and she barely mumbles any kind of greeting in return. I even asked if she wanted to watch
Glee
, and she rolled her eyes at me. Again.

“What?” Jenna asks.

Maybe I shouldn’t say anything, but I can’t seem to help my diarrhea of the mouth. “I know you and Clem are really tight, but… I don’t think she likes me.”

She pulls me to a stop. “I know Clementine seems like a total bitch on a good day, but give her time to get to know you. There’s no one more loyal. She’s just been through a lot of shit, so she doesn’t trust people, and she’s kind of in her own world, but once you get to know her, you’ll love her. I promise.”

I nod hesitantly. “Okay.”

Jenna laughs. “She’s going to kill me for saying this, but you should ask to read her book. She’s this amazing writer, and no one knows ’cause she writes under a pen name. She’s super private. But if she lets you read it, you’ll get a whole new insight into her. The book is really about what happened to her in high school with her ex and her asshole parents. Clem’s life is a soap opera, but you’d never know it.”

Now I’m intrigued.

Jenna turns me to her, a serious expression on her face. “I’m only telling you this because I trust you. Being friends with Clem is hardcore. You can’t screw her over.”

My spine straightens. I’m not sure if I should be afraid or offended.

Her eyes soften. “Sorry, I don’t mean to freak you out. I love her like a sister, and if you knew the shit she’s gone through, you’d be protective of her too. And I want the two of you to be close, which is why I’m putting this out there.”

I get it. Jenna is Clem’s Travis. He’d walk through fire for me. “It’s cool. I understand.”

* * *

On Sunday, I finally get a chance to hang out with Clem. She’s gorgeous with long blondish-brown hair and big blue eyes. I know she works out like a maniac because every time I see her, she’s headed out for a run. She looks amazing even in sweats, which is what we’re all wearing.

I drank a little too much with Travis last night, so I’m fighting a hangover, and I’m sure I look like hell. My hair is pulled up into a ponytail, and I didn’t bother with any makeup. Whatever. We’re just doing laundry at Ryan’s and making lunch.

I’m stuffed in the back seat of a Honda Civic, squished next to Clem, bags of dirty laundry at our feet, when her book comes up.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she says, complaining about her book cover. “I don’t really want to deal with hiring a designer.”

“You don’t need a designer. I can do a cover for you.” I reach into my purse, hoping I can find some gum so I don’t kill her with my hangover breath.

Her face lights up like I just told her Henry Cavill wants her to have his baby. “That would be huge! I will totally pay you.”

I shake my head. “No way. You’re my roommate. It’s, like, against the code or something.”

She pauses to look at Jenna and then turns back to me. “Okay, if you’re not going to take my money, let me buy you some art supplies because I know that shit is expensive.”

With that new art class I’m auditing, I could use some supplies. I offer her a stick of gum. “Deal, but I want to read your book. Jenna says you’re a great writer.”

She kicks Jenna’s seat and then pauses. Silence fills the car. I’m about to say it’s not a big deal and to forget it when she says, “All right, but you’re sworn to secrecy. I write under a pen name, and I don’t want that getting out. And when I say secrecy, we’re talking blood oath or I get your first child.”

I laugh, but I know she’s being serious.

Once we start talking about designs and concepts, she lets her guard down, and the conversation flows easily. When Clem isn’t scowling, she’s downright captivating with a natural kind of charisma. It makes me wonder what happened to her that has her so closed off, which makes me more eager to read her book.

When we reach Ryan’s house, we lug the laundry up the stairs. I trail behind, too tired to keep up. Inside, I hear Ryan call my roommate Clemster. I’m surprised she doesn’t punch him, but Ryan seems to be able to say things no one else can.

I drop the laundry in the hall and duck into the kitchen to put a few groceries in the refrigerator. Jenna pops in behind me.

“I should warn you,” she whispers. “Have you met Clem’s twin?”

I turn to look at her. “No.”

“He’s here, and he’s totally beautiful but kind of a man-whore. Don’t let him charm you. Clem kinda hates when he tries to hookup with her friends.” Her Southern accent is soft with a musical quality to it, but I know she means business.

“Good to know. Thanks for the warning.”

This is what I need. Girl bonding. I haven’t thought about what happened last weekend all morning. Thank God. Maybe I’m over it. Over him. Who needs hot hookups in a club when you have good girlfriends?

Jenna winks and hands me a beer. I wander into the living room, which is full of guys. The Notre Dame theme music is blaring from the flatscreen that’s mounted on the wall, and I turn to try to figure out the score.

“Cool. Who are the Irish playing?” I ask no one in particular. Ryan comes up and hugs me.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hi, Ryan.” I grin. Jenna’s boyfriend is awesome. I met him for twenty minutes last week, and he immediately treated me like one of their inner circle.

“They’re playing Stanford. I didn’t know you were a football fan.”

“Yeah, I love football and basketball, but really, I like anything that includes mascots, beer and brats.”

“I knew I liked you. Hey, I don’t think you’ve met my band.” He turns me to face everyone and starts to introduce me to his friends.

But I don’t hear anything he says because sitting there, at the end of the couch, is a familiar face. A very familiar face.

My breathing stops, and sweat breaks out on my forehead.

Finally, Ryan’s words break through my fog. “And this asshole here is Jax, Clem’s twin. You’ll want to stay away from him,” Ryan jokes. “He’s a slut.”

Yeah. I caught that already.

Shit.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

- Dani -

What’s worse than learning you almost slept with your new roommate’s brother? Um, that would be him not remembering you.

I wait for the recognition, the look in his eyes that says, yes, I went down on you and lapped you up like a Slurpee, but it never comes. In fact, he barely glances in my direction. Finally, he yells, “Down in front, girls.”