Goddess Rising (12 page)

“Austin.”

Samantha nodded. “At least that’s fairly close by. You get down to see her often?”

“I try to, but it’ll be harder this year.”

“And why’s that?” she asked, interest piqued.

Wes hadn’t told many people about his mom, but he figured a girl like Samantha would appreciate this particular tidbit. He leaned forward, like he was getting ready to tell her a secret. Sam moved in a little too, instinctively.

“My mom had me young,” he explained. “Never got the chance to go to college. So I made a deal with her.”

Samantha cocked her head. “What kind of deal?” she asked, leaning closer.

“I go to college, she goes too,” Wes told her with a grin.

Sam lifted her brows. “Seriously?”

Wes nodded. “The first year, we couldn’t afford it, but last year I picked up some side gigs, and I paid the deposit for her first semester.”

That’s what being good at photography and Photoshop bought you
, Wes thought to himself. He’d never really planned on making fake IDs, but the minute he’d been able to pay for his mama to go back to school too, he never looked back. Granted, there were plenty of other perks too—like finally being able to get his father’s old motorcycle restored and then some.

A warm smile spread across Samantha’s face, lighting her up, and Wes thought that made the risk worth it too—to see the surprised admiration in her eyes.

“I’m tempted to take back every mean thing I said about you, Wes Elliott.”

“Well hell,” he laughed. “We’ve only known each other a minute. How many things have you said?”

Sam sipped her drink, a sparkle in her eyes. “So you and your mom: back in school, huh?”

“Figured it was only fair, since I was the reason she didn’t get to go in the first place,” Wes admitted. A waitress brought his ribs out, and he thanked her before gesturing at his plate. “Want some?” he offered.

She shook her head. “I polished off my brisket like I hadn’t eaten in months. Beats school cafeteria food every time.”

“Yeah, it does,” he agreed, biting into one of his ribs before meeting her eyes again. “So I was wondering—”

“No,” Sam stated immediately, not even letting him finish.

Wes sat back. “But you haven’t even heard what I’m about to say.”

Sam shot him a knowing look. “Yeah, well, whatever it is—the answer’s still gonna be ‘no.’”

“Never had a girl turn me down before I asked her for anything,” he marveled.

“Doubt you had a girl turn you down for anything, period,” she replied, fiddling with her straw.

Wes didn’t say anything.

“Admit it, Wesley Elliott,” Sam insisted. “Bet you a hundred bucks all you ever have to do is flash those dimples and girls drop everything, including their common sense.”

Wes’s first instinct was to deny, deny, deny. But somehow he knew she wouldn’t believe it.

“You might be right,” he conceded, a wry grin tugging his mouth. “Why do you always call me by full name?”

Samantha shrugged lightly. “I guess to remind myself who you are.”

“And who am I to you?”

“Trouble,” she replied. “With a capital ‘T,’” she added with a half-smile.

God, but he liked her.

Wes leaned forward. “You look like you could use a little trouble—all buttoned up like that.”

She glanced down at her dress shirt, suddenly self-conscious. She unwittingly picked at the top button, a momentary flutter for the otherwise cool and level-headed Samantha Wyatt.

“I’ve got enough on my plate, Wes,” she said after a moment. “Don’t need you adding to the mix.”

“School, ROTC—” he finished for her. “It’s no wonder you aren’t bored stiff already.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be party animals like you.”

Wes cocked his head. “What makes you say that?”

“Saw you at the Sig party,” Samantha answered flatly.

“Really?” Wes picked up another rib. That had been a few weeks ago. He’d handed over the new fake IDs to the president of the frat, though he doubted she’d know about that. Sam had never been sponsored for a fake ID, and he couldn’t recall seeing her before he’d taken her picture at the Arches. But she seemed to know about him. Or at least
thought
she knew something about him. He wondered briefly if she’d seen him hook-up with a girl or two that night.

“You recognized me,” Wes discerned after a moment of weighted silence. “You knew I took your picture that day, and yet you didn’t say anything.”

Samantha shrugged, though she fiddled with her drink; another brief tell.

Wes had no idea what she knew about him or his MO, but he knew that whatever she did know, she didn’t like. And he’d have to change that.

“Tell you what, Samantha Wyatt—let’s you and I make a deal.”

“This oughtta be good,” she drawled.

“Let’s agree to be honest with one another. The good, the bad, and the ugly,” Wes continued, briefly wondering if he’d lost his damn mind. “Let’s start there and see what we find, shall we?”

Sam considered him for a long moment, expression quizzical, as if she were looking for a sleight of hand. “You have more to lose than to gain on that deal. You know being honest with me probably won’t play in your favor.”

Wes just shrugged. “You already think I’m full of shit—your words, not mine,” he pointed out. “So if we resolve to be honest with each other, I actually stand to gain a great deal.”

“Like what?”

“One, I learn more about you. And two, you might even learn to like me a little when you realize I’m not running game on you.”

“You telling me that won’t run game is actually you running game,” she answered with a laugh.

Wes raised his hands in a supplication. “I swear on my mama’s college tuition.”

Samantha crossed her arms. Wes saw the challenge in her eyes—knew she didn’t think he’d rise to the occasion and back up his own play when pressed.

“You’re wondering if I actually have a mama, aren’t you?” Wes teased.

“The thought did cross my mind,” Samantha confessed. “You must think awfully high of yourself if you think my knowing more about you will make you more attractive to me than lying through that good-lookin’ smile of yours.”

“So you admit you find me attractive.”

“Oh, brother.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got to go.”

Wes snagged her hand as she slid from the booth. “I bartend over at Dixie’s. Come and see me Tuesday night?”

He felt her pulse—the sudden quickening—and he smiled.
Got her.

September—Monday Morning

Language Lab, Texas A&M University

S A M A N T H A

S
am tugged at
her headphones, jotting down her final listening notes for her Mandarin course. The auditory learning wasn’t coming as easy for her as she would have liked, but at least she had a head start with the written characters. Japanese Kanji and traditional Chinese characters weren’t so far off from one another that it felt like she was learning something entirely new, but Sam had to practice twice as hard to get a handle on listening to and translating basic sentences back into English. She was utterly focused on the recording when someone sat down in the listening booth beside her.

Startled, Sam glanced up, smiling when she realized it was Miranda Cross, one of her classmates from advanced Spanish.

“Hey, girl,” Miranda said with a broad grin. “You were listening so hard, I thought I might have to throw a book at you to get your attention.”

“Sorry,” Sam sighed as she leaned back and stretched her back. “You know how it is—you get so focused trying to understand the conversation, you forget everything else going on around you.”

“I was going to grab a cup of coffee. Got ten minutes to catch up and tell me about your summer?”

“Sure.” Sam smiled, following her out of the language lab. Miranda looked fresh and pretty in a floral top, short shorts, and sky-high espadrilles. She had deep russet hair and the kind of blue eyes that made you look twice. Though she was only a year or two older than Sam, Miranda carried herself with the kind of womanly confidence Sam secretly envied. Miranda looked good, and she knew how to flaunt her self-assurance without being overt, and she was such a nice person, you really couldn’t fault her for it anyway.

Sam watched on in amusement as the couple of guys waiting in line at the coffee cart did a double take when Miranda sidled up beside them, automatically moving aside with hopeful expressions so she could order first.

“Thanks, boys,” Miranda told them with a smile before ordering her and Sam a couple of lattes. “So how was your summer?”

“Too hot and too short,” Sam replied, tugging a little self-consciously at the ROTC uniform she was required to wear a couple times a week.

“Oh, come on—you can do better than that,” Miranda responded, rolling her eyes. “Tell me about the handsome rodeo rider you romanced or the outlaw you caught trying to steal cattle off your family’s land.”

“Good Lord, are you sure you’re studying to be a journalist?” Sam teased. “You might do better becoming a romance novelist.”

“Ironic observation from the girl who’s studying modern languages and yet manages to evade every single good question with the world’s most boring answers. ‘Too hot and too short,’” Miranda mimicked with an eye roll. “Good grief.”

“Well, all right—how was yours?”

Miranda’s answering smile was nearly feline. “Learned to scuba dive in Mexico, went out on a few
very
good dates, and I went and visited my uncle at Polunsky prison over in Livingston.” She leaned forward. “I think I’m going to write an article or two about it for the school paper.”

Sam’s brows rose. “Damn. You’re for real?”

“Yep,” Miranda nodded. “He’s doing time for vehicular manslaughter. Serves him right too. He was driving after drinking enough Jack Daniels to drown a tortoise. But while I was there, I noticed some curious things about the white to non-white ratio of death row inmates.” Miranda got a glint in her eye. “I need to run the idea past my professor, but I think the story might have some legs.”

“Speaking of legs, I think the guys behind you might have a hard time getting their tongues back into their mouths,” Sam drawled as she and Miranda accepted their coffees.

Miranda glanced over her shoulder, caught one of them ogling, and winked. The poor guy turned beet red.

“You’re terrible.” Sam laughed as she watched the guy blush red to his roots.

“They like the attention,” Miranda replied airily as she led them toward a warm patch of grass nearby. “Now come on—quit holding out on me,” she coaxed as they sat down. “Tell me something good.”

Sam scanned back over her summer trying to think of something good to say, but in all reality, the most interesting thing that had happened to her recently was meeting Wes. And she bet a girl like Miranda would know exactly how to handle a guy like him. Maybe Miranda could give her some sound advice.

“I did meet a guy,” Sam admitted. “Well, a couple guys actually.”

Miranda grinned broadly. “I
knew
you were holding out!”

“Well, one’s more of a friend. Reminds me a lot of the guys I grew up with,” Sam admitted with a shrug. And Chris did. He reminded her of the handful of guys she’d gone on dates with back in her home county. Wholesome, corn-fed, good ol’ boys as comforting as mama and apple pie.

“The other one is…” Sam thought of Wes’s smile, the glint in his eye when he looked at her. “He’s harder to figure out.”

Miranda shot her an inquisitive look as she leaned back on the grass. “Is he hard to figure out, or are you just not sure you’re ready for what you already know?”

“Maybe that,” Sam admitted. “He’s interesting. Totally different from any guy I’ve ever met.”

“How so?”

“He’s artistic—a creative guy.” She took a sip of her coffee, savoring the taste. “Kind of a free spirit, I guess. I like that about him.”

Sam smiled. “He took a picture of me. It was hanging up in the student center. I guess it won some kind of award.”

Miranda cocked her head, slowly lowering her cup as she considered Sam with a look in her eyes, like she’d just put two and two together and couldn’t quite believe the answer was sitting right in front of her.

“What?” Sam asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You wouldn’t be talking about Wes Elliott by any chance, would you?” Miranda asked.

“You know him?” Sam replied, surprised.

“You could say that.” Miranda sat back on her arms on the soft grass, crossing her legs as she slid her sunglasses over her eyes.

Sam sipped her coffee for a moment, feeling unsure.
Had Miranda dated him? Were they friends? They were both journalism majors—did they have class together?

“You be careful with that one, Sammy,” Miranda advised.

“Okay…But why?”

“Because that boy’s hornier than a three-peckered billy goat, and you can take that to the bank,” Miranda answered succinctly. She slid up gracefully and smiled at Sam as she picked up her bag. “I’ve got to get to my next class, but it’s always good seeing you, Sammy.”