Reckless (46 page)

“Yeah. I’ve told her a hundred times how bad you feel,” Romeo said.

“And you told her that Brandon had totally come on to me? Not the other way around?”

“Yes, Sam,” Romeo reassured compassionately. “I don’t think she’s actually mad at you. More than anything, I think she’s just sad. You know how it is, Kamiko’s so busy with studying, she never gets out, never dates, and that hot bastard Brandsome had to go and send her a bunch of mixed signals on New Year's Eve. She’s probably been making secret wedding plans ever since.”

“Doesn’t she tell you everything?” I asked.

“Usually. I mean, she’s been prattling on about Brandsome non-stop for weeks. But I know Kamiko. I’m starting to think she was holding something back. I guess I didn’t realize how bad she had it for the guy.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m a little worried about her,” he said. “She’s been secluding herself more and more lately. It’s not good for her.”

“Is there anything we can do?” I asked. “I mean, I know she’s not talking to me, but I want to help somehow.”

“If you’ve got any of that love potion you used on Christos left over, maybe we can trick Brandsome into drinking some,” Romeo joked.

I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “I wish I did,” I smiled forlornly.

“Wait, I know!” Romeo said. “Professor Bittinger is a witch! Maybe she can stir up a fresh batch in her cauldron!”

I smiled. “Sadly, I think if she knew how to brew potions, she would’ve already used one on Hunter.”

“You’re right,” Romeo sighed. “I guess all we can do is give Kamiko time to get over it.”

“Yeah,” I said. I glanced at the clock on the wall. We still had a few minutes until class started. Professor Cogdill still hadn’t arrived. I looked around the room and saw that all the students were chatting or setting up. All had a lightness of spirit and purpose. Except Kamiko.

She sat on a stool, slumped over, totally miserable. She was breaking my heart. I walked over to her.

“Hey, Kamiko,” I said quietly.

She looked up at me with heavy eyes that revealed an equally heavy heart. She didn’t respond.

“I, um, Kamiko? I just wanted to say again I’m really sorry about what happened. It wasn’t my fault. Brandon came onto me, and when you left I told him what a jerk he was for treating you like that.” I sounded nervous, and the proximity of the other students wasn’t helping. At least they were engaged with setting up, or were chatting with the other students nearby. I wished this conversation had been private, but I hadn’t been able to find a better location. I was desperate.

Kamiko stared back at me, her face long. She looked completely miserable. Was I making things worse? Should I leave her alone? I glanced back at Romeo. He shrugged his shoulders sympathetically. He didn’t know what the answer was either.

I squeezed around Kamiko’s easel until I was standing beside her. I put my hand tenderly on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Kamiko. I really am. I don’t know what else to say. But it makes me sad to see you hurting like this.”

Kamiko had to crane her head to look up at me. The naked heartbreak in her tearing eyes almost broke mine.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. I wanted to hug her. I leaned tentatively toward her.

She shrugged me off and turned back to stare at her feet.

I let my hand slide from her shoulder as I walked back toward my easel. I was ready to cry. I needed to step outside for a minute. When I opened the door to the studio, Professor Cogdill came walking in.

“Thank you, Miss Smith,” he beamed. “You must have X-Ray vision to have seen me coming through a solid door,” he quipped.

I stammered, “Oh, uh, no, I…”

He smiled back. “It’s okay, your secret’s safe with me,” he winked. “Ready to start painting?”

“Yeah,” I muttered. I would have to save my cry over Kamiko’s distress until after class. It made me so sad to see her like this, but there was nothing I could do. Romeo was right. She needed time to heal. I just wanted to help take away her pain somehow. But I couldn’t. I could only offer support which she didn’t necessarily have to take.

Maybe she just hurt so bad because she thought the whole world was against her. I could totally relate.
 

I knew what it was like to have strict parents like hers. Hers were pushing hard for her to become a doctor as soon as she possibly could. But all you had to do was take one look at all the paintings covering her dorm room to realize that maybe medicine wasn’t the path for her.

Sadly, no matter what I did, I couldn’t change her situation. It was her struggle between herself and her parents. Would she grab hold of her dreams and never let them go, or would she succumb to the demands of her family?

I almost felt guilty for having Christos in my life. He was the one light that had guided me into safe harbor from the tumultuous, miserable life I had lived back in Washington D.C. under both the iron influence of my parents and the rejection of my peers.
 

For all I knew, Kamiko was wishing that Brandon Charboneau would be her Christos, her savior from a bleary future she didn’t want, her guide out of the prison of her parents’ dictatorial demands. And now Brandon had closed that door for her.

As I returned to my painting easel next to Romeo, I silently thanked my good fortune that I had Christos in my life. I feared that without him, I would be as distraught and lost as Kamiko was right at that moment.

I shivered and pushed my dark thoughts away, determined not to fall prey to my own morbid worries.

Besides, I had my own issues left to deal with. When Oil Painting was over, I would have to go to Sculpting and face Hunter Blakeley. I still hadn’t seen him since the incident with Christos.

SAMANTHA

Romeo had lunch with Kamiko after Oil Painting, just the two of them. He told me was getting worried about her, and wanted to check in with her privately. I understood.

I bought a sandwich at the Student Center convenience store and went to the Central Fountain to eat in solitude.
 

I sat down on a bench and unwrapped my sandwich. I couldn’t believe how warm it was for February. My heavy winter coats were all packed away in the back of my closet in my apartment. I didn’t think I’d ever need them in San Diego. The thought brought a smile to my face.

While I chewed on a bite of my sandwich, I glanced around and noticed someone carrying a huge bouquet of flowers along one of the walkways that connected to the Central Fountain.

I wondered who the flowers could be for. Maybe they were going to some professor’s office, a gift from a secret admirer, delivered by some singing telegram man? Maybe some graduate student was about to propose marriage to another graduate student who was a T.A, and the guy with the flowers was going to walk into his girlfriend’s section in front of a bunch of undergrads, and get down on one knee? I smiled. The romantic possibilities were endless.

I smiled to myself as the massive bouquet and whoever was carrying them approached the fountain. I felt increasingly nervous as the flowers got closer and closer. By now, I would’ve expected the person holding them to have turned and headed off toward their destination.

But the flower man kept coming, until he stopped right at my feet.

Gulp.

I couldn’t see around the bouquet. Who was it?

Christos?

The flower man lowered the bouquet.

Hunter Blakeley.

Oh, great.

I had a moment to thank the fact that Kamiko wasn’t here to witness yet another guy throwing himself at me. Not that Hunter was right for Kamiko. Hunter was right for himself, and that was about it.
 

“Hey, Sam,” Hunter smiled.

Yes he was handsome. For once, he didn’t have his aviator sunglasses on and his amber eyes seemed to glow like warm embers in the overcast light.

“Hey, Hunter.” Did I sound like I was groaning? I didn’t want to be rude, but I didn’t exactly want to be polite to Hunter, either. Not after how he’d treated Romeo and Christos. Screw it. Maybe I needed to be rude.
 

“I bought these for you,” Hunter smiled, setting the bouquet down on the bench next to me. “Think of it as a peace offering. For what I said to your friend,” Hunter smiled.

Did he expect me to thank him? After what he’d said and done? I glared at him. “He has a name, you know,” I growled.

Hunter’s smile dimmed slightly.

“You don’t even know his name, do you?” I shook my head. “You’re a jerk, Hunter.”

“Would it help if I said I’m sorry?” he asked.

“Not to me, it wouldn’t. Besides, I can see right through you, Hunter. You’re not here because you care about my friend’s feelings. His name is Romeo, by the way. Maybe you can remember that and apologize to him the next time you see him.”

Hunter scoffed at my suggestion.

“Yeah,” I smirked, “that’s what I thought. You’re just making a play for me, Hunter.”

His mouth opened to protest.

“Zip it,” I barked. “Let me try this one more time. You have met my boyfriend. He is a real person. We are in love. And…I. Am. Not. Interested. Okay?”

“But—”

“Do I need to hire a skywriter to put it up in smoke clouds for all of San Diego to see? ‘Samantha Smith has a boyfriend. She is not going to date Hunter Blakeley. Or go out with him. Ever.’” Did I sound harsh? Maybe I did, because I was mad. I wasn’t going to let Hunter get away with being charming when I knew it was all an act. A Lame Damian sort of act.

The quivering smile on Hunter’s face gave it all away. He was forcing himself to smile. Trying to hide his anger. Not because he thought his anger was inappropriate or undeserved in this situation, but because he knew it worked against his goal of getting in my pants. That was it. I believed he lacked any genuine compassion. Any he may have given would have just been for show.

I gave Hunter a flat smile. “You should probably go,” I said. “No, never mind, I’m leaving.” I packed up my sandwich, grabbed my book bag, and walked away, leaving Hunter and his ridiculous bouquet at the Central Fountain.

I wasn’t at all surprised when Hunter showed up in Sculpting class an hour later without the bouquet. Maybe he smartened up and gave it to Marjorie. Somehow, I doubted it. I was, however, completely surprised that Hunter didn’t speak to me during any of the breaks during class, and didn’t follow me after class.

Had he finally gotten the message? I hoped so. Because I had far more important things to worry about than Hunter Blakeley. As I drove home from campus, I thought about the fact that I needed to actually call my parents and tell them I was moving out of my apartment, and didn’t need their bribery money to become an Accountant.

I was done with that.

I was going to be an artist.

When I pulled into my apartment and clomped upstairs, I was determined to figure out exactly what to say to them to set them at ease. My stomach flipped and dropped at the thought.

After distracting myself for several hours with homework, I decided I needed some advice about handling my parents.

I decided to give Christos a call. He would know what to say, even if all he had to offer was encouragement.

Unfortunately, he didn’t answer his phone.

I left a message and hoped he’d call back soon.

Too bad I didn’t hear back from Christos until late the next day.

Chapter 23

CHRISTOS

After spending another day in my studio with Isabella, I sent her home and picked up the mail. I opened an invoice from Russell Merriweather’s law firm. There were way too many zeroes in the amount after the dollar sign.

At the rate I was blowing through my cash, I was going to be broke before my trial was over. Oh well. Being broke beat going to prison.

I walked to the hand-carved mahogany liquor cabinet in the living room and debated having a drink. Whiskey sounded really good. As I reached for a clean glass, an image of Samantha flashed through my head, followed by a picture of my mom walking out the front door of my parents’ house for the last time.

After releasing a heavy sigh, I set down the glass and decided to go for a jog up the hill to my grandad’s bench instead. I always loved sitting up there and enjoyed the view. It was meditative and exactly what I needed to relax.

I changed to running clothes and walked out the front door of the house, ready to get my blood pumping.

A black Mercedes convertible whipped off the street and drove up my driveway.

Tiffany.

Great.
 

Her dad was in the car with her.
 

Even worse.

The shining car rolled to a stop right in front of me. Tiffany was all smiles, “Hey Christos.”

“Hey, Tiffany,” I sighed. “Hey, Mr. Kingston-Whitehouse.” I hated calling him that. I think he liked that I, and probably everyone else who knew him, hated calling him that. His first name was hyphenated too. Westin-Conrad. No shit. All those syllables. It took two weeks just to say the guy’s damn name. Westin-Conrad Kingston-Whitehouse the
Filth
.
 

Filthy, as in dirty.
 

For short, I thought of him as Wes-Con.

The only difference between Wes-Con and your average street criminal was the expensive team of lawyers he kept on retainer. Fucking nouveau American Royalty.

Anyway, I knew for a fact Wes-Con never drove himself anywhere. He always had a chauffeur. But Tiffany loved to drive, so I’m sure she’d offered to take the wheel for Dear Old Dad.
 

Wes-Con would do anything for Daddy’s little girl.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked while opening Tiffany’s door for her. Like I said, it was a gentleman thing.

She was all tan legs and about an inch of skirt. Her pastel top was equally minimalistic, showcasing more of her lusciously tan shoulders and delicate neckline.
 

Tiffany gave me her hand, like she couldn’t stand up without my help. I indulged. It was easier than making an issue out of it. She stood and I closed the door.

Wes-Con gave me a wide-eyed look when I didn’t dash around to open his door, like he was stuck inside Tiff’s convertible. He could get out of his own damn car. Believe it or not, he unbuckled his own seatbelt, but he fumbled with the door handle, like he’d forgotten how door handles worked from lack of practice, before climbing out of the car. He played off his ignorance like it was normal.