Chapter 20

I woke up the next morning without my alarm clock, although I suffered a moment of disorientation as I stared up at the wall above me. A poster of a guy stared back. He was tan and fit, with dark hair and blue eyes and very white teeth. My eyes trailed lower and I stared at the bulge of his Speedos as something about the previous night nagged at me, something about the shape of his swimsuit.

I groaned when I remembered what it was—Christy’s panties—since I still didn’t have a clue what I was going to do with them. I couldn’t put them back in the drawer, and I definitely didn’t want to leave them as a surprise in the dirty clothes hamper. Christy had brothers, after all, and would probably recognize dried semen.

The only thing I could think of was to wash them and return them without her finding out, but that was easier said than done. Part of me hoped they might have disappeared during the night, taken by the Soiled Panties Fairy, but I wasn’t that lucky: they were still on the floor next to Wren’s bed. I stuffed them in the side pocket of my duffel bag as I pulled out my running clothes.

It was early enough that Ash and Zoë were still asleep. I emerged from the first bedroom, tiptoed down the hall, and quietly let myself out. Upstairs at my own apartment, I opened the door and set my duffel bag in the foyer without even stepping inside. Then I rode the elevator down and walked through the deserted lobby.

The morning air was so cold that it almost hurt to breathe, but it cleared away the cobwebs from the night before. I did my stretches and slowly worked the kinks out. Then I checked the time and began to run. I settled into a distance-eating pace and quickly lost myself in my thoughts.

As usual, I had a dozen questions and no real answers. My thoughts drifted from Daphne to Sara to Christy and then back to Daphne. I even thought about Jamie and his weird attitude toward me and nudity in general. I couldn’t figure him out, so I gave up trying and eventually focused on my design project. I still had a lot of work to do, and the end of the quarter was only two weeks away.

I felt immensely more relaxed by the time I looked at my watch and realized that I’d been running for more than an hour. I wasn’t going to win a marathon any time soon, but I’d covered at least eight miles. I waved to a few other early-bird runners as I turned and headed back to the apartment. The glow of the sun had just begun to fill the sky when I veered into the driveway and slowed to a walk to cool off.

Upstairs, I found Trip clad in pajama bottoms and slippers in the kitchen. Jeff had come home sometime during the night, and the two of them were crowding the Mr. Coffee like supplicants at an altar. I grabbed the pitcher of orange juice from the fridge and poured a glass.

“Y’all should come running sometime,” I said between gulps. “It’s a better wake-up than that stuff.”

“Fuck that,” Jeff said without malice.

I arched an eyebrow at Trip.

“Ditto.”

The coffee maker gurgled and both of them lunged for the pot. Jeff grabbed it first and yanked it out of the way. He thrust his coffee cup under the stream. Trip cursed.

I laughed and got a surly look in reply. Once again, my runner’s high was at odds with his caffeine addiction, but our morning banter was more teasing than genuine ill-will. I chuckled and put the juice pitcher back in the fridge.

I almost ran over Christy as she walked into the kitchen. Her legs and feet were bare, and my wrestling T-shirt barely reached her thighs. My eyes moved upward, over the swell of her breasts, and I grinned at her expression. She kept one eye closed against the light, while the other gave me a squinty stare. Her hair was mussed, but she looked surprisingly good.

“Yes?” she said, as surly as the other two. Then she smelled the coffee. “Never mind.”

I turned and shamelessly watched as she opened a cabinet and stretched upward to reach a coffee cup. Her legs were toned and firm, and her tight ass filled her panties nicely. (They were white with little blue flowers.)

“Nice,” I said.

“What?”

I couldn’t help myself: “I like your panties.”

The last weeks of the quarter passed in a blur of school work, junk food, and late nights. And in spite of the grueling schedule, I managed to keep up my workouts. I also made time to run in the morning, since it was the only time I could be alone with my thoughts.

When I wasn’t lifting weights to work off the junk food, I was at judo practice with Glen. I had a lot of stress to work out, and he was the perfect sparring partner. I didn’t really challenge him, but I could gauge my own progress by his level of surprise when I pulled off a new move or did something unexpected.

Because of my hectic schedule, I spent a lot less time with Daphne. I saw her in Siobhan’s class and we were always friendly, but things had changed between us. Maybe she wasn’t in the mood for sex with a guy anymore. Maybe Sara had bought a sex toy. Maybe our relationship had simply run its course. Whatever the reason, I still cared about her and felt the same from her, but we both knew we didn’t have a future as a couple. It was a refreshing change from the way my last two relationships had ended.

As a side benefit, Sara and I struck up an unlikely friendship. It began when she sent a note via Daphne and asked me to meet her one afternoon. I met her in one of the photo studios, where she showed off her portfolio project like an artist revealing a masterpiece. She had good reason to be proud, too. I knew she could handle a camera, but until then I had no idea what kind of talent she had.

Her pictures were captivating and complex and full of emotions. In addition to Daphne’s silhouette nudes and the loving pet scene, Sara showed me a series of Daphne in a loose cashmere sweater. The sweater had slipped off her shoulder and her blonde hair fell in a silken wave over her face, partially obscuring it. The play of light and shadows accentuated her physical beauty, but my eyes were drawn to her melancholy expression.

“Wow,” I said softly. The picture didn’t need any more words, and Sara could sense my admiration. After a long moment I asked, “What does your professor think?”

“She hasn’t seen it yet.”

I looked a question at her.

“I asked around about you,” she answered enigmatically.

“Oh?”

“Everyone says you’re really good.”

I started to demur, but she cut me off.

“I didn’t believe them so I wanted to see for myself.” She paused to work up her nerve. “You ... you have a clean style. I like that. I saw a couple of your drawings, even a watercolor that you did.”

My brow furrowed. “Which one?”

“It was modern, with a bunch of glass and a torchbearer statue. The statue ... It was really good.”

I searched my memory for the building she was talking about and then laughed when I remembered.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m glad you liked the building,” I said, “but the statue isn’t mine.”

“But it had your name on it...”

“Oh, the building is mine all right, but someone else drew the statue.”

“That was my favorite part! Who did it?”

“The little princess.”

Her eyes widened. “Christy? Christy Carmichael? You’re kidding!”

“Nope.”

“I asked about her too. Did you know she actually apologized about the rumors?”

My eyebrows rose.

“Yeah, that’s how I felt. But she came right up and introduced herself. Said she was sorry for what she’d done and everything. Even asked me to forgive her.”

I didn’t think my eyebrows could go any higher, but they must have.

“Exactly,” Sara said. “Pretty ballsy, if you ask me.”

“No kidding.”

“I was ... impressed. So that’s why I asked about her. People talk about her like she’s the second coming of Michelangelo. I didn’t believe it, but...”

“She’s really good,” I said, “although I think her style is more Bernini. Michelangelo’s a little ... um...”

“Butch?”

“I didn’t want to say it like that, but...”

“If the shoe fits,” Sara said with a shrug.

We fell silent and turned our attention to the picture of Daphne.

“You’re really good too, you know,” I said. “I didn’t want to admit it at first, ‘cause I didn’t like you, but...”

“I know the feeling,” she said. “I still don’t like you or anything, but at least you’re not a total prick.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“And maybe you’re not a total bitch either.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she said with a grin. Then, “Oh, shit! I almost forgot...”

“And ‘total prick’ reminded you? Great.”

She grinned, smug as much as wry. “I have something else to show you. It’s not part of my portfolio, but it’s been getting a lot of attention from ... certain people ... in the department.”

“I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”

She took out another art portfolio and unzipped it. She leafed through several black and white prints that I recognized from our solo session. Then she stepped back so I could get a good look at the picture on the open page.

I laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. I call it ‘The Root of All Evil.’”

“It’s me, all right,” I said. “Well, part of me.”

“What do you think about the title?” Her expression dared me to object.

“Believe it or not, that’s the best part.”

“Wha—? You don’t hate it?”

“No, it’s a great pun.”

“So you’re not offended?”

“Why?”

“It’s a picture of your dick! I called it ‘The Root of All Evil.’ Doesn’t that piss you off?”

“Why should it?” I said. “I mean, I know I’m not evil.”

“But ... you’re a guy.”

“And there’s the proof,” I said with a gesture, although I was mostly baiting her. I knew what she was getting at, but I still didn’t feel any sense of outrage at having my erection called the root of all evil. It wasn’t, and I knew it. It was willful, inappropriate, and often treacherous, but hardly evil. Besides, it was too simple-minded to be truly evil. That took real brains, and not the kind that I kept in my dick.

Sara huffed in exasperation. “I still don’t get you,” she said, and slapped her portfolio shut.

“Hey,” I teased, “I was still looking at that.”

“Go home and look at the real thing!”

“That’s not a bad idea,” I said, but I was already talking to her back. “Who should I fantasize about when I do?”

She flipped a bird and the door swung shut behind her.

I just laughed.

She wasn’t really upset, so I let her go without chasing her down to smooth things over. We were still playing games, but they didn’t have the underlying tension of before. I could live with that, and I suspected that she could too.

We turned in our projects for Joska’s class on the last day of design lab. We each had to do a short presentation, which included drawings and a full watercolor. Joska grilled each of us for a minute or two afterward. Some people genuinely deserved to be raked over the coals. I couldn’t imagine turning in drawings like theirs.

Mine were better than most, but they weren’t the best. Gracie’s were, of course, even though her watercolor wasn’t as good as mine. She had a better eye for detail, but I was more creative, hands-down. Still, neither of us escaped Joska’s criticism.

He asked about my design decisions, what styles had influenced me, how the plan fit the site, and several other things. He didn’t give me a chance to answer in detail, so I couldn’t defend myself. That was the point, evidently, because he did the same to everyone.

I walked out of lab feeling like I was going to earn a C in the class, followed by a mediocre career designing strip malls and tract housing in New Jersey. A bunch of others felt the same way, so we went to the Old College Inn to drown our sorrows. We stayed out too late and drank way, way too much.

Trip and I spent the next day nursing the mother of all hangovers. Wren planned to study with Christy, so they hadn’t gone out the night before. Wren didn’t have any pity for us, and Christy seemed even more distant than before. I didn’t have the slightest idea what I’d done, and I didn’t really care. Then again, maybe it wasn’t me at all. I wasn’t the center of the universe, I reminded myself.

At least Trip and I had time to talk, once we’d forced ourselves to drink enough water and go to the gym. I didn’t feel quite human after a workout and a hot shower, but I didn’t feel like death warmed over anymore. We went out for dinner at the Presidential Grill and brought it back to the apartment. It was nice to relax for a change, without all the distractions of the previous months.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking about this summer,” I said as we listened to his latest mix tape.

“Yeah?”

“What if we buy houses in Atlanta?”

He looked dubious, so I laid out my thinking. The housing market was much bigger in Atlanta, and it was growing faster than Franklin. We’d have a wider selection of houses, and we’d make more money when we sold them. We’d be able to live at my house for the summer, so it wouldn’t cost anything. Besides, we’d have the place practically to ourselves while my family was at camp. Little else would be different from the previous summer.

Trip was still skeptical. “What about Blackie and the crew?”

“We can hire a crew in Atlanta. They have them there too, you know.”

“Yeah, but we don’t know ‘em. What if they can’t do the job?”

“Then it’s our fault for hiring the wrong guys.”

We went back and forth for twenty minutes, although I didn’t make any headway until I mentioned Wren.

“What about her?” Trip said suspiciously.

I wanted to roll my eyes at his insecurity—I wouldn’t go behind his back in a million years—but I stifled the urge. “Is she going to move to Franklin?” I said instead.

“No, she’ll be working.”

“Oh? Where?” I already knew the answer, but I wanted him to figure it out for himself.

“At one of her dad’s restaurants.”

“Where?”

“Atlanta, duh. Where—? Oh, I get it.”

I nodded. “Uh-huh. If we’re working on houses in Franklin...”

He fell silent and thought for a moment. “You don’t play fair,” he said at last.

“I play to win.”

“I still think it’s a big risk with the crew.”

“It is,” I admitted, “but the reward is worth it. We could double our profits if I’m right about the housing market in Atlanta.”

“Or lose our shirts if you’re wrong.”

“Faint heart never won fair lady.”

He rewarded me with a rueful grin. “Another low blow.”

“Only slightly below the belt,” I said with a grin of my own. “Besides,” I added, “I’m trying to get you laid on a regular basis.”

“I can get laid on my own, thank you.”

“I know. But I don’t want to be around you if you’re not. I might start to look good.”

“You do have a nice ass,” he deadpanned.

“It’s one of my better features.”

“But you’re not my type,” he went on. “We’ve been over this. Remember?”

“I have a dick.”

“Yep,” he said. “Deal breaker.” He got a funny look and changed the subject. “What’s this I hear about a picture of your ... schlong ... making the rounds in the art department?”

I stalled for time and hoped my blush wasn’t too obvious. “What do you mean?”

“I overheard Wren and Christy. They said everyone’s talking about it.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded. “All the girls, and even some of the guys. So ... what did you do?”

“Well, it’s a long story...”

He barked a laugh. “Not that long. I mean, you don’t have your own zip code.”

“No,” I admitted.

“Okay, so how did a picture of your johnson end up in circulation? And how come everyone seems to know it’s you? From what Wren said, it’s just a close-up of your ... um ... tool.”

I frowned. “Why are we talking in euphemisms? I mean, you’ve seen my dick. Heck, you even touched it. That threesome with Kendall was ... pretty wild.”

“No kidding,” he said, although I had to stifle a laugh at his expression.

He seemed aroused by the memory of the threesome, but nagged by guilt because he thought it was somehow cheating on Wren.

“I don’t know how everybody knows,” I said, as much to let him off the hook as to return to his question. “Sara probably told someone. Or maybe someone from Siobhan’s class recognized me, although I doubt it. So it was probably Sara, ‘cause I don’t think anyone could figure it out from such a ... um ... limited perspective.”

“Christy did,” he said. “She was the one who told Wren about it.”

I was confused for a moment, but then I remembered Christy’s special sketchbook.

“What’re you smiling at?” Trip asked.

“I don’t even know where to begin...” I said, and left it at that.

“Yeah, sure ... whatever. So let’s talk about houses in Atlanta.”

“So you’ll do it? Awesome!”

Exam week was the usual whirlwind of frantic activity followed by hurry up and wait. Wren and Christy finished theirs on the second day, so they left campus before the rest of us, bound for Wren’s family condo in Florida. Jeff and Meredith finished on the same day and left to visit her family in Indiana. Freddie headed back to New York, and the rest of us split up without any long goodbyes.

Trip and I drove to Atlanta to look for houses. The basement rancher that I’d found the previous October was still available, and the owners had reduced the price. It was already at the top of my list of potential remodels. Besides, it was close to my neighborhood, so we wouldn’t have to trek halfway around the Perimeter to get to work each day.

We started looking for other houses in the same general neighborhood and found several likely candidates. Trip also had an idea about how we could hire a crew who could do the job to our standards.

“Why don’t we ask Mike Junior and Big Jim to come down here?” he said.

“Do you think they would?”

He nodded. “Junior was making noises about wanting his own crew. Blackie and Senior run things pretty well, and they aren’t going to retire any time soon. So if Junior wants to make the big bucks, he has to strike out on his own.”

I nodded.

“If we can talk him into coming down here with Jim, I’d feel a lot more comfortable about the crew. I mean, you and I sort of know what we’re doing, but those guys have a decade more experience than both of us put together.”

“Yeah, seriously.”

“Let me call him when we get home tonight and see what he says. I’m convinced about the housing market down here, but I’m still nervous about getting the right crew. I’ve made my reputation on quality, and I’m not going to sacrifice that just to make a little more money. You know?”

“Trip, this is a lot more money.”

“Would you really do a half-assed job just to make an extra buck or two?” He read me perfectly. “I didn’t think so.”

“Let’s head home now, then, so you can call Mike.”

Trip laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s look at the rest of the houses on our list.”

“Why? Don’t you want to call him?”

“Of course I do, but he won’t be home till later. He has a job, remember? So let’s finish this neighborhood and then head over to the other one. Where is it ... Jefferson Ferry?”

“Johnson Ferry,” I corrected, and put the Cruiser in gear.

Trip hung up and gave me a serious look. I’d heard his side of the conversation, but it had been pretty ambiguous, so my heart sank when his expression turned grim. He kept me on tenterhooks for a long moment before he cracked a smile.

I wanted to punch him. “So they’ll do it?” I blurted instead.

“He said he’d think about it. He wants to come down and look at the houses on our short list.”

“But he’s interested?”

“Between you and me, I think he’s ready to jump at the idea, but he doesn’t want to tip his hand. He knows I’ll offer him less if I think it’s something he wants to do anyway.”

“Would you?”

“Maybe,” Trip said. “I like those guys, but they’re smart enough to know that this is business. So he’s playing it cool. Still, he knows that I want him here, and that the houses are bigger projects. More money for us means more money for him. It’s a win-win situation. We just have to ease into it so everyone thinks they’re getting the best deal. My dad once told me that the best partnerships are the ones where each side thinks they’re getting away with murder.

“So I— sorry, we want to get Junior and Jim and a crew at the right price,” he continued. “They want to get paid a lot more for working on a bigger project. So it’s a balancing act. Besides, I suspect that he’ll end up staying here after we’re done. From what I’ve seen over the last few days, there’s a lot of work here for a guy like him, especially as more people move to the area.”

I nodded.

“So I’ll sweeten the deal by offering to pay his and Jim’s living expenses...”

My eyes widened.

“... unless they decide to stay here and keep working after the summer.”

My surprise turned into admiration that bordered on awe. Trip was already thinking two moves ahead, if not more. Sure, I had come up with the idea of Atlanta in the first place, but he was finding ways to make it work for us.

(I didn’t realize it at the time, but our partnership was founded on that: I came up with good ideas and Trip figured out how to make them happen. I thought I was getting the better end of the deal, because I never could have managed some of the projects that Trip has pulled off. Likewise, Trip thought he was getting the best deal, because I give up my best ideas and let him make them his own. So his father was right after all, which is why Trip and I are still together and have the reputation we do. But I’m getting ahead of myself.)

“Hey, guys,” Erin said as she walked into the kitchen, “what’s going on?”

Leah came in behind her. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and I put my arm around her waist.

“Do you want to tell them,” Trip asked, “or can I?”

“Hey, if this works, you get all the credit,” I said. “So go ahead and tell them.”

He grinned and described our plans.

“Wow, that’s awesome,” Erin said. “Let’s celebrate!”

“I don’t know...,” Trip said. “I have to get up early and drive to Florida tomorrow.”

“Aw, come on,” she wheedled. “It’ll be fun.” She could be very convincing when she wanted. Big blue eyes and a girlish pout are a killer combination.

“What do you think?” he asked me.

I looked at Leah.

She still didn’t like Trip very much, but she was sanguine about it. “If you want.”

“Sounds like fun,” I said.

“You won’t be sorry,” Erin told Trip. Then she looked at Leah. “Oh, my God, I know exactly what I’m going to wear. You know that little blue dress I bought before Christmas?”

Leah’s eyes widened. “The one your dad said you couldn’t wear in public?”

“He was only kidding,” Erin said as they disappeared down the hall.

Trip and I shared a look, and I had to laugh at his expression.

“Don’t worry about Erin,” I said. “She doesn’t bite. Besides, she has a boyfriend, and she knows you have a girlfriend, so it’s just casual.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “No problem. It’s casual.”

Leah went home and returned a little later with a dress bag and small makeup case. Then she and Erin disappeared into the bathroom to get ready. Trip and I took turns in the guest bathroom and then donned slacks and button-down shirts. We talked about the houses as we waited for the girls.

The basement rancher was at the top of his short list too, as well as a Tudor from the same neighborhood. The two houses were less than a half-mile apart, which would make it easier to manage the renovations. We also added a Prairie style house in a nearby neighborhood and two others within a mile. We were still discussing a sixth when the girls emerged from the bathroom.

I blinked and felt a very unbrotherly reaction when I saw Erin in her dress. I also understood why Dad didn’t want her to wear it in public. It was a cornflower blue that matched her eyes, and its deep-cut halter covered her breasts but left the rest of her exposed from the waist up. When she turned to model it, the sides of her breasts flashed under the halter. The hem of the skirt was cut on a bias, and the high side soared past mid-thigh. Its only concession to modesty was that the fabric wasn’t transparent.

Leah’s little black dress was the complete opposite, although just as revealing. Where Erin’s was loose and draped, Leah’s sheathed her from neck to thigh like a second skin, accentuating her trim figure and firm breasts. The material was sparkly and sheer, and I could easily make out her areolae. I couldn’t see a shadow of pubic hair because she shaved it, but I didn’t see the outline of panties either. I felt a moment of vertigo when I remembered her as a coltish girl and compared her to the young woman in front of me now.

Both girls looked like walking invitations to mischief, and they knew it. Trip glanced at me uncertainly, so I gave him a smile full of confidence before I turned my attention to Leah. She posed and gave me a chance to appreciate the full effect.

“We’re underdressed,” I said to Trip.

“No kidding.”

“Give us a minute,” I said to the girls.

We returned in sport coats and dress shirts. Mom came out of the kitchen to say goodbye, but her eyes widened when she saw Erin.

“Is that the dress—?”

“God, Mom!” Erin said. “It’s perfectly decent. Everything’s covered.”

“It’s okay,” I said, to Erin as much as Mom. “We’re just going out to dinner. We won’t let anything happen to her.”

“I don’t need you to protect me either,” Erin snapped. She returned her defiant glare to Mom.

If anything, our mother knew when to choose her battles, and this wasn’t a hill worth dying on. Still, she didn’t want to give in without saying something.

“I don’t know...,” she hedged.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Hughes,” Trip said. “We won’t be out late. I have to leave tomorrow morning, so I need a good night’s sleep.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Mom said.

“And you shouldn’t worry about me, either,” Erin said. “I’m practically a grown-up, and I can take care of myself.”

“Seventeen is not the same as an adult,” Mom shot back, but then decided that she didn’t want to have an argument in front of an audience. She looked at me instead. “Don’t drink and drive. Okay?”

“Gee, thanks,” Erin mocked under her breath. “You’re not Nancy Reagan.”

“I won’t, Mom,” I said, a little louder than I needed to. Then I put my hand on the small of Leah’s back and gently turned her toward the door. “We won’t stay out too late either.”

“Like hell we won’t,” Erin muttered.

Mom heard but pretended not to. “You kids have fun,” she said instead, and winced at her choice of words. We weren’t “kids” anymore and she knew it.

I helped Leah into her coat and then hustled her toward the door. Erin didn’t have a choice but to follow. Trip trailed after her and offered to hold her coat while she put it on.

“Jeez, Er,” I said outside, “what’s got into you? Mom’s just being ... Mom.”

“Let’s go,” she said tersely. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Leah and I exchanged a look, but she didn’t come to my defense. She probably agreed with Erin, after all. She and her own mother had a tumultuous relationship as well.

“Where do y’all want to eat?” I asked to smooth things over.

“Who said anything about eating?” Erin said. “We want to drink and party.”

I looked to Trip for help, but Erin was already one step ahead of me.

“I know!” she said, to him more than me. “Let’s go dancing. There’s this new club with a rad DJ. The music is totally awesome.”

Trip’s resistance collapsed like a house of straw. “Awesome!”

I just laughed and helped Leah into the Cruiser. “Whatever,” I said, and jogged round to the driver’s side. Once there, I grinned sidelong at Trip. He was a strong-willed and decisive guy, except when it came to women, where he was a complete pushover. I wondered if he realized that Wren was going to call the shots in their relationship. Probably not, poor sap.

The club was everything that Erin had promised, and we had a great time. The girls got a little drunk, but Trip and I mostly sipped our drinks. Our last hangover was too recent, and he really did have to wake up early to drive to Florida. Still, we both had a decent buzz by the time we paid the check and left.

“Are you good to drive?” Trip asked on the way out.

“Yep.” I did a little counting trick with my fingers to prove it.

I helped Leah into her coat, but she shivered as we stepped into the parking lot. I pulled her close and slipped my hands around her waist. We’d been teasing and flirting all night, and she was as eager as I was. I bent and kissed her.