Bad Intentions Read online

  A few minutes later, I head toward the front of the store with a mound of junk in my arms. “Is this all for ya, darlin’?” The sound of the cashier’s accent is thick. It’s a clear indicator of just how far south I’ve traveled.

  “Yes ma’am,” I say as I glance at the nametag clipped onto her maroon shirt. It reads Charlene.

  “Do ya need a bag?” I nod, and she starts bagging up my items. “It looks like the rain ain’t easin’ up. You might want to stick around here for a little while, Miss.”

  I glance out the window and find dark clouds hovering in the sky like giant space shuttles. Aliens won’t ascend from these, but rain sure will. And soon. “I don’t have much farther to go, I’ll be fine.” My smile let’s her know that I appreciate her concern.

  “You goin’ to the big college in Biloxi aren’t ya?”

  “How can you tell?” I ask, curious as to how she pegged me as a town newbie from the start.

  It’s Charlene who glances out the window now. “From the looks of it, you’re alone, and I know I ain’t never seen your face around here before. That’s gotta mean you’re new to the area. You can probably imagine the types of people I deal with on a daily basis.”

  Charlene tiredly smiles at me and then wishes me luck on the rest of my trip. It’s reassuring, since everyone else is hoping I fail. I beam. Hey, I’ll take positivity anywhere I can get it.

  Shaking off my nerves, I climb back into my used Honda and unwrap my banana-flavored Laffy Taffy. It’s my guilty pleasure and a much needed treat to fuel the rest of my haul. I sit perched in my seat like a child, with my forearms wrapped around my shins, until the rain eases up and I can get back on the road.

  No less than ten minutes after I pull onto the pavement, I turn off my windshield wipers as the voice of the computerized woman on my GPS says, “Arriving at your destination, on right.” Nothing has ever sounded so sweet.

  My body aches from sitting upright, and I’ve eaten the last of my stockpile. I’m glad there’s no one to witness the mountain of empty wrappers strewn across my passenger seat. I’m sure I’d either look like a binge eater or a diabetic with a free pass.

  Bright lights, rows of giant buildings, and an array of students come into view, causing me to grin wider than a Cheshire cat. I press the gas pedal and urge my car to move forward. The words “Braxton University” are etched into a large stone resting to the side of a vinyl welcome sign. I circle it several times as I aimlessly drive around the campus trying to get a lay of the land and find the student dorms.

  I find my complex and pull into an empty spot. As I swing my car door open, it squeaks on its hinges. Rusty ole gal. Still, she got me here. The night air is hot, but nothing like the humidity I’d expected to be greeted by.

  I’m thankful that no one is in the car next to me. I’m sure I look as awful as I feel, and I’m in dire need of a hot shower. Reaching into the back seat, I grab a purple duffle and my bulky suitcase on wheels and then head toward an orange, painted double door. The air is filled with chatter as people mill around the space. A skateboarder flies by my side at record speed, and I can hear the faint sound of someone playing a harmonica nearby.

  A small posse of students pass by me on their way out, and instead of their presence putting me at ease, a sudden nervousness engulfs my body from head to toe. I don’t feel so hot—and not in the attractive sense. I feel like I’m about to hurl right here in the freaking hallway. Taking a deep breath, I put one foot in front of the other and try to look casual.

  I’m glad there’s an elevator, as I wheel my suitcase behind me, the other bag hoisted over my shoulder. I hit the small, round, up arrow and wait. It’s torture. Especially because my lips burn like someone doused them in acid. Fiddling in my purse, I search one-handed for the tube of lip balm that I’m in desperate need of. I remember it’s in the inside pocket, but I can’t unzip the zipper with one hand. I give up. I don’t want to drop everything and make a giant fool of myself. I run my tongue over my dry lips instead. I find instant relief and almost moan out loud as I drop my head back and close my equally dry eyes.

  The sound of the elevator door opening with a motorized hum startles me. I flick my lids back open and my brows shoot up as a pair of boys… err… should I say men…saunter past with amused expressions on their faces. I try to be discrete while tucking my tongue back in my mouth, all while praying that they didn’t witness it molesting my lips seconds before.

  The noises of their feet squeaking against the linoleum floor draw my attention down the hall. I tilt my head to the side to catch a better glimpse of their anterior assets. One is wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves cut out, exposing his biceps and an ample amount of tanned skin on his sides. The other has dark curls cupping the collar of a team jersey. I’m not sure what type of sport it represents, but he’s wearing it proudly.

  I can’t believe that I’ve been on campus less than five minutes, and I’ve already embarrassed myself. In my periphery, I see the elevator doors seal shut. I try to hide my pout as I reach up to hit the unlit button yet again. As I do, the duffle bag slides off my shoulder, making a loud thud against the unswept floor. The one in the cutoff turns around, smirks, and then continues walking backwards down the hall. From a distance, I can tell that he is attractive. His lips are parted, showcasing a display of stark white, straight teeth. I bet one of his parents is a dentist. They’d have to be, for him to have a grill as nice as his.

  “Do those lips taste as good as they look?” he questions, with his brows bunched, mouth still parted.

  Is he serious?

  Don’t be uptight, you frigid hag.

  I don’t know how to respond.

  He might think I’m a mute.

  What do I do?

  I wink and flash him a smile worthy enough to please any judge I’ve ever encountered.

  I’m a fool. I know this because he hits his friend in the side, and they start laughing in unison.

  My smile fades as I let out an angry puff and turn back toward the elevator just as the door opens. I take one last look down the hallway, only to find it abandoned.

  Unfolding the torn paper in my hand, I make sure I’m at the right room.

  409 – check.

  Music blares from inside. I brace my palm against the off-white painted concrete wall and take a deep breath, reminding myself why I’m here.

  To ditch my good girl image and have fun.

  I inhale and exhale quickly, then fling the door open to make my grand entrance by gracefully stepping inside. A flowery smell hits me in the face as I take a quick glance around the small quarters. It’s deserted, yet the piercing sound of a man shouting obscenities floods the air.

  “Hello?” I call out. I cautiously take another step further into the room. I notice a large speaker sitting on a dresser opposite to where I’m standing. I lean forward and grab the round, charcoal-colored knob and adjust the volume.

  Sweet silence.

  “Uh, what do you think you’re doing?” The sound of a female voice drawing near causes me to momentarily freeze as if I’m a burglar caught in the act. My face flushes, my palms begin to clam. “Are you deaf?” There isn’t an ounce of amusement in her voice. “Hey, Blondie. Can. You. Hear. Me?” She annoyingly enunciates her words. It irks me instantly, making my glistening hands turn hot.

  The old me was a pushover. I never stuck up for myself for fear that it would invite unwanted drama into my life. I couldn’t risk getting in trouble. My father would preach to me about the sin I’d committed, and my coach would grill me on why I’d been late. Explaining that I got into a fight and was in the Principal’s office wasn’t something I could even fathom. The new me— well I don’t know much about the new me thus far — but I know I won’t let anyone talk down to me ever again. I’m not a coward—that much I know.

  I pivot on my feet ready to bite her head off, when I notice an open door to my left. Inhaling, the flowery scent returns. There’s a tiny vanity resting inside. W
e have our own bathroom. Awesome. The sound of her huffing grabs my attention, and it takes a moment for me to take in the girl standing in front of me. She looks fierce. Hardcore. Like, she could murder me, hide my body, and no one would even bat an eye in her direction for fear that they could be next. Her hair is tinted a deep red color and is dripping wet. Small strands stick to the side of her ivory cheek.

  “Loud and clear, Captain.” I spit out like venom. “And I turned down that crap you call music. It sounds like someone’s dying a slow, painful death and trying to get all the cuss words he knows out before the grim reaper comes to collect his body.”

  “Someone dying,” she repeats, before bursting into a fit of laughter while holding a towel around a body that looks like it belongs on a pro wrestler. I feel like my eyes are going to protrude out of their sockets. Had I known she looked like that, I would have bitten my tongue. Coward or not, I don’t have a death wish.

  I try to be levelheaded and swallow any snarky comments I had resting on the tip of my tongue for ammunition. “Does it not?”

  Her laughter sounds deceiving coming from her mouth. I’m sure it’s usually littered with curse words and filth. I stand there silent, as she continues to hoot and holler by herself. Maybe she’ll get bored and walk away.

  “No, it doesn’t,” she finally says with humor laced in her tone. “It’s Eminem.” Her eyes widen like she’s waiting for me to recognize the name, which I don’t. “He’s a bad ass, white rapper,” she adds.

  “There is no ass involved. He just sounds bad. Wait,” I shrug my shoulder and then pause. “Not even bad. Like terrible. So terrible, I believe my eardrum is bleeding.” I palm my ear.

  She looks baffled and tries to convince me of his awesomeness by saying, “He’s a legend.”

  “Okay…” I give up and turn to drop my duffle bag onto the empty twin bed beside me. I pray she doesn’t take me out while my back is turned. If she does, at least I gave her a run for her money.

  I wasn’t a coward!

  I’m so proud of myself that I’m half-tempted to do a jig to celebrate, but refrain knowing that the girl-hulk is still behind me. I can feel her glaring at my back.

  “I like you, Blondie.” She sighs. “You certainly have balls. I think you’ll fit in.”

  I give my own sigh of relief as I turn back around to face her. “My name’s not Blondie. I’m not some bimbo, and I don’t appreciate the nickname you conjured up. I’m Adaley Knight, and do I look like I have balls?” I wave a hand over my body. Holy crap. I just realized... “Are you a lesbian?”

  Her face colors fiercely. “For starters honey, you’re not my type…” My nose crunches up, and she gives me a once over. I feel exposed and vulnerable to her wandering eyes. “I like men. Not vaginas. Ha ha. The term ‘you have balls’ basically means you’re not a wimp. It’s good, okay?” She shrugs matter-of-factly. “I’m Zoe.”

  I politely nod and stick out my hand, closing the space between us. “It’s a pleasure.”

  Her hand never moves, but her mouth does. “So you’re one of those uptight chicks who’s only here to attend class and please Daddy. Am I right?”

  “You’re so cold, you’re basically frozen.” I shake my head in disbelief. She couldn’t be further from the truth.

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  As I glance over a shoulder to check out the room that will be my home for the coming months, I feel the cloth material of my suitcase graze my leg. I turn in time to see my bag being lifted from the floor and tossed onto Zoe’s mattress.

  “What the heck is wrong with you?”

  She grabs the zipper.

  “You’re invading my privacy!”

  She unzips the bag.

  Shouting in defeat, I throw my hands up in the air. “Un-freaking-believable! You nosy little b—.”

  “Now, there’s the girl I want to get to know,” Zoe interrupts, causing me to bite my tongue. “I knew you had it in you. I just didn’t know how much intimidation you were going to take.” She re-zips my bag and sets it on the floor at my feet. “Now that I know you’re not a total waste, we can be friends. But I insist on you getting used to good music. Hang out with me for awhile, and you’ll be blaring it on your own in no time.”

  “I highly doubt that. But whatever.” My voice trails off. I snatch my bag and toss it onto the bed next to the one she’s already claimed. “So what’s your deal? Are you here just to please your daddy?”

  “Not even close.” She sits on the edge of her mattress with her bare feet planted on a shag rug.

  “We both pegged each other wrong then. Spill.” I inch backwards until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I so want to lay back and close my eyes, but I’m desperate to get the details on my new roommate.

  “Dad is out of the picture, and Mom is a lesbian.”

  I choke a little. “I’m sor…” Her eyebrows shoot up, and a giant grin spreads across her pale face. “Wait, are you serious?”

  “Gotcha! I’m here on a softball scholarship, and before you go getting all judgey on me, I already told you I’m straight. As for the rest of my team, I doubt it. But just to reiterate, I like the D.”

  “That’s cool.” I try and act nonchalant. “I’ve never known any softball players. I don’t think we had that at my high school.”

  “What lame school did you attend?”

  Suddenly, I become uneasy. It’s too early in our newfound friendship to be sharing our deep, dark stories. I try to lighten the conversation. “Too lame to talk about.” She smiles, putting me at ease as she climbs off her bed and does that scrunchy thing with her hair that all females do.

  “My brother plays baseball and is on scholarship too. You’ll probably meet him tonight if you’re going to the party.” Her voice carries as she turns and walks to her dresser.

  I’m too sleepy to ask her about the party. My lids slowly fold over my eyes. They’re almost to the point where I need a toothpick to hold them open, when I hear her randomly ask, “Favorite food?”

  “Pizza,” I say automatically, and then feel my stomach rumble. I survived solely on candy during the last leg of my trip. Speaking of food, I realize I’m famished. Must refuel soon.

  “Favorite color?”

  I’m sure she thinks it’s pink. Again, she has me all wrong. “Green.” I lean up on my elbows and catch her nodding at my answer.

  “Favorite Jonas brother?”

  “Humph, is this a trick question?” I retort. A few seconds pass before we both shout in unison, “Nick!” Laughter fills our dorm, echoing off the cream, painted walls. “I find it hilarious that you go from blaring rap to gushing over a Jonas brother, but I’ll take it.”

  “We’re roomies—you’re kinda stuck with me regardless. Unless you’re the type to beg the RA to switch you with someone, and in that case, you’d probably end up with a Goth who likes to collect your hair from the drain.” She smirks and pulls out a black tank top from a drawer. “I’m the lesser of two evils, trust me.”

  What?

  “Anyways, isn’t one of them married with a kid now?” I change the subject back to the familiarity of the Jonas brothers, but before Zoe can answer, our door swings open, and in walks two guys.

  The. Two. Guys.

  The ones who witnessed me being a total loser while waiting for the elevator. I immediately look toward Zoe who is rummaging through her drawers, seemingly unbothered by the two intruders presence.

  My heart does that little pitter-patter thing when I’m… I don’t know… excited? But I’m not excited, I’m slightly shocked that there are two boys in our dorm, and Zoe hasn’t seemed to notice.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me. She’s your roommate?” the one in the cutoff says, while inching forward to examine me like I’m a shiny new toy. His eyes slant as he inspects me.

  I can feel the corners of my mouth fall into a line as a harsh scowl makes precedence on my face. “I’m Adaley Knight for starters, and yes, I’m Zoe’s roommate. C
are to explain who you are?” He pulls back like he was just slapped, and then bursts into laughter. What the hell is it with people laughing at me lately?

  “I’m Taylor Young,” he says matter-of-factly, lips pursed like he’s God’s gift to women or something. “Young as in Zoe’s brother. My friends call me Tank,” he then adds.

  My eyes dart to Zoe’s, but she still isn’t paying any attention. No wonder, he’s family. “I didn’t realize—,” Taylor— or Tank as he prefers— cuts me off midsentence.

  “You didn’t realize she had a brother as sexy as me? No worries. There are zero hard feelings between us, only clothes.” He inches forward and busts my personal bubble. “But I’m down to rectify that if you are.” Wiggling his brows, he makes a disturbing grunt that bubbles up from the depths of his horny soul.

  “Clothes? Oh, my gosh.” I tap a palm on my forehead, gently brushing away my forgetfulness. “I grew up in a nudist colony, but my parents forced me to wear appropriate attire for the trip.” My voice raises an octave. “Now that I’m settled in, I don’t see any reason to wear anything at all.” The words rush out without me taking a breath. I sit up and grab the rim of my top. Slowly inching it up, I slide it over my stomach, to expose my navel and an abundance of tanned flesh.

  The room fills with a singular gasp.

  Mission accomplished. I roll my eyes and let my top fall into place.

  “Ha ha.” Taylor snorts. “You’re my type of girl! Spitfire. Me likey.” He walks over, plops down and drapes his arm over my shoulder. “So was that a gimmick, or are we really about to get naked?”

  I turn my head toward his pierced ear and try to sound seductive as I whisper, “You wish.”

  “That I do, baby. That I do. But hey, if we’re not about to have any sexy-time, Ryle and I are gonna bounce. I left my keys on the floor.” He winks and walks toward the door, dangling the key on his pointer finger. Resting his hand on the handle, he turns around in a swift motion. “Do you need a ride tonight Z?” he asks his sister. I assume he’s talking about attending the same party she mentioned a few minutes ago.