Nicole Young - Kiss Me If You Dare

The air rushed out of me. She obviously didn’t know anything about my background. And I’d gladly keep it that way. “Hey, just because my uncle owns half of California doesn’t make me royalty. So back off.”

Portia reached the bus stop and leaned against the metal signpost, panting.

“Besides,” I gasped for air and took a stand next to her, “if all you’re looking for is sympathy, you’re doing a terrible job. I’d rather slug you than feel sorry for you.”

“Good,” she said and flashed a smile, “then it’s working.” I leaned over and held my knees, drawing noisy breaths of air. “You are so messed up.”

She laughed. “I know. That’s what you like about me. We’re so much alike.”

I shook my head. “I’m not that messed up.”

“Hey”-she grinned-“the only difference between us is I admit it. You’re still floating your boat down a river in Egypt.”

“De Nile. I get it.” I let out a chuckle.

Koby and Celia arrived, concern on their faces.

“What’s going on with you two?” Koby asked.

“We’re bonding.”

Portia said the words so seriously, I burst out laughing. “Yeah. We’re so close, she’s starting to get under my skin.”

The bus pulled up, the roaring diesel killing any comeback. While Celia and her chair were loaded, I took a seat next to Portia.

“So that guy back there, Simon Scroll, I thought you knew him.”

“He’s new to Del Gloria. He showed up in class the same day you did.”

“I probably shouldn’t have been so suspicious, but I get a little possessive when it comes to my projects.”

“I don’t blame you. Simon Scroll has to prove himself on his own merits. Being a student at a Christian college doesn’t mean squat.” She rolled her eyes. “And so far I’m not impressed.”

I liked how Portia put it. We all had to prove ourselves on our own merits. What had Denton said? Words meant nothing. Only actions.

The bus jerked to a halt in front of the campus fitness center. I waved goodbye to the gang and grabbed a quick shower in the locker room before heading to my next class.

The relaxing flow of water washed over my aching muscles. It felt so good to be working on a project again. I lathered my hair, picturing what was happening back at my lodge in Michigan. Maybe Puppa was there cutting grass today. The yard wasn’t much of a lawn, mostly woods, so it would just take a few minutes of his time. I hoped he’d weed whip the foundation too. I hadn’t gotten to it yet this season, and it was already out of control when I left. One quick phone call would ease my mind. Soap bubbles crowded the drain as I rinsed. Better not. Brad made it plain that I wasn’t to contact anyone until he gave me the all clear.

A thud came from the locker area. I’d been alone when I arrived. Someone must have come in. I turned off the water and toweled dry.

“Hello?” I came around the tiled wall.

A rustling sound. Footsteps. The door squeaked open, then shut.

I checked the rows of lockers. Nobody.

“Hmmm.” My voice bounced against bare surfaces. Back in my own row, my bag lay open on the bench. Fresh jeans, socks, and a tee were stuffed chaotically in the top. Just the way I’d left them. And my dirty clothes lay in the same crumpled pile on the floor.

I took a deep breath. It would probably be awhile before I could relax, even though I was certain nobody knew I was holed up in Del Gloria.

The tee kept its wrinkles even after I pulled it tight. Dressed, I brushed out my hair under the dryer, then flipped it back, checking my reflection. All I needed was a little ponytail on top and I’d look like one of those mop-haired show dogs.

I grabbed my bag and headed to my twelve o’clock.

The lecture hall was half filled with students, some sitting in chatty groups, others, like me, in a space of their own.

The instructor arrived-dowdy skirt, blouse escaping from the waistband, wrinkled jacket, oversized eyeglasses, and hair that defied any style. Her unkempt appearance said she’d sandwiched class in between a nap and a late report.

I cut the woman a good dose of slack on account of our inner similarities. Like me, she was probably more comfortable in jeans and a cotton shirt. She launched into her lecture, capturing my attention with her comparison between ways of dealing with anger. Was I a Stuffer, an Escalator, or a Director?

I grappled with my bag, feeling around for my notebook and pen. I flipped to a blank page and scribbled my notes.

Stuffer-avoid confrontation at all costs Escalator-blame someone else for problems Director-express anger to others in healthy ways The business class was supposed to help me manage employees and deal with upper-level peers. But forget them. I flipped the page and kept writing, fascinated to realize I’d been stuffing anger my entire life. The perpetual stomachaches I suffered were probably a direct result. But then wasn’t I also good at blaming others for my problems? Still, I’d confronted Portia about her slacking on the job this morning. The results had actually turned out pretty good. That had been directing my anger.

Yippee! I scrawled at the bottom of my notes. I was making progress.

I flipped the page. My hands froze in place. My heart skipped a beat.

HELLO PATRICIA AMBLE. The words were scratched across the paper in giant script.

I slammed the cover shut, trapping the words in the book, pretending I hadn’t seen them.

The instructor’s voice swirled like gibberish around me. Had Frank Majestic sent a hit man to take me out? Was someone watching me right now, waiting to line me up in his sights? Or had some conniving student discovered my true identity and was playing a sick joke?

Lots of people had access to my tote, starting with Jane dear, Ms. Rigg’s daughter. Then there were the members of Team B. Celia would never have snooped, but Koby or Portia? I wouldn’t put it past them.

My foot tapped uncontrollably. And there was whoever had been in the locker room with me today.

But how could anyone know who I was? Unless they put two and two together regarding Denton’s only-child status. Or…

I flipped through my notebook, looking for the page I’d used to sign my new name. If someone had come across my practice sheet and been vicious enough to read Patricia Louise Amble through my scribbles… How low could you go?

The page wasn’t there. A line of paper scraps where it had been ripped out was all that remained.

That devious, black-hearted, two-faced, backstabbing Portia. It must have been her. She’d had plenty of time to do the deed this morning before Koby and Celia arrived, knowing I wouldn’t suspect a thing until I came across her cute little HELLO PATRICIA AMBLE note.

She’d had it out for me from the beginning. The question was, what did I plan to do about it? I could be just as devious, black-hearted, two-faced, and backstabbing as her.

But did I want to be?

Around me, students shuffled to get their notes put away and head to their next class. I gave a disgusted sigh, realizing I’d stewed through the rest of the lecture.

I gathered my items into the tote and walked to Walters Hall. Birds chirped and the sun shone, but the sidewalk in front of me was the only thing on my mind. Feet passed by and I ignored an occasional hello.

A quick scan of the directory in the lobby provided directions to Professor Braddock’s office. I took the stairs, sprinting up five flights, letting the flow of adrenaline clear my thoughts.

I knocked on the door and barged in, scaring off a wide-eyed, twenty-something coed.

Denton folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “I’m sure you have a good explanation for your intrusion.” Dropping my tote, I pulled out my notebook and flipped to the fateful page.