“Then what do you want? Speak up,” he continues, lecturing, “Johnson, it’s Friday night, on your one weekend off. How did you find yourself on my doorstep?”
“I have the wrong address, sir.”
“You boys pranking me? Is that what this shit is about?” I can see him moving toward Eric, leaning over the threshold so he’s nice and close, intimidating. “You think I’m going to forget about the hazing bullshit you pulled last year with your pal Gunderson? Do you?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I’m going to ask you again: what the hell are you doing on my porch in the middle of the godforsaken night?”
Middle of the night?
That’s a stretch—it’s barely seven o’clock.
Eric can’t summon up a reply, so my dad fills the silence for him. “You better have the wrong goddamn address, son. If you’re here for the reason I think you’re here for, you better hop back in that piece-of-shit car you own and drive away. I don’t wanna see your face anywhere besides the goddamn gym, do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And stop calling me sir. It’s grating on my last damn nerve.”
“Yes, sir.” He gulps. “Sorry, sir. Shit. All right. Sorry.”
My father huffs, aggravated. “You have three seconds to get off my goddamn porch.”
Through the upstairs window above the doorway, I watch him stumble backward across the lawn as my father slams the door and locks it. Slides the deadbolt in place. Stands, hands on his hips, peering through the sidelight windows as the junior wrestler turns tail and power walks across the yard. Jumps into his red, beat-up pickup truck and guns the engine.
Screeches away from the curb, drives off without looking back.
It’s almost comical.
“Dad, who was it?” I sound innocent and guileless.
My old man turns, glowering up the stairs, leaning on the newel post. “Don’t be coy with me—you know damn well who that was.”
I can’t stop the laughter that bursts from my lips. “I’m sorry, Dad. I couldn’t resist. He’s been driving me crazy at school and wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“How?”
“I go to the gym to workout, not get hit on, and that guy cannot take a hint. I just wanted you to scare the shit out of him. He needed to learn a lesson.”
Nothing is mentioned about the bet or how I’ve been battling about whether or not to tell my parents.
Dad’s brows shoot up into the brim of his cap. “I’ll do more than scare the shit out of him tomorrow in my office.”
“Dad, please. Tonight was enough to cure whatever notions Eric Johnson has about pursuing me.” My voice holds a warning. “He’s wicked stupid if he continues harassing me after tonight.”
Dad’s meaty arms cross. “He’s a good wrestler, but no one has ever accused him of being smart.”
I make my way down the steps, yoga pants a little too long and dragging along the carpet, oversized sweatshirt engulfing my entire frame. I envelop my father in a hug, inhaling the familiar smell of him: the gym, sweat, and the same cologne he’s worn since I was little.
He pats my back awkwardly, not comfortable with displays of affection. “You’re not going out tonight?”
“Not until later, Dad—no one goes to a party this early. I have a few contract law flashcards to make. Torts and malfeasance don’t learn themselves, you know.”
His gaze sweeps my face, analyzing my expression. “You start apartment hunting yet?”
“Apartment or house?” I can’t keep the optimistic inflection out of my tone.
Dad’s head lolls from side to side, a low “Ehhh,” rising from his throat. “We’ll see about a house. I’d prefer you in something more secure, somewhere with locks and gates and guards.”
“They don’t have those here, Daddy.” I don’t call him that often, but for whatever reason, the word just seemed to fit, felt right. “My last apartment had a wooden fire escape and a couch with a giant hole in the middle. The springs would stab us in the ass if we sat down too fast.”
He hefts a heavy sigh. “How did I not know this?”
“Because I never said anything when I sent you a copy of the lease. I wanted you to sign it, not tell me I couldn’t live there.”
“I would have forbidden you to live there.”
“I know!” I rise to my tiptoes, giving him a loud peck on the cheek. “I’m going to hibernate before I go out, maybe take a shower.” Plant another kiss on his weathered face. “Thanks for taking care of Eric Johnson.”
“I’ve got my eye on him.”
My eyes narrow. “Trust me, so do I.”
Anabelle
I am going to a party tonight, and I am going to drink those assholes out of my system. I’m going to forget their idiotic plan and what the douchebags were planning for me.
One.
Drink.
At.
A.
Time.
Why does it bother me so much that a bunch of half-grown men would make a stupid bet involving me? They don’t even know me, couldn’t identify me in a lineup. I could have been any girl on campus—or the planet, for that matter—and they still would have done it.
So why did it make me cry?
Why did it piss me off so bad I’m at this dumb party getting wasted so I can forget about it for one night?
Because it was humiliating. Hearing yourself talked about like that, in such a derogatory way, by complete strangers? Terrible. Not climbing down off that elliptical machine and defending myself is something I’ll regret for a long time, even though the two guys talking about me were defending me.
Well, not defending me, but they didn’t condone Eric and Rex’s behavior, either, and to me, that’s enough for now. In a way, that makes them semi-decent guys who probably didn’t deserve me going psycho on their asses.
Another reason I’m out tonight is my new friend Madison. I met her today in one of my classes when she pulled up a seat during the one lab I have this semester to complete my science gen-ed credit, and we hit it off. Apparently, every Friday night she and her friends hit Jock Row—the off-campus party scene comprising student athlete housing—to chase jocks, hook up, and get drunk.
Which Madison has yet to do.
She’s remained somewhat sober until this point while I’ve admittedly been tipping them back faster than a frat boy. I’m pretty sure whatever’s in her red cup isn’t running out as fast as mine.
“Are you sure you don’t want to switch over to water or something?” she asks when I stare down into my empty cup. “I did.”
“It was ten bucks for this thing and I’m getting my money’s worth.”
“I mean…beer downtown is cheaper,” she points out. “And it doesn’t have all that foam.”
True.
“But look how cute I am with a foam mustache.” I lick it, laughing. “Where do you even find water in a place like this?”
It’s packed, the only visible liquid beverage in the form of the keg or a shot.
Madison takes a drink of her beer. “I went rooting through the fridge, they had it stocked. Also, it was unlocked, so that was convenient.”
“They lock their fridge?”
“I guess?”
“That’s weird.”
“Ya think?”
“What’s the deal with this place? Don’t people usually party on Greek Row?”
“Yeah, but a few years ago the alumni donors started buying up houses for the student athletes, fixing them up really nice, and it just became another place to go. It’s basically a meat market on the weekends because, guys.”
“My dad says meat market!” I giggle.
“Didn’t you say he works for the university?”
“He’s the head wrestling coach.”
“Wow. So you’re like a big flashing target.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are guys lining up to date you?”
“Not exactly.”
“I mean, wrestling is a huge sport in Iowa. Those guys are treated like royalty around here. You would think once word got out that the coach’s daughter goes here…”
I chug miserably at Madison’s innocent reminder of why I’m here in the first place—drinking my woes away.
“Oh, word got out all right.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Some blowhards”—I hiccup—“on the team decided to have a little fun with it and made a disgusting bet about who could sleep with me first.”
“Shut up, no way!”
“Way. My dad told everyone on the team to stay away from me—like, first of all, thanks Dad. Secondly, it’s some guys who have already been in trouble for this kind of thing.”
My new friend is fascinated now. “No way.”
“Yes! And it’s been terrible the last couple of days, because it’s humiliating and the guys are all talking about it. I was bawling in the library yesterday after I found out.”
“How’d you find out?”
“I overheard it in the gym. I guess not everyone knows I workout in there. Keep your voice down at least!”
Madison reaches out and squeezes my arm. “Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong. All you have to do is tell your dad and I’m sure he’ll take care of it. Guys like that don’t deserve to shit in our same zip code when they do crap like that.”