Jackson hated my father, but based only on what I told him. In front of Jackson, in front of anyone, my dad was the ideal father.

  “Brothers, it was good to see you.”

  “You too, Brother Griffin,” Randolph said.

  “Randolph, join me and my son in my boxes for the game tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  My dad exited the room, and I followed with my head hanging. No way was I going to watch the game in my dad’s suite.

  We walked outside. My dad strolled to the far end of the porch, and I followed.

  “Tell me the truth, you doing okay, Son?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Did you attend the party last night?”

  “I hung around for a bit but got bored.”

  “No temptations?” he asked.

  “No, sir. I’m fine.” I tried hard to control the tone of my voice.

  “Come on, J, I’m not an idiot. You look like shit.” I hated it when he called me J.

  “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “You high?”

  “No. I’m not high, I’m not drunk, I haven’t taken a pill, and I haven’t hit anyone. I’m fine.”

  “Okay, okay. I believe you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Well, I believe Jackson, and he says you’re doing fine. He’ll keep an eye on you. You know this is your last shot. There is nothing else after this. You screw this up and—”

  “I know,” I yelled, and my body tensed. “I’m trying here,” I said in a more appropriate tone.

  “Well, try harder.”

  He spoke all of this with a grin plastered on his face. If anyone walked by, we looked like we were an ordinary father and son chatting on a September afternoon.

  No one understood how much we hated each other, except maybe Jackson. After years of pretending, we played our roles well.

  My father walked off the porch to his black Mercedes parked at the curb. He demanded I meet him for breakfast and the game tomorrow. I refused to answer out loud, just nodded.

  As soon as he pulled away, I sprinted up the stairs. I entered Jackson’s room without knocking.

  “Fuck you, Jackson. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  He stood by his bed, packing for the game.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My dad having you look out for me. Making sure I don’t screw up. I don’t need you watching my every move.”

  He turned and sat on his bed. He started to speak but stopped himself.

  “What? Why do you keep doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  “You obviously have something to say, so fucking say it already.”

  “Okay. First of all, I didn’t agree to watch out for you. You’re a grown-ass man, and I have my own life to worry about.” He stood up and started pacing. “And second, I don’t know what to say to you. I don’t know you anymore.”

  I stared at him and blew out a breath to calm down, but my chest hurt for another reason. Over the years, despite all the shit I’d put him through, he stood by me. Now, it was different. I heard it in his voice. He was done with me. I turned and walked out of the room.

  “Josh, man, wait.”

  I headed straight into my room and attempted to shut the door, but Jackson followed and blocked it. He stood in the doorway with his arms crossed.

  “Leave me alone, Jackson.”

  “You’re so stupid, man.”

  “Yeah, well…” I sat on the bed and picked at the comforter. I hated this comforter. Hated this room.

  “I don’t get it. You screwed up your own life to get back at your dad for being such a dick. That is stupid. It doesn’t make sense. He treated you like shit. He didn’t love you. He was a terrible father to you and a horrible husband to your mom.”

  “What’s your point, Jackson?”

  “My point is no matter how much you hurt yourself, he’s not going to change.”

  I placed my head in my hands. He sat down next to me and put his arm around me.

  “Dude, I’m looking out for you because you’re my best friend, but I am tired of watching you self-destruct.” Jackson squeezed my shoulder.

  “You’re not going to hold me and tell me how much you love me, are you?” I asked as I shrugged his arm off my shoulder.

  “Fuck you, Josh.” He pushed me back and stood up.

  I stood up.

  “Listen, I hear you and I get it.”

  “Yeah, good,” Jackson said. “And if you need extra motivation, well, think of Carrington’s ass.”

  “You noticed it, too?” I smiled.

  “Dude,” Jackson shook his head, “you want to hit that, I suggest you be on your best behavior.”

  He made it sound so easy.

  Any hope of hitting anything vanished with Carrington ignoring my calls and texts all weekend. Either humiliation or embarrassment prevented her from answering or maybe my charm eluded her.

  In class on Tuesday, I walked in as the professor started his lecture. I spotted Carrington in her usual seat, but as soon as I walked in, she averted her eyes. I figured I had my answer. I made a beeline for a seat on the other side of the room.

  Chapter Eight

  Carrington Olivia Butler

  He walked into class and I turned my head away as soon as he looked at me. It was all rather dramatic, and I didn’t even mean it. It was a reflex. I was embarrassed.

  Snippets of the other night and my behavior kept popping in my head at the most inopportune times—I thought back to the way he looked when I showed up at his door.

  It was the same look he held now, walking into class. He took care of me, when I half expected him to shut the door in my face. He invited me in, he cleaned me up and put me to bed, and how did I repay him—by ignoring him.

  Real mature, Carrington.

  I watched him from this angle. I imagined how messy his hair would look if he wore it longer. He carried the ‘rolled out of bed’ sexy look well. It might be why I kept having naughty dreams about him, none as real and explicit as the one I’d had when I woke up next to him.

  My face flushed as he turned to stare at me again. I looked away.

  I needed to suck it up and talk to him. I figured I had until the end of class to figure out something to say. I would start by apologizing for not returning his calls. Thank him for taking care of me the other night and try and persuade him to give me another chance. He would give me another chance because he liked me. He had asked me out in the first place, right?

  My anxious heartbeat slowed to a relaxed rhythm, and I stopped sweating.

  I tried paying attention to the professor, but Calculus held no interest up against the saga I created in my own head.

  Lost in one of my fantasies, I caught Josh in the corner of my eye, gathering his stuff and walking out the door.

  Where is he going?

  I panicked.

  The entire class turned to watch Josh exit.

  I gathered my stuff and bolted down the steps. As I exited the room, the professor held his hands out and asked, “Anyone else need to leave?”

  I ran down the hall and out the door. I assumed he exited this way. A desperate squeal escaped my lips, but it morphed into a squeal of excitement. I spotted him as he walked down the path to the student union.

  I took off running but began slowing down halfway.

  What am I going to say?

  I caught up and fell in step two feet behind him. I reached out and grabbed his shirtsleeve and the book in his arm fell with a thud.

  “What the fuck?” he said as he turned around. His expression softened, but then it got all hard and stern.

  His eyes darted around, and he cleared his throat.

  I fought the urge to bolt.

  “What?” he yelled. Students stopped and stared.

  He bent down to grab his book. I needed to figure out something; in a few seconds, he would stand up and walk away. I needed to speak up, or he would walk away forever.

  My mind went blank.

  He stood back up.

  Standing in front of me, he tilted his head to the side and crinkled his nose. As I still didn’t say anything, he shook his head and turned to walk away.

  “For someone who wants to be my boyfriend, you’re not acting like it,” I said.

  He turned back to face me. Confusion and frustration spread across his face. I’d said the wrong thing. I dropped my head and turned. When he dropped his books. The sound made me jump, but not as much as when he reached out and wrapped his hands around my biceps. My instincts were to pull away from the sudden contact, but it only made him increase his grip. My stomach fluttered as I searched my brain trying to find something to say that didn’t sound stupid or pathetic or desperate.

  He remained silent and pulled me close. I leaned toward him while my mind screamed, No, don’t do it, run away. I shouldn’t be doing this, not out of fear of him, but out of fear of losing control.

  My breath increased and my heart was pounding out of my chest. A small part of my brain registered the pain from how tight he held my arms, but another part of my brain overrode the pain and my heart rate spiked with the realization.

  Oh, shit. He’s going to kiss me.

  And, he did. His lips landed on mine, and it made my head spin. I was thankful for the grip on my arms, because I would have otherwise melted into the ground. His firm hands were a direct contradiction to his soft lips. I felt him pulling away and I followed, seeking more contact, but his grip flexed as if warning me to stop. I didn’t have a second to think because his lips were back on mine, harder this time. He angled his head to the left, and he slid his tongue between my open lips. As soon as our tongues touched, he withdrew, and I sought it out. His grip on my arms tightened, but as my triceps began to shake, he loosened his grip. He let go and wrapped one arm around my waist. His other hand touched my chin to tilt it to the ideal angle in order for him to kiss me deeper. He directed this epic moment and I followed his cues. He paused and allowed air to pass between our moist lips, but my lips weren’t done.

  He opened his mouth and my tongue found his as I lifted my arms and wrapped them around his neck. I pulled him closer, and he wrapped his arms around me and held me tight.

  He no longer seemed in control of the situation. He reacted to my every move. I was in control.

  God, it felt good.

  ***

  Joshua Elijah Griffin, IV

  The kiss on the quad started as an experiment, a gauge or baseline to see how far I could push her. It was a game I played with girls my whole life. I not only needed to be in control, I needed the girl to let me be in control. But with Carrington it ended different. I relinquished control—weird for me, but I could tell it excited her.

  I liked that.

  I had no doubt we would be standing in the quad until daybreak, experiencing the most epic kiss of my lifetime, if we didn’t have an audience. The fucking crowd ruined the mood.

  We pushed off each other. She covered her mouth while I bent down to get my books. I grabbed her hand away from her mouth; I wanted to see that beautiful smile. I kissed her hand and led her into the student union.

  We found a table near the back wall and sat side by side. I held onto her hand as we sat down.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “What?” she said.

  “I said, I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” she asked as she squeezed my hand.

  “I don’t know.” I laughed and raised her hand up to my lips and kissed it again.

  “I should be apologizing. I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls or text.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I humiliated myself, acting like that at the party.”

  “You were kind of out of control.”

  “But you kept an eye on me.”

  She looked up at me with those amazing brown eyes and all I could think about was the way her lips felt on mine.

  “For a while anyway. I lost track of you at some point. I think it was when you were grinding on Randolph.”

  “Oh my God.” She hid her face in her hands, and I grabbed them and put them in her lap.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. No one remembers what goes on at those parties.”

  “I’m not embarrassed because of that. I’m embarrassed because I have no idea who Randolph is.”

  “Well, if I tell you, you’ll really be embarrassed.” She waited for me to answer. “He’s the president of my fraternity.”

  “No.”

  “And if you can’t remember him grinding on you, he should be the one embarrassed.” She laughed a real, genuine laugh, and it made me happy. I laughed along with her.

  “Okay, so what else happened? Is he the guy I threw up on?”

  “No, that was Brandon.”

  “I did warn him.”

  “You unloaded on him in the hallway.” I stopped laughing. “How did you know that door was my room?”

  She covered her face with her hands and shook her head. It was adorable. When she looked up, her hand covered her mouth. The same lips I kissed a minute ago.

  “I didn’t. Yours was the third door I knocked on. The first one, some guy opened the door naked, no one answered the second door. I knocked on the third door and there you were.”

  “Third time’s a charm or something like that.”

  “You were so sweet to me, but when I woke up, I thought we had…”

  Her light brown cheeks turned a reddish tint, and her embarrassment warmed my heart.

  “You are so cute.” I leaned over to kiss her warmed cheek, my lips lingering. “We didn’t. I was a perfect gentleman.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She held my gaze, not embarrassed at all with me.

  “Maybe I could treat you to dinner. To thank you properly.”

  “No, our first date, I’m taking you out,” I said.

  “Okay, but technically this is our second date,” she pointed out.

  “Let’s just pretend the first one didn’t count,” I suggested.

  “When?”

  “How about tomorrow night?” I needed time to plan something to blow her mind.

  “Sure.” She looked at her watch. “I have to go. I have class in a few minutes.”

  “Okay, I’ll text you later with details.”

  “Cool.”

  I stood up and pulled her up. Standing in front of each other, my mind went to our kiss, the softness of her lips, and the feel of her tits against my chest.

  She expected me to kiss her, and I wanted to. I leaned in, but at the last minute I redirected my lips and kissed her on the forehead. The awkward exchange resulted in her giving me a half smile and heading out of the student union.

  As she walked along the glass wall, she touched her lips, and a slight smile crept up from the corners of her mouth. I caught her full smile as she disappeared from sight.

  I am so stupid.

  She wanted me to kiss her again, but I hesitated, and she walked away. We’d gone from sharing an incredibly hot moment to the type of goodbye I reserved for my sisters.

  She said something about knocking on the second door and no one answered. That was Jackson’s room. If he had been in his room, this would have ended differently.

  I laughed at the thought of how close she had been to hooking up with someone else.

  From the moment she entered my world, I created an idea of her in my mind, but the more time I spent with her, the further away from my fantasy she became.

  Over the last week, I thought about Carrington all the time. She replaced my desire to do drugs. With all those thoughts, I realized my mistake. I had created the perfect version of her in my head before I got to know her.

  We shared an incredible first kiss, but I hesitated because I wanted the memory of our first kiss to linger in her mind. It was perfect, and I didn’t want to tempt fate. I’d die before I disappointed this girl again.

  My standards remained high, and nothing short of perfection would do for my Carrington.

  Chapter Nine

  Carrington Olivia Butler

  I was walking back from class when I received a text from Josh. When we said goodbye the day before, I put our strange exchange along with one amazing kiss out of my head. His text brought it all back.

  The feel of his lips, his grip on my arms, and the recap from the night before—my mind bounced from excitement to frustration.

  Josh: Dinner tonight. I’ll pick you up at 7:00.

  I responded.

  Carrington: Sounds great. Can’t wait.

  I expected a response but got no acknowledgement. I hated feeling like this.

  Jessica returned to our room, as I got ready for my date.

  “Hey, you look cute. Where you going?” she ask.

  “I have a date,” I said.

  “Oh yeah, with who?”

  “A guy in my Calculus class. His name is Josh Griffin.”

  I turned to find her staring, perched on the side of her bed.

  “Josh Griffin?”

  “Yeah.”

  “As in Griffin Library? That Josh Griffin?”

  “Oh shit.”

  “Yeah, he’s in my boyfriend’s fraternity. His dad is a big deal, but I’ve never met him.”

  “I didn’t put it together.” I grabbed a bottle of water from my desk.

  What am I getting myself into?

  “No offense, but I’m kind of surprised he asked you out.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s not offensive at all.” I turned and stared.

  “No, I mean… From what I’ve heard about his family, they are old school, traditional.”

  “What do you mean? What does that have to do with me?” I asked.

  “Well, you’re black.”

  “Thanks for the newsflash, I appreciate it.”

  “You don’t see a lot of interracial couples with the last name Griffin living in Florida, if you know what I mean.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was joking with me.

  “But they’re from Florida. I’m sure there’s a mulatto baby in there somewhere.”