In The Together: Where You Are Part 1

Where You Are.

The Together Series.

Alla Kar.

To those with a haunted past. Yesterday is history.

"Right from the start, you were a thief, you stole my heart, And I your willing victim." Pink.

Chapter One.

Laney.

"And there will be a time, you'll see.

With no more tears.

And love will not break your heart.

but dismiss your fears." Mumford & Sons.

Cold coffee.

Is there anything worse? Staring down into my owl coffee mug, the cool brown liquid gawks up at me in mock humor. The cord is lying on the counter beside the pot, not plugged into the wall where it was last night. Instead, Heather's-my looks-obsessed roommate-straightener is plugged in. What's the point of having a timed coffeepot if it's unplugged every morning before you get a chance to use it? I grit my teeth and blow my bangs from my forehead.

I s.n.a.t.c.h the cord from the plug-in and toss the straightener on her bed. Hopefully, she'll get the point. Instead of pouring the coffee down our sink, I sip on it. h.e.l.l shall freeze over before I go a morning without my coffee. h.e.l.l frozen-over would probably be hotter than my coffee right now. I grab my backpack, tie my blond hair into a messy bun, push up my thick, black-rim hipster gla.s.ses, and walk out of our dorm room.

I lock the door and head toward cla.s.s, the aroma of perfumes swarming my nose. A few girls in towels race down the hall, screaming. Like clockwork, a tall muscular guy follows behind them, a huge I'm-going-to-get-some grin on his face. College is definitely a guy's wet dream come true. Especially, in a co-ed dorm. He'll have one of them pressed against their dorm room door tonight. They're all so predictable.

Don't get me wrong, it's perfectly fine to date. But, doing it wisely is a completely different issue. Girls aren't the smartest when it comes to dating. The three C's that guys can't stand are clinginess, crying, and clumsiness. I know it's not possible to walk like a runway model twenty-four seven. And we all know girls tend to cry, especially around that time of the month. But it's all about the game. You've got to play it right, so you can snag a great guy. It's so easy to rope one in as long as you focus, and I don't mean on his abs.

I'm almost clear of the hallway when I hear my name. I turn on my heel. Heather is frowning from the lounge doorway. Her long black hair is perfectly straightened. I hope she gets a medal for her hair today, because that would be the only reason I'd forgive her for unplugging my coffeepot.

She pouts her pink-coated lips and curls her finger for me to come closer. "She's crying again."

d.a.m.n it. I don't have to ask. I know it's Bethany and I know why she's crying. It's the same d.a.m.n thing every week. Sighing, I walk into the lounge. A few girls surround her, patting her back and trying to calm her down. It's not going to work, because she'll be in the same position next week. She glances up over her long lashes and slender nose. Her strawberry blond hair is messy and hangs loosely down to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "I just-I just don't know what I'm doing wrong. It's like every time he sees me coming, he goes the opposite direction. What do I do-" she breaks off in a fit of sobs.

I'm thinking of a million different ways to escape when Heather claps her hands loudly. "I know. Laney-why don't you help her? You helped me with Todd. You got him to ask me out in two days. You could help Bethany."

Oh, the agony. I don't know if I could stand two minutes in a room alone with her. I give her a small fake smile and shrug. She looks like the d.a.m.n cat off of Shrek, with her wide eyes and trembling bottom lip. If I say no I'll look like a major b.i.t.c.h. "Who is it this ti-?" I stop myself.

She wipes her nose and tries to straighten her hair. I want to tell her that's not going to work, she needs a brush, but I keep my mouth shut.

"Aiden Sims."

And the heavens opened up and released the hottest male specimen to come to Jacksonville University. Well, that's what he thinks anyway. Aiden is the playboy of our small university and he plays his Abercrombie-model good looks to his advantage. I grumble under my breath and pull my strap up my shoulder to keep it from falling.

"Have you had s.e.x with him?"

A few of the hovering girls gasp. Oh, get over it. Bethany shakes her head. "No, we haven't."

"Great. That means you still have a chance to get him."

"Wait," a redheaded girl says from the corner of the room. "You're telling me that if we've had s.e.x with a guy, and he hasn't committed, we're screwed?"

I nod. "Pretty much. You've never heard why buy the cow when the milk is free?"

The redhead scoffs. "How do you know so much about this stuff, and who made you queen?"

Rawr. Someone hasn't had their panties down lately. Heather raises her index finger and rolls her neck; that's how I know she's going to tell someone off. "She knows exactly what to do when it comes to getting guys. I've been with Todd for five months."

Red shakes her head. "But why don't you have a boyfriend then, Laney?"

A long, hard pain starts to build in the depth of my stomach. My eyes feel funny and my heartbeat is heavy in my chest. I will not think about him. No, I refuse. "No one has interested me yet." Which is almost true, no one at this college has been worth my time. But that's not the real reason. Red grabs her coffee and sways out of the room. Please, bring me back that coffee!

A tall brunette sitting in the corner clears her throat and leans over the worn lobby chair. "What else. I mean-any other advice?"

Everyone turns to look at me. I should totally charge for this. I shrug. "You can't show that you're too interested. No waiting for his text. He needs to be waiting for yours." I take a sip of my cold coffee. "Don't throw yourselves at him. Don't take fifty million pictures on the second date. Make him work for it."

Most of the girls nod slowly at me, waiting for more advice. I glance at the wall clock. I'm going to be so late.

"Laney," Bethany asks, drawing my attention back to her. "Can you help me? I don't know what move to make. Please."

Can I help you, or will I help you? It's not like my small job at the writing center takes up that much time. h.e.l.l, I have tons of free time. That's exactly why I have a TBR list on my Kindle a mile long. I tug at my ponytail, then give Heather a defeated look. "Okay, I can help. You want to meet me tonight? We'll go over our strategy."

Bethany smiles. I think it's the first one I've seen on her face since she moved in last semester. "Well, I have plans to go out tonight. Aiden is going to be there, if you want to meet up?"

Oh, no. I don't like where this is going. I'm not a big partier. I'm twenty-two and couldn't care less about getting wasted. I do it sometimes, but only for celebration or if I'm really bored. "Where are you guys meeting?"

Bethany stands up, adjusting her b.o.o.bs in her shirt. No wonder guys flock to her, and no wonder they leave. She leaves nothing to the imagination. "The Loft down on King Street." She places her hands on her slender hips. "You coming? I really want to start now."

The black lines of mascara running down her face makes me sad. She is really desperate. Crying in the third-floor lounge isn't the fix-it problem she was looking for and I can't blame her. All the girls surrounding her right now would advise her to do the absolute wrong thing.

I huff. It's just one night. "Okay, I'll meet you there at nine."

Since I was pulled into the lounge this morning, I am ten minutes late for cla.s.s. Which is something I never am. I walk to my seat, conscious of the entire cla.s.s watching me like I have a paper bag over my head and I'm waving a gun around.

"Ms. Scott, please tell me there is an excellent reason you've missed the first ten minutes of my cla.s.s." When college students tell you that college professors don't call you out like in high school, they're all a bunch of dirty liars. My professors live to embarra.s.s people. I guess it's all they have for fun in their old age. And Dr. Phillips is the worst. Definitely not the kind of professor I had in mind when I signed up for creative writing. I love to write short stories, but if I'm going to have to read them to the entire cla.s.s, I don't think I like writing them anymore.

"Big fire in my dorm room, everyone was running down the street in their underwear, screaming." I plop my book bag down in my regular seat. A few of my cla.s.smates laugh under their breath.

Dr. Phillips gives me a tight-lipped grin. "Don't be a smart-mouth, Laney. Sit down and open to page six eighty-six."

I flip through my book until I land on one of Edgar Allen Poe's poems. Great, now I have to listen to this depressing bulls.h.i.t. I swear Dr. Phillips lives to bring his students down.

"Don't worry, at least you missed the first ten minutes of the torture session," Jacks says.

I laugh and turn around, handing him one of the Pop-Tarts that was shoved down into the depths of my bag. Jacks' dorm room is right next to mine. He was the only reason I made it through the first week of school. Where he is nice-looking, tall, blond, and has big brown eyes, he doesn't act like a hormone-crazed, fifteen-year-old boy. Maybe it has something to do with being older and a senior.

"Thanks, bud. I would go hungry without you." He takes a large bite and half of the Pop-Tart is already gone.

I shrug, then turn around in my seat, whispering, "I hear I'm hard to live without."

Jacks laughs and taps my shoulder. I glance back. He holds up a piece of paper with an Ogre-looking guy that, I a.s.sume, is Dr. Phillips. He has a huge mustache with c.o.ke-bottle gla.s.ses. Not to mention a huge erection. Okay, maybe he doesn't act that much older.

I can't help it; I laugh. Loudly. I snort, and that makes Jacks laugh, too. Soon I see a shadow fall over my desk. I glance back, trying my d.a.m.nedest to give the best innocent look I can conjure up. It doesn't work.

Dr. Phillips is sneering down at us. He reaches out and s.n.a.t.c.hes the paper from Jacks. "Hmph." He tears the paper into pieces and crosses his arms. I'm sure he is contemplating some diabolic plan to make our lives h.e.l.l. "I need to see you both after cla.s.s."

f.u.c.k. Narrowing my eyes, I flip Jacks the bird over my shoulder. I hear him chuckle and feel a hard slap on my shoulder.

Cla.s.s goes by just as slow as it always does, and I know I heard someone snoring in the back row. When everyone starts to get up, I debate hiding behind the tall guy that sits in the back and escaping unnoticed. It doesn't work. Dr. Phillips' beady eyes are watching Jacks and me closely.

"Don't worry, Laney. I got this," Jacks says, gripping my elbow and leading me toward Dr. Phillips' desk.

We stand in front of the desk, staring down at him. I feel like I'm in second grade again, when I called a girl in my cla.s.s a cry baby and got in trouble.

"Ms. Scott and Mr. Tate. I don't appreciate your lack of respect for my cla.s.s and myself. So, what to do with you both? I could overlook it...but I don't think I will."

Of course not.

Jacks pinches my side and I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"I volunteer at the Cook Off down at the YMCA every year. It's coming up. If you two show up and help, I'll excuse this rudeness. Then we can go on with our lives."

Cook Off? What. The. f.u.c.k? Just because Dr. Phillips doesn't have a life, doesn't mean we don't. "I-"

"We'll be there. When is it?" Jacks asks.

I scrunch my nose and bite back a smarta.s.s remark.

"This Sunday at seven. Then the final round will be next Tuesday at six. I suggest you two show up and do your share. I don't appreciate childish bulls.h.i.t in my cla.s.sroom."

Sure, you don't. Jacks gives Dr. Phillips a half-a.s.sed salute and pulls me closer to the door. "You a.s.shole," I say, shoving his shoulder.

Jacks raises his palms in mock surrender. "I'm sorry. He was going to make us miss a test or something. You know how they are. I can't miss any more tests; I'm graduating next semester. And I refuse to stay here any f.u.c.king longer."

I roll my eyes. "I hate you."

Jacks wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in close. "Like h.e.l.l you do."

Chapter Two.

Laney "No one said it was going to be easy.

But no one said it was going to be this hard." - Coldplay I look like a stereotypical blond. Heather is standing in front of me, hands clasped in front of her. She looks like a proud mom. "Oh, sweetheart. You look so s.e.xy. Who would have known that you have an a.s.s?"

I lift an eyebrow. "I look like Kim Kardashian."

Heather fluffs her hair in the mirror, tugging down her already too low-cut black T-shirt. "That's a bad thing because?"

I refuse to answer that. "I just want to get this over with. I don't know why Bethany is so worried about Aiden anyway. He's slept with half of the female student population. Plus, he isn't even that cute."

Heather turns around and lifts an eyebrow at me. "Okay, he is a little attractive, but he isn't any good. He will stomp all over her heart. He already has."

Heather tries to fix my top. "Well, you can help her snag him. You helped me with Todd, who is going to be at The Loft tonight." She squeals.

I almost regret helping her. If I have to see them stick their tongues down one another's throat one more time, I may gag myself with my own fingers.

"Come on, you look like a s.e.xy b.i.t.c.h. Let's go."

Heather and I drive to The Loft in her black, 1967 Camaro. Her dad is a mechanic and has every vintage vehicle known to man. I tell her about Jacks and me in cla.s.s today. She laughs and says I'm on my own. She goes home every Sunday for church with her family. And I doubt she would try to miss it for a Cook Off.

She has the radio blasting and is smoking a cigarette. I grab my stomach and roll down the window. It's not the smoke that bothers me, it's the familiarity. He used to smell like that. He would take long, luscious drags before glancing up at me from under his long lashes. I force the memories back down. I can't-I won't think about him. Not now. Not here.

"Sorry, is the cigarette smoke bothering you?" Heather starts to wave the smoke away from me. I don't trust my voice enough to answer. I glance out the window and watch as The Loft comes into view.

"You know, that girl in the lounge today had a point...why don't you have a boyfriend? I mean, you're so cute, with your alternative clothes and little figure. I just...how do you know so much about boys, yet you haven't dated anyone since you started college?"

Sighing, I run my hands over my hair that Heather made me leave down for tonight. "I just haven't found anyone worth dating. I just know what to expect. Any girl can do it, all she has to do is sit down and realize all guys want one thing. Once they get it, they're done, finished. Unless, you make them work for it. Guys like a challenge. It's common sense."

"Well, maybe we could find you a sleeping buddy for the night. Get you a good lay in. You deserve it, babe."

A good lay in? h.e.l.l to the no. Knowing the guys at our school, I know that I want to keep my STD tests negative. "I think I'll just worry about Bethany tonight."

Heather rolls her eyes and parks the car. "Okay, let's do this."

The Loft is slammed with college kids. The bouncer takes our money and lets us through the door. Heather wraps her arm through mine and pushes us a path through the crowded bar. Bethany is sitting at a table with another girl, sipping some girly drink. Her eyes light up when we get to the table. "This is the girl that's going to help me," she says, patting my shoulder. Her friend gives her a what the h.e.l.l looks and excuses herself. Obviously, I'm not up to par.

"b.i.t.c.h," Heather yells, flagging a waiter down.

Bethany wraps her hands around my arms and pulls down to get my attention. Her eyes are narrowed, and she is looking at the dance floor. I follow her gaze and sure enough, Aiden Sims is grinding on some girl. Cla.s.sy.