Daddies Brat

Avery

“She got away,” Riley said.

I tried not to roll my eyes. We were walking back from breakfast, where Riley had spent the whole meal moaning about the girl from last night. Don’t get me wrong: missing out on a hookup sucked. I understood that. I’d been in his position before. But fucking Christ, he had spent the entire breakfast going on and on about it. I thought it was out of his system.

I was wrong.

“If only we had climbed the fence immediately,” he went on. “We could have gotten away together before the cops found me. Instead, I got busted. And then when I went to the convenience store, she was already gone.”

“Losing the girl sucks, sure,” I replied. “But getting busted for a fake ID isn’t a big deal. It’s not like you were arrested.”

“The school might impose disciplinary action later,” he said. “The last thing I need is Coach Boothe finding out and giving me shit for it. I feel like

I’ve got the sword of Damocles hanging over me.”

“Sword of what now?”

“It’s a Greek reference.”

“Harper’s nerd references are starting to rub off on you,” I muttered. “But yeah, cops busting up a party is lame. This is why I like weed.”

Riley snorted. “I know why you like weed, Avery.”

I wasn’t a stoner. Not in the stereotypical sense. I didn’t wear hoodies all the time, and sit around listening to Dark Side of the Moon while eating an entire sheet cake in one sitting. Those kinds of stoners allowed weed to become a focal point in their lives.

But me? I usually took THC in small amounts. Microdosing, it was called. It helped me relax and enjoy things more. I didn’t understand why that was such a big deal. People claimed that was not experiencing “real life,” as if there was such a thing. Everyone distorted their reality all the time for their benefit. It would be a dick move for me to rip Harper’s glasses off and accuse him of missing out on real life by seeing everything through a literal lens. But when I ate two milligrams of THC at lunch every day because it reduced my anxiety and helped me focus, they called me a stoner.

Fuck that bullshit. I exercised every day, was a straight-B student, and had a dope social life. Weed didn’t get in the way of that. Meanwhile, those same people criticizing me were getting shitfaced every weekend to the point that they couldn’t function the next day. Those were the kinds of people with a problem, if you asked me.

Okay, so I still liked to get totally baked every now and then, too. But it was rare.

“I’ve got a buddy who works in the Behavioral Sciences building,” I said. “I can ask him to put out some feelers. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a woman named Lauren who is getting a psych degree.”

Riley grunted. “Don’t bother. I already checked the student directory.

There’s only one Lauren majoring in psychology, and it’s not her.”

“If we expand the search…”

“I did that, too. Checked the entire directory for everyone named Lauren. There’s hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. I gave up after an hour.”

“Wow, dude. Kind of stalkerish.”

“It’s only stalker behavior if she’s a stranger,” Riley replied. “This is different. We had a connection. I’m just trying to find her.”

“Just busting your balls,” I said. “It’s Sunday, the last day before shit gets busy. Take the day to relax. And who knows? Maybe this girl will find you.”

“Maybe.”

As we walked home, I thought about her. I had thought about her a bunch last night, too. The cotton skirt that hugged her curvy hips. The full, red lips that were pursed in a permanent pout-begging to be kissed. The way she had looked at Riley last night… and the way she had looked at me, too.

I was mad I had missed out. And it was all thanks to rock, paper, scissors.

Put her out of your mind, I told myself. Riley won. If anyone has a chance with her, it’s him.

But Riley wasn’t ready to change subjects yet.

“She probably hates me for standing her up,” he continued.

“You’ve got a good excuse. Getting busted by the cops.”

“Maybe…” He shook his head. “If I tell her that, she’ll feel guilty that she got away and I got caught. And I don’t think I want her knowing I had a fake ID.”

I gave a start. “Why not? She had one.”

Riley shrugged. “I could have told her I had a fake, but I didn’t. She might be weird about it after the fact.”

“You’re definitely overthinking this, buddy,” I said with a laugh. “She’s the psych major. Let her do the psychoanalyzing.”

“If I ever see her again,” he replied as we approached our driveway. “That car must be our new roommate.”

“I hope she’s hot,” I said. “I’m not playing rock, paper, scissors for her. You owe me one for letting you have Lauren.”

“We both promised Harper we wouldn’t flirt with our new roomie,” he pointed out. “We can’t make her uncomfortable.”This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“I know, I know,” I said soothingly. “I’m not going to be a fucking creep about it. But after a few months, once we all know each other and are comfortable… who knows what might happen?”

“If you’re hoping for another Jess situation,” Riley said, “you can forget about it right now.”

The name was like a knife stabbing into my gut, then twisting with pain. “You didn’t have to bring her up.”

“You were thinking about her. Or at least, a situation like hers.” Riley clapped me on the back. “Just be cool.”

“Only way I know how.” I opened the door and we walked inside.

And there she was, wearing skin-tight jeans. Lauren. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she looked more beautiful than ever. I nudged Riley in the ribs. “Found her.”