The Outsider: Hard Knox Part 19

"And the bad one-liners are when I cut out." Standing, I considered heading to the sink to wash my cup, but Knox was right there, and really, keeping a safe distance from him was something I needed to keep a priority-both physically and emotionally. So, I decided to take my cup back to my bedroom, finish the final dregs, and wash it when Knox wasn't mostly naked a foot beside me. "I'll let you hop in the shower first since you obviously need it." I so did not need to give him yet another once-over. His sweat was mostly gone now, but that didn't make him any less distracting.

"Thanks, but I'll take one when I'm through." He was already heading toward the slider.

"What? There's more? How many more times are you going to hit that thing before you break or bust something?" Through the kitchen window, I saw the tire punching bag. It seemed so still and imposing, it was hard to imagine it swinging and flying the way Knox had made it.

"That was just a warm-up." He started jumping up and down-I guess in an effort to warm his body back up.

After what he'd just eaten, I felt my stomach twist in sympathy for his. "Anyone ever mention you might have something of an anger problem?"

He did giant arm circles, first to the front, then to the back. "It's only a problem if I don't find some way to vent it." He was apparently done with his warm-up and ready to go back to beating the s.h.i.+t out of an inanimate object, but first, he made a detour at the fridge. My hand went to my hip as he winked at me, smiled, and jogged out the door.

"That's a beer you just grabbed," I hollered. "In case you were shooting for a bottle of water and missed."

"I didn't miss." Knox twisted off the cap, took a long swig, and held his arms out wide. "My body is a temple."

"If in no other way, I'll give you that it's the size of one."

He fired another wink at me as he ran out the door, leaving me to wonder what strange new path had opened up in my life to put me across a breakfast table from Knox Jagger, in his underwear, while I sported a robe, rat's-nest-like hair, and bad breath, while we discussed things like pasts, presents, and futures . . . then repeated. What a strange turn my life had made, but it was one change I couldn't even try convincing myself to regret. So instead, I let myself enjoy it. I gave myself a free pa.s.s to savor and enjoy and covet and long for things that had been off-limits weeks ago. That was how Knox found me standing-almost blissful with a smile on my face as I leaned into the sink-when he poked his head in a minute later.

"Oh, and by the way . . . Good morning, Charlie."

My smile stretched as I studied him, one intricate puzzle to which half of the pieces were missing and the other half didn't give any indication what a person was supposed to be seeing. "Good morning, Knox."

TIME FLIES BY, not only when you're having fun, but when you're shacked up with Knox Jagger as well. I wasn't getting the real benefits of "shacking up" with someone, but being with Knox seemed to make time shrink. What had felt like a day now spanned a week. What had felt like an hour was now a day, and what had started out as "We can solve this thing in a month" had turned into we couldn't solve it in two.

We'd hit up the frat party scene almost weekly, suffering through one drunken, lame event after another, and we'd narrowed down our suspect list from the male population at Sinclair to the jacka.s.s male population at Sinclair . . . which wasn't much of a narrowing down. For whatever reason, whoever was targeting me had abruptly stopped, and-according to Neve-so had the s.e.xual a.s.sault reports. Which meant our villain was temporarily playing nice, or he was biding his time while he schemed and planned for some coup de grace we wouldn't see coming.

Knox was as frustrated as I was, but he had a tire punching bag to take out his frustrations on. The only outlets that depressurized me were hopping in the shower for a good frustrated cry, immersing myself in the evidence Knox and I had compiled, or a new habit I'd developed over the past two months-going for a pavement-pounding run. But since Knox was like a junkyard dog about protecting me, I never got the luxury of going on a frustration-diffusing run alone. He claimed the neighborhood was a sketchy one or our perpetrator could be waiting for a situation like me running alone to attack again or a lot of aggressive dogs ran free on the route I liked to take or what if I tripped over a tree root and rolled my ankle or what about a million other things. Knox had an objection for everything, so it was easier just to let him tag along.

And really, it was nice having him along. I did feel safer, and Knox and I never seemed to run out of things to talk, laugh, or sigh about, and once, he had managed to save whatever part of my body a crazed-looking Rottweiler had been after. No hits, kicks, or mace had been involved; all it had taken was Knox b.u.t.tressing himself in front of me, lowering into a semi-crouched position, and barking and growling like he was twice as crazed as the frothing-at-the-mouth Rottweiler. The dog skidded to a stop, c.o.c.ked his head at Knox, and turned and curled what tail it had between its legs. It put the burners on when Knox chased it, still howling like a mad man. The poor dog would be scarred forever, and I'd come dangerously close to wetting my pants from laughter.

Setting aside averted dog attacks and me being roofie-free for two months, Knox had become indispensable to me . . . though it wasn't only for his protection. There was something else-the something else. The something else topic he dodged as fervently as I did. Ever since that night in his truck, he'd kept his hands to himself, and I'd held myself back from jettisoning over his lap, but that didn't mean we hadn't had our fair share of misses. The tension between us had become so thick that I could almost feel his ache from wanting to grab me and pull my mouth to his. And there were times when his eyes would lock onto mine, and I knew he felt the same pull of desire I did.

So we walked on our fair share of eggsh.e.l.ls, trying to give each other a wide berth in case being too close to one another resulted in a moment of weakness followed by another followed by a tumble into his bed . . . which I hadn't been fantasizing about at all. The few times we'd gotten lax on the unspoken "wide berth" policy had resulted in . . . the creation of more tension and even more attraction.

Like the time I'd come to an abrupt stop running because I'd noticed my shoe was untied. Like the shadow he was, Knox had been right at my heels, scanning the surroundings, and hadn't noticed me stop until his chest had rammed into my back. His arms snapped around me in a protective embrace to keep me from falling, but after the danger had abated, his arms weren't quick to unwind. Instead, he seemed to pull me harder to him, until I felt the sweat from his chest mingling with the sweat on my back. I felt his breath so hot at the base of my neck I trembled. It was that, that tremble, that severed the moment, and he transformed back into my dauntless protector. Knox was like two men with me, and I couldn't decide which one he truly wanted to be and which one was acting.

My head wished for one version of Knox, while my heart yearned for the opposite one, so I guessed, at the end of the day, I liked both versions.

As for the school part of the last two months, not much had changed. I was still earning A's like a boss and, other than Harlow and Knox, being socially outcast by the rest of Sinclair. Other than the scornful glares I received on a daily basis from Knox's groupies, and a few nods of acknowledgement from some of Beck's frat brothers, I'd really become Sinclair's Hester Prynne, just like Knox had mentioned months ago.

Not that I really gave a c.r.a.p. Two solid friends who would do anything for me-and vice versa-were worth more than a thousand friends who gave me a bunch of lip service but wouldn't raise a pinkie to save me from a train barreling down the tracks.

Neve, of course, had been her usual pushy, Knox-is-the-devil self. She'd been insistent about seeing what research I'd compiled, as well as what I'd started on the article, but I'd held her off again and again with the excuse of not sharing my work until it was completed for fear of the dreaded journalism jinx. That had held her off so far, but wouldn't much longer. She wanted Knox's head on a plate, and try as I might, I couldn't find a sc.r.a.p of evidence to support my belief that Knox wasn't guilty.

If I didn't get something soon, I would run out of time, which was the reason I was waddling across campus in a giant white sheet, heading to my second frat party of the weekend. One party a weekend wasn't cutting it, so I was doubling up.

I'd wanted to go to this one on my own, minus one two-hundred-and-change shadow who could squash the average-sized frat boy in his hand, but as soon as I'd tried lying to Knox about my plans for the night, he'd seen right through my s.h.i.+fty eyes. He not quite, but almost, demanded to know what I was up to. When I spilled that I was off to a Valentine's Day toga party at Kappa Kappa, Knox had shared a grumble with me over the toga part then told me to wait for him before going.

He had to "go to work" -aka he was off to some hygienically challenged, dark, smoke-filled bar to arm wrestle a guy called Bull. Correction, he was going to arm wrestle Bull left-handed. Apparently, this Bull character worked on an oil rig in the Gulf, his chest was so wide it spanned two counties, and he ordered his T-bones raw. He had Knox by ten years and a hundred pounds and was arm wrestling Knox with his dominant arm. To me, that sounded like Knox was kissing his five hundred bucks good-bye, but Knox had just shrugged and said it was all mind over matter.

When he'd said that as he tugged on his boots, something had flashed through his eyes-something that made me wonder if Knox didn't only apply that principle to his not-so-on-the-up-and-up bets but to other areas of his life: the area pertaining to him and me. His whole body might have wanted mine, and his entire soul might have longed for mine, but his iron-will mind controlled the reins for both. Mind over matter . . . I'd been as guilty as Knox was when it came to keeping us apart.

Before he'd fired up his motorcycle and gone in search of arm wrestling glory, he'd asked that I wait for him to get back before I left for the party. I'd answered him with a smile and a maybe. It didn't make him happy, but he'd figured out a while ago that ordering me to do something resulted in my doing the opposite, so he locked his jaw, sighed in frustration, and jetted off with a wave and an I'll be back soon.

Maybe he would be back soon, but I was leaving sooner. Knox and I together were getting us nowhere, but on my own . . . at a frat party . . . I wasn't looking to get roofied again, but I was looking to flush out the culprit.

After Knox left, I'd tied, cinched, and folded a giant white sheet as quickly as my hands could move. I grabbed the keys to the truck before the exhaust from Knox's motorcycle had cleared the air. I was lucky if I had an hour on my own, so I put the pedal a bit closer to the floor than I normally would have, ran a couple more-red-than-yellow lights, and made it to campus in record time. I tried to find a parking spot as close to Kappa Kappa as possible because the way I'd secured my toga was more like a kimono, which made walking challenging.

So after shuffling through the parking lot and down a few sidewalks, I was in front of the Kappa Kappa house . . . which only made me want to turn around and head in the opposite direction. After the number of parties I'd suffered through this year, one would have thought I'd have built up a tolerance by now, but the opposite seemed to be true.

There was nothing playing out before me that I hadn't seen before, but I couldn't help wincing and cringing before I forced one foot in front of the other. The porch running around the house was littered with toga-wearing students, although where this girl had pulled a sheet from her bed to make her party-garb, the rest of the girls looked to have gone with pillowcases instead. Who would have known a person could get so inventive with a rectangle of fabric?

Like me, the guys had gone with the sheet thing, but theirs were dangled so their not-so-glorious pecs or maybe-two-but-not-six-packs were on display. Of course, I saw the standard red Solo cups and keg stations, and bad music flowed through the house like cla.s.s and style had taken a vacation from this part of the world.

"The dress code is toga, not muumuu," were the words I was greeted with.

"And you're going to be the gatekeeper still trying to bar me from entering at our ten-year reunion. Rhetorically speaking, of course, because I'd rather have my skin boiled off than make that h.e.l.lacious journey down memory lane." I settled my hands on my hips the way Sydney had hers, and I lifted an eyebrow. "'Fess up. You've already picked the theme for our big ten-year reunion bash, and you already know exactly what song's going to be played when Beck doesn't finally come around to digging the queen of heinous b.i.t.c.hes."

For a moment, Sydney's face went blank-like my words took a minute to process-but once they'd computed in that malicious mind of hers, I half-expected smoke to billow from her nostrils. "Just because you're banging Knox Jagger on a semi-regular basis doesn't mean you should expect the same level of respect the rest of us give him. You're nothing but a man wh.o.r.e's c.o.c.k-warmer, so get off that high horse and stop pretending like you're better than me."

So pretty on the outside. So truly, truly ugly where it counted.

Used to Sydney's regular blockades, I swept by her with a wink. She might have thrown her mouth around at me, but she knew better than to let palms or fists fly.

"Oh, I thought it was obvious, but I'm not pretending. One more thing," Halfway up the stairs, I snapped my fingers and glanced back at her. "Since you're no doubt going to be the president of the reunion planning committee, will you make sure to put Man Wh.o.r.e c.o.c.k-Warmer on my nametag in lieu of Charlie Chase? I wouldn't want people to get confused about who I really was back in my wild, crazy days." Making it a point to wave at my "muumuu" then stare pointedly at her "toga," which was nothing more than glorified white lingerie which the tops of her nipples were peeking out from, I left her with a wave and another wink.

Since I was normally with Knox at these things, Sydney had left me alone for the most part. Other than the occasional glare or coughed Wh.o.r.e! as I pa.s.sed by, her lack of in-my-face despise had left me wondering if she'd grown a conscience. I had my answer now.

A couple of the guys in the frat were hanging out at the entrance, making sure everyone was sporting a toga. One of the guys had what looked like a bundle of jockstraps hanging from his elbow, but since they let me pa.s.s without a word, I wasn't going to ask with the straps were for. I didn't want to know.

As a nice surprise, the music wasn't as full throttle as it was at most of these things, and the mood in the place was almost subdued . . . at least by college frat party standards. Couples were still making out in every corner, guys were still chugging beer from a funnel, and there was still that one streaker who just couldn't help himself. But at least I wasn't tip-toing between abandoned underwear, vomit, and used prophylactics.

My plan was to snag a beer and camp out some place I looked semi-alone but wasn't really alone. That might bring the rat out of the hole he'd been hiding in for months. Knox was going to lose his s.h.i.+t when he found out, but I couldn't let what Knox would or wouldn't do affect my decisions. I had to get to the bottom of this.

After procuring a cup of p.i.s.s Light, I made my way to a quiet corner and got comfortable. Other than a few couples who may or may not have been having s.e.x through their togas and a few other couples who were well on their way, I was the only one prowling through the darkened room-just the kind of place one sick f.u.c.k would want to find his target. My heart was pounding a few beats faster, and there was more adrenaline pumping through my veins than wasn't, but I put on an unconcerned facade. I made sure to keep my attention on my open drink without seeming like I was glancing at it every other second.

To occupy myself, I scanned the room where most of the students were congregated, looking for Harlow and Jake. When I'd talked to her earlier, she mentioned that they might swing by to make an appearance and do the "college thing," but Harlow was about as into the college thing as I was. Given she was seriously dating a guy in the military instead of schlepping her way through an army of college dimwits, she might have been even less into the college thing than myself. I doubted she'd show up, but I'd see her on Monday for our standing appointment to grab a coffee and catch up. Harlow was the only one who knew about my feelings for Knox, in all their confounding glory, and her views on it seemed to s.h.i.+ft from supportive one week to discouraging the next. Even my closest confidants were as confused about Knox and me as I was. As I searched for her familiar face, another one cut through the crowd, smiling the whole journey toward me.

"You have been quite the party-goer lately. Last year, you claimed, and I do distinctly remember these words coming from your mouth, that frat parties were going to be the sole reason humankind lost its humanity." Beck, in his toga with the golden grape-leaf crown ringing his head, looked the very part of some Greek G.o.d. Next to Knox, he didn't compare, but when Knox wasn't around, Beck turned his fair share of heads.

"What are you talking about? Frat parties are the very pinnacle of humanity." I gestured at a few of the more "humane" sights taking place around us.

"So where's your tumor?" Beck b.u.t.ted his shoulder into the wall and angled himself in front of me.

Having him that close-smelling the familiar scent of his cologne, seeing the golden flecks in his blue eyes, feeling his chest b.u.mping my arm-felt too much like when we'd been a couple. Beck had been a good boyfriend, but he made a better friend. I slid a step to the side. "Not familiar with the tumor you're referring to."

"You know, that giant, grotesque, cancerous thing that's sucking your life away one day at a time? The tumor you need to have surgically removed from your life for good?" Beck's brows were raised, waiting for me to catch up.

"If you're referring to that hairy mole on the back of my arm, I had that removed last summer," I said in a dry voice.

"I'm talking about-"

"I know who you're talking about." I gave him a warning look. Beck was great. Knox was great. However, neither were great when they went off about the other.

"Well then? Where is the tumor?"

I crossed my arms and waited.

"Where is he?" Beck corrected with a long exhale.

"Probably winning five hundred bucks off some guy named Bull right this very moment," I grumbled before taking a sip of my beer.

When Beck accepted that I wasn't going to discuss Knox with him, he turned his attention elsewhere. "Are you drinking that cheap s.h.i.+t?" Beck glanced at my beer and winced. "That stuff's for the party n.o.bodies, the ones everyone hopes will stop showing up but never do. We keep the good drinks for the people who count under lock and key." Beck was already backing toward wherever that "lock and key" place was. "What do you want? You name it, and it's probably here."

Was Beck blind to the fact that I was the very definition of a party n.o.body? A frat house leper? Either that or he just plain chose to ignore it. Whatever it was, it endeared Beck to me . . . but not enough to give up my cup of p.i.s.s Light. "I'm good. I've grown so used to the bad stuff, if you were to put the good stuff in me, I'd probably keel over from the shock."

Beck's smile dimmed a degree. "You know that doesn't just apply to beer, don't you? It crosses over into all facets of life. Say, like a girl's choice in guys . . ."

"I'm not talking about Knox with you. I've told you that like five dozen times. Do you think this will be the time it finally sticks?"

He was silent for a minute, slowly walking back up beside me. He didn't stop until his chest was again brus.h.i.+ng the side of my arm. "So are you going to tell me why you're really here? Or am I supposed to keep on pretending to believe you've become another cliche college girl who only lives for boys, parties, and beer?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, wondering if I should tell Beck. The only reason I hadn't mentioned anything to him was because I didn't want people to know about the article or that I'd been roofied twice; it wasn't because I didn't trust him. And at this stand-still point, I could use the help of someone as connected as Beck. Where Knox drew the popular vote because people feared him, Beck drew his based on people liking him. He was the kind of guy people couldn't look at without instinctually handing over their trust, not to mention he had the pedigree and people skills to one day become president of the United States.

Before I could run through a checklist of why I should or shouldn't tell him, my mouth opened. "Someone slipped a roofie in my drink at one of these things-twice. I want to find out who did it."

Beck did his best to not look taken aback, but it took a minute before he could work up some words. "Someone . . ." He shook his head, his fists curled into b.a.l.l.s, and tried again. "Someone . . ."

Resting my hand on his arm, I helped him out. "Someone roofied me-twice. I'm going to find out who did it and make them pay." Maybe if I repeated it enough, it would sink in.

"Did they . . . you know . . .?" Beck's jaw set in a way that was eerily similar to the way Knox's would.

I whipped my head from side to side. "No, I wasn't raped. Only drugged. Not that only is the way I feel about it, but you know what I mean."

After driving his elbow into the wall, Beck draped his arms around me and pulled me close. He seemed to need the embrace more than I did, so I didn't pull away after a few seconds like I wanted to.

"I'm so sorry. So, so sorry." Beck's voice shook, his whole body rigid against mine. "If you find that b.a.s.t.a.r.d before I do, hand him over to me before you hand him over to the cops."

I almost s.h.i.+vered from the chill in Beck's voice. I wasn't used to hearing the low notes of hate and anger I heard now. "Thanks, Beck. I appreciate that." Unsure what else to say, I patted his back and tried to weave out of his embrace.

He wouldn't let me go. "Is that why you've been spending so much time with Jagger? Because you suspect he's the one who did it?"

Apparently the five-dozenth-and-first time hadn't sunk in either. "Knox didn't do it. He's helping me find out who did."

That earned a sharp laugh from Beck, who let go long enough to step back and appraise me like I'd lost all mental fort.i.tude. "Why do you think he stepped up to help you find the guy who did that to you?" He paused for barely a second. "How can you be so blind? He's not helping you. He's helping himself. He's making sure you're spinning so many circles around who did or didn't do it that you'll never get to the bottom of it." Beck settled his hands on his hips, glaring at the floor. "Let me guess, you guys have gotten nowhere. You've dug up more questions than you started with, and you don't have a single name on your list of suspects."

This time when he paused, he was clearly waiting for me to speak. When the only response I could give was lowering my gaze, he shook his head.

"Your silence speaks for itself. Don't blind yourself to the truth, Charlie. Don't let a guy like Knox Jagger be responsible for the rock-solid Charlie Chase spinning circles. Don't ignore what's right in front of you."

That was when my eyes lifted, locking on Beck's and narrowing, challenging him to utter another word. "Knox didn't do it. And if you want to keep your nose in all its straight, pristine glory, you better not say that again when I'm in earshot."

"Charlie-"

"I like you, Beck, but if you want to keep chatting, I suggest changing the topic. Now," I added when I could almost predict the words about to spill from his mouth.

Beck scrubbed his face and, after a long exhale, looked as though he'd managed to shove off-limits topics aside. "So? How 'bout those togas?"

I heaved an internal sigh of relief. "I'd give Kappa Kappa low marks for originality, but I'd give the attendees, namely the female attendees, high marks for getting creative with a handkerchief."

Beck chuckled and took a drink of his beer which, unlike mine, came from a bottle-a fancy green bottle at that. Nothing like the beer disparity at a frat party to separate the haves from the have-nots. "Kappa Kappa is the jock house. You can't expect them to put together something innovative and fresh after taking as many hits to the head as these guys have."

I supposed that explained the jockstraps, along with the entire house smelling like sweat and socks. "This is the jock house?"

"These are the guys who will be future high school teachers coaching football, basketball, and baseball-the ones who'll live vicariously through their star athletes while they subsist on a diet of canned beer, microwave dinners, and regrets." My brows came together as he went on. "That house will be the guys who live in their parents' bas.e.m.e.nts." Beck pointed at a cl.u.s.ter of guys sporting comic book character sheets for togas. There wasn't a single girl within a ten-foot radius of their circle. "Those are the ones who'll toil their lives away settling for middle management positions." Beck's finger s.h.i.+fted to another group of guys seemingly average in every way, from their looks to their heights to the number of girls mingled around them. Average, it seemed, was their par. Then Beck's finger slid to another bunch of guys. Their smiles were a bit too smug, their skin too artificially tanned, and their hair too meticulously styled. "And those are the ones who think they're going to run the world."

My gaze drifted to him. "And what are you and your guys?

Beck's mouth slid high on one side. "The ones who actually will run the world."

That got a smile out of me, even though I knew he was somewhat serious. But that was part of what made Beck so great-he believed he was the next big thing, and he was willing to put in the time and effort to get there. It was a sentiment I could relate to. "My, someone's been forgetting to take their daily dose of humility." Nudging his arm, I added, "Might want to double up for the next few weeks to rein that conceit back in."

Beck's attention s.h.i.+fted to my hand, and when my hand dipped away, it lingered on the spot it had just been on his arm. When his gaze lifted back to mine, his light eyes had darkened with something I'd gotten used to seeing last year. Why did being friends with a guy, especially an ex-boyfriend, have to be so riddled with complications? Why couldn't it be easy and simple? When I'd blurted that question to my mom last month, she'd answered with a concise, Because young men don't want friends; they want s.e.x. That was the last time I'd asked Mom a question along those lines.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Beck asked, my mom's answer playing on repeat through my mind. "You're right. This party is unoriginality at its worst."

Before I could even think about how to respond-other than with a h.e.l.l to the no-a cl.u.s.ter of guys came toward us, surprising Beck with a series of light punches and almost tackles.

"Is Beck trying to sweep you off your feet again?" one of his frat brothers, Dorian, asked me, jacking his brows.

"No, but I'm about to sweep you off your feet if you don't stop staring at my chest like if you just look a little harder, you'll glimpse my nipples through this white sheet." I pinched the top layer. "Because I've wrapped this thing around me so many times, the only vision cutting through it is Superman's."

"d.a.m.n, Charlie, we've missed you. We've missed you trying to keep our boy Beck here in line and in s.e.xually frustrated knots." Dorian elbowed the guy beside him, Rob, who shared a laugh with him . . . until Beck threw them a glare that shut them all up.

"I'd like to say the feeling's mutual and I missed you guys, but I swore off lying earlier today." I kept a smile in place so as to keep them confused about whether I was being serious or playing, but really, there were two kinds of frat boys-these guys and everyone else.

Beck's frat took the term frat to a whole new level. They made movies and conspiracy theories about the Greek system seem more like reality than fiction, and they acted as if their bonds to one another had been forged through battle and bloodshed instead of beer and b.o.o.bs.

"You still talk so no one can understand you," Paxton, the lanky one with the sleazeball smile, said.

"Good to know I'm staying fifty intelligence planes above you, Paxton."

Rob grinned at Beck, his brows touching his hairline. "She's nothing like the rest of them. I'll give you that, man."

"And thank you for noticing," I said, even though they clearly weren't trying to involve me in their conversation.

Beck shoved his arm, making half of Rob's beer slosh out onto his toga. "Shut up, Rob. And the rest of you can shut up too."