Next Man Up (Making the Score #2) - Tawdra Kandle Page 0,12

But being the guy who I was, it was the body I saw first. Tits for days were on subtle display—they weren’t sticking out like some centerfold model, but they weren’t hidden, either. Fitted black shorts cupped a very fine ass, one I could almost feel under my hands. And legs? They went on for miles, tanned, toned and shapely.

It was the legs that sparked the first memory blip. I had a sudden and inexplicable flash of those legs spread on a bed before me and wide, trusting eyes smiling up into my face.

Shit. I’d totally done this chick. I narrowed my gaze, trying to see if I remembered her from high school. If she’d gone to Franklin as I had, she would’ve been a year behind me, assuming she was a freshman now like the others.

Nate glanced at her and then back at me. “Uh, this is Zelda, um . . .?” He looked a little embarrassed.

“Porter. Zelda Porter.” She lifted her chin, a clear dare. Would I say something?

“Zelda’s my roommate,” Quinn put in. “She’s from Lancaster.”

Lancaster. Had I ever been there? I didn’t think so, at least not since I was a little kid, way before my wild days.

“Uh, hi.” I sketched a lame-looking wave, cringing inside even as I did it. That’s one of the drawbacks about being stuck in a wheelchair that no one talks about much. I couldn’t just get up and shake hands or doing anything natural. It always felt awkward to me.

“Hey.” She leaned a hand on my desk and crossed one foot over the other ankle. I got the impression that every move she made was practiced and planned; nothing was accidental. Everything was deliberate.

Nate, Gia and Quinn launched into a three-way conversation about their classes and professors, as Zelda and I stood by silently. I tried not to stare at her, but it was driving me crazy, wondering where I’d met her. Or maybe more accurately, when and where I’d fucked her. Because I knew without a doubt that I had.

“There’s some kind of party tonight at a fraternity called Lambda something or other,” Gia announced. “A guy gave me a flyer. Do you all want to go?”

Nate shook his head. “Not my scene.” I saw him look at Quinn uncertainly, but she wrinkled her nose.

“I don’t want to go. Leo’s going to call tonight, and besides . . .” She shot Nate a small smile. “Not my scene really, either.”

“Awww, come on, you guys. Don’t be so lame.” Gia tilted her head. “I don’t want to go by myself. And it’s our first college party.”

“Sorry.” Quinn sounded anything but.

“I’ll go with you.” From her spot by the door, still leaning on the desk, Zelda spoke. “I’m always down for a party. But make sure you have your own way home, because chances are I’ll find a fuck buddy, and I don’t like to feel rushed.”

There was a long moment of silence, the sort my mother would’ve termed stunned. Nate’s face was red, Quinn was trying to look anywhere but at the rest of us, and Gia was watching Zelda, a little bit of amusement in her eyes.

I, on the other hand, was trying to process this new information to see if it gave me any more insight into where I’d hooked up with Zelda. She talked about sex so casually that she reminded me of myself back in the day. But fucking someone like myself wasn’t my MO back then—I’d liked the ones who’d looked at me with wide, dreamy eyes. I’d preferred the girls who hadn’t fucked half of the rest of the football team. Yeah, it made me the biggest hypocrite out there, and yeah, I’d had a shit ton of time to see the error of my ways. And karma, that cold bitch, had the last laugh, since now, even though I was capable of performing, finding women who wanted to enjoy that performance wasn’t easy.

After all, how many chicks want to bang a dude in a fucking wheelchair?

Chapter Two

Zelda

Grammy always told me, “Start out as you mean to go on.” What she was trying to teach me was that it was easier to maintain the expectations I’d established than to change people’s minds about me.

That was why I wore my shortest denim shorts and a clingy black tank top to move into the dorms at Birch College. I didn’t want there to be any misconception about who I was and what I was willing to