Next Man Up (Making the Score #2) - Tawdra Kandle Page 0,13
do as I carried my possessions from my car to the room on the second floor of Gibbons Hall.
I could feel the eyes on me as I climbed the steps, and I knew what they saw: miles of tanned legs, a nicely rounded booty and a killer rack, all accented by the clothes I’d chosen. I could guess what most of them were thinking, too. If college was going to be anything like high school—and holy God, I prayed it wouldn’t be—the guys were going to be clamoring over each other to get into my panties, and the girls already hated me.
Once I had everything upstairs, I perched on the edge of the plastic mattress to text Grammy and let her know I’d arrived safely. My grandmother was not the queen of technology. Born into a Mennonite community—one of the stricter ones, at that—she still tended to eschew what she considered worldly complications. But now, with me living two and a half hours away, she’d made a concession to the twenty-first century and added a data plan to the small flip phone she carried.
“I want to be able to keep in touch, and you might not always have the privacy to call,” she’d told me when I’d expressed surprise at the change in attitude. “This way, you have no excuse for not letting me know how you’re doing.”
That gesture had touched me more than I could’ve ever expressed. Sometimes I forgot how lucky I was to have my grandparents. I was going to miss them, and that was a jarring revelation. I’d spent the past two years living what was essentially a double life, playing the sweet, docile Zelly at home while at school, I was the girl every guy wanted to fuck.
And quite a few of them had.
After I’d checked in with Grammy, I set to work putting together my side of the small room. My roommate hadn’t arrived yet, and I didn’t mind admitting that I was glad about that. It was nice to have some peace and quiet while I settled in.
Once everything was put away, I sat on the neatly made bed and unscrewed the cap from a bottle of nail polish. I’d treated myself to a mani-pedi before leaving Lancaster, but in the process of carrying my shit up the steps, I’d managed to chip both of my big toes. Luckily, I had the same shade of polish on hand and could easily touch it up.
I was in the midst of doing just that when the door swung open, and two girls peered in. One was diminutive, with generous curves and a cap of short black hair, while the other was of average height, with long, almost auburn curls.
I replaced the lid on the nail polish and stood, carefully mindful of my still-set toes. “You must be the roommate.” Stretching, I lifted my arms over head. “Nice to meet you. I’m Zelda Porter.”
The taller girl stepped toward me. “Quinn Russell. And this is my friend, Gia Capri.”
“Hey.” I nodded. “So, I got here super early and set up my stuff on this side of the room. I hope that’s okay.”
“Sure.” Quinn dropped a bag on the empty bed. “I’m not fussy about what side of the room I have.”
I watched for a few moments as the two girls worked out a plan for unloading and moving in; apparently, Gia was Quinn’s friend from high school who was also attending Birch and living on the fourth floor of Gibbons, and they’d driven over together. They were from a small town only ten minutes from the college, which made me wonder why they weren’t living at home, instead of at the dormitories.
“My mom’s selling our house and moving to central Jersey to be near my sisters now that I’m in college.” Gia shrugged. “She was just waiting for me to leave so she could do it.”
“And living in the dorms was part of a compromise with my mother,” Quinn explained. “She wanted me to go further away for college and I . . . didn’t.”
“I have to ask.” I lay back on my pillows, crossing my ankles. “What did you do to get me as a roommate? I expected to end up with some loser, given my situation.”
Quinn frowned and perched on the corner of her bed. “What situation?”
I regarded her steadily for a few seconds. “I had a roommate. Or rather, I had someone who was assigned to be my roommate. She, um, decided we weren’t