Bad Reputation. Melinda Di Lorenzo

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СКАЧАТЬ stirred, but didn’t wake up. I peered down at my phone. I was forty-five minutes behind schedule. And I’d done quite a number on my phone while I’d slept.

      Sometime during the night, I’d acquired a new low score on my Bejeweled game, turned off my alarm and sent Mark a nonsensical text.

      I’ll be paying for that one.

      I got out of bed as quickly as I could, trying hard to keep quiet.

      I struggled to get dressed in the dark, rushing as best I could while trying to prove Liandra wrong. I slid into the black skirt I’d preselected and attempted to button my blouse correctly. It was hard to be fast and silent at the same time. I cursed myself for needing to be right, cursed my roommate for making me feel that need.

      I finally brushed my curly hair out of its braid, wound it into what I hoped was a tidy bun and got my feet into my shoes. I stuck my tongue out at Liandra’s sleeping form and glanced at my phone again. If I was going to make the bus on time, I was going to have to run.

      I swore at myself as I made my way through the narrow hallway, past the long strip of dorm room doors.

      Damned stubbornness. Damned roommate. Damned cell phone alarm.

      “Hey!”

      I stumbled as I swerved to avoid smashing into the source of the deep and surprised voice. I flailed as I tried to stay upright, grabbing the nearest wall to keep from falling. My hair flew out of its bun, blinding me as I wobbled.

      “Dammit!”

      I willed myself to stand up, and glared at my feet. That was when I realized that I was wearing two distinctly different sandals. One was gold and dressy—the pair I’d selected to wear—but the other was a sporty number with a Velcro toe strap. The only thing they had in common was that they were both on my feet.

      “How did I not notice that?” I muttered to myself.

      I stared accusingly down at the guy who was sitting on the floor. The mismatched shoes might not be his fault, but he had nearly made me break my leg. I had a snarky comment on the tip of my tongue, until he flipped his blond, boy-band hair out of his face, and I found myself gazing into the greenest eyes I had ever seen. They were breathtaking; they were filled with concerned sincerity and a hint of something else I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

      My heart raced. His hand found mine and squeezed it firmly, confidently, like he was put on the planet to keep me upright. My palm tingled at his touch. Want licked through my hand to my wrist and across my chest. In two seconds flat, I was breathless, almost panting.

      When was the last time someone touched me like that? When was the last time I reacted to a man’s touch with such fervor? I answered myself immediately. Never.

      I knew my eyes must be open wide in surprise. I looked away and I pulled my hand from his grasp, then planted myself firmly on the ground.

       What just happened? What did that kicked-in-the-gut moment mean?

      “You okay?” he asked, breaking the spell.

      “This is a girls’ dorm.”

      I spun around and forced myself to walk until I hit the end of the hall and could run again without feeling those green eyes on my back. I fled down the stairs, glad to get away before I could be sucked in by the inevitable story he would tell about how his girlfriend was afraid of the dark, or how his sister was sick and needed him to stay over. I’d heard every lame excuse in the book. With an averagely aged population of about twenty-five, it was inevitable that guys were often found stashed throughout our residence.

      I didn’t normally care. As long as they stayed out of the shower and refrained from dropping dirty boxer briefs in the common areas, it was fine. But my mood was bad, and getting worse by the second.

      When I hit the final step, I flipped my shoes off and tossed them into my backpack.

      At least it’s sunny, I thought.

      I twisted my hair back into its bun, this time giving it a tug to make sure it was secure, and sprinted across the lawn.

      I moved more quickly now that my feet were free, and I even enjoyed the sensation of grass beneath my feet. It was dry enough to be springy and pleasant, and for about forty-five seconds, I felt completely liberated.

      When I got close enough to see the bus stop, I reined myself in, slowing to a hurried walk. Moments after I planted my bare feet on the cement pad, the bus wheezed up. I boarded it breathlessly, and tried to fill my head with thoughts of a rebuilt community center rather than a green-eyed boy.

      Man, I corrected mentally, remembering the way my body lit up when our palms touched. Definitely a man.

      I shrugged off the residual desire, and focused my mind on the upcoming meeting.

      * * *

      I crossed and uncrossed my legs nervously. I was already getting a headache and I hadn’t even started my presentation yet.

      “You don’t need to be worried.”

      I glanced up at Keith Bomner and frowned. He was so quiet and nondescript, it was easy to forget he was there. He had a face that would blend into a crowd if it wasn’t hidden behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and his clothes were plain. My own outfit looked slick beside his. But Liandra had assured me that he was the best person to help me with my plea to the city, and so far he hadn’t let me down. Today, he was going to help me remind the city officials that that they had a legal obligation to let me continue my quest, at least for another six weeks.

      In fact, he was in my good books because he’d met me at the bus stop with a pair of shoes.

      “How’d you know?” I asked.

      He shrugged. “Liandra called. She said she found a pair of mismatched sandals on your bed. It seems she knows you well.”

      I’d slipped on the flats gratefully and followed him into city hall.

      Now I was tapping them nervously on the floor. Keith put a hand on my knee to stop me.

      “This will be an easy meeting,” he said.

      “I’m not worried,” I lied.

      “Relax. This is a sure thing.”

      “How do you know?”

      “Because going back on their word would make for bad press.”

      My heart beat nervously. “The press?”

      “Liandra told me how you feel about the spotlight and I’ll respect it, even if I don’t understand it,” he let me know.

      I let out a breath, and ignored the lawyer’s briefly curious expression. My mistrust of the media wasn’t without reason. For months after my parents’ deaths, reporters hounded me, begging for the inside scoop. The last thing I wanted was my name aired in public once again. The city officials knew who I was, of course, but the bulk of the fundraising СКАЧАТЬ