Confessions of a Queen B* Page 13

  “Nope.” He crossed his arms over the back of the chair. “I think women have a right to do whatever they want, babe.”

  My shoulders tightened every time he called me that. “Then why do you sound like you’re indulging me?”

  Morgan hissed my name and sent me another “shut the hell up” look, but Gavin didn’t notice.

  “Because I think you’re going down the wrong path of feminism there. I mean, yeah, women shouldn’t be objectified and pointed to and giggled at and all that, but in the same respect, most women want a double standard. They walk around in clothes that highlight their best assets and then smack us guys for noticing them.”

  “There’s a difference between looking and touching.”

  “Totally, but what you women don’t realize is how much power you have over a man. I can’t tell you how many of my friends have been completely pussy-whipped by a woman who knows how to use her body.”

  “So you’re saying that we use sex to manipulate men?” I glanced across the table, having heard a variation of this argument from Morgan a hundred times before.

  She took my cue and jumped in. “Not all women are like that. Some women just like sex.”

  “And more power to them for it.” Gavin winked at her.

  I hoped this little discussion would end with the two of them hooking up so I wouldn’t have to endure his company much longer.

  “Besides,” he continued, his voice turning slow and seductive, “there’s objectification of women as an object of appetite, and then there’s the worship of women as an equal partner in mutual desire.”

  Morgan got lovey-dovey eyes when she heard his line of bullshit. “That’s such a profound statement.”

  I’d heard it before, too. “Where did you read that?”

  He cleared his throat and looked away from me. “I came up with it on my own.”

  “Funny, because my dad published a paper discussing the same thing several years ago. Perhaps you’ve heard of him—Dr. Grant Wyndham?”

  He still refused to meet my gaze. “I got to go back to work.” He bolted for the counter, leaving a pissed-off Morgan glaring at me.

  “Damn it, Alexis, why do you have to act like such a know-it-all bitch?”

  “Because he was totally trying to pass my dad’s stuff off as his own.”

  “But what if he meant it?”

  “You mean you actually believe him?”

  “Argh, you’re impossible.” She slammed her book on the table and disappeared down the hall to the bathroom.

  Thirty seconds later, Gavin was back at my table. “So Grant Wyndham’s your dad?”

  “Yes,” I replied, not looking up from my keyboard as I continued my rant on sex-crazed assholes.

  “I’m a big fan of his work.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Perhaps we can hang out sometime and discuss it over dinner or a drink or something?”

  My train of thought slammed on the brakes, and I froze mid-sentence. I lifted my gaze. “Are you asking me out?”

  Gavin straightened up from his typical slouch. “Yeah.”

  “You do realize that Morgan has a serious case of the hots for you and that’s a shitty thing for any girl to do to her best friend?”

  He nodded.

  “And you’re asking me out instead of her?”

  He nodded again.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re cooler than her. I mean, she seems nice and all, but she’s got some serious baggage, if you know what I mean.”

  Boy, did I ever. “Since you’re a philosophy student, let me give you a little insight about women, especially best friends. We don’t go out with guys our best friend is crushing on. It’s sort of an unspoken rule. Got it?”

  “Yeah, but if she wasn’t interested in me?”

  I wanted to say fat chance. Thankfully, Morgan’s return spared Gavin the reality check he had coming.

  “You’re brave, coming back here after Alexis was so rude to you,” she said, laying her hand on his arm and practically cuddling up to him.

  He gave her a half-hug that screamed “just friends” and added some breathing room between them when it ended. “I wanted to let her know how cool I thought her dad was and what an inspiration his writing’s been for me.”

  Oh. My. God. The guy was such a player. And Morgan was stupid enough (or maybe just horny enough) to fall for his crap.

  “Yeah, Grant’s one of the experts on the philosophy of love and sex.” Morgan coyly bit her bottom lip with the last word, making it very clear what she’d like with Gavin.

  I wondered if he had enough decency not to take advantage of her invitation and use her just for a quick screw. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to get tangled up in her baggage. He added another step between them. “He’s awesome.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, continuing to backpedal. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I got to work.”

  “Bye.” Morgan gave him a flirtatious little wave, her eyes glued to his butt as he left.

  I watched him disappear into the back room before saying, “He’s such a douche.”

  “Alexis!” Morgan snapped her head back to me. “He was just trying to apologize.”

  “No, he wasn’t.”

  “Then what were you two talking about?”

  I debated whether to mention that he was hitting on me. “We were talking about my dad.”

  She leaned back in her chair and sighed. “I wish we could do a parent swap.”

  “You want my mom?”

  “She’s not much different from my mom. Besides, your dad is awesome.”

  He was—when he wasn’t chasing after girls half his age. “I’ll agree to a parent swap, but only if you take Taylor.”

  “Okay, that’s the deal breaker.” She sat up and opened her copy of Poetics. “But please, stop being so hard on him. You’re going to scare him away.”

  And what if I thought that was in her best interest?

  But I kept my mouth shut. Gavin was making it clear he wasn’t interested in her. Hopefully, Morgan would get the hint soon and move on to someone else.

  Chapter 14

  “Jared Von Houser, if you’re going to call out your ex-girlfriend for cheating on you by spray painting her name on the side of the school, try to remember that “slut” only has one T in it. We don’t want our school defiled by spelling errors.”

  The Eastline Spy

  March, Freshman Year

  I woke up Wednesday morning with an odd swirling of anticipation in my stomach. By the time I reached school, it had progressed to a definite variation of queasiness softened only by the fact Brett had an entourage around him when he dropped off Junior and didn’t have time for any conversation.

  When fourth period came around, I was completely on edge, and I knew why.

  I was going to be home alone with Brett in an hour.

  Today’s lecture was on nonphysical ways to relieve stress—which hopefully meant Brett wouldn’t bring up sex or my need for it again.

  I refused to even look at him for fear it would start another conversation that would leave me flushed and embarrassed. And for his part, Brett appeared to be focused on the lecture and taking notes. No evidence of the heat and tension from yesterday.

  Maybe he did get a blow job from Summer.

  The bell rang, and my stomach lurched into my chest.

  “So, we’re going back to your place?” Brett asked.

  Although I doubted he intended it, his question was cloaked with innuendo.

  I nodded, focusing on putting my things away and strapping on the baby carrier.

  “Good. Then I’ll see you in a bit.”

  My breathing quickened. You’d think we were going back to my place to have some naked playtime, not work on a school project.

  Of course, if Brett was right about sex being a great way to relieve stress…

  I shook that thought from my head, relieved to see no one was there to witness my mental deterior
ation. I had enough stress in my life before Brett entered it. This increasing tension between us wasn’t helping matters, but it would pass. In three days, our project would be over, and I wouldn’t have to worry about being alone with a hot guy who smelled like temptation and made my hormones cloud my better judgment.

  Of course, if I cleared the tension between us the old-fashioned way, would that help matters, or hurt them? I mean, yes, there would be less fantasizing about how his lips would feel against mine, where his hands would go, what his skin would taste like…

  Snap out of it!

  I couldn’t go there, no matter how pleasant it seemed in my lust-driven mind, because there would always be that awkward “after” phase. I’d seen it enough times in the hallway on Monday mornings. The hopeful glint in a person’s eyes when he or she saw their weekend fling coming toward him or her, followed by that, “um, you’re nice and all, but…” conversation. I refused to get caught in that same situation, especially when I knew there was no chance in hell that Brett and I could ever be a “couple.”

  I needed to cool down the uncomfortable heat that had swarmed my skin from thinking about Brett, so I made a detour to the fro-yo place on the way home. Even though I surveyed the fifteen other flavors available, I always got the same thing. Mocha frozen yogurt with mini dark chocolate chips, brownie bites, and a spoonful of marshmallow cream on top. Maybe one day, I’d try something new, but today, I needed comfort that came from familiarity.

  I was standing in line to pay when I overheard a group of guys snickering behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Sanchez and several of his teammates gathered around an iPad, their eyes glued to the screen. More juvenile snickers followed, and I rolled my eyes.

  Then Sanchez said, “See, I told you guys they were fake.”

  “I don’t care,” one of the others replied. “Tits are tits, and that’s still an impressive rack.”

  My annoyance evaporated, leaving behind a trickle of fear. I zeroed in on their conversation, hoping to God this wasn’t what I thought it was.

  “Oh, look, the little sophomore has to stuff hers,” Sanchez said as though he was indulging a toddler. “There’s no way she’s going to make head cheerleader with those.”

  My stomach plummeted. They didn’t have to name names for me to know who they were talking about. No one talked about my little sister that way.

  I grabbed my container of frozen yogurt and marched over to the group of guys. They were too busy enjoying the free peep show that they never saw me coming. I “tripped” and dumped the entire cup of wet frozen yogurt and sticky marshmallow cream over the screen. “Oops!”

  Sanchez’s face turned a mottled shade of red, his jaw clenched tight. “Why, you—”

  One of his teammates held him back, but I didn’t care. I didn’t fear him. I stood my ground, my glare never wavering from his. “It was an accident,” I said innocently. Then I added in a slightly louder voice so the entire fro-yo café could hear, “I’m so sorry I interrupted your porn party.”

  Sanchez lunged at me again, this time prompting another one of his teammates to restrain him.

  I stayed where I was, silently daring him to throw a punch at me in front of everyone. When I filed a police report for assault, I’d have plenty of witnesses.

  I held out my napkin. “Can I help you clean up?”

  Sanchez’s face had gone from red to purple now, the cords on his neck popping out under his skin. “Get the fuck out of my face before I—”

  “Dude, chill!” The broadest of the football players moved in front of him, blocking his view of me. “She’s not worth getting kicked off the team.”

  That was interesting to learn. Was Sanchez already in hot water? Definitely something to investigate for my blog later.

  But right now, there were more important matters to deal with. I turned and left, my mind still reeling from what I’d overheard. The pervert had posted the videos online again. And this time, he was going to pay.

  I was so wrapped up in my plans for vengeance that I’d forgotten all about Brett until I saw the 4Runner sitting in my driveway. He hopped out of his SUV when I drove up. One look at my foul mood, and his smile faded. “What happened to you?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” More than likely, he already knew about the locker room videos. It seemed the whole football team did.

  He moved between me and my front door, stopping me by bracing his hands against my shoulders. “Lexi, talk to me. Tell me what has you so pissed off.”

  “Like you don’t know.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  I searched his face for any signs of lying, but didn’t see any. Maybe he was as innocent as he claimed. I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, letting some of my anger flow out with the air. “Can we talk about it inside, please?”

  “Lead the way.”

  I was still queasy, but for an entirely different reason now. I’d failed to protect my sister. And that asshole had won—at least for now. But I didn’t know if telling Brett about the videos would make things better.

  Brett pulled out a chair for me at the table and waited until I sat down before doing the same. “Now, tell me what happened.”

  “I had a run-in with Sanchez at the fro-yo café.” That was common knowledge. Or at least, it would be by morning.

  “And?”

  “I accidentally tripped and spilled yogurt on his iPad.”

  Brett crossed his arms. “And why did you do that?”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Nothing about you is an accident.”

  “Listen, I have things I need to do, so if we can just wrap up this project, I’d appreciate it.”

  I tried to rise from my chair, but he pushed me back down. “I can’t work with you when you’re upset, and I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Why do you want to help me? I thought you and Sanchez were best buds.”

  “We’re teammates, but I also know he can be an asshole.”

  I mirrored Brett’s posture, tapping my fingers on my arm as I weighed the consequences of telling him about the video. Finally, I blew a stray strand of hair out of my face and said, “He was watching a naked video of Taylor and some other girls in the locker room.”

  Brett’s expression turned unreadable. “And was this a video she sent to him?”

  “Damn it, Brett, I know my little sister can be an idiot at times, but she’s not so desperate for attention that she’d stoop to sexting.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I need more information about this video.”

  My feet twitched, releasing some of the frustrated energy zapping through my veins. I bit my bottom lip, willing Brett to let this subject go so I could take of it myself once we finished our assignment, but in the end, I decided it was better to defend my sister.

  “Okay, I’ll start from the beginning. Last week, Taylor discovered a video of her and the other cheerleaders on YouTube that had been taken with a hidden camera in the locker room. I went in the next day and found it, left a video message for the perv who’d placed it there to take down the videos, and then threw the camera away. A couple of days later, the videos were gone, and I thought this was over, but then there was this weird post on my blog this weekend and—”

  Brett silenced me by placing his hands on my shoulders and giving me a small shake. “Can you show me where the videos were before?”

  “Why? So you can get a glimpse of half-naked cheerleaders too?”

  “Lexi, please, I’m trying to help you, remember?”

  “Fine.” I pulled out my laptop and searched through my browser’s history until I came to the link. As before, there was a message that the videos had been taken down by the original poster.

  Brett took the laptop from me and started typing. “Are you certain that Sanchez was watching videos about your sister and not someone else?”

  “Absolutely.” How many sophomore cheerleaders used inserts in their bras?


  “Let me look into this, then.” He gave me the laptop back and pulled out his phone. He typed a quick text message, and less than a minute later, his phone chirped with the reply. He clicked on it and grimaced as the sound of high-pitched giggles poured out from his speakers.

  “Sanchez sent you the link?” I asked dryly, timing how long Brett watched the video.

  “Yeah.” A few more seconds passed before he stopped it and set his phone on the table. He rubbed his eyes as though he wanted erase those images from his mind. “I’ve seen enough. You’re right about the video.”

  “And now you know why Sanchez’s iPad was attacked by my cup of mocha frozen yogurt.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Mocha, huh?”

  “My favorite flavor,” I said with a sigh. “It was sacrificed for a good cause, though.”

  “It may have ended Sanchez’s viewing pleasure, but that video’s still out there. The guy just reposted it under a different alias.”

  “Is there any way we can get it taken down?”

  Now it was his turn to hesitate. “Maybe.”

  “Meaning?”

  “People can post stuff like this on YouTube.”

  “Yes, but this video was made without the consent of those involved.” I pressed my finger against his phone, deciding to try a new angle. “What if it was one of your sisters in the locker room?”

  His lips thinned, and a hint of anger simmered in his eyes. “I’d go after the bastard myself.”

  “Well, it’s my sister in those videos, and now you know why I want to go after him.”

  Brett slid my finger off his phone and picked it up again. “So this is all about protecting Taylor, huh?”

  “Yeah. I mean, we’re nothing alike, but in the end, she’s still my little sister. You understand, right?”

  “Absolutely.” He touched his screen, and the voices filled the airwaves again.

  I snatched the phone out of his hands. “If you understand, then why are you going back for seconds?”

  “Because I noticed something,” he replied, taking his phone back.

  “What?”

  He paused the video and showed me the image on the screen. Taylor stood in the middle in her bra and panties, a bright pink ribbon around her ponytail. “Is that the same ribbon she was wearing yesterday?”