Someday Girl

  Someday Girl

  by

  Melanie Shawn

  Copyright © 2014 Melanie Shawn

  Nook Edition

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission in writing from Melanie Shawn. Exceptions are limited to reviewers who may use brief quotations in connection with reviews. No part of this book can be transmitted, scanned, reproduced, or distributed in any written or electronic form without written permission from Melanie Shawn.

  This book is a work of fiction. Places, names, characters and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic content. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older.

  Cover Design by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Copyedits by Mickey Reed Editing

  Proofreading Services by Raiza McDuffie

  Proofreading Services by Tiesha Brunson

  Book Design by BB eBooks

  Published by Red Hot Reads Publishing

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  1: Cat

  2: Jace

  3: Cat

  4: Cat

  5: Jace

  6: Cat

  7: Jace

  8: Cat

  9: Jace

  10: Cat

  11: Jace

  12: Cat

  13: Jace

  14: Cat

  15: Jace

  16: Cat

  17: Jace

  18: Cat

  19: Cat

  20: Jace

  21: Cat

  22: Cat

  23: Jace

  24: Cat

  25: Jace

  26: Cat

  27: Jace

  28: Cat

  One Day His

  Other Titles by Melanie Shawn

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Cat

  Someday Boy

  Truth

  Your eyes will tell

  Real

  Your soul will know mine

  We will become two halves of a whole

  Melded

  Do you think about me?

  Do you know I’m your

  Someday Girl?

  Cat Nichols, Age 17

  Well, damn. This wasn’t going quite as smoothly as I’d hoped!

  My breaths were coming in short pants. All I could hear were the muffled sounds of the blood pumping in my head. I tried to lift my arm in an awkward attempt to readjust the thick strap digging painfully into my shoulder, as I struggled down the corridor of McKinley Hall, the dorm that was going to be my new home for the next four years.

  “Ugh,” I grunted, as I clumsily bumped against the wall.

  The sharp ridge of the plastic bin pressed into my fingers as I attempted to hold it up in front of me. The heavy container was waging a constant battle of balance with the weight of the overstuffed duffel bag I had casually slung onto my back when I’d climbed out of my car and I, unfortunately, was the lone casualty in the balance war.

  It was obvious, now, that I should have abandoned my I’m-a-one-trip-girl mentality.

  My thought process at the time? I can handle it. I’m strong. No problem.

  Well, the three doorways, four wall collisions, and six students I, unwittingly, played bumper cars with, as I made my bumbling way in search of my assigned room, might have begged to differ with my initial assessment.

  Wow. Just five minutes into my new life and I was already stumbling around with sweat dripping down the back of my neck, making a mess of everything.

  Literally.

  Way to go, Cat!

  Since I was about ten, I’d kept a mental list of things I’d never done before. Of course, I fully realized the pointlessness of consuming the brainpower necessary to maintain this gigantic group of things as an actual list, especially considering that it encompassed pretty much…oh…everything. But I couldn’t help it. I was a list kind of a girl.

  Eight years later, Number 41 on The List of Things Cat Nichols Had Never Done Before (a.k.a. The List) was about to be checked off. I’d never lived on my own. Until now, that is.

  As a newly minted freshman at Winship University, I was—fingers crossed!—going to be crossing a lot of things off that list, and I would be lying if I said that the prospect didn’t terrify me just as much as it thrilled me. It was one thing to dream of the unknown, it was quite another to actually experience it.

  “5A… 5A…,” I mumbled to myself as I struggled further down the narrow hallway, making sure to keep my voice low enough that I couldn’t be overheard by the people I was passing. Of course, I knew I was just looking for my dorm room. But I also heard my mother’s voice in my head saying what an embarrassment my compulsive mumbling was. I try to take all things that come out of my mother’s mouth with a grain of salt, but I did see that, in this case, she might have a point. To a casual passerby, it might appear as if I was actually having a conversation with an imaginary friend. But, I didn’t want anyone thinking I was a complete weirdo.

  Well…at least not until they get to know me.

  I chuckled out loud at the thought, drawing disdainful stares from two girls who looked like they had stepped right out of the pages of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog and were walking a catwalk runway instead of just down the hall straight towards me. The model-perfect duo quickly and cautiously navigated around me, making an obvious effort not to touch me, as if whatever I were inflicted with might be contagious.

  Ooookay. So much for my plan of keeping my, what my mother’s stylist refers to as “adorkableness” under wraps for as long as possible. Turns out, ‘as long as possible’ was approximately seven minutes.

  Great.

  My hands moistened with sweat as I turned the sharp corner at the end of the corridor. I curved my fingers and tightened my grip as I, desperately, held on to the hefty, overflowing container that was slipping further from my grasp with every second that passed.

  “Yes!” I exclaimed. Relief washed over me, as I spotted a placard sporting the inscription ‘5A’ on the wall next to a wooden door.

  My arms were shaking as I plopped the plastic bin down on the floor. It landed with a loud thud. A loud puff of air escaped my mouth as I slid the key, I’d picked up after the orientation assembly, into the lock. Pausing, I took a moment to relish the fact that this was a Moment with a capital M—the first time I was unlocking the door to my new home.

  I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes to savor it. The air smelled of disinfectant and Pine Sol. Immediately, the only two people I actually missed popped into my head – Rachel, who’d worked as a housekeeper for my mother since before I was born and her husband, Don, who was the groundskeeper. They’d both had tears in their eyes as I’d driven away this morning. I had taken a mental picture of seeing them standing and waving goodbye to me through my rearview mirror.

  My moment of internal reflection was cut short when the door was yanked open from the inside and I was enveloped, simultaneously, by both an eardrum-splitting shriek and a pair of strong arms.

  Holy crapoli!

  Number 156 (added and crossed off simultaneously) on The List of Things Cat Nichols Has Never Done Before? Get swept up in a bone-crushing hug by a complete stranger within two seconds of meeting them. Wow. I didn’t know that it ever would have occurred to me to put that one on the list before it actually happened to me.

  “You’re Cat!” the source of my newest check mark enthused as she
pulled back, holding me at arm’s length. Her eyes roamed up and down, examining me from head to toe.

  I nodded, too off-balance to conjure up a response. I was not unfamiliar with feeling socially awkward, even in the most predictable of situations. But this one had me feeling like I was more than simply a fish out of water. I felt like a fish out of water trying to walk down the runway at a Victoria’s Secret fashion show.

  “I recognize you from the intro email Housing sent out over the summer. Didn’t you get yours? I emailed you but didn’t hear back. Wait…where are my manners? Here. Come in, come in!” she spoke with rapid-fire delivery.

  Then, in what could only be described as ninja-quick movements, the girl pulled both my plastic bin and me into the room, swiftly and gracefully. The next thing I knew, she was grabbing my duffel and throwing it on the empty bed in the right hand corner of the large room.

  I stood perfectly still, in stunned silence, as her words registered and recognition dawned. I knew who the stunning, tall, lithe, blond in front of me was. She had, in fact, emailed me over the summer, and I had been too nervous to email back. That was the day that I had discovered meeting people, electronically, was no easier for me than meeting people in person.

  “Sandy,” I said, my voice coming out in that quiet, mousy tone I hated but could never seem to avoid in new situations—the one my mother always chastised me for. The moment I heard my weak response, I instinctively braced myself, waiting for the girl in front of me to see me as the person I’d always been told I was, a shy, socially awkward, nobody, and her enthusiasm for my arrival was totally unwarranted.

  “The one and only!” she bubbled, smiling broadly, her hands outstretched as if to say, Ta-da! “I’m so happy to finally meet you!”

  I felt my eyebrows go up a little in surprise, a warmth spreading through me, unexpectedly, at the unabashed approval in her tone.

  Number 12 on The List: Have someone accept me for exactly who I am.

  And even respond with a smile.

  Huh?

  I could get used to that…

  Still feeling a little—a lot!—overwhelmed, I took a moment before answering and studied Sandy a little more closely. Her skin was flawlessly tan, her blond hair contrasting perfectly against the warm caramel color, and her eyes were the most spectacular blue I’d ever seen. I was from Malibu and this girl looked more like Malibu Barbie than anyone I’d ever laid eyes on in my life.

  I felt myself start to shrink into my protective shell like a turtle, thinking about her looks in contrast to my own, imagining what she must be thinking as she saw me for the first time. I mentally took stock of my physical appearance, viewing it through the imagined lens of her fresh eyes.

  Plain brown hair. Plain brown eyes. Plain nose. Plain mouth. Plain uniform of jeans and a plain white T-shirt.

  Anyone notice a recurring theme here?

  Sandy, seeming totally unaware of my internal tortoise impression, turned towards the door, grabbing my arm. “Come on. We’ve gotta go. Brandy and Evelyn are already down at the bar waiting for us.”

  The gears in my brain spun quickly, trying to parse out the elements of her statement that I needed to comprehend and respond to.

  Brandy. Evelyn. Check and check. Those were our other two roommates. Evelyn was from the East Coast, and Brandy was Sandy’s twin sister. I remembered them from the intro email. Bar? Um…not so much. Does not compute.

  “The bar?” I asked hesitantly.

  “The Plaza Pub,” she confirmed then excitedly continued with, “It’s gonna be mad-crazy there tonight.”

  “Oh,” I said noncommittally. I mean…she had said it like it was a good thing, so…

  “Humboldt State doesn’t start up until next week, but a lot of students are coming back to campus early. The bar is going to be wall-to-wall hot guys. The Plaza Pub is the hottest bar downtown, and the owner, Elijah, is basically like Bran’s and my older brother. He’ll let us in without IDs.”

  Oh, right. Sandy and Brandy were from Arcata, the small town in Northern California that Winship University was just outside of. They probably knew all the locals.

  As I glanced down at my clothes, insecurity crept up even further. “I’m…um… I don’t think I’m dressed for—”

  “Oh, shut the front door! You look amazeballs. Like you’re not even trying. Totally casual chic,” Sandy insisted, dragging me out the door with her.

  Casual chic?

  Oookay, I thought as I allowed myself to be reluctantly pulled along. Either this girl has a very different standard for ‘amazeballs’ than I have previously been acquainted with, or… Could it be possible that…other people see me differently than I see myself?

  Could that really be the case?

  *

  Sandy kept a firm hold on my elbow as we made our way through the dense crowd at the Plaza Pub. My head was spinning as I tried not to drag my feet, run into anyone, or—God forbid—trip and draw attention to myself. Blend. That was my go-to move. Always.

  The place was packed as tight as sardines. My new roommate certainly hadn’t exaggerated the amount of people here—or the hotness of the guys. I let my eyes travel over the faces of the male patrons as we passed them, and I could certainly recognize—in a purely intellectual way—their obvious physical attractiveness.

  Sadly, it did nothing for me. Number 6 on The List of things that had never happened to me—and at this point, I feared would not likely ever happen—was liking a guy. Or being attracted to a guy. Or kissing a guy. Or being in love with a guy. Or having se… Well, you get the idea.

  In fact, add pretty much any verb to the beginning of the sentence “_____ a guy,” and you could bet that sentence was on The List.

  “There they are!” Sandy exclaimed, pointing to a booth in the corner that was slightly removed from the thick of the crowd. She expertly hustled us over in that direction, weaving skillfully around the small, circular wooden tables between the crowded bar and the booths along the walls.

  When we arrived at our destination, Sandy immediately slid in next to an auburn-haired girl I recognized as Evelyn and I sat down in the remaining empty seat next to a girl who was obviously Sandy’s identical twin sister, Brandy. Brandy and Sandy looked almost exactly alike. That was true enough. But I didn’t think anyone would ever get the two of them confused. Brandy wore not a hint of makeup. Her long, blond hair fell straight down her back, and she just had an entirely different energy than Sandy did.

  It felt strange seeing these people in real life after having only imagined what they might be like from looking at their pictures and reading their bios, which were like little articles in a magazine.

  The greetings we exchanged were warm and friendly, if not as memorable as the one Sandy had given me, and I felt myself begin to relax and even have a good time as we traded the particulars about where we were from and what we each thought we would probably major in. The patter was easy and casual, and I was excited (and relieved) that my new roomies and I seemed to be clicking. When I had been researching college experiences, I had come across horror stories of roommates from hell.

  These girls seemed to be, as Sandy would put it, amazeballs.

  A crashing sound interrupted our conversation and I turned around to see a big guy with frat lettering across his chest shoving another huge guy wearing a football jersey into the bar and yelling in his face. Both men looked like they could be the poster boys for steroid use. The exact words Frat Guy was screaming were unintelligible, partly because of the noise in the bar and partly because of the way he was slurring his words.

  Holy moly!

  Cross another item off—I’d never been in the vicinity of a bar brawl.

  Of course, it wasn’t technically a brawl yet. It was just two guys yelling, one shove, and a lot of posturing but it was obvious that ‘full-on brawl’ was where it was going to escalate to—and quickly.

  “Should we get out of here?” Evelyn asked, sounding a little worried. “What if th
e police come? I don’t even have a fake ID.”

  Good point. Neither did I for that matter.

  I eyed the exit path. To get from our booth to the door, we would have to go right by the steroid brothers, which seemed like a precarious option, since fists and elbows were still flying in the air. Sure, the booth might not be the best place to be if the police did show up, but it seemed to me that it was preferable to the alternative.

  Before I could voice this opinion, however, a third man entered the fray, stepping between the other two. This guy, though, was…different. Rather than projecting a sloppy, chaotic, drunken energy like the first two did, he exuded control, calm, and power. Rather than screaming, he spoke in a low but firm tone. In fact, he was the opposite of the two cocky, obnoxious, Hulk Hogan wannabes in just about every way possible.

  The dim lighting made it impossible to see his face clearly, but something about him mesmerized me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his dominating, shadowy form. The way he had taken charge of the situation without a second thought. The way he held himself with an air of quiet authority. The way his voice never rose.

  I was completely captivated.

  I had never seen anyone carry themselves with such understated confidence before. It was clearly something innate. There was nothing blustering, puffed up, or put on about this guy. He wasn’t trying to convince everyone that he was in charge; he just was. That was clear within about two seconds.

  I strained, trying but failing to hear the exact words he spoke to the two drunk guys. Still, the effect was clear. Both men calmed down quickly, their rage deflating like a balloon to mere sullenness. They allowed themselves to be led over to the door and were escorted out without putting up a fight.

  I was majorly impressed. One of the things I seriously wished were different about me was how uncomfortable I was in my own skin. This guy certainly didn’t have that problem. In fact, he just might have been the single most self-possessed person I had ever seen. And I grew up around the Hollywood elite.

  Sandy let out a sound of pure female appreciation. “Damn. That must be Elijah’s new bartender. I heard he was super intense. And sexy as hell. But…damn!”