Chapter Seven
Gemma
Ididn’t drop the class.
After sleeping on it a couple of nights, anger settled deep in my gut. I’m not going to let some jerk who doesn’t even know how to drive scare me away.
On Monday night, I sent him pictures of my notes. He actually responded, which was surprising, with “K,” which was not surprising at all.
Asshole.
But it’s been a couple of days and I’m feeling more prepared to handle Two this time.
As I pull into the parking lot at PMU for my building, I squint against the morning rays and hunt for a parking spot that my big beast of a vehicle will fit into. I see one several spots away and start forward. A flash of olive green darts out from between two cars. Despite slamming on my brakes, I’m not quick enough.
Thunk!
The person—I hit a freaking person—goes down and out of sight. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening! With my heart in my throat, I throw the car into park and then jump out.
“Oh my God!” I cry out, rounding the front of my vehicle to inspect the damage.
What if they’re dead?
I wasn’t going that fast, right?
A man sits on his ass, rubbing at his shoulder. I drop to my knees in front of him, panic clawing at me, and desperately run my palms over his shoulder, looking for broken bones sticking out.
“I’m so sorry,” I choke out, eyes prickling with tears. “I didn’t see you and—”
I finally meet the stare of the person I hit and recognize the chilly light-gray eyes of Two. Of all the people to hit…
“Did you hit me on purpose?” Two asks, scowling at me. “That’s fucked up.”
I shake my head, scoffing. “What? No. You came out of nowhere! Seriously, what is it with you and parking lots?”
His eyes narrow. “I could ask you the same.”
The initial shock of running into him wears off and irritation needles its way through me. “Are you hurt?” I demand, voice sharp. “Yes or no?”
His nostrils flare. “I’ll live.”
I hear people laughing nearby. I’m sure we’re quite the spectacle. With a groan, I stand back up and offer my hand to help him to his feet. He reluctantly takes my hand, his freakishly large hand swallowing mine. Once he’s standing, he jerks his hand out of mine like it’s tainted with poison.
He stalks off without another glance in my direction. My heart continues to hammer in my chest as I climb back into my vehicle and park it.
I can’t believe I hit Two Sheridan.
Even if he did deserve it…
If Dad ever finds out I hit someone, I’ll be banned from driving forever.
So much for starting the day off feeling better than Monday. Somehow, this one is shaping up to be worse. What is it about Two that wrecks me so easily?
There’s a coldness that emanates from him that I don’t understand. Usually, when someone doesn’t like me or my family, I can handle it with stride because it’s always something stupid. This thing with Two, though, feels personal. As though we’ve wronged him on some visceral level that makes him despise me.
Why?
I’m going to figure it out. You can’t hate someone so viciously for no reason. If there’s a reason, and me or my family are the cause, then I deserve to know. Maybe I could fix it.
By the time I make it to class, my stomach is in knots. As soon as I enter the classroom, my eyes dart straight to Two. He absently rubs at his shoulder and I feel a pang of guilt.
I didn’t mean to hurt him.
Mr. Pederson gives me a gentle smile as I pass by his desk. For some reason, he seems to like Two. He obviously knows a different side of him than I do.
I settle at my seat with plenty of time before class starts today. That helps ease the tension forming in my shoulders. After I pull out my notebook and pen, I turn to face him. Two stares straight ahead, cheeks still pink from the cold. His dark hair is in disarray and something tells me it has nothing to do with getting rammed by my Tahoe. He has a sharp jawline that, even I can admit, is pretty to look at.
Two may be a weirdo asshole, but he’s definitely an attractive one in an unusual way. He’s not classically handsome like his football friend. There’s just something different about him—something you can’t really put your finger on but know it’s there. If we’d met under different circumstances, perhaps I’d have met a completely different version of him that I might have been immediately smitten with.
He cants his head to the side and eyes me warily. “What?”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Nothing.”
“You’re staring.” He scoffs. “You didn’t break me, Golden. Try harder next time.”
Again with the Golden.
It’s said with such disdain, I know it’s meant as an insult. But, to me, Golden means beautiful and shiny and valuable.
“I wasn’t trying to break you and you know it,” I grumble. “I said I was sorry.”
“I caught all kinds of grief Monday for almost hitting you, yet today, you want to be forgiven after actually hitting me. You’re a piece of work.”
Thankfully, Mr. Pederson greeting the class cuts our argument off. Arguing with Two feels like an unending circle that’ll just keep making me spin around and around until I’m dizzy.
“Your semester project has multiple pieces. Because of the intricacies involved, I’ve taken it upon myself to assign each group a location.” Mr. Pederson holds up a hand when a couple of people groan in protest. “These sites are vetted by myself and have the proper approval in place. Once assigned, there will be no swapping or trading or proposing a different location. Understood?”
I nod, eager to learn more about our project, which earns me an appreciative smile from our professor.
“You’ll be researching the history of your site and proposing a plan for its preservation, restoration, or repurposing. This is one facet of your project.” Mr. Pederson starts passing out a grading rubric for the project. “The other side of this project will be the public presentation. You’ll not only be proposing this plan to the real site owners, but also in front of the Chamber of Commerce and PMU’s dean, Dr. Skeller. This will give you practical application of what you learn in this course and prepare you for delivering these proposals in the future should you continue down this career path.”
I skim over the grading rubric, slightly overwhelmed by the daunting scope of the project. I also vaguely remember meeting Dr. Skeller this summer on my tour of PMU. When I peek at Two, he doesn’t even look at his paper. He’s no longer rubbing his shoulder, which makes me feel a little better.
“This project,” Mr. Pederson continues once he’s back in front of the classroom, “needs to not just have the plan for preservation, but a solid professional presentation that includes relevant ideas for social media to reach a broader audience, a financial budget including possible grant opportunities, and a public engagement aspect that outlines any potential negative blowback from the community with ideas to circumvent that. Any questions thus far?”
No one says a word, clearly as intimidated by the project as I am.
“Okay, now for the assignment of locations. You won’t be given class time this week to visit your locations, so you’ll need to get with your partners at some point before Monday to do that. I’ll expect you to turn in pictures and a summary of your location meeting by the next week.”
The thought of going somewhere alone with Two is nauseating. Maybe it’s not too late to try and convince Mr. Pederson to swap me out with another student.
But that means letting Two win.
He shouldn’t get to throw a tantrum and get what he wants.
Mr. Pederson starts passing out the site assignments. When he sets our paper down, Two snatches it up with lightning speed to read what we got. I lean toward him, trying to catch a glimpse of the paper.
“Hemingford Hall,” Two grunts in disappointment. “I wanted Cedarwood Mansion.”
This dude really has a hard-on for that place.
“What’s Hemingford Hall?”
Two snaps his head to look over at me. His gray eyes sparkle as he studies me. “How do you not know this?”
His attempt to make me feel inferior doesn’t work this time. “Not everyone is a nerd like you,” I hiss. “Tell me about it.”
He presses his lips together. I wonder if he’ll refuse just to be a dick. In the end, he releases a sigh and launches into an explanation. “Hemingford Hall was built in the early 1900s. Best friends and business partners, Alexander Heming and Edgar Ford, built an establishment for the elite. They held grand parties for the wealthy, famous celebrities, and even a few well-known politicians who eventually went on to become presidents.”
“Where is it?” I ask after jotting down a few notes.
“It overlooks Park Mountain Lake on the north end. It’s not open to the public anymore. A couple, Gregory and Paula Nordstrom, purchased the property with the intent on restoring the building back in the late nineties but have yet to do anything with it.”
Mr. Pederson clears his throat. “I’ll allow the next twenty minutes for you all to discuss and look up information about your sites on your phones, but then I’m going to lecture for the rest of the period. Use your time wisely, please.”
When I start to pull out my phone, Two grunts and kicks the leg of my chair with his shoe, jolting me and nearly having me drop it.
“You won’t find much there,” Two reveals, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fortunately for you, it’s one of the places I’ve researched for fun.”
For fun?
Someone needs to redefine his idea of fun.
“Okay,” I say with a huff. “Then tell me more about this place.”
Two smirks as though he enjoys holding all the power. I’ll do my own research later, but I may as well get all I can from him now.
“It’s been rumored that Heming and Ford used to hide artifacts within the building. While at parties, they’d give each other clues to try and find them. If they weren’t found by the end of the party, they were ‘gifted’ to the building. Their party trick would involve their friends and partygoers. Everyone would hunt for these hidden treasures.”
“The place has treasure hidden?” I ask, brows lifting. “Valuable items?”
Two grins, eyes flashing wickedly. “That’s the thing. Every single artifact was silly and worth nothing. Once, Ford hid a note that said Heming was a vampire. Heming did find that one and proudly hung it in his office until his death.”
“It sounds like they had a lot of fun.”
“My dad thinks they were gay, but because it wasn’t something people at that time revealed about themselves, they kept it hidden away like their many shared treasures. It would explain why neither man ever married.”
My heart patters in my chest. Thinking about these two playful friends, and potential lovers, from another lifetime feels like one of the historical romance novels Mom likes to read.
“Did you learn about this stuff from your dad?” I ask, unable to keep my sappy smile from tugging at my lips. “Maybe we could interview him as part of our research and—”
“No,” Two snaps, eyes burning hot with anger. “You do not get to meet my family, Golden. Ever.”
Hurt pokes holes in my chest. Once more, this mercurial man finds a way to stab at me for reasons unknown to me.
“Why not?” I ask, scowling at him.
Two opens his mouth to speak, but then Mr. Pederson interrupts to begin his lecture. I studiously take notes, attempting to not get distracted by Two’s surliness. When class is over, I wait for more explanation, but Two bolts before I get a chance to ask him to answer my question.
There’s a reason and I’ll figure it out.
We’re going to have to work together. If that means airing the dirty laundry, then so be it. Once I find out what his problem is with me and my family, hopefully, I can fix it so we can move on.
It’s just a small hurdle, not a roadblock.
We’ll get past this and maybe just maybe this class with Two won’t be so freaking miserable for me.