Chapter 2 Bennett
Bennett
TWO WEEKS LATER
“This is a great fucking town house.” I plop down next to a slouched Tex on the worn leather couch he hauled up here from Oklahoma in the bed of his truck.
“Yeah,” he says as he organizes the eco-friendly reusable moving totes he rented for the move so that they can be returned. “Too bad you’re not going to be living in it.”
My other would-be roommate, who is my cousin and sometimes best friend, Julian, lies on the island of our kitchen, hands held over his abdomen, feigning exhaustion as though he just carried each of his boxes up one by one instead of having a white-glove service move and unpack for him while he watched Tex wrestle with the freight elevator.
“At least you can always count on a Graves to pay their bills, so Auntie Sydney is still paying the mortgage while this idiotic motherfucker runs off and secretly gets married.” Julian sighs. “It’s like the first thing they teach rich kids with trust funds: Don’t get married without a prenup.”
“I’ve got to uphold my mantle as the Graves family fuckup,” I tell him. “Besides I couldn’t pay Clover to sully her hands with my money.”
“Well, she’s more than happy to use you for housing benefits.”
Tex scratches his chin. “He’s not wrong.”
“The real concern,” Julian announces, “is that the fuckability of this household has just dropped dangerously low.” He turns to Tex with a wink. “Not that I don’t still consider you highly fuckable, Tex.”
“I got drunk and let you kiss me on the lips one time after we won a game of strip table tennis.” Tex throws his head back, but it doesn’t hide the ruddy color of his cheeks.
“It was more like a headbutt than a kiss,” I say in his defense even though I have always thought the two of them would actually make a pretty good couple.
“Do you see the way he objectifies me?” Tex asks.
“That’s just the cost of doing business with Julian,” I tell him.
Julian and I have only known Tex for a year, but he’s the glue we didn’t know our friendship needed.
In fact, after a big fight last spring, he was the one who brought us back together.
Tex’s actual name is Miles Eugene Barrows III, which is a much stuffier name than is appropriate for him.
The guy comes from a long history of oil barons but ran away to Oregon to get a degree in environmental sustainability that is being funded by his mother out of spite after a messy divorce from his father.
The nickname Tex can only be explained by a drunken night and the fact that Okie doesn’t have the same ring to it.
“I don’t see why you can’t just live here with us.” Julian pouts as he sits up and hops off the counter. “Your marriage is basically a piece of paper. Who cares if you two share a dorm? If Clover is anything like I remember, I doubt she even wants to breathe the same air as you.”
“We have to play the part, chucklefuck. She’s my wife.
” Shit, that word. “Besides, if I’m going to be married to Clover, I plan on using this opportunity to annoy the shit out of her.
” I slap Tex’s knee as I stand up to head over to campus and check out my new living quarters, which I added on to my tuition at the last minute.
I probably could have found someone to take my room at our town house, but I have no clue what the hell I’ve really gotten myself into and wouldn’t mind the insurance policy.
Besides, my mom’s accountant pays anything that comes through with a Wexley logo on it without blinking an eye.
I scoop up the third key from the kitchen counter. “I’m out of here.”
“Don’t forget to carry your bride over the threshold,” Julian calls after me.
“Fuck you very much!” I tell him.
Haystack Hall, named for the famous Haystack Rock off the coast just up Highway 9, is the oldest and most decrepit dorm on campus.
It is one of two gender-neutral buildings, but most distinctly of all: It is simply not the housing assignment you receive when your family has an endowment.
When Clover texted me to tell me where we had been assigned, I decided not to pull any strings and risk my mother finding out about this little situation any sooner than she needs to—which will hopefully be never, since Clover swears she will have housing lined up next semester and we can happily get divorced the moment we turn in our last finals.
I hover in the doorway of room 516. Behind me, the chaos of the hallway moves like a busy freeway.
Clover stands on a wooden chair in a pair of denim cutoff shorts, exposing her supple thighs and their shallow dimples.
Her oversize hoodie skims the hem of her shorts as she drops her arms after failing in her attempt to hang a thin string of lights over the window on the left side of the room, which she seems to have established as hers.
Because of course she wouldn’t wait for my input.
The girl is about as tactful as a bulldozer.
All my belongings are already unpacked thanks to the same moving company Julian hired. They unloaded all my furniture at the town house, but I slipped them a little cash to bring most of my other things here.
The elephant in the middle of the room is the two twin beds that have been bolted together to make a king-size bed. Shit. This is one thing I hadn’t considered.
“I actually prefer the left side,” I say.
The string of lights she is trying to hook over the side of the window slips from her grasp and with a frustrated groan, she spins around with those small hands on her hips, the ring I gave her sparkling just as brightly as it had two weeks ago when I last saw her at the courthouse.
“Then maybe you should’ve gotten here first,” she says.
“Or maybe you could have had the decency to wait before you made decisions about our dorm room.”
She only glowers at me in return.
“Need help with those lights?”
She huffs like a frustrated Pomeranian, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “No. Yes. No.”
“There he is! The groom!” chirps a sweet Midwestern voice from behind me. “I can’t believe there are married couples on our floor. So cute.”
“Sure,” responds a deadpan voice. “Cute.”
Clover steps down from the chair as two girls—both varying degrees of curvy—step in behind me.
One wears a floral dress that is both virginal and slutty while the other is in bike shorts, Doc Martens, and an oversize T-shirt that says eat the rich.
It doesn’t take much guesswork to figure out which voice belongs to whom.
“Uh, Bennett,” Clover says, “these are our neighbors from across the hall. Meet Daisy.”
The girl in the dress gives a shy smile and I make a mental note to keep her far, far away from Julian, who never misses an opportunity to corrupt.
“And Briar Rose.”
The one who looks like she stomps around involuntarily nods, her oversize and ornate septum ring glittering. “Actually, it’s just Briar,” she says. If I weren’t suddenly a married man, I might ask how she feels about being mean to me for a night.
Clover flings a careless arm out, presenting me. “This is Bennett Graves. My … husband.” She swallows the word like half-risen bile.
“Oh, right,” Daisy says, “of Graves Coffee? I’d heard Wexley was a Graves family tradition.”
“You know your trivia,” I tell her.
“I love the new slogan you guys came out with a few years ago,” Daisy says.
Briar almost smiles. “It’s pretty good. Graves Coffee—wake the dead.”
“That would be my mother’s idea.” Then, because I’m either committed to our sham marriage or just a prick, I sling an arm around Clover’s waist and tuck her against my side so closely that the warmth of her flushed cheeks radiates through the fabric of my T-shirt.
She lets out a quiet yip, but tries to play it off as a giggle, which she fails at. Miserably.
The top of her head doesn’t reach my chin, so I lean my cheek against her soft blond hair, inhaling the delicate scent of vanilla and amber. “How’s dorm life so far?”
With a harrumph, Briar crosses her arms. “It’s fine. Despite the fact that the building is old enough to be condemned and our narc of an RA made me get rid of my lava lamp. He said it was a fire hazard and I told him the whole goddamn building is a fire hazard.”
“I love it,” Daisy chimes in. “The building has so much character.”
“That’s generous of you,” I tell her, and she just blinks in response. “Look at the three of you! All flowers of some sort. Like a lovely little garden.”
Daisy beams, and I have a feeling she will be susceptible to the same magnetism my mother often calls on when I am her date to charity dinners.
To my credit, I’m a real hit among older wealthy women who raise money from each other for fun in the name of causes like hedgehog rehabilitation and other things that don’t involve actual poor people.
Briar grinds her teeth so hard that they could chip, and beside me Clover looks like she would like to do unspeakable things to me. Sadly, not in a kinky way.
“Clover is typically considered a weed,” Briar says with a slight glower.
I might as well sign my own death certificate when I turn my head to kiss her on her forehead. “You’ll always be my flower.”
“Gross,” Briar mutters.
Daisy practically swoons. “I’m dying to know how you two met. And married so young! How romantic.”
Briar coughs “pregnant” into her fist.
Clover’s mouth opens and closes as she searches for the right answer, her cheeks and neck burning into an angry shade of red.
“It’s quite the story,” I tell them. “But one we’ll have to save for once we’ve unpacked. Right, baby?”
She pulls her head away so that my cheek loses its resting spot, and the soft line of her brow is furrowed with irritation.
“Right, darling.” Without wasting any time, Clover politely steers our neighbors out the door.
“Well, so good to see you both. I’m sure we will have plenty of time to get to know each other. ”
Daisy spins around in the doorway. “Oh yes! At the dorm orientation tomorrow night? We’ll see both of you, right?”
“Alas, I have a family commitment and won’t be able to attend, but you’ll definitely see my sweet Clover,” I say as I lean forward conspiratorially. “In fact, she’s a bit shy. Would you mind knocking on her door when the time comes so she has friends to go with?”
Daisy nods excitedly before sighing. “You are such a good husband.” She shakes her head at Clover wistfully. “He’s one of the good ones.”
I turn to Clover, her hard gaze narrowed on me as I sweep a strand of hair behind her ear. “She’s the one who makes me good.”
“Darling,” Clover says as she clings to my arm. “I forgot to tell you! Your mother called and said she didn’t need your help tomorrow night after all, so we can get oriented together!”
My bicep flexes under her touch as my fist clenches. “Wonderful.”