Crave the Rose Read online

  I laugh. “What are you studying this week?”

  “Nothing worth talking about.”

  “How have you been suffering through school?”

  “You just said it. Suffering.” He manages a smile. “I would be a hermit in the library at the moment if you hadn’t rescued me.”

  “You don’t have much fun, do you?”

  He fidgets in his chair. “Define fun.”

  “You make that sound so proper.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “That wasn’t an innuendo.”

  “Sadly.” He says it with a straight face.

  “I’d ask you out if I were single.”

  Blushing, he looks away and laughs. “Would you?”

  “We could see a movie or something.”

  He flashes me a grin. “You don’t have a twin sister, by any chance?”

  “The world can’t handle another me. We would kill each other.”

  “You can’t be that hard to get along with.” He presses his lips together, his eyes glittering. “Where are you from?”

  “Los Angeles.”

  “I’ve never been.”

  “You aren’t missing much. It’s hot as hell and full of rich bitches.”

  He drinks the last of his coffee. “I’ve never even been to America before.”

  “You should come sometime. I can show you around.”

  “I’d like that.”

  I glance away from the earnest look in his eyes. “Where are you from?”

  “Ireland.”

  “I could tell.” That makes him smirk. “Which part?”

  “Donegal.”

  “They have very nice accents in Donegal.”

  “Do they?” He smiles sideways at me. “I think I sound rather country.”

  “You have an amazing accent. Go to America and girls will throw themselves at you.”

  Bram laughs. “I’ll have to take your word for it.” He tilts his cup to stare at the dregs. “Where are your parents from?”

  “Are you asking me about my ethnicity?”

  He shrugs.

  Time to make him squirm. “Guys like guessing. I wonder if they stick pushpins into a map. So I banged this Mongolian girl...”

  Laughing, Bram scoots lower in his chair. “I’m sorry for asking.”

  “My dad is from Brazil. My mom is second generation Thai.”

  He glances at my face. “You inherited the best of both worlds.”

  “Are you an expert on genetics? And are you hitting on me?”

  His ears redden. “No.”

  “Liar.”

  “I’m the next Charles Darwin.” His eyes sparkle when he smiles. “But I’d best not give your boyfriend reason to be jealous.”

  “He could use a taste of his own medicine.”

  Bram’s eyebrows shoot skyward. “Is that what this is? Revenge flirting?”

  My throat tightens. “Just coffee with a friend.”

  “Right.” He pushes his chair from the table. “It’s been lovely chatting, but I have to research a macroeconomics essay.”

  “See you around?”

  “Perhaps.” His smile comes and goes in a second. “Good luck with your work.” Like work is all that matters.

  “You, too,” I say, but he’s already on his way out the door.

  I sit alone in the café. Just coffee with a friend.

  Right.

  5

  Bram

  December. One week before Michaelmas examinations.

  Rain rushes through the cool blue evening. Water trickles down the windows of the library at Magdalen College. Leather and parchment scent the shadows, centuries of sleeping books. I could study in another library at Oxford, but I chose Magdalen out of nostalgia. And because I might see Cassia again.

  A sigh escapes my lips. I lean back in my chair and shove my book away.

  She’s consumed my thoughts since we met at the café weeks ago. Every time I walk through the Botanic Garden, my heartbeat races like I sprinted a kilometer. It’s so bloody stupid, but I can’t stop thinking about her.

  I rake my fingers through my hair and stare at my book until the text blurs. This isn’t making any sense. The book closes with a thud of finality. Standing, I stretch my arms over my head and wince at my aching ribs.

  Last night, I had a fit in the shower and bruised myself on the way down. Jeb looked terrified when I came to, and I had to convince him not to drag me to the hospital. Bad enough for him to find me naked and bleeding on the bathroom floor. I joked about how awkward it was until he stopped arguing with me.

  Sore and stiff, I return the book and wander through the library. Shelves stand in ranks like an army of literature. I could read for the rest of my life and not finish everything at Oxford. That idea thrills and terrifies me.

  “Bram!” My heart skips at the hushed sound of my name. Cassia lugs an enormous leather-bound book to a table and waves me over. “Look what I found.” She speaks in a whisper, mindful of the prowling librarians.

  Sitting so close to her, I have to remind myself to breathe. “You sound as if you discovered a map to the Holy Grail.”

  She smiles. “Better. This is botany porn.”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  Cassia opens the book to a page marked by a ribbon. The yellowed pages crackle like onion skin. A botanic print spreads across the page: the branch of a cherry tree, red-and-yellow fruits ripening among leaves.

  “Lovely,” I say, glancing at the curve of her lips.

  “It’s a 19th-century reproduction of the watercolors in Tradescant’s Orchard. The original manuscript dates to the 1600’s.”

  I lean over her shoulder and look closer at the intricate detail on the cherry leaves. A snail eats a fallen cherry by a grasshopper. When Cassia turns her head, the perfume of flowers wafts from her hair. My stomach tightens.

  “I’m thinking of getting another tattoo,” she says. “Cherries or plums.”

  “Where?”

  She turns her right arm to bare her wrist. Spencer’s name wraps around her skin. Her finger traces the length of her veins. How many tattoos are hidden beneath her clothes? Jesus Christ, don’t mentally undress her.

  “Bram?”

  I clear my throat and lean away. “Either would be beautiful.”

  “You’re too nice.” She pokes me on the arm. “What do you really think?”

  I can’t sit so close to her knowing she’s sleeping with Spencer. I don’t think I can be friends after falling for her already.

  But I swallow those words. “Let me see the plums.”

  She flips to another page, glancing at me. “What happened to you?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You have a bruise on your cheekbone.”

  Bloody hell. I rock back in my chair and balance it on two legs. “Had a bit too much to drink.” I grit my teeth in a grin.

  Cassia studies my face. “Do you drink alone?”

  “No, out at the pub.” As if I haven’t been studying until I fall asleep on a textbook. “Care for a pint with me?”

  Her quick intake of breath tells me she wasn’t expecting this. “Now?”

  “Carpe diem.” Heat rises in my face. “And don’t ask me to speak more Latin.”

  She laughs. “Okay.” She closes the book and rubs her fingers over its binding. “Where did you have in mind?”

  “The pub down the street.”

  “Cool.”

  We leave the library. Rain hits the sidewalk with tiny silver explosions. Cassia shivers and hugs herself, but she shakes her head when I offer her my coat. I should feel the cold myself, but my skin burns as if feverish.

  Light spills from the Hart and Diamond. Inside, it’s packed with students, laughing, shouting over the noise. I wade through the hubbub and claim two stools at the bar. Cassia smiles, her hair glittering with rain.

  The bartender is busy pouring shots, and I wait to catch her eye.

  “Cassia!” A voice cuts through the commotion.

>   Before I turn around, I know who it is. Spencer. He elbows through the crowd, glaring at me like his girlfriend is invisible. He’s wearing a flannel shirt over his skinny jeans today, a parody of an underfed lumberjack.

  “Spencer.” Cassia sounds casual, her cheeks pink. “You’re back.”

  He grabs her wrist and yanks her into a kiss that’s slow and possessive. My blood pounds in my ears. She tenses in his arms.

  “I should go,” I say.

  Spencer’s eyes glint. “You should.”

  “Jesus.” She fakes a laugh. “Calm down.”

  “I’m calm.” His smile resembles a rabid dog baring its teeth. “Nothing going on, right?”

  “Nothing that concerns you.”

  I stare him down. He’s shorter than me, to my immense satisfaction. Wish I had the excuse of alcohol in my blood.

  “You’re pathetic,” Spencer says.

  I spread my arms. “What’s pathetic about having a pint with a friend?”

  Spencer curls his lip. “That’s totally what you want.”

  “What the fuck?” Cassia’s eyes narrow. “Don’t be such a douche.”

  I back away from them both. “You clearly have issues to discuss.”

  As much as I would enjoy rearranging Spencer’s face, I walk straight out of the pub because it’s the right thing to do.

  Even if my heart tells me it’s wrong.

  6

  Cassia

  Spencer takes Bram’s stool. He orders two IPAs and leans with his elbows on the bar, smiling grimly, his eyes focused somewhere faraway.

  “Spencer,” I say.

  His jaw clenches. “What?”

  “Bram is just a friend.”

  He glances sideways at me. “You seriously think he wants to be just a friend? He wasn’t looking at you like that.”

  I drink some beer to cool the burning in my cheeks. “Does it matter?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Are you?” I shove my half-empty beer away. “I’m tired of arguing.”

  “Baby, we aren’t arguing.” Spencer’s tone should be soothing, but it grates my nerves. “We’re adults. Talk to me.”

  “Later.”

  I walk into the night. It’s still raining, and I flip my hood over my head. Halfway back to our apartment, I hear footsteps.

  “Cassie, wait!” Spencer jogs alongside me.

  I narrow my eyes. “I’m going home.”

  “So am I.”

  Sometimes I wish we didn’t live together. Especially when he comes home late smelling like sweat and cigarettes.

  I fight with my key in the lock. Spencer nudges me aside and unlocks it himself.

  “Thanks,” I say, as sarcastically as I can.

  “Don’t be mad.” He tries to kiss me, but I dodge and his lips brush my cheek. “My friends are coming over tonight.”

  “So it’s okay if you have friends, but not me?”

  “Of course not.”

  I toss my coat and keys aside and walk into the kitchen. I pour myself a tall glass of water and drink instead of talking. My throat burns like I swallowed an ember. Spencer slouches on the couch and stares at me with dark eyes.

  “You don’t trust him, do you?” he says.

  I splutter when I laugh. “Bram?”

  He grunts.

  “Why shouldn’t I trust him? He wasn’t going to roofie me.”

  Spencer frowns. “You don’t know him.”

  “I can take care of myself.” I drop into the armchair. “Remember why we did this? You wanted to broaden your horizons.”

  He grimaces at his knuckles. “Fuck. You’re right.”

  “How many friends are you having over? I know the fridge is empty, and I sure as hell don’t feel like cooking.”

  “A few.” Spencer plays with his phone. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll order pizza.”

  With a sigh, I balance a book in my lap. I need to get some work done before his crazy friends descend on our apartment.

  There’s a knock on the door half an hour later.

  “Spencer!”

  I wince at the shrill shriek of a girl. She starts giggling as she tumbles into the apartment with four friends. All of them stink of alcohol. I recognize only the giggling girl. She’s a dirty blonde with dimples and a nose ring. Melody, I think. A guy in a leather jacket carries a sagging grocery bag that clinks with bottles.

  “Give me that,” I say.

  The guy lets me steal the bag. Vodka, rum, and soda. I grab the rum and swig from the bottle, fire scorching my throat.

  “Jesus, baby!” Spencer laughs. “Go easy or you’ll pass out before the pizza.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fuck off.”

  Melody giggles even louder. Spencer’s friends flop onto the couch and floor before passing around the bottle of rum. I claim the armchair and tuck my feet under myself. Alcohol loosens the tension in my muscles.

  By the time the pizza man arrives, we’re all laughing at some stupid shit.

  The guy in the leather jacket is pretty funny. I bite a slice of pizza and catch the cheese before it escapes. Melody sprawls on the floor and flips through one of my textbooks as she chews pizza with her mouth open.

  “What the fuck is homosporous?” she says.

  I take the textbook before she can spit on it. “It’s a plant with one kind of spore.”

  “It sounds gay.”

  Everybody but me laughs. I hide the textbook behind the couch.

  “Cassie, baby,” Spencer drawls. “Get my guitar.”

  “Sure.”

  When I stand, he slaps my ass. I pretend to glower at him, swinging my hips as I walk to the bedroom. When I return, Spencer’s sitting on the couch by Melody. He takes the guitar from me and strums a few chords.

  “This is a new song I wrote,” he says.

  Spencer closes his eyes as he sings, his voice soft and husky. I let out a sigh. He’s so fucking sexy like this.

  He sings late into the night, until we finish the pizza and the rum. Somebody turns on a movie so bad it’s good. I snuggle on the couch by Spencer, my head tucked under his arm, and laugh along with everyone else.

  When I wake up, the TV’s dark and Spencer’s gone.

  Legs wobbling, I stagger to the bathroom. The guy in the leather jacket hunches over the toilet, puking up his pizza.

  “Fuck,” I say. “I have to pee.”

  “Go for it.” He crawls out of my way.

  I twist the lock and flush the toilet. After I wash my hands, I walk toward our bedroom. The door stands ajar.

  “Oh, God.” She almost sounds like she’s in pain. “Oh, God, please.”

  I touch my fingertips to the door. When it swings open, I stare at the bed.

  Spencer.

  Balls deep in another girl. His naked ass flexes as he thrusts into Melody. She whimpers and clutches his shoulders.

  I stare at them like I walked onto a porn set. “Spencer!”

  He swings his head to look at me. “There’s room for one more.”

  “No.” My voice rasps in my throat.

  Melody glances at me, her eyes unfocused, and manages a breathless giggle. “Come on, Cassia, let me see your tits.”

  Spencer laughs. “Broaden your horizons, baby.”

  I slam the door in their faces.

  Numb, I grab my coat, keys, and phone. No fucking way I’m sleeping here tonight, or ever sleeping in our bed again.

  I step outside, shivering in the cold. Rain pings off the roof of Spencer’s car, a used maroon BMW his uncle gave him for his twenty-first birthday. He won’t let me drive it even though he treats it like shit. Burger wrappers and empty cans of energy drinks litter the floor, and the seats always stink like cigarettes.

  When I drag my key across the door, it peels paint with a satisfying screech. I lean over the BMW’s hood. FUCK YOU. The letters look angular, like Viking runes carved in stone. I sure hope they last that long. My shoe nudges a rock on the ground. I balance it
in my hand before hurling it against the windshield.

  Glass shatters into spiderweb cracks; the car alarm whoops.

  “Shit!”

  I sprint down the street, my feet weightless. The alarm fades in the distance. Panting, I bend over with my hands on my knees.

  My fingers shake as I text a friend. Can I crash on your couch?

  Sure, she texts back. Why?

  Tell you then.

  Tanvi answers her door wearing pink pajamas with owls. “What happened?”

  “Spencer—” I force out the words. “Spencer cheated on me.”

  She hides her gasp behind her hand. “Oh my God!”

  “Can I come in?”

  She lets me step inside. I kick off my shoes and curl on her couch.

  Tanvi brings me a pillow and a blanket. “Who did you catch him with?” she whispers. Her roommates must be asleep.

  “Melody.”

  Tanvi’s brown eyes widen. “That slut? Cassia, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Let me know if you want to talk.”

  “Thanks,” I say again, like a robot. “I need to sleep.”

  “Of course.” She flicks off the light. “Good night.”

  Like this isn’t the worst night of my life.

  Huddled on the couch, I hug the pillow to myself. Sleeping alone feels wrong. Spencer and I met freshman year of college, and we have rarely spent a night apart for the past three years. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

  He texted. What happened to my car?

  My stomach clenches half with guilt, half with vicious triumph. I turn off my phone and toss it away. When I squeeze my eyes shut, tears creep down my cheeks. I hold my breath so I won’t wake Tanvi or her roommates.

  I cry myself to sleep.

  7

  Bram

  By the mirror, I tighten my white bowtie and straighten my black jacket. Oxford requires formalwear for examinations. The cap and gown look bloody absurd, but I’m not laughing. Worms of anxiety writhe in my stomach.

  “Bram!” Jeb shouts through the wall.

  “What?”

  “Where did you put the carnations?”

  I exhale through clenched teeth. “In the kitchen.”

  “Where?”

  I stride from my bedroom. Jeb leans inside the refrigerator like I would ever possibly put flowers in there. White carnations wilt on the windowsill. I tuck one into my buttonhole, traditional for the first examination.