Page 13 of Loving Kalvin
“Bro. She’s here.”
“No shit.”
“I need you to hack into the college system again.” He mumbles something incoherent under his breath. “Please. She must be registered under a different name. Can you do a search for anyone named Lana and see what you find.”
“Okay. Consider it done.”
“Thanks, man. I owe you.”
He snorts. “Yeah you do.”
I hang up, feeling wired. I need to run this excess adrenaline off, so I head out to the track. After stretching, I start off at a leisurely pace, building my speed with each lap. My mind churns a million miles an hour. Finding her is only step one. I need a plan of action to win her back. Shelving Shelby helps. My track record with other girls is abysmal, and winning Lana’s trust is key. She needs to understand I want the whole shebang with her. I’m invested. Lock, stock, and barrel. I’m ready to take our relationship to the next level, and I think we’re finally on the same page. I want to commit to her exclusively. Now, I just need to convince her I’m genuine and pray that she hasn’t moved on.
I’m spread-eagled on the bed in fresh sweats, bare-chested, and listening to Bono rock it out on my iPhone when Brett graces me with his presence. He must have a new girl on the scene because he’s barely been here all week. Last night was the first time I’d seen him in days.
“What’s up, asshat?” he asks, dumping his gear bag on the ground. Crossing to the refrigerator, he removes two bottles of water, tossing one to me. A musty, sweaty smell filters through the air.
My nose wrinkles as I pull my earphones off. “Dude, you’re polluting the environment.” I point at the offending bag, adding in some gagging sound effects for good measure.
He shrugs. “And you’re insulting my manly smell. I’m wounded.” He pulls a chair over, swinging it around and straddling it. “You’re hardly in a position to throw stones. You leave your smelly shit lying all over the place.” He points at my damp running outfit, currently occupying center stage in the middle of the floor.
Valid. Not that I’m admitting it.
My nostrils flare in disgust as I jump up and open the window. “The difference is my sweat rocks. Yours reeks like hundred-year-old granny panties.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Delusional much, Kennedy? Your shit smells the same as the rest of us.” Can’t deny that. “What you listening to?” He gestures toward my phone.
“Do you really have to ask?” I stick my head out the window and promptly retreat. I keep forgetting I’m not in Massachusetts. No gentle breeze offers relief from the noxious smells wafting around the room. The sticky humidity takes some getting used to; although, I’ve detected a slight change in the weather this last week. Apparently, the weather rarely dips below sixty here, and the humidity lingers like a bad smell, but it does get a little cooler during winter. My body temp is cranked to toasty all year round, and I never thought I’d hear myself complain about the heat, but the climate in Florida is fucking up my internal wiring. If I could get away with walking around naked, I’d do it.
“U2 is the shit, but you could vary it up. Your taste in music is a lot like your taste in women—singular and a bit on the boring side.”
I flip him the bird. “Don’t insult Lana or Bono and the boys. I’ll stick my dad on you.” Dad hails from Ireland, and the members of U2 are living legends in the Emerald Isle. I grew up indoctrinated. Dad rarely played anything else, and he’s attended every major event U2 has played in the States the last ten years, without fail. Once I turned thirteen, he brought me with him. None of my brothers understand our U2 obsession, and I love that it’s something I get to share with him alone. When we vacationed in Ireland last summer, we saw them live in Croke Park, and there’s nothing like watching living legends perform on home soil. The crowd was electric, the atmosphere was out of this world, and it was the experience of a lifetime.
“I can take Daddy Kennedy any day.” Brett flexes his fists. “Bring it.”
I roll my eyes, swigging from my bottle. “Where you been all week?” He makes a disgusting gesture with his hands, and I laugh. “Figured. Who’s the flavor of the week this week?”
“Sydney. She’s a senior. Met her at the party last week.”
“A senior, huh?” I’m impressed.
“Perks of playing college football.” He winks, puffing out his broad chest.
“You seeing her tonight?”
“Nah. Think it’s time to broaden my horizons.”
I chuckle. Brett has a short attention span. “She know that?”
“She’s cool, man. She knew what this was.”
“If you say so.” I’m remembering the last girl who turned up at our door, sobbing her heart out. “One word. Hayley.”
“Oh shit, man. Why’d you have to go and ruin my good mood. You know I feel bad about that.”
“Just looking out for you, bro. You forget, I’ve been you, and it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Says the born-again virgin,” he teases, and I give him the finger. “A few of us are heading to a party in Gainesville. Wanna come?”
