Just Roll With It: a Just Us novel Read online

  JUST ROLL WITH IT

  Copyright © 2016 by Niki Hager

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Designer: SelfPubBookCovers.com/FrinaArt

  Editor and Interior Designer: Wendi Temporado, Ready, Set, Edit, [email protected]

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For My Bug.

  Do not open until your eighteenth birthday.

  Do not assume Mommy and Daddy did all of the crazy stuff you read in here.

  Do not do any of the crazy stuff you read in here.

  Okay, maybe do a little bit of it.

  Just roll with it.

  I love you.

  Soundtrack

  Burn- Alkaline Trio

  Longview- Green Day

  Hello Fascination- Breathe Carolina

  Strange Love- Halsey

  No- Meghan Trainor

  The Days Of The Phoenix- AFI

  Mercy Me- Alkaline Trio

  I Don't Wanna Know- New Found Glory

  Velvet- Breathe Carolina

  Round Here- Counting Crows

  Middle Of Nowhere- Hot Hot Hot Heat

  100 Resolutions- The Lawrence Arms

  Together We'll Ring In The New Year- Motion City Soundtrack

  Don't Lose Touch- Against Me!

  My House- Flo Rida

  Somewhere Only We Know- Keane

  The Future Freaks Me Out- Motion City Soundtrack

  Last Night- Breathe Carolina

  Blue In The Face- Alkaline Trio

  Close- Nick Jonas, Tove Lo

  Miami- Against Me!

  All Downhill From Here- New Found Glory

  Stay Away- Roony

  Dead On Arrival- Fall Out Boy

  Attractive Today- Motion City Soundtrack

  Millennia- Crown The Empire

  Habits- Tove Lo

  Make Out Kids- Motion City Soundtrack

  Roman Holiday- Halsey

  Dareh Meyod- O.A.R

  Gone So Long- Breathe Carolina

  The Best Of Me- The Starting Line

  We Can Never Break Up- Alkaline Trio

  Enjoy the full Just Roll With It playlist on Spotify

  Boy With The Brown Backpack

  Burn- Alkaline Trio

  Rigbee

  My lips are so chapped; the top layer just flakes off now. Gusts of wind pierce each crack, and the sting of it sparks the memory of my most recent distraction. It burns so bad, I can't not reach up and touch them.

  I'm anxious, incredibly high-strung, and a notorious prude who cringes at the touch of a man. Anyhow, Monday mornings you can find me in the rusty red Corsica parked behind the Fine Arts building, violently making out with Nate Riley.

  Sitting on the concrete is never comfortable, but something about being outside freshens my mind. I glance up to look at Nate. He lights his second cigarette. His tall figure relaxes against the pillar, like he's melting into it, when he inhales that first hit. I don't smoke, but I can't shake the slight pinch of jealousy I feel while watching. It's like he's taking his first breath of fresh air after being long deprived. The look of perfect relief.

  I like Nate enough. He's sort of slovenly, a ragged, modern-day hippie, but he pulls off the long, sandy-brown hair and two-day-old scruff. Those lips of his don't hurt, either. I can still feel them on mine. Skilled softness to counter my own rawness. A parody much too emblematic of my life.

  To anybody else, he would appear to be my type. We sort of match, with our artsy hipster who hated high school but art school is my niche kind of thing. I'm sufficient enough to capture his fancy for now. The height difference was staggering at first. Being significantly shorter at five foot two, I often wonder how the sex would work. I should Google that.

  An impromptu breeze passes us by, blowing smoke from Nate's cigarette right in my face. My skin stales, and my pores open to the asphyxiation. I was pale enough already, the last thing I need is to turn grey.

  September is always a rough month for me. I lift up my face to try and soak in some of the sunshine poking through the clouds. I'm always told I have a pretty face, but clearly, it has nothing to do with my complexion. High cheek bones are my saving grace. I get them from my Grandpa Joe's Cherokee Indian roots.

  "Wanna go to the Ren fest with me Saturday?" Nate looks down at me and smiles.

  "Sure." I shrug and turn, squinting my eyes away from the sun to him. "Why not?" Sounds fun enough, and I enjoy his company.

  His grin turns bigger, and he continues his focus back to the cigarette and whatever else he's been looking at in the distance toward the parking lot.

  Nate really is easy to be with. We can use each other for what we need, without the hassle of feelings and awkwardness. We went to high school together, so he already knows enough about me to not ask questions. He was a year ahead of me, and I only knew him from an off-campus art class we were both in. When we realized we both were taking the art program here, we reconnected right away.

  The pressuring weight of presumption doesn't suffocate me when I'm around him, which makes the usually insufferable situation bearable. He'd just gone through a big break up with the supposed "love of his life". You could say I had a sort of break up too, but I never really cared for the guy. I had no intention of having sex with him. No surprise there when he wasn't thrilled when I didn't put out. No wonder he dumped me.

  At least with Nate, the mutual interest of using each other to pass the time is there. Until his girl comes back, anyway, or until I actually find someone worth putting out for. Not likely. I can imagine the freak out that'll be wielded on the poor guy who tries to be my first.

  I'm about to get up off the hard concrete and go inside for my next class—because, let's be real, sitting on this step is really killing my ass bone—when I see him.

  The way he walks is what catches my eye first. The stride is so contradicting. He moves with this dramatic confidence, yet something about his face seems unsure. My effort to move is now trivial with my whole body suddenly desperate to stay still. A burning heat floods my stomach, and I lose whatever control I thought I had of myself. I'm pretty much stuck, frozen and staring, with my mouth hanging open.

  It's not only that the most attractive guy I have ever laid eyes on is walking across the lot—well, that might have something to do with it—but there's more. I'm being drawn to him by something momentous. It's celestial and alluring. It is now crucial to my well-being to know him.

  When he lifts his head from his phone, I see his striking black hair. Carelessly disheveled, in a sexy way, and swept to the one side. I can tell the gorgeous locks are thick, but he's hiding underneath of what I always call a "Fall Out Boy" hat.

  Wearing mostly black and sporting skinny jeans, he practically oozes trouble. I usually make fun of those kind of pants, but on him they're not too skinny—they fit him just right.

  With both shoulders, he sports a brown backpack full of butto
ns and patches. I can't see them clearly; I likely wouldn't know what they mean anyway.

  I strain to look away, but can't. I'm too mesmerized, though I can't pinpoint why. He is obviously gorgeous. No, gorgeous isn't even strong enough for him. He emanates the dark and ominous thing every girl finds so appealing but won't admit. Still, no guy has ever done this to me before. I don't know what's going on. I do, however, know that I cannot, even forcibly, peel myself away.

  I notice the vast amounts of ink sticking out under the sleeves of his t-shirt. The dangerous look comes effortlessly, yet he's not stock bad boy. I get more of a concealed and inner turmoil vibe. He's captivating, and it's consuming me.

  "Shit, he's walking this way." I only realize I've talked out loud when Nate responds.

  "What, hun? Did you say something?"

  I hate when he calls me hun. To me, the term sounds demeaning instead of endearing. I don't care enough to correct him.

  "Uh, yeah. Do you see that guy over there?" I point to where brown backpack guy is walking.

  "Yeah, sure. What about him?" he asks.

  "I'm going to marry him someday." What. The. Fuck.

  The words just slipped out. I swear, I don't know why. Was I really thinking that? No, I wasn't thinking. I have a bad habit of not thinking before I speak. I must have been making one of my jokes, the kind that come out with no filter. I've always had a dry sense of humor nobody seems to get. Combine that with my severe social impairments, and voila, you have the awkwardness that is me.

  I try not to look over at Nate, but I do and see he's laughing at me. He amuses the hell out of himself, unable to refrain from pointing out the "red as a ruby" color of my face.

  I play it off like I had meant to talk out loud so bluntly. I'm good at pretending to play it cool. I muster up the fuck-it attitude I seem to have more of lately, then I straighten my posture and lift my chin enough to show him I don't care. He can laugh at me all he wants. Face saved.

  Looking back at my mystery man, I see he is about to walk completely past us. That won't do. I know where he's going; I have classes in the same building starting tomorrow. I feel scared and stupid, but I have a feeling in my gut. The kind I just can't ignore. I'm supposed to know him; I feel it in my bones. I'm going for it.

  "Nate, be right back. Don't wait for me, save me a seat," I haphazardly yell back as I start to make my way toward the sidewalk.

  "K, sweets. See ya in there," his voice says faintly behind me. Gah! Sweets, I don't like that one, either.

  It doesn't bother me when Nate doesn't seem to care how I'm walking over to another guy. It's not like we weren't just making out in his car on our way to school or anything. Okay, we were. In his defense, I don't, either.

  I make my way to the sidewalk, walking as inconspicuously as possible toward my guy, acting as if I happen to be going in his direction. I don't know where this courage came from all of a sudden, but I'm glad I haven't passed out yet.

  As mystery man gets closer, I wait to see if he's going for the greeting, or sidestepping me. It's my lucky day. Mystery man makes eye contact.

  "Long walk, huh?" his husky-as-fuck voice washes over me, and I'm caught off-guard.

  I was planning to address him first, even if I didn't know what I was going to say. Shit, now I'm thrown off and speech-stuck. I chance a look at him as he waits for me to respond. An amused, almost cocky look rests on his face, and it's shattering my confidence. He tips his head slightly. Lifting a brow, he tries desperately to hold back a smirk.

  "Uh-hum, yeah," I stutter. "I have a long walk, but that's okay. Walking doesn't bother me."

  A few more seconds of awkward silence goes by, and I'm starting to think I should walk away and die now. Apparently, assertiveness is not my thing. I'm super shy, and this was a stupid-ass idea.

  He stands there patiently, waiting for me to get to some point, but his face can't hide he's confused as all hell, reminding me I should talk now.

  "Did you go for lunch?" I ask him, shyly but assertive enough.

  "Yeah," he mumbles.

  Wow, big talker over here. Okay, maybe he's bad at this too. Or has a girlfriend. Why didn't I think of that? Damn.

  "So, what did you get?"

  "What?" he asks me with a blank stare.

  "You know, for lunch?"

  He blinks his eyes into focus, like he's just waking up. "Oh, McDonald's," he answers.

  "Eeew, gross." I twist my mouth in disgust without thinking. This is not at all how I imagined this going.

  I give him my best apologetic look and then hold out my hand like I'm conducting a goddamn business interview.

  "Well, my name is Rigbee Damon. What's yours?"

  He presses his lips together and draws his eyes down to my outstretched arm. Why do I have to be such a dork? I begin to blush when I realize he's not going to return the handshake. He's leaving me hanging. I was about to give up when his expression softens. He reaches out, takes my hand in his, and says, "Roman. Roman Ransom."

  Roman

  Un-fucking-real. It's her. The girl. The one from tech school. She didn't know I would watch, she definitely doesn't remember. I only talked to her once, yet I remember exchanging plenty of admiring and thought-provoking gazes while passing her pleasing body in the halls.

  I now know the douchebag, Scott Something-or-another, didn't talk to her for me like I had asked him to. He was our one and only mutual acquaintance. What a piece of shit. He wanted her too. He could never have had her. He wanted as little competition as possible, and he sure as hell wasn't going to encourage any. I was pissed when I found out; I got over it. Amy and I had just broken up anyway.

  We had a nickname for this girl, Scott and I. What was it? Oh yes, Bug. She didn't, and she doesn't, know, of course. But the first time the toolbag told me her name, I'd thought he said Rugby. He found my mistake hilarious, being the immature dick he was, and started calling her "The Rug". His lack of respect wasn't cool with me—it sounded demeaning. She deserved something as adorable as she was, so I evolved the word to Bug. Thus, the nickname was born.

  She drove me nuts for a minute when she didn't acknowledge my attempt. I was already on academic probation after the cluster fuck that was Amy. I was on the fast path to an epic fail, which is not an option for me, ever. I was done pining for any and all females afterward.

  I'd had plenty of girls still, but making sure they knew the deal was high priority. I wasn't interested in the long term. Some weren't cool with the idea, automatically pegging me as a prick, but some were. In any case, the ones who stayed weren't exactly the kind you bring home to Mom.

  I started to pull up my grades, and my focus was on point from then on. I graduated on time, despite everyone's doubts. It was hard as hell, though. Taking tech at the end of the day was the only way to gain my credits back. Which, incidentally, was where I first saw her. That girl. She was always going when I was coming. Much like right now.

  Rigbee

  The first Monday of my last year of school came and went. I didn't run into backpack boy, I mean Roman, again. I probably won't, and fine by me. After our humiliating encounter, not seeing him ever again might be a blessing.

  "Shit," I mutter to myself.

  It's starting to rain so I jog the entire way to my car. I'm parked all the way in the back lot, behind the art building. I always park here. Apparently, so does Roman. Gah. Get it together, Rigbee.

  I hop in my crappy Pontiac Sunfire and begin the stressful drive home to my new apartment.

  The rain picks up about halfway home. A prime example of my own flavor of fucked up. I begin to tense up the harder the rain comes down. My knuckles on the steering wheel turn white, and I'm beginning to sweat. My jaw locks. I grind my teeth down so hard it makes my head hurt.

  This is typically how they begin. Of course, I keep my medicine in my purse, which is in the back seat, which means I can't get to them now.

  Funny story—my doctor prescribes me Xanax for them. They happen a lot
while I am driving, but the warning on the label clearly states "Do not operate motor vehicle while using". Yeah, I'm an ironic mess. My heart rate speeds up again, causing my chest to go heavy. I need to get home before the hyperventilating begins.

  I chant my mantra, "Just get home, just get home, just get home."

  I pull into the parking lot of my apartments, thankful I'm finally here, and immediately reach back into my purse for my meds.

  I made it. I'm home. Our apartment is small, but charming in its own way. The kitchen is frightfully outdated, nevertheless, it has potential. I was determined to make my place nice. Luckily, I had been gifted my parents old cream leather furniture, which helped a lot, seeing as we didn't have anything to contribute. I did the girl things, like placing frames and candles and what-nots here and there. Nothing special, but it feels like home.

  I need to paint. Painting is the only thing calming enough not prescribed on a little blue piece of paper. I grab my bags and my purse and hurry through the gates of the building. Up the three flights of stairs, then through the entire length of the hallway, sits our tiny apartment. Last door on the left.

  I unlock the door, set my bags down by the couch, and head straight for the storage room to get my paints. Without thought, I grab the door handle. I yank wide and fast, and stop dead in my tracks.

  "Aaahhhh, Rigbee! Whatthefuckdontyouknock?"

  For The Love of Thor

  Long View- Green Day

  Rigbee

  I watch wide-eyed as my roommate, Enzo, quickly slams his laptop shut. He covers up what he was doing to himself with what he passes off as his blanket. The effort's futile, really. I saw what I saw, and I can still see it through the sheet. Also, I'm quite sure I can still hear the sounds of moaning and "Ahh, yeah," through the laptop speakers. Or, it's seared into my memory and set on repeat. I can't tell which.