Red Flags Read online

  Red Flags

  By

  C.C. Brown

  Copyright 2012

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover Art provided by Laura Shinn

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please respect the hard work of the author and avoid taking part in the act of piracy, which violates the rights of the author. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the imagination of the author or are used fictitiously.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my husband, whose undying love and support pushed me to write and complete Red Flags. Without him, it would still be a bunch of scribbles on a piece of paper.

  Chapter 1

  “Cara, hurry up! We’re going to be late for class,” Chelsea yelled. She was my teammate, roommate, and best friend. We had late night class that started at seven o'clock, and as I glanced at the clock, it was already six fifty-five. By my calculations, we would be, at the least, about five minutes late. The walk from our on campus apartment, down to class was about 10 minutes long, so by dashing through the doors now, I could save face and make a fashionably late entrance into the wonderful world of Management 457.

  As I grabbed my supplies and stared at my disheveled appearance in the mirror, I was ambivalent towards my look, my need to shower, and my overzealous desire to sit through an hour and thirty minutes worth of managerial studies. I yelled back to Chelsea, “don’t rush me; I need a shower—badly!” I heard her footsteps and as I looked up from the mirror, she was hanging on the door to my room, smirking at me, and goading me to forget about how I looked and to get to class.

  “What does it matter what you look like? We had practice, now we have class, and then, you can come home, shower, and turn that mop on the top of your head into something presentable.”

  Only Chelsea could say something so negative, make me laugh, and do it with a smile. In all actuality, she was right. My hair was a mess, but I was only going to class, so that shouldn’t have mattered. On the contrary, she was a beacon of beauty. She stood there with her luxuriously tanned skin, long stork legs, impeccable hair; the color of the wet sand that sits along our pristine San Diego beaches, and green eyes the shade of an emerald rock shimmering in the sun. Chelsea Peters was the prettiest girl I had seen in a long time, and I often envied her and her impressive good looks.

  I, on the other hand, didn’t view myself as highly. At five foot six, I wasn’t as tall as Chelsea, and while my light, caramel skin gave the look of a natural tan, my mop top, as Chelsea referred to it, was always a source of contention for me. It was overly curly, and at times, to a fault. The only compliment I would ever truly give myself was the fact the shade of brown in my hair was a perfect match to the hazel of my eyes. Other than that, I was nothing special. No one would ever see me as the beautiful model type like Chelsea; they would always see Cara Pinkston, the best friend of most men’s wildest dreams.

  We left our apartment and while Chelsea had time to shower and get dressed, I was still in my Southern San Diego University softball gear, and full of dirt. Chelsea had been on my ass about finding a quality guy to date; since she had a nice guy and felt obligated to feel guilty whenever I tagged along as the third wheel. “Cara, seriously… that guy in your class tonight, he always eyes you. He has that come-fuck-me look in his eyes, I’ve seen it.” I gave her the I-don’t-think-so look and shook my head.

  “Why do you think I would want to be with a guy who gives me those looks? I think I’m worth a little more than that.” I sarcastically responded to Chelsea for her oh so pleasant observation skills.

  “I’m just saying Cara, he’s hot, you need a man… and he obviously wants you. Stop being such a prude and go after him already.”

  I nudged her in the back, shook my head at her again, and we both laughed. Chelsea was a blunt girl, no nonsense, and full of advice; sometimes, full of unwelcomed advice.

  <>

  I finally arrived at my class, and just as I thought, Professor Velez was in front of the class, with those nerdy, Urkel-type of suspenders on, with his pants too high, and his shirt completely tucked in. He didn’t have a bad face, but his attire distracted from the positives he possessed. He was knowledgeable in the subject matter, but was unnecessarily dry and often times, found himself quite humorous; when he was anything but. I took my usual seat, towards the back, in the corner, away from everyone so that my grotesque appearance was seen by only a limited few. The classroom’s florescent lighting made my dirt stand out, so I tried to stay hidden as much as possible.

  After shifting in my seat from taking out my pens and notebook, I looked up to find HIM walking through the door. Mr. Fuck Me Eyes, otherwise known by his government name of Jason Bradley, had once again taken my breath away. He was tall, at least six foot one, tanned skin, big brown eyes, and luxuriously shiny mocha Frappuccino colored hair that flopped wildly all over his head. His style was of a typical San Diego guy, but his accent said he wasn’t from here. I couldn’t quite put my finger on its origin, but I thought it added to his appeal.

  I found myself trying to shun Jason, and for what reason, I would not be able to fully articulate. I know Chelsea has been nudging me in the direction of Mr. Bradley, and she would kill me if she knew that every class meeting he asked me simple little questions-- that I often times blew off, but there was something about him that threw up big warning flags, with the police sirens, and speeding fire trucks to boot. He was amazingly hot, that could not be disputed, but I usually listened to my instincts and they were telling me that Jason Bradley was to be avoided.

  Discreetly eyeing him, I noticed that he wasn’t making his normal round to his seat which was usually about three desks in front and to the left of me, but he was in fact coming to my little smelly, dirty corner of the room. I must have looked like a deer in headlights as he smiled that All- American boy smile while motioning to the desk next to me.

  “Just wonderin’ if this seat is taken?” He said with such a husky voice, filled with a sweet touch of Southern drawl.

  I looked at him, speechless and smiled… my awkward, I-just-want-to curl-up-smile. I finally got the courage to speak and replied with a feeble, “no.”

  Jason sat down and took out his pen and one sheet of paper. How could he possibly take Professor’s Velez’s notes with one sheet? I had no clue, but I stared straight ahead at the board and tried to focus on the fact that I had a class that I should be learning in, and not worrying about this incredibly delectable guy sitting next to me, while I reeked of dirt, and knee pad sweat.

  I snapped back to reality and realized that if this unnecessarily hot guy was going to forsake himself to be in my presence, I should at least try to make it pleasant. I took my travel size cucumber melon hand sanitizer and lotion out of my bag and first cleaned my hands, then moisturized them. It was the least I can do.

  I noticed Jason eyeing me intently while I gave myself a pseudo cleansing, and I felt the temperature in the room rise. He started writing, and since Professor Velez was no longer writing on the white board, I wondered what Mr. Bradley was jotting down on his paper.

  A few seconds later, he slid the paper over to my desk and it read:

  Why are you putting that stuff on? You really should have someone else do it for you.

  I immediately blushed, and contemplated not writing him back, but those big brown eyes were eyeing and willing me to respond, so I gave in.

  Because my hands are dirty, and I am more than capable of doing it myself.

  I slid th
e paper back to him, with a curt smile, and an inward chuckle. This guy came to class on a mission.

  He immediately wrote but stopped himself and scribbled out whatever it was that he had originally written down. He gave me a sly, sideways glance, and started writing again. This time, he passed the note over with a silent arrogance attached to it.

  You may be capable, but I am willing.

  I turned as red as my caramel skin would go, and felt a sudden rush of flutters in my stomach. I was not used to guys coming on to me with the Chelsea Peters level of candor, and I was shocked that I actually liked it.

  I giggled as I contemplated my next retort, and unwillingly drew the attention of Professor Velez.

  “Is something funny Miss. Pinkston?”

  I flamed red with all eyes on me, and with quivering lips I answered with a simple, “no.”

  Jason’s eyes were locked on me and he had a sly grin on his face that told me that he knew he had hooked me, which was exactly what I was hoping to avoid.

  I responded to him and asked:

  You may be willing but am I willing to let you?

  He seemed impressed by my ability to play coy, and in all actuality, I was too. He wrote down on the paper:

  Well, are you willing?

  Here came Chelsea in a male form, and while she was exactly three classrooms down, learning how to teach literature to young children, she was never far from my thoughts. I was flustered by this point because I had no answer. Of course I was willing, but that was my libido talking. The sane, rational part of my body -- my brain, was telling me to tell him NO. I wrote down on the paper:

  I just might be.

  Just as I was about to slide the paper back to him, he shook his head at me and mouthed, yes or no? I wanted to run, because unlike Chelsea, I didn’t possess the innate quality to read, and stand my ground when it came to men. I tended to get shy and reclusive. Jason Bradley was making me answer his question, and my answer would determine where we went from there. I put my pen to the paper and immediately wrote, YES!

  He didn’t even take the paper from me, just flashed an amazingly bright, sparkling smile, and at that moment, Professor Velez announced that we could take our 10 minute break.

  I looked over at Jason and he finally formally introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Jason, and your name is?”

  I tried very hard to look him in the eye, but at that moment, I was overcome with reticence, and while holding out my hand, I responded with, “Hi, I’m Cara… Cara Pinkston.”

  He shook my hand but for a strange, and uncomfortable reason, he didn’t let go. He brought my hand up to his nose, and gently ran it under his nostrils -- sending a flurry of butterflies scattering throughout my belly.

  When he finally let my hand go, he said, with that oh so captivating Southern drawl, “so why has it taken this long for you to talk to me Cara Pinkston?”

  I immediately answered, “Because I was waiting on you to speak to me.”

  Feeling triumphant, and like I did have an inkling of Chelsea in me after all, I flashed him my biggest, I-am-so-proud-of-myself smile.

  Jason eyed me speculatively, and asked, “Do you live on campus, or is there a far drive you have to make after class?”

  I wondered where his inquisitive questioning was going so I answered his question with a question. “Why do you want to know? I shouldn’t really let a stranger know that right?”

  He shrugged and replied with, “well, being that we have introduced ourselves, I guess we aren’t really strangers now are we?”

  He got me. So I gave in and let him know that I did in fact live on campus, in an apartment with two other ladies, and proceeded on with an annoyingly long tirade about why I came to class the way I did. He listened, intently, smiling every so often, and when I finished he asked a simple, “Do you think I care about the way you look in class?”

  I was taken aback by his question and immediately began to blush again. “Part of your allure is the fact that you come to class, filthy as hell, and yet, I can’t turn away from you.” A twinkle went off in those big brown eyes that were slowly starting to melt me from the inside out.

  My mind was now racing, and to myself I thought, oh Mr. Bradley if you only knew the gross amount of time spent in front of my mirror ripping myself to shreds over my appearance. I lowered my head and smiled only to have Mr. Confident/Cocky -- not sure which name to pin on him at this point, grab my chin and lift my face.

  “Don’t lower your face. I wasn’t saying that to embarrass you. It’s the truth.”

  I grinned awkwardly, not sure how to handle this interaction. He smiled but must have sensed that I was feeling like a complete pile of mush, so he let my chin go but asked, “Can I walk you home? I really don’t want you to have to walk home this late at night alone.”

  I quickly answered, “Oh, I don’t walk alone, my roommate Chelsea is also in class and we walk home together.”

  He eyed me again and smiled. “Well, I could be a gentleman and walk you both home. My mother would be ashamed of me if I let two ladies walk home alone, and, my Southern manners wouldn’t allow it.”

  What could I say to that? I emphatically nodded, and told him yes.

  The rest of class was filled with smirks and giggles. I can’t recall taking very many notes, or learning much of anything, besides the fact that Jason Bradley thought I was hot when I was filthy, and that he wanted me. I’m not sure that I would classify him as Mr. Fuck Me Eyes, as Chelsea called him, but he had a magnetism to him that had gotten under my skin in the most uninvited, yet sensual way.

  When our class ended, I gathered my things and headed for the door, with Jason right behind me. Chelsea came walking up with a smile so big I thought her face was going to split in half. Right behind her was our friend Chase who came with a look of inquiry.

  “Hi, I’m Chelsea and you are?”

  Jason flashed his boy next door smile and politely answered, “I’m Jason… Jason Bradley.”

  Chase reached out to hug me and Jason stepped in front of him and shook his hand. His demeanor had changed and he was no longer the friendly, boy next door, but instead a cold, and aggravated alpha male. “Hi, I didn’t catch your name. I’m Jason.” His tone was so dry I felt like the Sahara desert had more moisture.

  “I’m Chase, Chase Donahue, I am friends with Cara and Chelsea.”

  I nervously glanced over at Chelsea, hoping she would end this stalemate that had somehow developed right before my eyes, but instead she smiled and shook her head. I was on my own.

  Chase continued to speak, and I was inwardly relieved because I felt the urge to just walk away. “Well, it was nice to meet you Jason, but it’s late so we should get going home.”

  Jason burned Chase with his gaze, almost accusatorily. “No need to worry about the ladies, I’ll get them home Chase.”

  “It’s okay man. I live three doors down from them, I can walk with them.”

  “Well, Cara has permitted me to walk her home, so I want to make sure I do what the lady requests.”

  Just before Chase could respond, his cell phone rang and he took the call. He turned back to me and gave me the thumbs up, asking if I was okay with that, and I nodded my approval giving him the green light to leave this extraordinarily uncomfortable situation.

  We started our walk home, when Chelsea, feeling the need to be Chelsea, took over the situation.

  “So Jason, that’s a handsome little accent you have there. Where are you from?”

  “Texas. Heath, Texas to be precise.”

  “Oh wow… why did you choose to come here for school? Besides the fact that it’s California and at the beach?”

  “I just wanted something different. California is California and has its appeal, so I wanted to check it out.”

  “Well, you certainly fit in here. That tan is to die for.”

  At that moment, I cringed. Chelsea was known for being rather crass, but there really was no filter on her mouth.

  “We
ll thank you Chelsea. Back home, I lay out by the lake, boat, fish… so I can keep this up and still look like a California dream beau.” He laughed as he made the comparison.

  “Well, you certainly have that part down. “

  Was Chelsea flirting with my guy? She had a boyfriend of her own, but because I wouldn’t do it, she felt no hesitation to do it for me. You’ve got to love Chelsea; she was never one to stand for a dull moment. Her line of questioning continued, on to a topic I would have rather forgotten.

  “So what was up with Chase? You didn’t seem to like him very much.”

  Without even hesitating Jason looked at her and smiled.

  “What do you mean? We introduced ourselves like gentlemen, and he went on his way.”

  Chelsea looked at me, and as I shook my head, hoping to get her to leave this alone, but she grinned and continued. “Right Bradley, you two met like gentlemen my ass. That was a machismo fest, and I rather enjoyed watching it.”

  Jason laughed out loud and looked down at me. “Did you think that was a machis whatever? I don’t think I have ever heard that word.”

  I looked at him, and smiled queasily.

  “I’m not really sure.”

  Chelsea, not one to listen to nonsense, butted in again. “Come on Cara. If that wasn’t an awkward mess of an introduction, I don’t know what was. Bradley here was staking a claim.”

  I looked at her with wild embarrassment and wished that she would for once, just shut her mouth. Jason laughed and looked at Chelsea snidely. “Maybe I was. I think Chase got the message.”

  At that moment, Chelsea beamed me her biggest, I-told-you-so smile. I wanted to run from the both of them, but Jason stared at me with a hungry gaze.