Another Vice: The University Alley Duet, #1

By Paige Lynn Hill

He's in Love With Heroin. She's in Love With Him.

But if love is too survive this toxic soup, they both need a support group.

 

Lane Orr never expected to find love when she was passed over for a new promotion. Instead, she'll be babysitting a bunch of Frat boys as there Den Mother. But she's not the only new kid on the scene. A transfer from France will wreak havoc in her life.

 

Clay Hearst transferred to America for one reason only. Access to more drugs. When his Den Mother discovers his drug habit, he will pull her into the destructive tornado that is his life. Now he has two ways to avoid his troubles.

 

But as Lane discovers that two secrets are worse than none. She beings to wonder if she'll be able to keep her teaching job and hold on to Clay at the same time. So she demands that he join an N.A. meeting to get clean. However, will the people in her support group, help her realize that she's already picked up Another Vice?

• Language: English
• Publisher: TRS Books
• Release date: Jun 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393233190

Book preview

Another Vice

The University Alley Duet Book 1

Paige Lynn Hill

TRS BOOKS

Copyright © 2022 by Paige Lynn Hill

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,

photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written

permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post

it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without

permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and

incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or

localities is entirely coincidental.

First

Edition

Cover Art by EmCat Designs

This book was professionally typeset by Atticus.io

Contents

Also by TRS BOOKS

1. Clay

2. Lane

3. Clay

4. Lane

5. Clay

6. Lane

7. Clay

8. Lane

9. Clay

10. Lane

11. Clay

12. Lane

13. Clay

14. Clay

15. Lane

16. Clay

17. Lane

18. Clay

19. Clay

20. Lane

21. Clay

22. Lane

23. Clay

24. Lane

25. Lane

AFTERWORD

Discussion Questions

Excerpt: Another Virtue

About Author

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Chapter one

Clay

Projectile vomit mixed with the rain and washed down the gully to the sewer. I don’t feel so good.

She sighed sorrowfully, I’m not turning this car around. If I do, our world as we know it changes. We need this.

I sat back in the commuter seat, trying to catch my breath. Tell me again what happens inside?

Lane inhaled shakily, staring out the driver’s side window. The parking lot was practically empty except for us and a few parked cars. A light sprinkle of rain danced across the car window. The only light inside came from the dashboard clock that read, 6:50 pm. We were early. I traced a heart between her thumb and forefinger, trying to center myself.

People will stare, and it will make you wonder why you’re even doing this. About this time, you’ll be telling yourself that you’re fine. But then you’ll pull a picture out of your wallet, and you’ll forget all that, Lane responded. That picture will remind you that you’re strong, and you need to make us stronger.

I took a few breaths and popped a mint. I’m ready.

She clicked her seat belt and got out with me. The car was left in park, but she had no intention of staying. She was illuminated by the headlights in her fitted jeans, ballet flats, and a white top with a pink blazer. I leaned on the hood of the car and steeled myself as she came beside me and rested her forehead on my left arm. If I look into her eyes now, I’ll never be strong enough to leave her. She’s literally my whole world. My grades, school, friends, none of that matters.

The only person who needed to be happy was Lane.

I checked my ticker, the 10k gold numbers shimmering in the night. How did you find this place?

The University is partnering with various community outreach programs to improve student relations, she said, very matter-of-factly, as if she were visibly trying to keep the emotion from her voice.

The school? I asked, studying her every twitch. Unable to control myself, I lashed out and kicked the front license plate. It rattled but didn’t fall. Lane, we’re taking a chance going here, no!

No worries. They don’t report back to the University. Everything we say here will be anonymous. The University wont even get a list of attendees. She sounded adamant.

I guess I had to believe her. The only good thing about this was that the semester was almost over. So it would be less likely that we would be found out. She had more to lose if this didn’t go well than I did. I hope for your sake that I’m wrong.

I gazed up at the darkened church. All I wanted was to be back in the car with her. I walked away from the vehicle, ignoring how damp my gray and white hoodie was getting. Unable to stop imagining all of the things I could be doing instead.

The building was plucked straight out of a horror movie with an even bigger monstrosity next to it. A construction site that even in the dark looked like they were going to be high-class condominiums. However, against the backdrop of lightning and rain, it looked like an insane asylum. Its metal beams and slate concrete threatened to make you disappear into the night never to be seen again.

We have to go somewhere, Clay. We need to get better.

I know that. You’ve made that quite clear! My voice rose. We could be found out, no?

I come on Wednesdays, and you come on Mondays. That’s our deal, and it's the only one I’ll accept. She crossed her arms over her chest like a woman feigning authority, instead of the confident woman actually holding all the cards.

A brief awkward silence fell over us.

I looked down at my ticker. It was time. I walked over and kissed Lane on the hand. Just wish me good luck.

She ran her hands through her long, thick, caramel strands. A simple nod was all that she managed to give me. That hurt more than anything she could have said. I knew this was for my benefit, but I felt like an orphan being abandoned on the train. It didn’t matter that her apartment was 40 miles East of campus, and she had to drive another 10 in the opposite direction just to get me here.

But here I was walking into a church anyway. I stood for a second in front of the entrance as if an enormous termite would burrow through the front door and swallow me whole. The large wooden doors were heavy and swung open as if they were built when time began. A warm yellow light on inside that didn’t immediately send me scurrying like a diseased rat into the night. Hello.

I walked over to a small folding table that was filled with pamphlets. The entire church was quiet. It appeared at first glance that I was alone. I picked up the most colorful brochure, and it read, Narcotics Anonymous. A multi-racial group sat in a circle in the front, looking comforting. The address of The Baptist Church was at the bottom. I slammed the pamphlet down and headed for the door. My world was unstable like the cymbals on a drum set, I could admit that, but I had to get out of this faux recovery place.

Are you hear for the meeting? A small elderly woman asked, appearing from one of the closed doors behind the table.

It seemed to be the pastor’s office. She was a small, unassuming little thing with frayed silvery hair. The type of woman that would always be devoted to the church. She would never truly know how many lives she touched. Because the only ones that mattered were her kids, and they stopped talking to her long ago.

No matter. The support group meetings are on Wednesdays, and they are open to everyone. But today is a closed meeting for just recovering addicts.

I cleared my throat, coughing into my hands. I’m the recovering addict. Or at least, I’d like to be.

My, my, my. They are getting younger, the woman replied to herself, picking up one of the other pamphlets. She shoved it into my hand and pointed around the corner. I’ll say a special prayer for you. Now, it's the fifth door on the right.

My steps were muffled in the carpeted hall. I couldn’t help but be a little scared. These meetings were every Monday, and I wasn’t sure how I was going to get through one. What if someone recognized me and ratted me out?"

Lane was wrong; this wasn’t going to help us. It would tear us apart.

There were at least ten people at the meeting when I arrived. It smelled like coffee and baked goods, but it only made my upset paunch turn. Floral sofas were pushed against the wall, and they looked like they had been donated by someone whose grandma had died. They occupied the wall closest to the door, and I avoided them like they were the grave. Mostly, I wanted to avoid a conversation with anyone who might sit there. So I sat in the back row, away from everyone. It was a diverse group, but I was clearly the youngest. I spread my legs out in front of me and looked down at my Rolex. The ticker never lies. It was five after, and they still hadn’t started.

Welcome, I’m Mary. A woman said as she passed me, patting me on the back.

She stopped to stand in front of the podium, and she reminded me of a hippy version of my mother. Instead of pantsuits, there were flowing skirts made out of suspect recyclable material. She probably wore her hair to the market in curlers when my mother wouldn’t be caught dead at the store period. A flower child of the 60s who clearly found it hard to leave all that open recreation behind.

Mary pulled a roll away chalkboard closer to her. Welcome, was scribbled across it in bold letters. Everyone, let’s get started. Have a seat. We are running crazy late.

I sat up in my seat as the rows began to fill in, and a quiet came over the group.

I do see a couple of new faces. So I want to take some time to discuss what to expect during a typical meeting. Maybe alleviate some fears in the process. She came to stand on the side of the podium as if it blocked her chia. I almost laughed at how much she was struggling with it. At least it allowed her to show off her cowboy boots, long black flowy skirt, and a plain navy top. She flipped the chalkboard to the other side, where there was already some writing:

Every attendee should be treated with respect.

Personal sharing is voluntary.

Only first names are used, and attendance is private.

Meetings are free to attend, but voluntary donations are welcome.

The meeting locations do not indicate affiliations.

Some meetings may include one speaker to share their insights.

This is a place of respect. We have heard it all, and you will find no judgment here. She reached out to shake a few hands in the front row. If there is anything about the rules that confuse you. Ask.

She had the rapt attention of everyone in the room. It felt a little like a cult leader to me. I was starting to regret not sitting on the sofas. At least sneaking out would be easier.

Anyone want to go first?

I sank deeper into my seat until I felt like I was going to seep into the floor.

Okay, how about you, sir?

I didn’t bother to look around because she was pointing directly at me. My worst nightmare come true. I was instantly that child who had come face to face with the beast under the bed. Everything I wore, tightened, instantly built to choke the life out of me in front of strangers.

I normally don’t do things this way, but you are the youngest here. Many of us could benefit from your perspective. She pointed to the podium. Please.

I rubbed my hands together like I was trying to keep warm. But this chill couldn’t be cured by simply turning down the A/C. It was a short walk to the front, but I was doing it through quicksand. My whole body shook in my hoodie in trepidation.

She nodded and took a seat in the front row, giving me the floor.

Being a public speaker never scared me. From an early age, I was enrolled in drama as an extra-curricular. I had fought and won my battle with stage fright. Still, admitting my wrongdoings and faults in front of a bunch of strangers was a horse of a different kind. Seeing a bunch of eyes staring at me and disapproving was enough to keep my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth.

Hi, my name is Clay, and I’m addicted to Marion. Aka Heroin. Marion is just what it's called at my University.

Hello, Clay. The crowd recited.

When I was in France, I was abusing cocaine, I replied, reciting facts like a history teacher. I was using for about a year before my mother caught on. She then shipped me off to America like it was the 16th century, and she was trying to punish me.

This got a small laugh from the crowd.

Mary looked around and then asked, Can you dig a little deeper? How did her handling of the situation affect you?

It was the worst decision she ever made. I looked out over their troubled faces. Some of them understood perfectly. A couple of faces teamed with patriotic indignation. All of them clamored for the truth. Not that first day, in any case. That first day was kind of awesome.

"The transition hadn’t been kind to my pocketbook. It forced me to move into my fraternity on my own. At this time, I was a Junior in college. So there weren’t any heartfelt goodbyes with my mother to speak of. Not that I had them when I was a Freshman either. My dad helped me move in. I think my mom was attending a trade meeting at the time.

Flash forward, here I was dragging luxury trunks up the walkway, and it cost more than most of the cars parked on the street. It was definitely a Givenchy in a bordello, kind of situation. And that was my first introduction to the place. Then a boy, looking unusually pale, came rushing out the front door, spilling the contents of his paunch for the whole neighborhood to see out on the lawn. I narrowly avoided a catastrophe as I flipped out of his way. Before I knew what was happening, he collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily like his girl had caught him cheating. I knew very little about frat houses outside of what I saw on TV. So I thought the boy couldn’t handle his liquor.

Only to walk inside and realize that the chaos wasn’t isolated. It had merely spilled out into the world. The living room and foyer chandeliers had been covered in toilet paper. A quick glance into the dining room showed that table was pushed aside, and a tepee had been erected. And no one noticed my presence because the fellows seemed to be playing a hybrid game of flag football and hide and seek in the house."

"One would think that I, being accustomed to high society, would find such a show disgusting. But it was just proof that I had chosen well. No one here would be able to stop me.

Then I met stop, herself."

I paused as if Lane were standing right in front of me now. But the illusion was broken by Mary’s voice.

This is a safe place. What you say here doesn’t go beyond this room.

I cleared my throat, protecting Lane had to be my utmost priority. Jane had popcorn in her hair.

"It was pulled into this messy bun that looked like a toddler had spent all day playing in it. Her shirt was wrinkled, and there was a button missing on her navy blue blazer. She looked frazzled in the most beautiful way. If it weren’t for how she was dressed, I would have mistaken her for an upperclassman’s girlfriend. As it stood her suit was one size too big as if she were trying to hide her curvy figure. A student wouldn’t need to do that.

‘Welcome to the number one Greek house at the University.’ She had been teetering precariously on one of her heels, and when she reached out to shake my hand, it snapped. It sounded like a tree falling in the woods. Except she fell into my arms. Everything in me wanted to kiss her.

At the exact moment that a sharply dressed woman appeared clutching her briefcase to her chest. ‘Lane, come quick. I think a boy is having a seizure on the front lawn.’ "

"Just like that, Lane disappeared into the morning. Only a memory in my arms.

‘But it’s only my first day,’ she replied, frantically.

‘Mine too,’ I said to the empty air."

"I’d been around good girls my entire life. I was from a place where women are raised to be part-time unicorns. But this woman gave a new definition to the word good. She was the type to always do good, even when life doesn’t deserve the kindness. And I knew from the way she looked at me that I mattered because she fights for the little guy.

Not that I wanted any parts of that.

Eventually, this small runt of the litter named, Isaac, came by. He helped me find a room and get settled. It turned out the place was at capacity. So I ended up in the attic. I wasn’t complaining; I got my own room and a half bath. It was a far cry from the ten-bedroom spread that I called home growing up. But anything that got me away from my mother was like possessing a vintage baseball card worth millions."

"Lane came back around seven that evening. She came up to my room after the house was quiet. I had stored some cocaine in some rolled-up aluminum foil in an old American History book. One I had picked up from the lost and found that I cut the middle out of to be less conspicuous. So I wasn’t exactly happy to hear her knocking. Still, when I opened that door, she was this innocent, girl-next-door, unaware of her beauty, goddess. And she was on a mission, pushing past me into my room.

‘I wasn’t expecting you!’ I snapped. The drugs I was missing out on were doing most of the talking. My eyes darted to the closed book on my desk. I was transferring in mid-semester, so I would have more work than the others. That book alone shouldn’t set off suspicion. Although, my superior intellect would give me away. I shoved my hands into my pockets looking down at the floor as uninterested as I could muster hoping that would be enough signal for her to make this short.

‘I’m sorry that you weren’t able to receive a proper welcome when you arrived. I don’t want you to think that you wont have support here. Especially as a newbie.’ "

"I knew she needed a break. She had appeared in my room in pink fuzzy slippers after all. So I threw her a bone. ‘I don’t hold this morning’s events against the University. I wanted a proper education, and I wont be deterred.’

She smiled. ‘Your accent. Where are you from?’

‘France. Centre to be exact.’ "

" ‘Well, I hope you will be as comfortable here as you are at home. Any questions?’

Gossip had gotten around to everyone about seizure Danny. So the whole house pretty much knew that the boy had OD. But she was going around telling everyone that he had come down with an illness and wouldn’t be returning. It was all kind of dramatic. ‘Nope.’

‘Anyway, I’m only interim fraternity house director, until someone permanent can be found.’ "

"She clearly knew about her effect on the male student body. I didn’t hate her for it. Being stuck in a house with a bunch of horny adult males must be torture. But it was the unnatural space between us, the slight lick of her lips, and her strained clipped words that made me think that there was more going on in that pretty head than she wanted me to know. A sexual magnetism that I begrudgingly felt as well. For a moment, I was taken aback as to what to do with it.

I put my hand on the small of her back and slowly lead her back to the door. ‘What happened to the last director?’

‘The little monsters probably caused his nervous breakdown,’ she laughed, but as if realizing I was a student. She backtracked, clearing her throat. ‘He went into early retirement. He had given so much to the education of young minds. In fact, I’m sure he would have liked you. Perhaps, we both could put our heads together to shape things up around her. As the newbies.’ "

"I smirked. She didn’t even realize that she was standing outside the door now. ‘No chance in Hell.’

She looked startled, but not as relieved as I did slamming the door in her face. I chose cocaine over innocuous flirting. That habit was calling out to me like a telltale heart. Danny boy didn’t have the flu. That meant his supplier could be someone in the house. If so, it would be kismet. After tonight, I was going to need a refill. This would be almost as good as hunting fallow deer. I’d found my place, finally."

Mary stood up. Let’s stop there for this evening. But good job, Clay.

Chapter two

Lane

Iinspected the contents of my purse diligently, taking out anything that might hint at my profession. Unceremoniously, shoving the items into the glove compartment of my car. For a girl with her MBA, I could really be stupid sometimes, and any little thing could fall between the cracks. I’d gotten reamed out enough by Clay the other day when I chose this place. I had to take precautions.

I guess it’s my turn to ask you what it’s like, I said, nervously, zipping up my purse.

I got out and slammed the door shut. For as reasonable as the brochure sounded, it couldn’t make this any less harrowing. Even my shadow got up and ran away. I should have been a little more sympathetic to Clay the other day. But he needed this more than I did.

He looked over at me with that knowing smile. His green eyes seemed to burrow into me like a forest fire. It set my body on fire, igniting the fuel in my soul. Clay’s clear masculine features, were linear with an angular jawline. It’s easier than what you’ve built up in your head, Lane. Everyone’s friendly, but do we need more friends, no?

I leaned my head against his chest. You’re still worried about us getting caught?

He leaned his chin on the top of my head. I gave everyone a fake name. You may want to do the same when talking about me.

I certainly hadn’t expected his name to be Clay when I first met him. It didn’t suit him. He was intelligent. Albeit a bit reserved. Certainly not a Clay. However, one night