Uncomfortable: Undone University, #1

By Nessa Page

What's the best way to get over your ex? Get under his frat brother!

 

When Krystal discovers that her ex has posted naked photos of her online, she sets out to confront him. Instead, she comes face to face with his hot-as-sin frat brother, Jace.

 

And fate keeps throwing them together.

 

Krystal decides to take the bull by the horns, shed her good-girl, wallflower persona and go after what she wants: Jace. There's just one problem. He's sworn off relationships.

 

Uncomfortable is a dual-POV, standalone, sexy college romance in the Undone University Series by Nessa Page

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nessa Page
• Release date: Oct 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201307646

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Krystal

Holy shit. Twelve missed calls, twenty-seven text messages, and ninety-six—my phone vibrates—ninety-seven Insta notifications. I consider myself a likable enough person, and I have a fair number of friends, but my phone and social have never blown up like this. Before I can check any of my messages or notifications, my phone rings again, and my best friend’s picture and phone number take over my screen. I answer and press the phone to my ear.

Hey, Mir. What’s going on?

Oh, Krys. Thank goodness! Are you okay? Miranda’s voice is high-pitched and thick with worry.

Uh… yeah… I’m fine. Less fine than I was before I answered her call. What the hell is going on? Why?

You don’t know?

My heart speeds up at her words. My brain has finally picked up on the fact that something is wrong.

What’s going on, Miranda?

Her muffled curse cuts through the phone, followed by a long pause before she answers. You need to check your Insta.

My heart sinks. Hold on, I tell her as I pull the phone away from my ear and open the social app.

I’m up to 106 notifications now, most of them comments on a post I’m tagged in. I navigate to the post. The image loads quickly, and my stomach turns sour even quicker. It’s me. Naked. Sprawled across my ex-boyfriend’s bed. I know exactly when the photo was taken. I posed for it myself—back when Ryan and I were still together, back when I thought we’d be together forever.

He took several pictures that night, all with varying degrees of nudity. This was the only full frontal. I was spread-eagle on his bed in his room at the Zeta house, baring all and smiling sweetly for the camera.

The poster was kind enough to place the tiniest of heart-eye emojis over my nipples and a slightly larger heart between my thighs, but enough of me is showing to leave me burning with adrenaline, panic, and shame. I don’t even bother looking at the comments. I don’t want to know what people are saying about me.

Why would Ryan post these? And not from his regular Insta account, I notice through the haze of embarrassment. He created a fake account just to post nude photos of me! And then he tagged me in them so all the world would know it was me.

Krys… are you okay? Krys! Hello? Miranda’s faint voice floats up from the phone in my hands.

I all but forgot I was still on the phone with her. Tears prick my eyes as I lift the phone back to my ear and hurry away from the other students loitering in the hall. I am, for sure, going to be sick, and if I don’t get outside in the next twenty seconds, I’m going to blow chunks all over the linoleum floor of the Bradford building. I rush for the exit and barely make it to the edge of the sidewalk in time to heave my half-digested muffin and curdled latte into the grass.

Where are you right now? Miranda presses. I’m coming to get you, and we’re going to get drunk.

I straighten and wipe my mouth. Emptying my stomach settled it a little but did nothing to calm my nerves. The fingers of my free handshake as I press them to my temples and close my eyes. How do I fix this?

Cutting off Ryan’s balls is a good place to start.

Wait half an hour and pick me up outside the Zeta house. We’re going to have a body to hide. I end the call and tuck my phone into my pocket. Then I square my shoulders and head for my ex-boyfriend’s frat house.

I have no way of knowing exactly how long it takes me to walk to Greek Row. I feel like I fly there, fueled by anger and betrayal, and before I know it, the frat house looms over me, looking like a fortress I need to breech. Ryan! Come out and face me like a man, I yell. And then I yell his name again when he doesn’t emerge.

My shouting draws looks from people passing by, but I don’t care. At least they are staring at me with my clothes on.

Finally, one of Ryan’s fraternity brothers comes outside and stands, arms crossed, in front of the door. The message in his stance is clear: Get off my lawn. But I’m not going anywhere until I see Ryan and he takes those pictures down.

Where’s Ryan? I demand.

Look, I don’t know you or what’s going on, but you need to leave. His voice is deep and calm and even, everything I am not right now.

Not until he grows a pair and comes out here.

A muscle in the guy’s square jaw ticks, but his stance and expression are impassive. He’s not budging.

Listen, I’m sure you’re a decent guy. Or maybe you’re not. I don’t really care. But if he doesn’t come out here, I’m going in, and it’s going to get ugly. I set my balled fists on hips and plant my feet to drive home the point that I’m not leaving.

Okay, crazy, he says dismissively.

Crazy? For the first time since I saw the picture of myself in the buff, I stop to take stock of the situation.

Am I acting crazy? What is confronting Ryan really going to do? Do I really think he’s going to take the picture down? Maybe I’m hoping this whole thing is a misunderstanding. Maybe he was looking at the picture because he missed me and accidentally posted it.

Under a fake account.

I shake my head, take several intentional steps forward, and glare up at the guy standing between me and Ryan. He’s impossibly tall, almost as tall as the door frame, and muscled from head to toe. His dark jeans hang loosely around narrow hips, underlining his white T-shirt, which is molded to tight abs, solid chest muscles, and bulging biceps. Even the forearms crossed in front of his chest are well defined, and one sports a colorful tattoo sleeve. His golden-brown eyes are the exact color of his skin, accented by thick, dark lashes and a five o’clock shadow that matches his dark-as-midnight hair.

A couple of frat boys emerge from the side of the house and cruise across the lawn to the sidewalk. One elbows the other and they both gawk at me for a solid moment before the first guys says something under his breath. They both laugh, and I’m almost certain, even from this distance, that the second one leers at me. Suddenly, I’m picturing him looking at those horrible photos of me with that same leer. Is that why they’re looking at me like that—because they recognize me? How far have these pictures spread already? I need to get them down, fast.

The guy playing bouncer at the front door watches me warily, muscles tense, like he’s waiting for me to completely lose it. And I can understand why. I may actually be on the verge of a complete meltdown.

I take a deep breath and smooth my hands down my sides to keep from balling them into fists. Please, I need to talk to Ryan. It’s important.

He considers me for a moment, then sighs. Wait here. I’ll see if he wants to come out. Then he steps back inside the house and slams the door in my face.

CHAPTER 2

Jace

Some girls are all drama, and this girl is 100 percent one of those girls. She’s not just drama, she’s got a touch of crazy in her too. Beautiful, but crazy. Poor Ryan. I don’t know the guy all that well; he only just pledged this year, a freshman I think, but I still feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

I know where he is, though. He’s in the rec room, which is pretty much where all the freshmen hang out between classes. Part of the whole needing-to-be-seen-as-part-of-the-group thing that comes with being new to the fraternity.

I find him on the couch, gathered around one of the fifty or so martial arts video games we have. I know I’m betraying my gender here a bit, but I’ve never really seen the appeal. Hey, Ryan, man, there’s a girl out front demanding to see you.

He doesn’t look up from the screen. Yeah? Is she hot?

I roll my eyes, but he can’t see me from my place behind him, not that it would have stopped me if he could. Freshmen are so predictable. She’s pissed.

Oh, that must be Krystal. She’s a bucketful of crazy.

So I noticed. You gonna go out there?

Nah, man. We broke up. She’s probably just pissed ‘cause someone probably told her I was dating a new chick. I can’t help that the ladies love me. She needs to move on.

Neither Ryan nor his ex-girlfriend are making a great impression on me right now, but I can see how a guy like him might bring out the crazy in a girl like her. You should at least go talk to her so she’ll leave, man.

Or, I can just stay here, and she’ll get the hint and go away on her own eventually.

That sounds like a horrible idea, leaving a crazy girl on our doorstep waiting for him. Sounds like a recipe for disaster. Someone needs to tell her you aren’t going out there to talk to her, I say because he can’t just leave her out there. That would be a dick move, no matter how messy their breakup was.

Thanks, man! Just tell her I’m taking a nap or not here or something.

What the hell? He thinks I’m volunteering to be his errand boy? I bite back the words I really want to say. You should really go out there and send her away yourself, man.

He still refuses to look away from the TV screen, and I’m losing patience. Nah, I’m busy.

Clearly, I’m going to get nowhere with him. And since she’s pitching her fit right under my bedroom window, if I ever want to get back to studying for my business law exam, I’m going to have to get this girl to leave on my own. That’s fucking annoying, but I’m not going to make a big deal about it. I will, however, make it a point to avoid Ryan—and his crazy ex-girlfriend—as much as possible going forward.

I make my way back outside, and this Krystal girl is right where I left her, looking twice as angry as before. When I close the door behind me, her eyes narrow in suspicion.

He’s not coming out here, she says, no question in her tone, only certainty.

No, I answer. He’s not.

Then I need to go in. He can’t get away with this. Her voice is strained and cracks on the last word.

Get away with what?

Her eyes widen, like she’s surprised I would need to ask what the hell she’s talking about. Then her shoulders straighten. Move out of my way. Please. She adds that last part almost as an afterthought. Like adding please is going to magically convince me to let her in.

Nope. I cross my arms and widen my stance, blocking the entire doorway. I’m a big guy, and she might be five feet tall and a hundred pounds. No way is she getting by me. But she doesn’t seem deterred by our size difference.

She walks straight up to me, until we’re barely a foot apart, rises up on her tiptoes, and pokes me in the chest, hard. You should be ashamed of yourself, helping him. Are all you fraternity guys alike? Just using girls to get what you want and then treating them like garbage as soon as you’ve had your fill? You disgust me. Her voice is quiet and menacing, and despite her diminutive size, I’m actually a little intimidated for a moment. This girl is intense.

Hey, I don’t know what happened, and I’m not defending the guy. But you need to leave before someone calls campus security. I try to reason with her, and I swear fire flashes in her almond-shaped eyes.

Good! I hope someone does call them. Then he can answer to them. Then she does her best to lean around me to shout, You hear that, Ryan! You’re going to have to answer to campus security if you don’t get your sorry ass out here and talk to me. Ryan! I swear to God, you asshole, you’re going to pay for this!

She’s still shouting through me—and the closed door—when a shiny blue Prius parks illegally in front of the house, and a brunette woman jumps from the driver’s seat without even turning off the engine.

Krys, let’s go. He’s not worth it, the newcomer says, and Krystal deflates immediately, all of the fury in her small form dissipating.

In a matter of seconds, she goes from high-strung and shouting to shoulders hunched and hugging herself tightly. She pins me with one last, pleading look, and her eyes are filled with unshed tears. One slips down her cheek as her friend makes it to her side and slips an arm around her.

He’s not, Mir. But I am. I’m worth it.

I know you are, sweetie. We’ll find a different way to fix this. I promise.

Krystal lets her friend lead her to the car and gets into the passenger seat. As they drive away, she looks out the window at me, and I don’t know why, but the hollowness in her expression makes me feel like I betrayed her somehow.

CHAPTER 3

Krystal

Krys, you’ve got to get out of that bed. My friend and roommate, Abby Kinkade stands over me, her face a mask of admonishment.

No, I grouse and roll toward the wall, tucking the blanket over my head.

Two days have passed since the world saw me naked. I feel like I’ve earned the right to hide in my room for at least a week.

Come on, it’s not that bad. The picture isn’t even up anymore.

Miranda and Abby both reported the post as soon as they saw it, and it was removed within an hour. The account that posted it has also been disabled, but I don’t know if that was Insta or Ryan’s doing.

Yeah, but how many people probably took screenshots of it? The internet is forever, Abs.

So? Miranda’s voice comes from somewhere near the doorway. She must have decided to drop by after Bio. Which I didn’t go to. I didn’t go to Algebra today, either.

I throw my blanket back and glare at her. So! Everyone has seen me naked!

Krystal Ann Matthews! Abby chides. How can you call yourself a feminist and sit in here sulking because people saw a naughty picture of you? First of all, you should be plotting your revenge on Ryan. Are we cutting off his testicles or what? Second… that picture has only as much power as you give it. By hiding in here, you’re giving Ryan, and that picture, power over you that you shouldn’t be. You know what I would do if I were in your shoes?

I eye her