I burst out laughing. “I’m sure that’s not how it was meant to be used.”
“I like to think it’s open to interpretation.”
“Well, I like to get sleep before my eight a.m. class, so I’ll pass tonight.”
He fakes being devastated but immediately falls back onto the bed and pulls me close, repositioning me on his chest and pulling the blankets around us.
Ah, heaven.
Chapter Thirteen: The Man Can Get Dirtier Than the Inside of an Erotica
Friday night, I stand in the middle of my dorm room busy contemplating my two wild, wild options for the night.
I could a) do my laundry or b) do some assigned reading; exciting times are bound to be in my future, regardless.
Trying not to let my snark overrule what could be a productive evening, I groan and decide to tackle the mountain of dirty clothes in my closet. The thing about having a lot of clothes is that you don’t feel the need to wash them regularly because hey, you could always pull something clean off the shelves. The end result, though, is as scary as probably the inside of Nicki Minaj’s closet.
But I digress; there’s no way I can prolong this painful experience any longer. I grab my basket, dwarfed by the stack of clothes, and waddle my way to the laundry room.
In a not-so-surprising turn of events, the dorm is more or less empty as the occupants have abandoned it for a night out. But once the initial mixers and frat parties had worn off, so had my curiosity for them. Parties were parties, even in college, and I don’t have any plans of using the fake ID Beth snuck into my bag. She’d be so disappointed in me; oh well, at least I’ll have clean clothes.
As the first load of clothes goes in the washer, I dig my phone out of my back pocket and check for any messages. There’s none, and I sigh, leaning against the machine. Nights like these are becoming a norm for me, and a part of me is seriously starting to resent myself. This is college; I’m supposed to be out having new experiences and meeting new people, making new friends, but instead I’m doing laundry, laundry!
Not to mention that I’m constantly disappointing my boyfriend, Cole doesn’t say a lot on the topic. When he told me today that he and the rest of the guys on the football team were having some sort of a team bonding session at a bar, he never asked if I wanted to come along. Yes, I’d been hurt, but I’d also accepted that it was my own fault, for always saying no when he’d invite me to some party, especially after the first few weeks of college.
I think about texting him, about asking him how the team building is going and if I could stop by for some time, but the thought of putting myself in that situation, with a bunch of jocks who can be really, really crude, terrifies me and, quicker than is possible, I slip the phone back into my pocket.
It’s official; I’m a coward, and in the very near future, some outgoing, cheery, spontaneous girl is going to steal my boyfriend because I’m lame.
“Oh My God! I can’t believe you’re here!”
The sound of a squeal in my immediate vicinity nearly gives me a stroke, and I realize that I’d zoned out so much that I’d missed the girl clad in pink pajamas standing at the machine next to me looking slightly starstruck.
Startled, I jump back and place a hand over my heart, trying to calm myself down, because, for a moment there, I thought I’d definitely end up like those blondes in the college slasher movies.
Yes, that’s why I didn’t join a sorority, the stereotype would just be too close to coming true.
“I’m so sorry! Shit, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
The girl’s blond, around my height and build with big doe eyes that are staring at me apologetically and waiting for me to respond. Suddenly I realize that aside from my roommate, people in class wanting help, and some of Cole’s friends, this is the first time that someone’s interacted with me, and I’m coming across as a complete nut, so talk, Tessa, talk!
I plaster a smile on my face and try to get my panic under wraps. “No, it’s totally my fault. My head was someplace else, and I didn’t see you.”
Her face breaks into a huge, beaming smile. “Still, that was such a dumb move on my part. Creeping up on you in the basement at night? Yeah, you probably thought I was Freddy Krueger or something.”
I laugh at how close she is to what’d been going through my mind, then she stretches her hand toward me. “I’m Cami, by the way. It’s fair enough that you know my name since I know yours.”
I shake her hand and let go, feeling slightly confused. “You do?”
She rolls her eyes and leans against one of the machines. “Yeah, I do; everyone in the hall does. You’re only dating one of the hottest guys on campus.”
That stings a little to find out that people are only interested in me because of who I’m dating, but given the fact that I’m a bit desperate to make friends and show Cole that I’m not completely miserable, I morph my face into what I assume is a neutral expression and feign genuine curiosity. “Wow, really? I didn’t know our relationship was that high profile.”
She smacks the top of the washing machine. “Are you kidding me? There’s a line by the elevator whenever he comes to see you or drop you off because everyone on this floor and, well, all the ones above and below, wants to catch a glimpse of him.” She sighs dreamily.
“That’s…good to know?”
Immediately, she looks a bit guilty and sorry. “Not that any of us are trying to steal your boyfriend. Oh no, I personally think you guys look so adorable together. How’d you meet?”
Thus begins the thirty-minute conversation with this quirky, enthusiastic, and rather endearing stranger who wants to know every single thing about my relationship with Cole. I like her, I really do because for the first time it seems like she’s not using me to get to Cole and is just genuinely curious, interested in my life and actually cares about our story.
It helps that talking to her makes it feel like the laundry got done quicker; I think she’s my new best friend already.
We’re both folding our clothes to take back to our rooms and she invites me back to hers once I’m finally rid of the dastardly basket. In her room, she disappears into her closet, only to reappear seconds later sans basket. I love how she’s wearing Hello Kitty pajamas and not caring at all about it. I’d been careful to pack sensible nightwear for college, not childlike, not slutty, but sensible—as in the kind that would not get me noticed. My entire wardrobe has a signature theme, which is basically to make me wallpaper. Cute yet easily dismissible wallpaper, which isn’t entirely unpleasant to the eye but doesn’t catch attention. It’s sad, I know it is, and seeing Cami rock her fluorescent pink choice makes me wish I wasn’t so afraid all the time.
“Sit anywhere you want, my roommate isn’t around much, she probably won’t even come home tonight.”
She bites her lip as she says this and sits down on her bed, legs crossed and hands clasped. I sense her unease around the topic of her roommate and purposefully avoid sitting on her bed. Instead I sit at Cami’s desk, my eyes taking in the colorful items strewn all over it. She seems like a very vibrant, buzzing ball of energy of a person, and I feel good about this, about being here.
Maybe I could make a friend; who knows?
“So,” I whirl around in the chair and point to her wall, which is the first thing anyone might notice when they walk into the box-sized room, “You like quotes?”
Her side of the room is completely covered with them, paper clippings, banners, posters, printouts, it’s all there, and I get dizzy trying to read them all.
She nods enthusiastically. “I love quotes! Don’t you think it’s important to always have a reminder to be the most positive you can be in life? All these people who’ve seen so much of the world share their wisdom, and it’s good to know that no matter how bad life seems right now, it’s never as bad as you think it is.”
I’m taken aback by her sudden seriousness, not expecting these deep words to come from someone who seems so exuberant.
; “Which one’s your favorite?”
She plops down on her bed and stares at her wall, squinting her eyes and thinking hard. “I don’t know; it’s really hard. All these quotes mean something to me, have meant something at some point in my life, and there’s a reason why they’re on the wall. You have to be really special to be on the wall. I just put this one up yesterday, so I guess this one’s my favorite right now.”
She points to a printout stuck right in the center, big, bold, black letters saying:
“Aut inveniam viam aut faciam.”
“Hey, I know that. It means I’ll either find a way or make one, doesn’t it?”
“Yup, I’m kind of struggling with the whole college thing right now, but going back isn’t an option, so I look at the quote for inspiration.”
When our eyes meet, a silent understanding passes between us. She knows I’m struggling with the college thing, too, struggling with being so out of my depth in a place so different from what I’ve always known.
“Do you mind if I ask why you’re in the dorms on Friday night when you’re dating Cole Stone? I bet you guys get invited to tons of parties.”
I sigh and spin in her chair a couple of times, blowing out a breath. This is the point where I tell her about my antisocial tendencies, about how I may be screwing up a perfectly good relationship. Maybe she’ll run screaming for the hills, traumatized by how I’m butchering my role as the quarterback’s girlfriend.
“We do; well, Cole does. I went to a bunch of them in the beginning but realized pretty quickly that I didn’t fit in with them. Everyone looked at me like there was something wrong with my being there, like I wasn’t the kind of girl someone like Cole should be dating.”
It feels strange to share my life story and deepest, darkest emotions with someone I just met, but sometimes you just meet people who you feel like you’ve known your entire life. So, I can either use this opportunity to get rid of the pent-up frustration inside, talk to the first person in months that’s not giving me social anxiety, or I could make up an excuse about flossing and make a run for it.
She studies me quietly for a few seconds before she jumps from the bed and starts pacing her room like a maniac. All I can do is stare as she huffs and begins her rant.
“Why would you do that? Why would you distance yourself from someone who’s pretty much looking like the boyfriend god because of some dumb potheads who get hives from just thinking about commitment? Cole doesn’t feel the way they do, so why does it seem like you’re punishing him for being popular? Of course he’s going to be popular, he’s the fucking QB.”
Theatrically, she falls back onto the bed, and all I can do is stare at her, mouth hanging open and jaw unhinged.
“Sorry if that got too real. I’m taking all these psych courses, and I’m pretty much addicted to the idea of being a relationship therapist, save the world one marriage at a time. Sometimes I forget I can’t do that yet.”
“No, no, you’ll be a great therapist; that was some good advice. I just…”
She gets up and faces me chewing her fingernails. “I’ve freaked you out, haven’t I? Perfect, just perfect. I mean, I’ve been only working up the nerve to talk to you for like the past month, and the moment we might potentially start becoming friends, I have to word vomit all over you! My friends were right; I don’t deserve to interact with normal people until I get my head screwed on straight.”
“Wait, they actually said that to you?”
And I suddenly feel terrible for this strange, yet oddly appealing, person who seems to feel like as much of an outcast as I do.
She bites her bottom lips and wraps her arms around herself. “I came her with two of my best friends; we were so happy to have gotten into our dream school together, you know? It was our little miracle, but then they rushed sororities and I didn’t. They moved into the house together, and I had to leave my luck to the lottery system. But yeah, I mean they stopped inviting me to their parties and nights out a while ago; we barely hang out, so I’m pretty sure they’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”
There’s our connection; see, there was something there.
“You know, you’re not the only one who’s had a friend bail on them because they’re embarrassed to be seen with you.”
***
It’s been nearly two hours since Cami and I started talking, and it feels like no time’s passed at all. She’s so much like me, well, a version of me on serious steroids, but there are a lot of similarities, and I’m so glad I decided to put myself out there or, well, let her drag me out there.
When my phone buzzes, I realize how I’ve lost track of time, and when I see the text I’ve received, my heart flutters.
Cole: Wish you were here to take me out of my misery.
Talking with Cami has helped so much, especially with the absurd resentment I’d started building toward Cole in my head. The girl in question scoots forward in her bed and eyes my phone like it’s more precious than a Nutella-filled donut.
We love Nutella; she loves donuts—it’s a match made in heaven.
“Is that him?” she asks in a hushed whisper, like Cole could actually hear her, and I grin, another day, another fangirl.
“Yep, would you like me to pass along a message?”
“No! I mean, I would love to meet him, so you know, if you ever want to introduce your new best friend to your boyfriend, I’d be so up for that, but not now. Do your adorable couple thing now, please, and let me watch.”
I laugh out loud and proceed to do my adorable couple thing.
Me: Wish I was there and scaring away your groupies.
Cole: You do genuinely terrify them; they’ve started scanning the perimeter before trying to come near me.
Me: ARE they near you?
Cole: Put your claws back in, Shortcake, I’m not great company tonight. They’ve moved on to someone who isn’t checking their phone every two seconds for their girlfriend’s text.”
“Aw, he’s so adorable!”
Of course Cami’s standing over my shoulder and reading my texts; of course she is.
“You know what you should do? Surprise him, get dressed up and go to wherever he is and stake your claim.” She’s shaking with exciting and it’s infectious. Suddenly I don’t want to be trapped in my room on Friday night and let other girls eye up my boyfriend. I’m going out, I’m having fun, and I’m staking my claim!
Going to my room, I leave behind a beaming Cami, who calls out outfit ideas over my shoulder, and get rid of my ratty clothes. In my closet, I reach for the first time for the dressier, tighter clothes. I choose a pair of skinny jeans that fit really well and pull a black cropped sweater over my head; it’s a sweater that hugs my curves nicely and has Cole’s hands all over me when I wear it. I finish them with my favorite black suede boots with a chunky heel. My hair’s manageable as I’d straightened it earlier in the day, and I spray in some texturing spray and fluff it up, adding on some light makeup.
I grab my bag and knock on Cami’s door; she’s still in her Hello Kitty gear.
“Wow, you look great! He’s never going to know what hit him.” She sounds wistful and dreamy, which only reinforces my decision.
“Well, why don’t you get dressed and see the expression on his face yourself?”
Her face lights up with excitement immediately but then falls; she’s making my head spin with all these mood swings.
“I…I shouldn’t, I’ll just be in the way, and, well, I’m a social disaster.”
“So am I; get ready and we can be social disasters together. I promise Cole won’t mind; in fact, he’ll love to meet you.”
“Well,” she grins, “In that case…”
***
Twenty minutes later I’ve driven Cami and myself to Ralph’s, a popular sports bar downtown. It’s nearing midnight and the place is jam-packed with patrons. Luckily finding space to park, I give myself a mental pep talk and head for the bar. Next to me, Cami is a ball of nervous energy, a rea
lly hot-looking ball of nervous energy. When she emerged from her room wearing a tight knitted dress and leggings and some kickass boots, all I could do was stare. The girl has some serious curves that’d been drowning in her baggy clothes, but now? Well, she’s a total knockout, like apparently every girl on this campus. But she’s nice and the only thing close to a friend I have, so shove it, insecurities, shove it.
The inside of the bar is as busy as the outside, and the two of us push through the incredibly overstuffed room. Fortunately, they didn’t card us at the entrance, and since I’m not looking to get particularly buzzed, I won’t be needing my pathetic-looking fake ID.
I look over the entire space, trying to find Cole, but it’s so crowded that you can hardly tell one person from the other, though I recognize some of Cole’s teammates. The replay of a game’s on the big flat-screen television, and it’s got everyone sucked in, which is why we get glares when we move past them.
“Wait, isn’t that him?” Cami grabs my arm and spins me in the direction of the bar, which is rather deserted because it’s positioned at an angle that makes it impossible to see the screen. Sure enough, when I look, Cole’s there sitting at the bar, shoulders slumped and busy on his phone. Instinctively, I take out my own phone because I’d put it on silent on the way here, and I immediately see texts from Cole, texts he’s still sending.
My heart can’t help but sink. I know he feels guilty for having to choose between his obligations toward the team and me. He shouldn’t have to do that, shouldn’t feel bad for leaving his loner girlfriend behind because really, I do this to myself. Now he’s sitting here instead of doing what he’s supposed to do, getting along with the guys on his team.
Well, shit.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Cami, already making my way to my boyfriend.
“Take your time; I’ll go get some popcorn!” she half yells over my shoulder and I laugh; she’s a total character.
Being as stealthy as possible, I sit one seat over from Cole and lean across the bar. He hasn’t even glanced up from his phone yet, brows furrowed adorably as he literally smashes his fingers over his phone.
The Bad Boy’s Heart Page 16
