Getting Him Back

by K.A. Mitchell

  What was a reasonable amount? It wasn’t like I didn’t need the help. I could get the info about Blake out of him in one or two sessions.

  “Uh—twenty?” I only got twelve an hour at work-study pulling and putting away files at Res Life like I had for two hours this morning.

  “Twenty bucks to catch you up on three chapters of calculus?” He sounded suspicious, like he knew I had some other motive for being here.

  “No. I mean, twenty dollars per session.”

  “Session?”

  The fire spreading across my face was real. There had to be flames shooting off my skin now. Every word between us seemed to have some hidden meaning.

  “Twenty an hour. Whatever.” I managed.

  He stood, skunk-striped hair swinging close enough to brush my cheek.

  I forced myself to not take a step back. If he wanted to pull some shit, he’d already have done that. This was dude-posturing for position and I could handle that. Position. Damn. Now my throat was thick, sweat popping out on my neck, because I knew what position I’d want him in if I wasn’t in love with his roommate. And in every position I’d have my hands in that long hank of hair, moving his body the way I wanted it. I jutted my hips forward.

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “You wanna maybe move so I can get my computer?”

  I stumbled back. “Oh.” Then, “What for?”

  “So we can schedule times for tutoring?”

  “We can’t do it now?” I didn’t feel like waiting. I’d spent all of my senior year of high school waiting. I wanted to get on with my life now. My life with Blake, as soon as I could get him back.

  “No. I’ve got my own work to do before your Saturday-night fuck gets back.”

  “He wasn’t—”

  “Blow buddy, whatever.” Wyatt went to his backpack and took out a laptop sleeve, then the laptop.

  I could see what Blake meant about Wyatt’s relationship with the computer. He did show a hell of a lot of affection to that thing. Most people—me included—treated them like the disposable-in-two-years tech they were. Covered them with stickers, threw them on the bed, kicked them underneath. I guess a computer science nerd would be more careful.

  He opened it and tapped quickly. “How’s Thursday at twelve thirty for you?”

  “Yeah, I can do that. Here?”

  Wyatt’s gaze swept across Blake’s trashed side of the room. “Library?”

  “My room?” I didn’t want us overheard.

  There was that look again. And with the innuendos stirring everything up, it didn’t take much for the look to set off the kind of low-down stirring I didn’t want him seeing.

  He raised his brow, maybe both of them, but I couldn’t tell.

  “I-uh-study better there. Fewer distractions.” I hedged.

  “You’re paying.” The flatness in his voice made me feel like I was buying him like a prostitute.

  I had to get out of here before my dick could run with that idea. “Okay. See you Thursday.”

  I headed for the door but couldn’t help glancing over to see if that picture of us was still on Blake’s desk. I guess I took a little long because I felt Wyatt staring at me.

  I turned to face him. “What?”

  “You’re the one in my room. That’s my what.”

  At least it wasn’t what the fuck? I decided on a little truth. “Does it bug you?” I moved my hand across the toxic waste dump that was Blake’s side of the room. Though it did smell like the reeky workout stuff I remembered from high school was being stored somewhere else. I liked the way my boyfriend smelled, but not when things got crusty.

  “What, that he’s gay?” Wyatt said.

  That wasn’t my question, but I wanted to know the answer to that too, so I nodded.

  “I don’t care. I’ve had worse.”

  My back straightened. I might have needed Wyatt’s help, but I wasn’t going to put up with homophobic crap. “Worse than gay?”

  “Relax, Ethan. I meant worse roommates than Blake.” He smiled.

  I’d heard that smiles transformed people’s faces. But with Wyatt’s it really did. Instead of scowling but cute angry-emo, the smile made him sexy and mysterious, and I had to get my conscience-free dick out of the room already. The last thing I needed was Wyatt telling Blake that I’d come on to him.

  “So Thursday, twelve thirty. I’m in Fisher, 110.”

  “Thursday.”

  I was in the elevator before I realized that Wyatt had called me Ethan. Even though I’d never told him my name.

  Chapter 5

  “You’re a lot cuter when you’re not all mopey.” Makayla said on Thursday as we left the Milton Science Center.

  She and I had Bullshit Bio for NonScience Majors together. I was counting on this easy A to boost my calculus grade.

  “Gee, thanks. Glad to know I’ve been making an impression.”

  “I’m just glad you’re getting over yourself and whatever that douche canoe’s name is.”

  Douchecanoe? My brain filed that one away while I tried not to make any actual mental images to go with it. It was probably better not to mention that I was all cheerful because I was meeting Wyatt in about an hour. Considering that was step one in my Getting Blake Back Plan, what with the douchecanoe reference and all.

  Makayla hiked her bag farther up on her shoulder. “I’m starving. Think I’ll splurge and get more than yogurt for lunch. What five-meat-combo sub are you having today? And just so you know I hate your skinny self for not having to worry about the freshman fifteen.”

  She had to take a breath sometime, and when she did I stuck in, “I’ve got to head back to Fisher.”

  “You’re not coming with me to lunch?” She stopped, making people go around her. Her dimples vanished along with her smile. I didn’t realize how used to both I was until they disappeared.

  “I have to meet someone.”

  She brightened a little. “A guy someone?” Then she squealed. “A nooner?”

  “No. Calculus tutor.”

  “Oh. Calculus sucks. I’m glad I got it out of the way in high school.” Now she looked all worried. “Are you failing?”

  A D wasn’t failing. Technically. But I’d never seen that letter on a quiz with my name on it before. It would probably help if I’d stop writing down the lyrics of my favorite breakup song instead of taking notes in class.

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m proud of you. I know you had a rough time but you’re not letting it beat you.” She stood up on her tiptoes and pulled me down. If I’d known what she was doing, she might have landed a kiss on my cheek instead of my backpack strap.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  She smacked my arm and said, “Go, get smarter. And for God’s sake, eat something. Because if you get any thinner, I will—”

  “Have me killed. You’re from Philly. You know people,” I finished for her.

  “Hell, no. For that, I’ll kill you myself.”

  * * *

  “Get started on that practice section and I can see what your problem is.” Wyatt pointed to something in the section on velocity.

  My problem?

  My problem was Wyatt squeezed in next to me behind my desk. He’d dragged over Connor’s desk chair, trapping me between the wall and him. Not that he was super big and muscly, but I bet he could make it hard for me to move if he wanted to. Freshman dorm rooms are tiny.

  Not only was he blocking off an escape route, he was sitting really close. So close I could smell the fresh-washed fabric from his hoodie, the trace of a piney aftershave.

  It was distracting as hell.

  I looked down at the axis and vectors and parabolas and tapped my pencil on the edge of the desk. “Can you—could we maybe switch?”

  That one visible eyebrow went up and the expression in the blue eye wasn’t surprise but something amused.

  The back of my neck started burning again. Why did everything sound so dirty when I was talking to him? It was like the game with t
he fortune cookies where you read them and added in bed at the end. Except with us no one needed to add the in-bed part. It was always there, hanging around like the fabric softener and aftershave.

  After making sure there was no way I could think of anything other than switching positions in bed, he said, “No. But I can already tell what you need—”

  Jesus. I was trying not to go there, but when his voice dipped on those last three words, my dick went from hey to howdy. I barely heard him finish his sentence over the whole blood rush thing.

  “—focus. You need to concentrate.”

  Oh I could concentrate fine, just ask Blake.

  The shit Wyatt had been saying before could be chalked up to be dirty jokes, but this had to be intentional. “Are you coming on to me?”

  Wyatt sat back in his chair. “Get over yourself, Monroe.”

  No. I wasn’t buying it. “And that. How did you know my name?”

  Wyatt went completely still. Not that he’d been fidgeting like me, but it was like he completely shut down, went blank. Already half-hidden by that striped hair, he withdrew even further. I might have been sitting with a picture of him.

  Though he’d moved some, I’d still need to climb over him to get anywhere so I waited him out.

  “I’m Blake’s roommate,” he said finally.

  “Yeeah?” I drew the word out because, duh.

  Another forever pause, then Wyatt shrugged. “So, he mentioned you. Ethan Monroe, my boyfriend.”

  I huffed. “Ex-boyfriend.”

  Wyatt ducked his head, dark lashes dipping over his bright blue eye. “He mentioned that too.”

  “So when we met in the hall the other night...” I let it trail off.

  “Yeah. I knew who you were.”

  And here I’d been wondering how to get on the subject of Blake. “He pointed me out?”

  Wyatt shook his head. Not a lot of movement, nothing to dislodge the shield of hair. “Your picture.”

  Yeah, that picture. I wanted—I needed—to pace. I might be a giant klutz, but moving helps me think. Trapped like this, I deserved a break for taking this long to figure it out. You’d think I’d be looking for betrayal everywhere after Blake, but stupid me. I still believed what people said to me.

  “So why did you say that, about me not being his usual type?” More specifically. “Why lie and act like you didn’t know who I was?”

  “But it’s all right for you.” Wyatt folded his legs up to put his heels on the seat, turning into a huddle of dark blue.

  I was lost. Why was he acting like I’d done something wrong to him? “What?”

  “Lying.” Wyatt plucked the twenty out of my calculus book, pushed it across the desk. “Like this tutoring thing isn’t some steaming pile of bullshit so you can ask me about Blake.”

  He had me there.

  Though I truthfully was two chapters behind in calculus and got frustrated halfway through a practice section. At least him being pissed-off made it easier to ignore that I thought he was cute and seemed to make him willing to spew more information so I went right back at him.

  “I wouldn’t have had to make shit up if you would’ve just answered me that night.”

  “You honestly give a shit? After he threw you out like a come rag?”

  “Fuck you, yes.” I don’t know why I suddenly cared that I seemed pathetic to this guy, who hid half his face behind his hair and hoodie and slouched around like he was trying to disappear. “How else am I supposed to figure out how to get him back?”

  “God, why do you even care?”

  “Because I love him.” It was going to be me and Blake and our awesome lives. With Blake, I’d be somebody at Coborn, like it had been back in high school. The whole reason I’d come to this stupid place was to be Blake St. Pierre’s boyfriend. Who the fuck was I if I wasn’t that anymore?

  Wyatt slid off the chair and picked up his backpack. “Then I guess you’ve got bigger problems than failing calculus.”

  “Wait. Just—what did he say? You said he told you he broke up with me, what did he tell you?”

  Wyatt was already looking at me like he’d run out of pity and was halfway through his allotment of disgust, but since I was already a big queer loser in his eyes, I might as well go for broke.

  “Something changed because he—we were fine this summer and then he comes back here and suddenly it’s over?”

  Wyatt raised a hand to the hair covering his face, like he was going to move it, then jerked his hand down and shoved it into his hoodie pocket. “You got clingy.” His voice was flat, completely different from how it had been a minute ago, loud with frustration and phlegmy with disgust. “I’m usually at the library, but I haven’t seen him—uh—with anyone else.” He made air quotes around with.

  It really was me, not that Blake had decided to fuck around? Because me I could totally fix. I could do not clingy. I could do giving him all the space in the world. If I’d turned him down Saturday, we’d probably be back together already.

  I picked up the twenty from the desk and tried to give it to Wyatt. “Thanks.”

  “For fuck’s sake, keep it.” Now the disgust was back, making a thick sound in his throat. He swallowed. “Good luck, Ethan.”

  “Thanks,” I said again.

  “Whatever.” He left.

  Chapter 6

  When there was something I wanted, I could totally be patient. I’d been patient getting Blake to notice me the first time. I could do it again.

  When Makayla asked if I wanted to go to watch a women’s volleyball game, I went. When Connor said he was going to go check out a frat and asked if I wanted to tag along, I went. I even signed up for the campuswide Humans vs. Zombies game, and still proudly had my human card after four days.

  I worked so hard at faking having fun and not giving a shit about my broken heart that around the end of the second week of trying, I was almost having a good time for real. More people joined Makayla’s and my post-bio lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays: Whitney, Makayla’s roommate, another girl from bio, Tom from the room next to the bathroom on our floor and Connor with his plus one girlfriend-of-the-week. He seemed to be interviewing them. He never asked for time alone in the room with a sock on the doorknob, and Amy was the third girl he’d brought to lunch. Tom was one of those guys who had a joke ready about anything, but when you tried to explain later why you’d had milk coming out of your nose from laughing so hard, the joke didn’t work. I think it was his delivery.

  Two weeks after that “tutoring” session with Wyatt, we all had laugh tears in our eyes from Tom saying in his serious voice, “Absolutely. Sidesaddle. It’s the only way.”

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see a text from Blake.

  Hey.

  I ignored the jump in my pulse and tucked the phone back in my pocket. Makayla raised her eyebrows at me. I grinned and shrugged.

  Makayla, Connor, Whitney and I started laying out a strategy for getting safely around campus for the rest of the day. There were always lots of zombies waiting outside the safe zone of the dining hall. The campus had banned Nerf guns for play, and rolled sock bombs were the best choice in weaponry. I’d emailed Mom claiming an urgent need for new socks so I had a dozen in my backpack. I wondered if Wyatt was playing. I bet he was super sneaky at it, assuming he found a way to wear the game bandanna on his hoodie. I’d heard the soccer team was too cool to be involved.

  My phone buzzed. Blake. Again.

  Looks like you’re having fun.

  With iron willpower, I managed to keep from looking around Thorpe Dining Hall. Usually, I knew when Blake came in. A tingle at the back of my neck, hair prickling up. I’d also managed to keep other things from rising to attention just because he’d slummed it on our side of campus for lunch. But today, I hadn’t noticed him, and other than the electric sensation of triumph that my ignoring plan was working, nothing much was going on under my skin. After placing the phone on the table, I covered it with my hand
and watched Connor trace out our plan of retreat. If we were still alive at noon tomorrow, we’d get to sign up for a special mission run over the weekend, so I wanted to pay close attention.

  We had to drop Whitney off at Joppa Hall for her intro to psych class. We’d ruled out taking the El over the ravine because while the covered walkway was a safe zone, too many zombies would be covering the entrance at this time of day. We’d have to go the long way.

  Under my hand, a text buzzed.

  “Aren’t you popular?” Makayla said, her sarcasm completely blunted by her obvious glee.

  I tried to keep my face bland as I snuck a look at the text and almost blew it by pumping my fist. Blake again.

  Never thought you’d go for a nerd game like that.

  I could practically hear the pout. He didn’t care about the game. He cared that I hadn’t texted back.

  I tapped two shortcuts. Busy and Later.

  * * *

  We lost Whitney ten yards from Joppa. Coming from the perimeter road, we’d forgotten the trees near the buildings. A dozen zombies poured out of the woods.

  “Make a run for Perry?” Makayla jerked a thumb at the building behind us and nailed one of the zombies in the stomach with a sock bomb.

  It was a straight sprint across the grass. No skateboarders or rollerbladers to dodge.

  “Can’t.” Whitney shook her head and stuffed her remaining socks into Makayla’s hands. “I’ve been late three times already and I’m wearing heels.” Whitney hurled herself toward the horde. “Save yourselves.”

  It might have been a touching scene in a movie, self-sacrifice and all, but then she handed off her human card to who I noticed was the cutest guy in the pack. She picked up a couple of socks and tossed them back toward us. Then in an impressive Sir Ian McKellen imitation she threw her arms wide. “Fly, you fools.”

  We gathered up the socks and ran for our lives. After they dropped me off at Res Life for work, I tugged out my phone. I had three more messages from Blake that I’d missed while dodging zombies and laughing.

  Hey.

  Half an hour later: Ethan????