Easy

by Jordan S Gray

  “It’s okay. Wait, crappy mood? What happened?”

  Shayler grunted and grabbed a bag of chips from under her bed. She stuck one in her mouth, chewing as quietly as possible. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “I’m going to keep bothering you until you tell me.”

  She swallowed. “Remember girls’ night, when I hit on that one guy?”

  “You went home alone Thursday.”

  “I know. He rejected me and called me easy. Then, Friday night, the same thing happened again. Plus, one of the hot bartenders at Social didn’t even flirt with me.”

  “Someone called you easy? Did you slap them?”

  “No. I walked away.”

  “Right, you just walked away without making a big stink. Believable.”

  “With all that sarcasm, you’re starting to sound like Ansley.”

  Rebecca sighed dramatically, and Shayler knew she was close to storming over to get the full story. On a normal day, Shayler would’ve been fine with that, but she couldn’t face someone who had orgasmed in the last twenty-four hours. Not when she was more backed up than the one time she’d binged on two blocks of cheese during a particularly freezing winter break.

  “It’s … screwed me up, okay? I feel like there’s something wrong with me. Three guys, in a row, shut me down. And I was wearing my good bra!”

  “They were just the wrong types of guys.”

  “No. The last one was definitely the fuck-em-and-leave-em type. But he said he’d seen me leave with too many guys before.”

  “You do go home with a lot of guys…”

  “Is there a problem with that? Because Derek and I can compare numbers if you want.”

  “Stop, Shay. I’m just saying that maybe it was a sign. Maybe it’s time you, you know, find a real relationship. About more than sex.”

  “Why not just flutter around in the kitchen with an apron, baking cherry pies while I’m at it?”

  “I’m not telling you to be a housewife, but a commitment could be good for you.”

  “No offense, but I’m not like you, Becca. I don’t want to make goo-goo eyes across a table and argue over throw pillows and bedding. I’ll save that stuff for when I’m forty.”

  “We’ve never argued about linens before.”

  “You argued over what type of air freshener Derek should buy for his car. You told me four days ago.”

  “In confidence! And only because the fresh laundry ones smell like lint.”

  “Whatever.” Shayler clicked her tongue and yanked a magazine from her trash can, turning to a page about the best sex positions for every couple. Was the entire universe laughing at her?

  “You know I love you, Shayler. I want you to be happy, and maybe stepping out of your comfort—”

  “I’m happy now. I needed to vent, I don’t anymore, and we can all go back to letting me live my life.”

  “Okay, sourpuss.”

  She tossed the magazine off the bed. “Want to hang out later and catch up on some Crazy Ex-Girlfriend?”

  “I’ll be there at six thirty. Pizza?”

  “Yeah, but bring plates … and napkins … and forks and knives if Ansley’s gonna be weird and not eat with her hands.”

  “Are you telling me you have glasses and drinks?”

  “I’ve got some vodka in the freezer and old beer pong cups.”

  Rebecca exhaled. “I’ll bring drinks and cups.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too, Shay.”

  “Bye, Green Eyes,” Shayler yelled into the receiver.

  “Later,” a gruff voice called back.

  She smiled to herself and hung up. With Rebecca and Ansley around, she’d start to feel normal again. So she’d struck out for a couple days. She’d bet there were weeks and weeks of penetration ahead of her. There was no reason to let three douchebags get her down.

  Chapter Six

  After Shayler had taken her final bite of pizza the night before, stretching her feet onto Ansley’s lap, her phone had rung. It wasn’t the usual blaring ringtone of a call either, but the chirp-chirp of a new email. Shayler didn’t even know anyone that used email outside of Wall Street jerks who were trying to hire undercover misters and mistresses, which, she’d figured, meant that it was pretty important.

  Burping, she’d swiped her phone off the coffee table and thumbed through something marked Urgent from her academic advisor. Several hours and multiple outgoing emails later, she’d had an appointment for Monday morning. A day when she usually vowed to never wake up before noon, and she was already out the door by eight.

  There wasn’t even time for her to stop at Jumbo Java and pick up her typical extra-large, triple shot latte with six pumps of caramel and four packets of sugar. How was she supposed to survive without it?

  When she got to the office and stepped through the automatic doors, a secretary spun in her seat to face her. Shayler walked up to the circular desk, tossing her bag onto the counter.

  “Hi, I’m Shayler Thompson. I have a meeting with Miss…” Shayler squinted, trying to remember what the name had been. “Kim?”

  The secretary pushed her glasses up and used a mouse, cord and all, to scroll through whatever was on her ginormous desktop computer. “I have you down for an eight-fifteen appointment with Mrs. Brent.”

  “Yup.” Shayler tapped her fingers on the beige desk, looking around. Other than the two receptionists that sat back to back, the front office was completely empty.

  “You’re about ten minutes late, so she’s with another student. You can wait here for her.” She gestured to the modern, circular couch that crowded around a small metal table buried under academic brochures.

  “Ten minutes and she’s already with someone else?” Shayler let a hand drop onto her hip as she waited for some kind of an explanation.

  “When Mrs. Brent schedules appointments, she expects students to arrive early or on time.”

  Too exhausted to think of a rebuttal, Shayler shuffled to the couch. She fell onto one of the leather squares and closed her eyes. Whatever this lady needed to discuss had better be good, she thought. At this rate, she was going to have to skip her Criminology class for a fifth time just to get a proper nap and make up for the lack of sleep.

  As she sunk further into the worn couch, the only noise aside from the clicks of a computer were the televisions mounted on the wall. And Shayler might’ve been bored, but there was no way in hell she was bored enough to give the morning news her attention. If she wanted to see a panda riding a unicycle or hear about some dismal plagiarism scandal, she’d use her phone like the modern twenty-first-century woman she was.

  She scrolled through her Instagram feed a third time, but no one was active this early in the morning. Well, aside from Hilary and her dumb acai smoothie bowls and mountain climbing pictures. Shayler double-clicked on one with Hilary daintily spooning a blueberry into her mouth, giggling at the mental image of her in the cafeteria last semester. Hilary had shoved a double cheeseburger in between her Koko K-coated lips faster than she’d dropped to her knees for some gray-haired French professor her freshman year. Shayler smiled and opened another app.

  Another five minutes were spent shoving like-colored candies beside each other until they exploded, and then ten more minutes were spent stalking her teachers’ Facebooks to see if any were involved in any interesting scandals or activities.

  Of course they weren’t, but she did notice that her education teacher lacked a ring on her left hand, though the pale line that circled her fourth finger hinted at something more. Shayler guessed a recent divorce or separation had happened, and hoped it would result in some kind of male-bashing session during one of her classes. Learning how to make a lesson plan? So not interesting. Hearing about how men lack the ability to be monogamous and why yoga instructors shouldn’t be trusted? Now that was a lesson she could get on board with.

  “Ms. Thompson? I’m ready to see you.”

  Shayler spun around, eyeing the plum
p woman who kept one hand on the wall and the other on her thigh. “All right.”

  Annoyed with having to wait a half hour to get a progress report or whatever lame thing they were going to go over, Shayler stood as slowly as she could. Once in the hall, Brent picked up her pace and led Shayler into an office that was all the way in the back.

  The door creaked open and rattled the venetian blinds that covered the glass door. Shayler got a whiff of cat pee and stale dust as she sat in the chair opposite Brent. The place really needed a window, or a shitload of Febreze.

  “Thanks for coming in today,” her academic advisor began.

  “You said it was urgent. What’s up?”

  “Let me just pull up your file before we get started.”

  “Shouldn’t you already have that open?”

  The comment awarded Shayler a small frown as Brent tapped away on her keyboard. “I did, but you ended up being tardy, and another student showed up early. Hmmm. Seems like this might be the issue.”

  “Yeah, other people showing up early can be a real bitch.”

  Brent rotated away from the computer monitor to face Shayler and clasped her hands together. “No, Ms. Thompson. I’m talking about your careless attitude. In classes that require you to sign in for attendance points, it seems you only showed up less than half the time.”

  “I manage good-enough grades.”

  “Good enough to stay in school, yes.”

  “So what’s the problem? You’re gonna kick me out for shitty attendance?” Shayler tried to keep her face composed, but inside, her stomach was hollow and her palms were clammy. She wiped them on her jeans.

  “Of course not. Like you said, you’re doing bare minimum to stay in this school. That’s all fine. It’s your scholarships I’m worried about.”

  Shayler studied the wrinkles forming on the advisor’s face. Brent’s forehead crinkled and her eyes narrowed slightly. Like she pitied Shayler. “Why?”

  “Look, Shayler. May I call you Shayler?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Shayler, it’s your classes. You’ve been picking a large range, and you’re not filling the requirements to declare and work toward a major.”

  Shayler shrugged. “I don’t know what I want to do yet.”

  “I know, but at this rate, if you don’t declare a major by the end of the semester, your funding is going to run out before you complete your schooling.”

  Much like when she’d drunk too much rum and tried to twerk on that bar with Vivian, her head swam and she was afraid the floor might swallow her up. “It can’t be that much. I mean, the money from it.”

  Mrs. Brent checked her computer. “Currently, it pays for about forty percent of your tuition.”

  “And that’s like—”

  “About fifteen thousand a year, if you include other expenses.”

  “So…” Shayler stopped.

  What could she do? Her parents couldn’t afford that, unless her mom went back to work. But Shayler knew her mother. She was a woman who prided herself on keeping the house spotless and having a hot dinner ready for her dad when he got home. Her mom would be miserable. And declare a major? She was twenty, how the fuck was she supposed to know what she wanted to do with her life?

  “Now, I realize you may not be ready for a major. Have you thought about working? We have some jobs on campus—”

  “No.”

  The only way her mom and Rebecca had convinced her to give such a large university a try was with the promise of only having to focus on her studies. Otherwise, she would’ve gone to the party school an hour from her home.

  “Well, you’re going to have to make a decision. If the money is a problem, you can transfer or speak to your parents…” Brent continued to drone on and on about options, but Shayler had stopped listening.

  Transfer? She’d have to leave her friends and everyone she’d met. There’d be a new apartment to find, unless her mom and dad managed to convince her living at home was easier, which she knew they would. Job? That was even worse than the idea of picking a major. Work—real work, not just blending fruits at a hut in the mall—was so … so … old.

  “I can pick a major,” she declared quickly.

  “Are you sure? Your track record—”

  “I can do it.” Shayler pulled on her hair, undoing a tightly wound curl. “I can. I just need some, some time. Please.”

  “You have until summer,” Mrs. Brent said, her tone low and soothing. “Really think about this, okay? What you pick could change the rest of your life.”

  Shayler swallowed the bile that hit the back of her throat.

  Chapter Seven

  “But what happens if you don’t pick one?”

  “I don’t know, Becca. I drop out of school and hope a pimp sees some potential in me?”

  “Don’t joke about that.”

  “I’m worrying about this enough, so can we just drop it?” Shayler stalked into a large auditorium classroom with three stories of seats. She sighed and dropped into one in the first row, not bothering to walk to the back and climb the insane amount of stairs.

  “Hey, you called me.”

  “To vent, not to get mothered.”

  “I do not mother you!”

  A guy took the seat next to Shayler, but he was the total opposite of her type. Gelled-back hair, big chain necklace, and she could pretty much see inside of his orange plaid shorts thanks to the way he was spreading his legs like he was about to get a physical. She angled her body away from him.

  “Yeah, right. What’re you doing?”

  “Heading to Ancient Philosophy.”

  “Ew. You’re the only person I know who would choose some lecture-filled class as an elective. Can’t you take yoga or pottery like the rest of us?”

  Rebecca scoffed. “Why would I want to sit in a field of ant-infested grass on a sweaty, used towel or get mud all over me so I can make a pot I could buy at the dollar store for fifty cents?”

  “If it’s at the dollar store, it’d be more than fifty cents.”

  Shayler could picture Rebecca frowning. “Whatever. What are you up to?”

  “Sitting in a classroom of future cops and psychiatrists on a chair that will definitely give me hunchback when I’m old.”

  “You’re in class? Wow. Your advisor must’ve really gotten to you.”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Yeah-huh.”

  “No. I just decided I should come at least once.”

  “That’s what she said.”

  Shayler laughed, ignoring the glares from the students that filed in. “Did you just do a ‘that’s what she said’ joke? Sex really changed you.”

  “Hardy-har. I was trying to be funny and make you happy.”

  “The only thing that’s funny is that you think those jokes are still relevant. Didn’t they start in eighth grade?”

  “Yeah, Eric Thornburg said it once in my bio class. He was insufferable.”

  “Come on, you know you had the biggest lady boner for him.”

  “I did not!”

  “You used to stare at the back of his head while you penciled hearts with his name in them on your notebook.”

  “So what? I’d rather doodle hearts than get to second base with Richie Perez in a janitor’s closet.”

  “You take that back!” Shayler shouted before jumping as someone smacked her desk.

  She glanced up, getting lost in a pair of hot hazel eyes that belonged to a very angry, middle-aged George Clooney look-alike. Well, George Clooney from his post-Ocean’s Thirteen days.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, fluttering her lashes.

  “If your phone call is so important, you can answer it outside of my class.”

  Shayler smiled sweetly. “Bye, Becca.”

  “Wait, are you getting in troub—” Her voice cut off as Shayler hit End Call.

  Setting her phone on the table, she looked back at the man. “Happy?”

  He grunted and strutted to the podium in the f
ront of the room, dumping his worn satchel on the messy desk beside it. Shayler slid down in her seat, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Maybe this class would be more interesting than she originally thought.

  A name was scribbled on the large white board behind him, Professor Hale, and she assumed it belonged to the teacher she couldn’t take her gaze off. She watched as he emptied his bag on the desk, grabbed a textbook, and set himself up at the podium. She shifted a tad, allowing her cleavage to make a much needed appearance.

  The deadline she’d been terribly stressed about was far from her mind now that she had something to look forward to. Sure, she’d have to start worrying again in a few months and most likely make a last-minute decision, but, at the moment, there was a hot professor in a tight-fitting suit that needed her attention. And some fun by the looks of it.

  “We’re starting where we left off. Please take out your books so we can go over chapter three first.”

  Three chapters already, and where the hell was her textbook? Shayler pretended to rummage through her favorite Betsy Johnson bag, instead messing with its big, black bow and checking out her Instagram feed.

  “If you’re not going to participate, there’s no point in attending class.”

  Shayler’s phone fell from her fingers as she looked up. Hale glared at her from his little stand. Instead of feeling embarrassed, she was really just glad that she wasn’t the only one obviously in need of a good orgasm.

  She bit her lip. “Sorry?”

  “Take your textbook out or leave.”

  The door to the classroom opened, but instead of checking out the latecomer, Shayler refused to break eye contact with Sir Grumpy. The stern professor thing was becoming more annoying than cute. “I don’t have one.”

  “You don’t have one?” he echoed.

  “No.”

  “You thought you’d show up to a college class without the required readings?”

  Shayler snorted. “How many times do we actually use them? Twice, maybe. More if there’s an online exam and we can’t remember the answers.” Students snickered, and she saw the corner of his thin upper lip twitch. She smirked.