My Roommate's Girl

by Julianna Keyes

  “I feel so much better, Aidan. Thank you for inviting me to the wedding. Getting away from here gave me some perspective and reminded me that there are good things in life. And good people.” She smiles at me and I swear I feel it start at my toes, spreading warmth to every part of me. And not just the perverted parts, either.

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “And I’m glad to report it. I owe you.”

  My perverted parts come back to life at the thought of Aster owing me something. Especially if she’s no longer heartbroken Aster but an Aster that’s ready for a rebound fling. Fling. Not just a fuck. I want to hang out with her some more, have fun, have sex. Nothing serious, but maybe not quite as un-serious as I’d originally intended.

  “So is it hard?”

  The question interrupts my thoughts. “Ah, what now?”

  Aster’s pulling her hair into a stubby ponytail and the way her arms are extended makes her breasts thrust out and I actually am getting kind of hard.

  “Not smoking,” she says. “How’s it going?”

  “Oh, that. It’s going all right. I mostly just smoke when I’m stressed, so...”

  Aster bends up one leg to stretch her hamstring, and her breasts jut out again.

  I look away. “It’s not hard at all,” I lie.

  * * *

  “That was fun,” Aster says, two games of Frisbee baseball and one round of beer later.

  It’s only six o’clock in the evening but it’s dark and cold, the afternoon rain still shining on the sidewalks.

  “I’m glad you came,” I say. “I was starting to worry about you.”

  “Why? What did you think I was doing?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, because I can’t think of anything better. “I just wanted to see you.”

  She smiles before facing forward again. “This year has been crazy,” she admits. “Two months ago I’d never even met you, and now you’re practically my best friend.”

  “I am? Really?” I have friends. I don’t think I’ve had a best friend since I was six years old, but the idea’s not off-putting. It’d be better if Aster knew the real me, though. Then again, maybe not. Maybe then we wouldn’t be friends at all.

  “Well, not in a desperate, I-literally-have-no-other-alternative kind of way,” she clarifies quickly. “Just in an...unexpected way.”

  I’ve never been relegated to the Friend Zone before, but I can sense we’re getting close. And I’m all for waiting until her broken heart is mended and she’s ready to move on, but I’m not on board with helping her recover then being the “best friend” who watches her move on with someone else. “Hey, I—”

  “Oh!” she exclaims quickly. “I almost forgot.”

  “Forgot what?”

  “That I owe you! I’m on chaperone duty tonight, but are you free tomorrow?”

  I get that weird feeling again. I’ve never known a girl well enough to get a “feeling” about her, but maybe what I’m reading is Aster sensing that I was about to get a little too serious about things and she wants me to back off.

  So I do. “I could be free.”

  “Okay, good. Meet me right here at two o’clock.”

  “For what?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Aster, I don’t like surprises.”

  She grins. “I think you’ll like this one.”

  13

  “I don’t like this at all,” I say, standing in my new swim trunks at the edge of the campus pool. I try not to shiver like an idiot, but staring at the smooth water, the tiled pool bottom deceptively close, I’m terrified. Almost as terrified as I was twenty minutes ago when I met Aster at her building and she gave me these new trunks and said we were going swimming.

  The pool is enormous and we’re at the shallow end in the corner. The two lanes on the far side are occupied with guys swimming laps, but otherwise the cavernous room is empty. It’s just those guys, me, Aster, and my overwhelming fear of the water.

  More overwhelming, however, is the sight of Aster in a bathing suit. It’s just a plain black one-piece, but on her, a garbage bag would look amazing. It’s cut low enough that I can see more cleavage than I ever have, and it’s beautiful. The view is only improved by the droplets of water that cling to her skin, courtesy of the showers we’re required to take before entering the pool area.

  “Come on,” Aster says, descending three steps, the water hitting her mid-thigh. I try not to ogle her ass as it beckons me to follow, even more commanding than her voice. “You’ll be fine.”

  “Remind me why we’re here again?” I grip the metal rail like a lifeline and put my foot on the top step, resisting the urge to flee as the water slithers around my ankles.

  “Because you helped me,” she says, “and now I’m helping you.”

  “You know what would really be helpful?”

  She peers at me over her shoulder and arches a brow. “Exposure therapy?”

  If this were a porno, that’d be Aster’s cue to peel down her swimsuit and let me see the tits I’ve been dreaming about for two months. But it’s not a porno and this is Aster, so she’s talking about actual exposure therapy and keeping all her clothes on.

  “I never should have helped you,” I mutter, squeezing the rail with both hands and descending another step. The lukewarm water is halfway up my calf, and I have goose bumps everywhere.

  Aster pushes off, swims a few feet, then turns back around. When she stands, the water stops just below her breasts.

  “One more step,” she says. “You can do it.”

  “But why would I?”

  She ignores the question. “Tell me about your tattoos.”

  “I don’t want to.” I actually don’t. I started getting them when I was fifteen, just for something to do. They represent stupidity and rebellion, not art and passion. None of them have any special meaning; none are particularly lovely. They’re just scars that I paid for. Now seventy percent of my arms and back are covered, the one part of my past I can’t erase.

  “Who’s Daisy?”

  I halt on the third stair. “What?”

  “The tattoo on your side,” she says, coming closer. She extends an arm toward me, fingers settling above my hip bone, tracing the crudely drawn daisy inked there. The white petals and yellow center are faded now, but five of the petals hold a letter, spelling out Daisy in capitals. I shiver when she touches me, her thumb stroking over the sensitive skin. “Who’s Daisy?” she repeats.

  “Um...” I hastily descend the last two steps, plunging my lower half under the water so Aster can’t see the effect her touch has on me. “It was my dog,” I say, something I never tell anyone. I don’t tell them because I don’t want to admit we lost her to pay off a debt, the way we lost everything. The way I learned that no matter how much my dad loved us, he couldn’t stop hurting us. That just because you want something doesn’t mean you can have it.

  “You had a dog named Daisy?” The laughter in her voice eases some of the tightness in my chest, though I don’t know if it’s due to sadness from thinking about the dog or a heart attack from being this deep in the water.

  “I used to watch Dukes of Hazzard reruns. I liked Daisy.” That’s what I told everyone when I named her. The truth is, for years I thought the cornflowers in the field behind our house were blue daisies, and because I loved them, I picked the same name for our dog.

  “Of course you did.” She extends a hand and I fold my fingers in hers and let her pull me in just a little bit deeper.

  “Did you have a dog?” I ask, trying to think of anything but the water.

  “No.” She shakes her head, her damp hair sticking to her neck.

  I try not to think about her neck.

  “No pets,” she adds. “I wanted one, but...” She cuts herself off, like she didn’t mean to say that.

  “But what?”

  “But we’re supposed to be talking about you,” she says. “How are you doing?”

  “I think I’m drown
ing.”

  “I read about this online,” she says, ignoring me. “The best way to get over your fear is to face it. So I’m going to hold you under the water for one minute, and when you resurface, you’ll be cured.”

  I yank my hand out of hers. “What the fuck!” My shrill voice bounces off the tiled walls.

  Aster’s laughing hysterically. “Just kidding.”

  “That is not funny.”

  “But you should put your head under the water.”

  “No.”

  “Your hair will still look good, Aidan. God, you’re so vain.”

  “I wish I could pretend vanity was my biggest issue here, Aster, but it’s not.”

  “You’ve been in the water for ten minutes,” she says mildly.

  “I—What?”

  “You’re doing really well.”

  For a long moment I don’t know what to say. It seems ridiculous that being praised for standing in water should make me feel any way whatsoever, but the words make me want to keep doing better. To keep trying.

  I mentally order my knees to bend, to lower me into the water, but it’s not happening.

  “Let’s try this,” Aster says, turning to face the wall. She grips the edge with both hands and lets herself rise to the surface, gently kicking her legs to stay afloat.

  I get as far as putting my hands on the wall next to hers, but neither one of my feet will leave the ground.

  “You okay?” she asks. She stops kicking but still floats.

  “I can’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want my face to go in the water. And not because I’m vain. My makeup is waterproof.”

  She stands, smiling kindly at my lame joke. “Okay,” she says. “What if we tried this?” Very carefully she reaches over and lifts my hand, stepping under it, and returning my hand to the ledge so she’s bracketed by my arms, our faces six inches apart.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice scratchy.

  “Turn around.”

  I swallow, then exhale as I turn.

  “Think of it as a trust exercise,” she says, resting her hands on my hips and sliding them up, past the Daisy tattoo, fingers grazing my stomach, my pecs, coming to rest under my arms. “Do you trust me, Aidan?”

  I can’t speak.

  “Lie back,” she says, toes pressing gently into the back of my right knee. “I’ve got you.”

  My knee gives way and I wobble, leaning into Aster as I lower into the water. My other leg lifts and she holds my shoulders up until my body is floating on the surface, then adjusts her hands so her arms are linked under mine, my head resting against her breasts. I’m only half as thrilled about that particular development as I would be under other circumstances.

  “You’re doing it,” she murmurs. “Kick your feet a little.”

  I kick them approximately one inch.

  “Whoa. Slow down, fella.”

  I smile a little, realizing I have my eyes closed. When I open them, Aster’s face is above me, cornflower blue, just like that field. That stupid field, the thing I never knew I loved until it was gone, never knew I’d miss until I’d lost it.

  “Can I lower you a bit?” she asks.

  I hesitate, then say, “Yeah.”

  She doesn’t let go, just loosens her grip until I feel my hair touch the water, the cool sensation spreading over the back of my scalp. Soon enough I’m resting there, floating, feet barely moving, the water covering everything except my face and toes, and I’m okay.

  I think about Aster’s breasts, so close to my face.

  I’m more than okay.

  “What’s this tattoo?” she asks, fingernail tracing the edge of a design on my shoulder.

  “It’s just some silly tribal design I thought was cool when I was sixteen. None of them really have any meaning. They’re just...there.”

  “That’s a lot of ink to have no meaning. Didn’t it hurt?”

  I hold her stare. “Yeah. It hurt.”

  She’s the first one to blink. “Are you still not smoking?”

  “Eight days. Going strong.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Have you ever quit anything?” I ask, hoping to take the spotlight off myself.

  If we weren’t so close, I might have missed the uncertainty that flashed across her face, another glimpse of something she keeps trying to hide.

  “Yeah,” she says eventually. “Of course.”

  The of course isn’t convincing. Aster doesn’t seem like a girl who gives up on stuff. She’s a person who has faith in people who don’t deserve it.

  “Like what?”

  “Those diet plans I started last week,” she says, smiling ruefully. “And...once I joined a book club, and they let me pick the next book. I was fifteen and trying to look brave and smart so I picked The Shining, and by page twenty I was too afraid to finish and I never showed up to the meeting.”

  “So you quit a book club?”

  “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “Shame on you, Aster. Shame.”

  Suddenly, I don’t feel quite as bad as I did when we got here. I don’t think I’m ever going to go swimming for fun, but I’m not going to drown today, either. I lower my feet and stand, running my wet hands over my face before turning.

  “How are you feeling?” Aster asks.

  For a second I can only smile at her. “Good.”

  “Ready to go under?”

  My heart lurches in my chest. “I...”

  She takes my hand again, and I could get used to this. I want to get used to it.

  “On three,” she says. “One...two...three.”

  On the last word she slowly sinks under, her hand floating on the surface where it’s joined with mine. Tiny bubbles rise up from where she disappeared and I take a deep breath of my own and slowly lower into the water. At the last second I think about bailing on the idea, but then I think about Aster’s hand and I continue to drop until I’m fully submerged. My eyes are closed and my mouth is closed and I’m doing this.

  I’m in.

  After a few seconds I feel my lungs tighten and I push to my feet. Aster follows right behind me, water sluicing over her face.

  “Holy fuck,” I mutter, using both hands to push drenched hair off my forehead. “I can’t believe I did that.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Aster,” I say, stepping toward her.

  But before I can get too close, her hands come up and press against my chest, stopping me. “Wait,” she says.

  I freeze, too close and too far, all at the same time. Because while I may no longer be afraid, Aster is. She’s just had her heart broken and she’s still not ready for this. For me. I’d be pissed at Jerry if I weren’t ninety percent of the reason for the heartbreak.

  “I’m just saying thank you,” I lie, brushing off the rejection like I wasn’t hoping for more. I lean in and kiss her temple briefly, then step back, like that’s all I’d intended.

  Like that’s all I want.

  14

  I see Aster often over the next week. The near-kiss in the pool doesn’t seem to have bothered her, for which I’m grateful. It does bother me, however, which stings. It’s not that I’ve never been turned down before, it’s just that I’ve never cared. If a girl wasn’t interested I’d move on to someone who was. Now I don’t want to move on. The longer I know Aster, the more I want her.

  On Wednesday I stroll over to Aster’s dorm. We have plans to study at the library, and I walk slowly, enjoying the rare day of sunshine, feeling oddly happy for a guy who hasn’t gotten laid in months.

  I adjust my bag over my shoulder and squint into the sun as I see Aster step out the front door of the building with a large box in her hands. A young girl walks behind her, wheeling a suitcase, and there’s a car parked at the curb, with two people, presumably parents, loading things into the trunk.

  I approach just as the three get in the car. Aster leans over to say something through the window to
the girl in the backseat, then straightens as they drive away. She waves, but there’s tension in her shoulders and a phoniness in her smile.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  She jolts and turns to see me waiting. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry. Who was that?”

  She runs her hand through her hair, the blond strands immediately falling back into alignment. “Sydney. One of the girls from my floor.” She sounds sad. “She’s leaving school.”

  “Permanently?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  She waves for me to follow her inside, and in the elevator she slumps against the far wall. “She cheated on a test and got caught. When they accused her, she panicked, lied about it, lied some more, and basically made everything worse.”

  “And they expelled her?”

  “Yep.”

  The elevator stops and we get out. I hold the door as Aster grabs her book bag from her room and returns seconds later, dropping it on the floor as she shrugs into a denim jacket. She studies her feet, looking miserable, as we ride back down. Even the sunshine—the first glimpse we’ve had in weeks—doesn’t improve her mood.

  We walk in silence. Aster’s wearing red flats with little bows on the toes, so shiny they reflect the black of my combat boots, and I admire the contrast as we trudge along.

  “Hey,” I say, when we’re a block away from the library. “Let’s do something else.”

  Aster stops. “Like what?”

  “I need some ice cream.”

  “Huh?”

  “And you definitely need some ice cream.”

  “I do?” But she doesn’t resist when I take her arm and steer her away from the library.

  “Who knows when we’ll see the sun again?” I say reasonably. “We should take advantage of it.”

  Her mouth quirks. “I guess any excuse to eat ice cream is a good excuse.”

  I hold the door to the shop and Aster passes through ahead of me. It’s mid-afternoon and the place is packed with students who had the same great idea. We get in line and contemplate the flavors, and when it’s time to order, Aster gets vanilla with sprinkles and I get orange-licorice swirl.