His Brazen Angel

by Blake, Tessa

  He blinks at me. “You don’t remember?”

  I shake my head and pull the comforter higher, as though being modest now is going to change anything. “I don’t,” I confess. “I don’t usually drink.”

  He offers me the glass of water he’s holding. “Drink this,” he says. “You were really putting them back last night.”

  The water is cool and refreshing. I gulp half of it in one go, then press the cold side of the glass against my forehead. “I’m so sorry if I was embarrassing, but can you just tell me—”

  “The short answer is no,” he says.

  I think for a second, take stock of my body. I’m pretty sure I’d know if he was lying. I’m not a virgin; I know what the morning after feels like, and it doesn’t feel like we had sex. I’d know.

  But I can’t imagine, given my condition right now, that we kept it at “just friends” either.

  “What’s the long answer, then?” I ask.

  He sighs. “It was pretty close. I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “Because you were completely fucking wasted?” He looks stricken, like someone just gave him some terrible news. “Even more wasted than I thought, if you can’t remember it at all.”

  I reach out and put my free hand on his knee. “I remember that I started it. However it ended, I’m not mad at you. I just want to know. I can’t … I can’t remember anything after we started kissing.”

  He nods. “We came really close. I had a fair amount to drink myself, and you were ... well.” He clears his throat. “You didn’t want me to stop. Sorry.”

  My heart swells. This sweet boy. I didn’t even know they made them like this anymore. “You can stop saying sorry,” I say. “I’m big on personal responsibility. I remember dancing, and going outside, but I don’t remember coming back here. Your room?”

  “Yeah. You ... you asked me to.” He frowns. “This sounds like I’m making a bunch of excuses. Like I’m blaming you.”

  “Blaming me for what? Finding the only guy at the party that would let a drunk girl drag him back to his room and then not take advantage of her?” I sigh. “I’m sorry. That was an awful position you were in, and ... thank you. Thank you so much for being a decent guy.”

  He shrugs. “You don’t have to thank me. Being a decent guy should be the default setting.”

  I smile. “Well, it isn’t. So thank you.” I drink the rest of the water and hand the glass back to him, then look at my costume on the floor. “I’m gonna need one more favor from you, though.”

  “What?” he asks.

  “I’m gonna need to borrow a t-shirt and some sweatpants or something.” I nod at my costume on the floor. “Because I’m not walking back to Mi Alpha in that.”

  Devlin

  “I can do that.” I move over to the dresser, stepping over the costume I peeled her out of mere hours ago. My cock stirs at the thought, and I get a flash: the smell of her hair, the taste of her skin. I bear down mentally, willing it away. There’s time for that—I hope—when she’s not nursing a hangover. “It’s all going to be too big for you, though.”

  “That’s okay,” she says softly. “I really appreciate it.”

  T-shirt and sweats in hand, I turn back to her. She looks a little lost, small and alone on the bed. I remember how she barely came up to my shoulder, and feel that same urge to protect her. It’s primal, or something; she’s small and seems like she could so easily break.

  I’m glad that I kept my wits somewhat about me last night. I’m glad I didn’t break her.

  “Here you go,” I say, dropping them on the edge of the bed. “I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen, okay?”

  “Okay,” she says, looking up at me with those huge brown eyes. “Thank you again. So much.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I head out the door and down the stairs to the kitchen, where I find Jake dumping a raw egg into a tumbler of—

  “Is that olive oil?” I ask, absolutely horrified.

  “Dude, don’t shout,” he mutters.

  I wasn’t, but okay. “Sorry,” I say. “But what are you doing?”

  “Hangover remedy,” he says, squirting in a blob of ketchup. He pulls a whisk out of the utensil crock on the stove and goes to town, making what looks for all the world like bloody vomit or something. “I found it on the internet.”

  “I’m skeptical,” I say. “Usually you just have another beer.”

  “It’s like nine in the morning, Dev.”

  “Which has literally never stopped you.”

  “Fair point,” he says, “but we’re also out of beer.”

  “Not to be rude,” I say, heading past him to the fridge, “but if you could take your Cup O’ Miscarriage somewhere else, that would be awesome. Alyssa’s getting dressed and I was thinking I’d make her some eggs or something.”

  “Oh really?” He tries to arch one eyebrow at me, but both eyebrows go up. I don’t have the heart to tell him that he has never once, in the entire time I’ve known him, succeeded in raising just one eyebrow. “She must have really blown your mind.”

  I shrug a little. I don’t want to talk about how not-laid I got last night.

  Come to think of it, I really wouldn’t want to talk about it if I had gotten laid, but at least I would have been keeping my mouth shut out of chivalry instead of shame.

  “It’s not ... She’s really hung over, and I just want to make her some eggs. Normal eggs, not what you’re doing.” I point at his glass. “That’s an abomination.”

  The front door bangs , and a few seconds later Curt strolls in, wearing the same clothes he was wearing last night. “Hey,” he says, and drops into a chair at the kitchen table. “Who all got lucky? Besides me, of course.”

  I can’t stand Curt. He straight-up told me at the beginning of the semester that he was taking my Shakespeare lecture so he could get some new pick-up lines. That’s the kind of guy I just do not need in my life.

  “Not I, sadly,” Jake says. “But Dev took one of the Mi Alpha girls upstairs, and she’s still there, so—”

  “No,” I interrupt. “It’s not like that.”

  Jake raises his eyebrows—plural—at me. “It’s not like what?” he says. “Is there or is there not a hot Mi Alpha sister in your bed right now?”

  “The fact that she’s in my bed right now doesn’t mean... You know what, I don’t even want to talk about this.” I hunch my shoulders and start taking things out of the fridge. “Not everyone wants to crow about their conquests, you know.”

  “Conquests!” Curt barks out laughter and slaps the table. “Oh, Shakespeare, you are too much. Conquests. I love it.” He leans back, gives me a smarmy look. “So you didn’t get it wet, then?”

  Oh, Christ. He’s so fucking gross. “Curt, I just want to make some breakfast for the lady, so if you could kindly escort Jake into the TV room or something, and give us some privacy, that would be great.”

  “The lady.” He chuckles, but he stands up and jerks his head in the direction of the hallway. “If you’re done with ... whatever you’ve got in that glass, dude, we could pick that game of Madden back up.”

  “You’re on,” Jake says. He chugs the last couple of mouthfuls of his concoction, sets the glass in the sink, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “That was truly fucking terrible.”

  “It looked like an abortion, dude—” Curt begins, but cuts himself off when Alyssa steps through the hallway door and into the kitchen. “Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here, Juliet.”

  I look back and forth between them, confused. Alyssa has a look on her face that I can’t quite read. “Her name’s Alyssa,” I say, “not Juliet.”

  He nods. “Pretty name. I’ve been trying to get her to tell me her name for like three weeks and she won’t even talk to me, but she’s bouncing on you?” His oily tone puts my back up, but before I can figure out what to say, he shrugs. “No offense, dude, but I think she’s probably just looking for an A.”


  I squint at him, wondering if I’m suffering from some kind of delayed hangover. Because nothing he’s saying makes any sense. “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  Alyssa turns her mouth down in an expression of clear distaste. “That’s disgusting,” she says. “I would never do that.”

  “I’d sure hope not,” Curt says. There’s an ugly look in his eyes. “I mean, there’s probably a word for that, one that’s not very nice.” He looks over at me, shrugs again. “It’s your funeral, dude, but you need that TA job. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to fuck your students.”

  And with that, he walks out. Jake makes a little coughing sound, and when I look over at him, he’s looking back and forth between Alyssa and me. He grimaces, then says to me: “You didn’t know, did you?”

  I look away from him, back at Alyssa, who looks shocked, and maybe a little sheepish. “I had no idea,” I say. “Was he saying what I thought he was? Are you in one of my classes?”

  She looks at the floor for a second, then nods. Her eyes lift to meet mine, and I see that she looks embarrassed. “I didn’t realize you didn’t know,” she says. “I wasn’t trying to ... what he said.”

  I nod. “Okay. Okay, I believe that.” And I do. Whatever this girl is, she’s not a liar. “But ... oh, shit, Alyssa.” I sit heavily in a kitchen chair, and she takes a seat across from me, looking small and lost in my way-too-big clothes. “We can’t—I can’t. Do this.”

  “Do what?” she says, her chin lifting defiantly.

  “This,” I say, pointing back and forth between us. “Anything, at all. I’m a teacher—”

  “You’re a TA,” she says.

  “The rules are the same.”

  “This is asinine,” she says. “You didn’t even realize I was in your class till Curt told you.”

  “Well, I realize it now.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not happy about this, either, but it’s how it has to be.”

  She shrugs and looks away from me, out the window toward the Mi Alpha house. “I still say it’s asinine.”

  “Noted,” I say. “Do you want me to walk you home?”

  “No,” she says, her voice wavering a little. “I’m fine. We wouldn’t want anyone to see us, after all, and damage your sterling reputation.”

  She stands up, nearly tipping over her chair. I can’t believe she’s this upset about what’s essentially nothing. I mean, we barely know each other; it’s not like not getting involved is some big hardship.

  And I’m the one who didn’t even get off.

  I mean, not that that matters, but ... what’s she got to be so mad about? She had a pretty good night.

  “Alyssa,” I say, “it’s not —”

  “Whatever.” She flings the word at me and then, without saying anything else, storms out of the kitchen toward the front door.

  I get up to go after her, then think better of it and sit down. It’s better for both of us if I just let her go.

  Even if it feels absolutely terrible.

  Alyssa

  My attempt to sneak into the Mi Alpha house is unsuccessful; Michelle is in the kitchen, leaning into the fridge for something, and when I come through the door she looks up and smiles hugely. “Well, look who’s here!” she says. “Miss Hot-for-Teacher!”

  “Shut up,” I snap.

  She just blinks at me.

  “Oh, god, I’m sorry.” I cover my face with my hands. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean it. Is there any orange juice in there? I’m crashing bad, and I’m so hung over.”

  “Have you eaten?” she says, pulling out a big glass pitcher of orange juice and setting it on the counter near me.

  I reach up and get a glass out of the cupboard, then pour myself some juice. It’s cold and tart, and even though it’s probably psychosomatic, I feel better as soon as I’ve had a few swallows.

  “I haven’t eaten, no.” I set the glass down and pass the pitcher back to her.

  She puts it away and comes back out with a carton of eggs. “Sit down,” she says. “You look like absolute shit. And what are you wearing?”

  I take a seat at the kitchen table and watch her cracking eggs into a bowl. “Devlin gave me some clothes. I couldn’t walk home in—damn it! I left my costume there.”

  “Left it where?” She starts whisking the eggs, and I want to snap at her again because my head is killing me, but none of this is her fault.

  Well, maybe a little. She did encourage me, after all.

  “On Devlin Cole’s bedroom floor,” I groan. “Oh, god, I’m so embarrassed.”

  “About what? He’s a stone hottie, if you like them on the scrawny side.”

  I sigh. “Turns out he’s not scrawny. At all.”

  “Do tell,” she practically purrs. “Tell me everything.”

  “I can’t remember much—”

  “Excuse me?” She impales me with a stony glare.

  “Oh, no. Not like that, no.” I shake my head. “Quite the opposite, in fact. He decided I was too drunk to shag.”

  Her whole face gets that awwww look usually reserved for a video of an adorable puppy. “That is so sweet.”

  “Yeah, you say sweet, I say frustrating.” There’s a bowl of fruit on the middle of the kitchen table, and I decide I need a banana. “Potassium is good for hangovers, right?”

  “I have no idea, actually,” Michelle says, “but it can’t hurt.” She sets a pan on the stovetop and turns it on. “You want cheese in these?”

  “That would be good.” I start peeling my banana. “I can’t even tell you how embarrassing the whole thing was. I can’t remember shit, but he basically said he took me up to his room, got almost to the point of no return, then tucked me in chastely. And I can’t remember any of it.”

  “That’s crazy,” she says. “Do you think he did something? Like … gave you something?”

  “Oh, goodness no. He wouldn’t even have had the chance, really. He refilled my drink once, but I watched him. I think I just got good and goddamn drunk.” I slump in my chair. “Too drunk to fuck. How embarrassing is that? I kind of wish he’d just gone ahead with it.”

  “Yeah, sounds mortifying,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “I have not, thank you.”

  She pours the eggs into the pan. “Then use your head for something besides a wig stand.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We’ve been me-too-ing the whole world for almost a year now—which, sure, was long overdue—so you don’t get to be all ‘oh what a drag, Dev wanted to make sure I was sober enough to consent.’” She dumps a handful of shredded cheese into the eggs and pokes at them with a rubber spatula. “We can’t have it both ways.”

  “I don’t want it both ways—”

  “Yeah, you do. So do I. Everyone wants it both ways, about everything, Alyssa, not just this. But also this.” She laughs a little. “We want to be cherished—and we deserve that, damn it—but we maybe want to get shoved against the wall and banged like crazy, too. We want guys to respect us and not take advantage, and then we kind of also want to get sloppy drunk sometimes and go with it. And ... I think that’s okay? But at the end of the day, you have to own it. And you have to respect any guy that thinks with the big head instead of the little one at a time like that.”

  “I think I would have been fine with it,” I say. “I definitely remember that I started it, that I asked him to kiss me. I wouldn’t have been mad, even considering I can’t remember. Shit happens.”

  “Well, not being a mind-reader, I suppose he didn’t know that.” She divides the eggs onto two plates and carries them over to the table. “You’ll just have to try again when you’re sober. I imagine he’ll be pretty happy to—”

  I groan. “No, he will not.” I fork up a bite of eggs. I didn’t know until this morning that it was possible to eat eggs angrily, but that’s what I do. They’re pretty tasty, too. I’m actually starting to feel something very close to
human.

  “Of course he will.”

  “No, he really won’t. He figured out this morning that I’m in one of his classes, and got super rule-followy about it. No dating students, and all that.”

  “You’re barely a student. Aren’t you auditing that class?”

  “No, I need the credit, but it’s not like I’d expect him to give me an A or whatever.” I shovel in some more eggs. “Well, no, I would expect that, but that’s because I’d deserve it, not because I’m sleeping with him. Or would be sleeping with him. Could have slept with him, but didn’t. Or if I was. Which I’m not, so the whole question is moot, I guess.”

  “I think I actually followed that train of thought, which is a bit scary.”

  “Yeah, try being the one who came up with it.”

  “So what are you going to do?” she asks.

  “Nothing?” I shrug. “I mean, I can’t make him sleep with me, and I barely know him. It’s not like we’re ... in love, or whatever.” My stomach hurts. It’s probably the hangover, I think. I hope it’s the hangover. “No big loss.”

  “Okay,” Michelle says. But she doesn’t look convinced.

  And honestly, neither am I.

  Devlin

  “You know,” Jake says, slightly out of breath from running, “I’ve been thinking about this Alyssa thing—”

  “Really?” I say. “Because I haven’t.”

  Actually, I have, but I’m not admitting that. Not even to myself. Except I guess I just did.

  “Yeah, you’re completely full of shit. You’ve been cranky for the last two days, and you’re lying if you tell me that’s not why.”

  We’re jogging along the main road that runs around Oak Ridge University. I go out first thing most mornings, and if Jake doesn’t have an early class he joins me more often than not.

  But if he’s going to harass me about Alyssa, next time he can stay home.

  “A guy can’t just be cranky?” I say. “Even if I am, it doesn’t mean it’s about that.”

  “About what, then?” he say. “You told me just a week ago that everything is awesome right now.”