A frown strained her features, narrowing her eyes and zapping their shine.
“Your face is all funny. Aren’t you happy I didn’t get fired?”
“You call her Nora now?”
He wanted to crawl inside one of the dryers and stay there until Ryleigh had gone. Not that he would have fit in one. Still, the idea was nice.
Peter brought a hand to his chest. “It’s not like that. She asked me to use her first name.”
Her tongue speared her cheek. “I’m sure she did.”
Are we fighting right now?
“I called Roberts by his first name. What’s the difference?”
“I’ll bet Cliff didn’t invite you to use his first name.”
Bracing his hands on her knees, he leaned into Ryleigh and spoke a notch above a whisper. “I haven’t been in a relationship in 15 years. Do you honestly think I’m the type of guy who would cheat?” Peter kissed her once, twice, three times. “You’re my best friend and I love you more than I can stand. I’ll admit, though, it’s kind of sexy seeing you jealous.”
A deep blush tinged her cheeks, looking as if a million blood vessels had exploded beneath her skin. “I’ve never heard you say that.”
“Say what?” His thoughts stalled for a moment before it registered. “Sexy?” He brushed his lips along her earlobe. “Sexy, sexy, sexy.”
Ryleigh pushed him off. “You are such a child sometimes.”
“Says the girl who’s blushing like a matchstick.”
She hopped down from the dryer and readjusted her lounge shorts, heading for the door that led to the basement hallway. “Finish this laundry crusade on your own. I’m going to slip between your sheets and totally not think about your hot voice repeating that four-letter word in my ear.”
Peter’s pulse raced as Ryleigh rounded the corner with a devastating wink.
In her haste to get to Peter’s place, Ryleigh had neglected to pack enough stuff for the weekend and had to swing by her dorm the following afternoon.
The imminent midterms ground away at her sanity. Having Peter nearby injected a sense of calm, and she was grateful to escape the nightmare in the solace of his apartment, if only for a few days.
She stuffed fistfuls of pajamas and yoga pants into her bag, eyes traveling to her messy desk.
Forget it. You studied your ass off this week.
“I saw that lustful glance at your notebooks, Branson. I’m surprised you’re boinking your boyfriend this weekend when midterms are next week.” The stray hairs hanging from Min-ji’s space buns swished as her head bobbed here and there in her quest to rearrange the contents in her two drawers of their shared dresser.
Whenever midterms or finals hit, Min-ji turned their dorm into something straight out of The Home Edit.
Ryleigh averted her gaze when frilly unmentionables started piling atop the foot of her roommate’s bed. Not that lingerie made her uncomfortable; she simply had no desire to think of Min-ji in such a situation.
“Boinking, seriously?” She buried her face in one of Peter’s crew neck sweatshirts. As Ryleigh continued to pack, she lamented her own less than exhilarating undergarment selection. Then again, Peter usually had her underwear off before he could have possibly registered their color or style. “I’ll take whatever distractions come my way. Boinking included.”
A picture came through on her phone with an accompanying text from Peter that had her laughing out loud.
P: Is this the right “cheese?”
R: don’t insult my cheeseless cheese.
it’s phenomenal, alright?
Every Friday night, they cooked dinner together and watched a movie. They were like an old married couple, except only one of them was old and they were nowhere near married.
Min-ji squatted on the floor once she was satisfied with her assault of the dresser drawers. She retrieved several sealed plastic containers from under the bed which housed more clothes. “If you’re looking for a serious distraction, there’s a party at ASig tomorrow. Daniel invited me.”
“Daniel?” Ryleigh repeated in disbelief. “You’re going to a party with Daniel? The Daniel Reyes?”
“He’s not as awful as you think. I don’t know why you give him such a bad rap.”
“Yeah, no, you’re right. There’s absolutely no reason why I would think poorly of him. Least of all the fact that I thought he was going to go Annie Wilkes on me fall semester.”
“Annie who?” Her knuckles came to rest under her sharp chin. “While I appreciate your concern, I’m going to that party. With Daniel.”
Ryleigh zipped her bag with a flourish and turned an accusatory finger on her roommate. “Promise me you won’t take any drinks from him. I’m telling you, he skeeves me out. You know how guys our age act at parties. One minute they’re all smiles and compliments, and the next your gin and tonic is a GHB and tonic.”
“Guys our age? He only skeeves you out because his balls don’t hang halfway to the floor.” Min-ji faked a dry heave and Ryleigh threw a wadded-up pair of lounge pants at her which she expertly batted away. “You should come tomorrow night. You might actually enjoy yourself.”
Though it would be unappealing under normal circumstances, she needed an evening to be carefree between the stress of preparing for midterms and the confusing move-in looming on the not so distant horizon.
She knew she could not pass up the invitation.
There was no time to consider what Peter might think, or how Ryleigh would feel once she was engulfed in the manic fraternity environment. There was only a dangerous rush of adrenaline, a high from the foreign spontaniety.
“I’ll be there.”
Post homemade pizzas and their viewing of The Big Sick, Peter and Ryleigh cuddled up on the couch, reading.
Her head rested on his legs, book propped up on her knees. Their silence was comfortable, familiar. They had been reading for close to an hour, and during much of that time, Ryleigh had contemplated breaking the mutual muteness. She wanted to mention the party, sooner rather than later.
Peter shut his book, head shifting to the side to afford a better view of his girlfriend. She slid the bookmark in her battered paperback and set it on the carpet before meeting his eyes. He gave a knowing smile. “I caught you looking up at me no less than a thousand times. What’s up?”
“It’s stupid.” Ryleigh chewed her lip. Honestly, it was.
Why was she this worked up to tell him about a party?
Peter entwined his fingers with hers, and their hands came to rest on her stomach, all while shooting her a look which suggested he knew better. Ryleigh felt a tinge of guilt. She treasured their weekends together. They were sacred, ritual. She did not want him to think otherwise.
“There’s a party tomorrow night. Min-ji invited me.” Why was she so nervous? Peter was not her father, she did not need his permission. But Ryleigh craved his approval. “I’m going.”
Something shifted in his features, seriousness giving way to contemplation. He manufactured a partial nod upon resurfacing from his calculative state. “Frat party?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Are you going to be alright in that kind of environment?”
She pushed herself up to a sitting position, facing him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Her gaze unconsciously swept over his lean frame stretching the length of the couch. Lately, Peter had been taking better care of himself: shaving on a regular basis, packing meals for the office, not bringing extra work home on the weekends.
Though, as they sprawled on the couch, nothing delighted her more than noticing he had started filling out his t-shirts again—not completely, but the incredible progress was not lost on Ryleigh. Yet she stayed away from verbally congratulating him in the event it would undo the miraculous semi-restoration.
She was unable to revel long in that satisfaction, reminded of something troubling she accidentally came across during a mid-movie bathroom break earlier that evening. Ryleigh had opened the medicine c
abinet in search of dental floss and instead was met with a familiar, mostly empty tangerine bottle. Her heartbeat slowed upon inspecting the label. It listed his doctor back in Connecticut. The old pharmacy. She nearly crumpled to the floor as the truth hit her like a freight train.
He had not been taking his medicine.
Presently, Peter folded his arms across his chest. “You’re not exactly a party person.”
“Funny, last year you were encouraging me to go to parties and bask in the glory of what you constantly referred to as a ‘normal college experience.’”
He winced, wounded by the resurrection of his own words. “I said that, and I meant it, but I also didn’t anticipate that we would ever be in a serious relationship when I said it. I just want you to be careful when you’re immersed in that sort of crowd. Mindful.”
He’s voicing his concerns because he cares about you.
Don’t be a bitch.
In her effort to not blow up on Peter for whatever he had been insinuating, she tanked her college party career before it had begun. “Why don’t you come with me? Maybe you’ll feel better if you can keep an eye on me.”
The logistics taunted her but it was too late. A 36-year-old guy? At a frat party? Nevermind the fact that Daniel would be there. The two of them in the same room was not something she cared to deal with after their last few encounters. And now because of this accidental invitation, she may very well have to put up with it.
“The last time I set foot in a frat house, I was hugging a toilet throwing up black shit by the end of the night.”
Was this anecdotal digression an indirect acceptance? It was a safe presumption. God forbid he ever give a direct answer. What have you done?
“Black?”
“I drank way too much.” Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. A fuzzy warmth spread through her chest on the precipice of the story; anecdotes were rare from him, and Ryleigh treasured each one. “As if that wasn’t bad enough, I, for some reason, thought it was a good idea to smoke weed for the first time. It sounded great, you know, but since I was blackout drunk, the high took a backseat. I don’t think I’ve ever been that sick.”
Ryleigh’s mouth hung open, exaggerating her shock. “Doing drugs and dating a high schooler? Man, you’re a sketchy guy.”
“The sketchiest.”
He hated it when she brought up the high school business, but it was part of their history that could not be rewritten. And she loved using it against him.
“For real, though, I can’t believe you smoked weed.”
“One time.” Peter shrugged. “Besides, I’m from California, it’s like this unspoken rite of passage.”
“If I lose you tomorrow, I’ll just look for the stoners.”
An awful part of Ryleigh wished she would lose him, or that he would wise up and stay home. As much as they belonged together, Peter did not belong in the ASig house.
Ryleigh second-guessed her sweater, ripped jeans, and dirty sneakers when she and Peter arrived at Alpha Sigma Pi. Other girls sashayed past in minidresses or crop tops, making her wish she had given more thought, and any effort at all, toward her outfit. Parading her body around in a public space was not her thing, but for one night, for the sake of fitting in...
As if he had somehow detected the unvoiced worry, Peter whispered, “You look great, sweetheart.”
Tucking a rogue wave behind her ear, she displayed a shy smile though silently wished she would fade into the imposing door they stood rooted in front of.
The house crawled with students, ranging in condition from sober to inebriated, and the countless shades of tipsy in between. Okay, sure, a night in the stiflingly hot, overcrowded, raucous Asig lair was not Ryleigh’s idea of a good time. A desperate quest to rid herself of pre-exam jitters had her branching out in ways she could have never imagined—probably ways she would never again dare to revisit.
She resolved to hold off judgment on that until the next morning.
“Ryleigh, you made it!” Min-ji shouted over some unrecognizable Dua Lipa song, throwing her sweat-bejeweled arms around her in an uncharacteristic hug. Her nose adjusted to the noxious odor radiating from her roommate, who smelled like she had taken a shower under a stream of Jose Cuervo. She pulled away from Ryleigh, eyeing Peter up and down. “I didn’t know you were bringing your zaddy along.”
“Zaddy?” Peter echoed. Ryleigh shook her head and he turned to Min-ji, starting, “We didn’t exactly meet under the best circumstances. I’d like to apologize for however horrendously awkward that may have been.”
He extended a hand, but Min-ji doubled over and clutched her sides, like a handshake was the most preposterous thing. Anything was humorous to a drunken 19-year-old. Peter retracted the hand, ignoring the girl’s hysterics.
“Where’s Daniel? I thought you guys came together.”
Min-ji slurred, “He’s around,” which sounded more like ‘he surround.’
“Daniel’s here? Great,” Peter said. The reaction shaved 20 years off his age, rendering him a whiny, jealous adolescent.
Before he had a chance to bitch further, Ryleigh grabbed his hand, navigating them through the maze of bustling rooms until they came upon the kitchen. A beer pong tournament played out on the weathered dining table, groups of guys groaning and celebrating on opposing ends.
“Beer’s in the fridge, everything else is on the counter,” a girl with an undercut and septum piercing said. She retrieved a can of beer from the bottom drawer of the refrigerator before sparing them a cursory nod and sweeping out of the kitchen.
Ryleigh heaved a bottle of rum. “What’ll it be, Rosenfeld?”
“I’m not drinking. I can’t look out for you if I’m intoxicated.” Peter handed her a red plastic cup. “You, on the other hand, can drink as much as you want. I’ll make sure you get home in one piece.” He stole a quick kiss. “Enjoy tonight. You deserve it.”
Though she had pleaded with him to dress down, he had worn office attire, which led Ryleigh to believe he aimed to embarrass her since he lived in joggers and t-shirts on the weekends.
Whatever residual annoyance she had took a backseat as she shamelessly checked out Peter, who casually leaned against the counter with the heels of his palms. Being out as a couple gave her an unbelievable high, even if it was in the ethically questionable clutches of ASig.
“You look hot tonight,” she dared.
He looked around as if the comment had been for someone else before pointing to himself. “Who me? You sure you don’t need glasses?”
The group of beer pong players quieted one by one, their attention turning to Peter and Ryleigh. Whispers broke out among them, few of the comments intelligible. A possible ‘are you sure?’ followed by a definite ‘positive.’
Ryleigh went pale and her grip on the rum slackened as a pair of guys approached them. No, no, no.
They would be kicked out of the party, but not before these guys indulged in humiliating Peter. Placing the empty cup on the counter, Ryleigh seized one of her boyfriend’s arms, as if her 5’3” stature could shield him from the potential onslaught of public shaming.
“You’re that guy, right? From the video?” asked a guy in a backward baseball cap.
“Yeah.” Peter rubbed his neck. “Not my finest hour.”
A second guy, sporting a pineapple t-shirt, turned to the table of beer pong players. “It’s him!”
“No way!” a few of them cried. More of the pseudo-jock frat guys migrated over to Peter and Ryleigh.
“Can I get a picture with you, man?” backward cap begged.
Peter’s lips parted in hesitation but he said, “Sure.”
Ryleigh stepped away, busying herself with making a cocktail; not that she knew how to make one. What the hell is happening? She eyed the bottles boasting the highest proof and poured a splash of each into her cup while stealing glances at the guys who were preoccupied snapping pictures with her boyfriend. Her date had been stolen by a group of beer-pong playing, muscle
shirt-wearing fraternity brothers.
A hand latched onto Ryleigh’s shoulder, prompting her to spin around. She recognized the guy from astronomy class, but his name escaped her.
“Branson, I didn’t know you were smashing Rosenfeld. Dude’s a legend.” He slammed back the remnants of a Four Loko, crushed the can, and missed the trash by a mile.
“Now you know.” A blush warmed her cheeks. Brushing past him, she mumbled, “Excuse me.” Ryleigh went over to Peter, tugging on his sleeve. “I’m going to go look for Min-ji. I’m worried she might have passed out somewhere, hopefully not in Daniel’s arms.”
Peter pulled her in to kiss the crown of her head which elicited an annoying chorus of “oohs” from the frat guys. “Alright. Give me a call if you have trouble finding her. We can expand the search.”
“Will do.” Ryleigh patted his chest and ducked out of the kitchen, barely catching a disgusting comment.
“Tell me she’s a good lay.”
“Come on, guys. Don’t be gross.”
Ryleigh waded through the ever multiplying crowds in each of the rooms, combing through the hordes of partygoers in search of her roommate. When she stumbled into a small sitting area toward the rear of the house, the sighting of an all-too-familiar face coupled with the stench and sting of a cannabis haze urged her to get the hell out.
Daniel wasted no time approaching her, rotating the sweating cup he held. Redness ruled the whites of his eyes. “Have you seen my date? She slipped away from me.”
“Any woman with a shred of common sense would flee from your side the first chance she got. Can you blame her?” Ryleigh mocked, migrating to the next room.
As always, he followed.
“Why is it you continuously paint me as a villain? I’m not as awful as you make me out to be,” he said, trailing a little too closely behind her. One person navigating the crowd was hard enough. Two was hopeless. Daniel struggled to keep up with Ryleigh through the constant motion of those dancing interspersed with those traveling to other areas of the house. Through it all, he maintained some degree of proximity; a pesky mosquito who refused to meet his end. “What does that bag of bones you call your boyfriend think about you coming to a party like this?”
Having Rosenfeld (Rosenfeld Duet Book 2) Page 12
