Unraveling Josh

by Edie Danford

  I nodded, trying to quash my disappointment. “Right. Busy weekend on campus, for sure.” I wanted to give him a bunch of reasons to stay. I could so clearly see him—see us together—on the antique brass bed. Or the long mohair couch. Kissing. Getting naked. All the rest. Whatever he wanted. Wherever he could take me. The ache in my balls got achier.

  Maybe I needed to be even less subtle? Maybe I should make more of a physical move on him? My experience was limited, sure, but I’d had enough of it—and seen plenty of my friends in operation—to know Nick wasn’t the kind of guy to turn down an opportunity to get off. He’d obviously found me attractive in Boston. And when I’d bumped into him at the library café, I’d felt that same unmistakable rush of heat. I ran my big toe over the curve of his ankle, up to where I could feel the curly-silky hairs on his calf.

  He drew his leg away. He put his phone down next to his napkin, eyes cast down, his fingers carefully aligning the edge of his phone with the edge of the napkin. After a couple painful seconds, he glanced up at me and said, “Remember at the hotel in Boston?”

  I gave him a crooked smile. “It’s kind of all I can think about at the moment.”

  He nodded. “Remember when you said I was too much for you?”

  “Um, yeah…”

  “Well, you had that turned around.”

  “I did?”

  “You’re too much for me.”

  I laughed. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re too much, Josh. Too nice. Too good-looking. Too…” He waved one hand vaguely at the space where we were sitting, his rings glinting in the light slanting through the funky windows. His other hand clenched his napkin tightly.

  I watched the tightly clenched hand. The napkin was some kind of roughly textured fabric—a purplish-blue color with grape leaves or something printed on it. My mom had seen it at an art fair and thought it looked “cool and gothic”. Nick’s fingers—long and lean and pale—looked cool and gothic too. It occurred to me again that he’d be a better tenant for this place than me. He matched the vibe better than I did.

  His fingers began to slowly flex and I looked up at his face. I wasn’t staying quiet because I wanted to make him uncomfortable. I was waiting for him to keep going with what he’d started to say because I wanted to hear it. How exactly did a guy like him perceive me? It seemed like useful knowledge.

  “Too what?” I prompted.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Too serious is what I want to say. But I feel like I’m making you feel bad and being serious or nice or all that other shit isn’t a bad thing. It’s just not…” He drew a long breath.

  I waited.

  He sighed. “It’s not what I’m into,” he said. “Right now in my life I’m into fast and dirty. I get the feeling you’re not into the same thing.”

  “So you think I’m too…slow and clean?”

  “Yeah,” he said, laughing. “But see how you’re making it sound like an insult? I don’t mean it that way.”

  “Does it sound fake if I say I want to get into fast and dirty? Like right now?”

  His smile went wide, but then faded quickly. His fingertips toyed with the edges of the purple napkin. “No. It doesn’t sound fake. And if this was my usual thing—like with a guy who I knew was down with a casual fuck—I’d have your dick down my throat right now. Hell, I probably would’ve blown you in the library bathroom four hours ago, you know? You’re frickin’ glorious, Josh Pahlke. But I’m not the guy you need.”

  “My dick says otherwise. I’m, uh, kind of in pain over here.”

  Nick had the grace to look sorry, but the expression didn’t inspire any hope. “I’m honestly trying to be a good guy here. You’ll, um, thank me later.”

  Right. So he was way better at pickups than rejections. I wanted to point out that if he thought I was so damn glorious or whatever, and he’d known me for maybe, what? Three hours total now? I was actually the perfect candidate for fast and dirty.

  But I wasn’t gonna beg. He had a point. What I wanted from him was more than a fast fuck-n-suck. I wanted to find out more about him. Pick his brain about Torvek’s poetry. Find out what manuscripts he was working on at the library. Ask him more about that Whitman tattoo. Get to know the shades of brown in his hair and his eyes.

  I rubbed a fist over my gut. Lunch wasn’t sitting right all of a sudden. The wave of itchy heat I’d been fighting for the last few weeks was making its presence known on the skin along my neck and spine. I wanted to rip the gauze bandage from my neck and claw at my rash. Shit. I needed to chill. I’d been here less than a week. Obviously I needed to give shit some time.

  I fell back on one of my old standbys. I smiled. The muscles around my lips and cheeks felt stiff, but I forced it. I’d had enough practice that I knew it wouldn’t look forced, especially not to someone who’d only known me for three hours.

  “Okay,” I said, pushing away from the table. “Thanks for the compliments.” I picked up the dishes and my empty glass and brought them to the sink. I turned on the water and watched it splash—faucet needed some repairs. Hey, there was a fun job for a Friday night. I could go to the True Value and get a new washer and aerator.

  “I’m going to find my shoes,” Nick said from behind me. “I left them upstairs…”

  “Fine.”

  I fiddled with stacking the plates. When I turned around he was standing by the stairs. His head was tilted as he looked at me, a similar expression to the one he’d worn while analyzing a first-edition book from the tower’s collection.

  When I laughed, it wasn’t forced. It was hard not to be amused while comparing oneself to a rare volume of Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

  “So where are you off to?” I asked, trying for normal.

  “Meeting at my house,” he said. He ran his hands through his hair and then crossed the stone floor to the couch where he’d left his book bag. I got mad at myself for trying to suck down every little detail of how his body moved and what his mouth was doing and how his hair was curling against his neck and how his knees were bony but very cute. He put his bag on his shoulder and heaved a sigh. “We’re going over beginning-of-the-year stuff like figuring out menus and shopping and quiet hours.”

  The amount of dread in his voice forced a smile out of me. “You don’t sound excited about it.”

  “Hate that shit. But I’ll put up with anything not to have to live in a dorm again. I had to go through all kinds of contortions to get a room in one of the houses. And I’m not exactly a great fit in the house where I landed. Considering it’s Vegan House and I’m not, um, a vegan.”

  I laughed. “Dorms were that bad, huh?”

  “Oh yeah. One of my suitemates last year was semi-reasonable. The rest?” He shuddered.

  My own experience in the dorms had been mostly fun. But I’d been super busy with sports and classes, and hadn’t really paid attention to the social scene beyond my frat and my bros and teammates. Nick probably had a different approach.

  “Freshman year can be intense.” I turned back to the sink and fiddled with the plates. “I didn’t get truly comfortable at Ellery until I was a junior.”

  When I was a junior I’d met Zachary. He’d been a great friend and a good lover. I missed him. When I’d said those exact words to Zach’s new boyfriend last year, Kirby had given a bit of his sage but annoying advice, “Maybe what you need now, Joshua, is a great lover and a good friend.”

  I wiped my hands on my pants. My mom had sent napkins and placemats but not dishtowels. I needed to unpack the rest of my boxes. I needed to change out of these goddamn khakis and take a cold shower. Running ten or fifteen miles sounded a lot better. But a guy had to work with what he had.

  “I hope it goes well,” I said when Nick failed to respond to my comments. I leaned against the counter and watched him transfer his weight from foot to foot. “Or that it at least doesn’t suck.”

  “Thanks.” He took a tentative step toward the steps. “And thanks for the gre
at lunch.” His next step wasn’t so tentative. He obviously couldn’t wait to get out of here. At this point, I couldn’t wait for him to go. Being rejected sucked.

  “Sure,” I said. “You can find your way down to the main road okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat like maybe his Cocky Kid rasp was failing him. “Actually, I’m not looking forward to winding my way back down to reality. Leaving this place is like leaving…”

  “Like leaving a fairytale before you know the ending?” I supplied.

  “Yeah.” His smile was on the sad side. “Yeah, that’s it exactly.” He shot me a floppy peace sign—yep, his goodbye sucked as badly as his rejection—and left.

  I listened to his feet thump-thump-thump rapidly down the steps. The door opened with a creak and shut with a solid thud. I walked over to the table under the window but I didn’t look out. I picked up his half-full glass of tea and drank it. Then I set it carefully down on his neatly folded napkin before heading to the shower.

  Chapter Seven

  Nick

  THE PATH FROM Vegan House to Green House was well-trodden. Seemed like there was something deep about that fact, but I was feeling too buzzed to do any delving as I followed Kelsey down the grassy slope that joined the lawns of the two houses.

  “Who’s deejaying tonight?” Kelse asked over her shoulder.

  “Um…” I tried to tug the knowledge out of the fog surrounding my brain as we approached the big house’s back porch.

  Before I could break through the misty shrouds (or was that shrouded mists?), the sexy sound of a trumpet floated over us. “Yeeesss,” someone hollered from inside. “It’s me again! I’m back!”

  I laughed. “Sheldon!” Kelse and I said in unison as TLC’s “Creep” began blasting from the windows and screen door.

  “You think he’s ever going to move on from the nineties?” she asked as we pushed our way into the house.

  “Nah,” I said. “Too much material.”

  The kitchen was crowded. Kelse and I exchanged a bunch of hugs and kisses and hellos with various people in various states of party immersion.

  We headed for the source of the music. Looked like the dining room and the living room were even more crowded, or maybe it just seemed that way because so many people were flailing to the jam (or jamming to the flail?).

  “We gotta dance, right?” Kelse raised her brows at me.

  I shrugged.

  “C’mon, Nicky.” She pulled me into a very small space in the crowd and put her hands on my hips. “You’ve been furrowing your brow all night. Time to stop. Time to ‘Oh I, oh I, oh oww-oww, babay…’” She sang along, making me laugh. Girl knew how to shake her groove-thang too.

  She was right. Time to stop furrowing. I closed my eyes and let her guide me. I shook it for three songs—two from the nineties and one from last year (go Sheldon)—and then I went searching for wine. That was how I was gonna do tonight—I’d decided on it about two hours ago, right after Kelse and I had shared a joint in her room and I’d listened to her girlfriend woes and she’d poked and prodded me about my “dry spell” of going without for five days straight.

  She’d been messing with me, something I usually appreciated, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my last hookup and the hookup I’d turned down earlier in the afternoon. So yeah. A big fat joint had been in order. And now dancing and then wine and then more wine and then hopefully some ass.

  And, as I cast a glance at the drinks table, it seemed as though my plan might be coming together. Leaning against the table was a guy I’d been with a couple times last spring. We’d both had a good time—he loved to bottom as much as I liked to top—and he definitely rated a repeat. Best of all, he was opening a new bottle of wine.

  “You gonna share that, Anthony?” I asked as I approached the table.

  He looked up and his eyes and his smile both went gratifyingly wide. “Nicky!” He pulled me into a hug and I kissed his cheek. A bit too much cologne, but his grip was nice and solid. “I’ll share whatever you need, hon! Good to see you!”

  “Good to see you too,” I said, smiling. Because it was good. “I have some pleasurable business I’d like to do with you. Don’t leave without me tonight, okay?”

  “No, never. I’d never do that to you, Nicky.” He shook his head solemnly and then giggled. “Neverrrrrr.”

  Shit. “How much wine have you had, Anth?”

  “I’m not gonna think about the past. I’m living in the moment.” He gushed merlot into a Solo cup.

  “Living in the moment is where it’s at,” I said, picking up the cup and taking a big sip. “Thanks.”

  “You’re so very welcome.”

  “How was your summer?” I asked, mostly because it seemed to be the thing everyone asked everyone on the first weekend of fall quarter.

  “Um…” He tipped his head. “That’s the past, right?”

  I laughed. “Yeah. Sorry. Forgot.”

  “S’okay.” He downed half a huge cup of wine. “Gabriel Perry,” he said abruptly.

  I knew Gabriel. He was a senior from Chicago and we’d sat together on a plane to Burlington after winter break last year. And he was an even bigger player than I was. The big difference was that Gabriel tried to do relationships and failed. I never tried. If Anthony was hung up on Gabriel…

  “Did you and Gabriel see each other a lot this summer?”

  He nodded. “We know each other from way back. Both went to the Lab School in Hyde Park. But we’re from different neighborhoods, you know? Way different. But I’m not gonna talk about that shit. That shit’s in the past.”

  “Okay, man. Okay. I’m good with the present.”

  He nodded again and drank the rest of the wine in his cup. “Hey. You wanna leave now? Have pleasure right this moment?”

  I looked into his eyes. They were big and brown and usually they crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Tonight they weren’t crinkling. They were red-rimmed.

  “Are you okay, Anthony?” I asked.

  He shook his head. And his pretty eyes filled with tears. Oh man.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” I asked, putting my arm around him.

  “Can’t say. That shit is in the past.” His head fell against my shoulder. This time when he swayed, he made me sway too. His belch wasn’t a good sign.

  “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.” I steered him to the door, looking around for Kelsey. “Where are you living this year?”

  “Hubbard,” he mumbled into my neck. “I think I drank too much, Nicky.” He groaned pitifully.

  I held back a sigh. Hubbard was a dorm in one of the new complexes on the very edge of campus. “I’m gonna call a ride,” I told him.

  “I don’t want a ride,” he whined. “Those do-gooder people always judge me.”

  “I’ll come with you,” I offered. “And make sure they keep their damn judgments to themselves.”

  “You’d do that? You’d take my drunk ass home?”

  “Yep.”

  He smiled. “I knew you weren’t as bad as they all say. I knew you weren’t as bad as Gabriel!”

  “Yeah,” I muttered, wondering who “they” were and what bad stuff they were referring to. “I’m not that bad.”

  When we got to the front porch, I sucked in a big breath of blessedly fresh air. I pulled out my phone and found Ellery’s Too Drunk to Walk or Drive number. After sending a text, I texted Kelsey to let her know I was leaving.

  You need help? she responded right away.

  No, I’m good.

  She texted me back with, Okay, good. I’m leaving with Chelle. ;-)

  I stared at the little winky symbol and clenched my teeth. I started to text her back, something like “are you for real?”, but then I clicked off my screen. Chelle was Kelsey’s on-again-off-again girlfriend from last year. Chelle made Kelsey kinda crazy. In a bad way. Chelle was possessive as hell, while Kelse liked to play the field.

  Damn. It was pretty pathetic when I—of all peo
ple—ended up being the voice of reason regarding my friends’ relationships.

  With a sigh I pocketed my phone. The night had seemed doomed anyway. Helping out Anthony might be the one productive thing I’d manage tonight. If I could actually help him.

  “Why are men such assholes?” Anthony snuffled as we sat on the porch steps.

  “I don’t know, babe. I’m sorry you’re having a rough—”

  “Assholes!” His voice—right in my ear—made my skull vibrate. “I mean why’s it have to be so hard just to be with someone? Just to be happy for a while with someone…”

  “You’re asking the wrong guy.”

  Anthony made a soggy scoffing sound. “No. No. I’m asking the exact right guy. You and Gabriel? You both say anything to play. And folks listen to you because you’re pretty and you have big dicks.”

  I held back a sigh. Jesus. We were back to this again. “You really think that, Anthony?”

  He wiped his face and then gave me the side-eye. “Maybe.”

  The cheap red wine had soured on the back of my tongue. I licked my lips and wished for water. I also wished for something decent to say to Anthony. I couldn’t think of a damn thing except the same old shit I always said.

  I opened my mouth and—what do you know—the line came out automatically. “I try to be one hundred percent real with every guy I’m with,” I said. “If he doesn’t know the score, then I don’t keep playing the game.” Even as I spoke the words, I thought of Josh and the way he’d looked at me at his place earlier. The way his eyes had narrowed as he processed the bullshit line I’d handed him. You’re too much for me…

  “Yeah,” Anthony said. “Problem is, we all have different ways of scoring things. You and her and him”—he pointed at various people hanging around the house—“and him and him and her. We play with different sets of numbers because we’re different people.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure what he’d said made sense, but he said it solemnly, wisely. Nodding, I put my arm around his shoulders and squeezed tight. After a few minutes, a white Prius with the blue Ellery logo showed up at the curb.