by Erin Leigh
“Easy tiger.” Mike chuckles. “One girl and three guys might intimidate her if you start off with handing her your number.”
“Don't talk to her like that and don't hand her your number or I’ll find you a nice pig farm to end your days on.” I open the fridge and grab beers, handing them out.
Nat comes strolling out, pulling her hair into a tight ponytail. She looks better in a huge Gap hoodie and some baggy jogging pants. Unfortunately, she’s the kind of pretty a paper bag wouldn't hide. “What kind of pizza do you guys like? I want extra pineapple, green peppers, and chicken with barbeque sauce and sautéed onions.”
“I’m in for that.” Mitch grins.
She frowns at him, clearly unimpressed by how hard he’s trying. “Okay. I’ll order online. What do you want?” She gives me a look.
“I like mushrooms, bacon, peperoni, and onions.”
Mike nods. “I’ll take some of that.”
“Okay, that's easy then.” She glances at me, maybe still checking to see if this situation is okay. I offer her a soda and a subtle nod, hoping she sees these guys are cool. I wouldn't bring someone here who wasn't.
She takes it, eyeing my beer up.
That earns her a headshake. She can’t handle her drinks. She catches on and agrees, turning and walking to the couch to sit and wait for us.
“I’m not sure you want this slacker for a partner, Natalie. He can’t even get to practice on time,” Mitch taunts me.
She bites her lip, grinning as a blush covers her cheeks. “I think that might be my fault.” She wrinkles her nose.
Mike glances back. “Do tell.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “You’ll see in a minute.”
She nestles into the couch, taking the controller Mitch gives her. I have a bad feeling that's not all he’s giving her or even daydreaming about giving her. He has the look like he’s going to say something dirty, but he refrains and says something else.
I can tell it isn’t creepy since she smiles wide and shakes her head. She has absolutely no poker face. I’ve seen hatred, disgust, shock, humor, and that sparkle that girls get in their eyes when they’re tormenting a man. And it’s only been three days.
Mike nudges me. “She doesn't seem crazy. Does that little show come later?”
Giving him my best drop-it look, I mutter, “It’s a problem.”
“Hate to say I told you so.” He takes a seat next to her on the couch with Mitch on the other side. I flump onto the love seat and turn on the Xbox.
She glances at me, offering a subtle wink. “Ready?”
“Yup.” A smile creeps across my lips as I get the game to team selection. “How was the first day?”
Her eyes widen and I can tell by the smile owning her face that it was a great first day. “So awesome. Everyone’s funny and easygoing, and one of my bosses might be a furry and they just mock him out loud for it.”
“Furry? Like hairy?” Mike gives us all a confused look. His neck beard sticking out the top of his shirt explains the look in his eyes, but I don't know what a furry is either.
“No, not hairy.”
“Dude, you know when adults dress up like stuffed animals and dry hump each other?” Mitch scoffs. “Like mascot sex.”
I almost spit my drink. “What?” I sputter, “What the—what kind of job is this?”
“An office job. It’s just a design firm. They bring all the bullshit to the front—just air your dirty laundry at lunch and everyone laughs.” She rolls her eyes at me; it’s become a thing for us.
“That actually seems smart. Nothing to talk about if everyone has his or her secrets laid out.” Mike catches on.
“I think some secrets are better left alone. Furry dry humping is weird,” Mitch adds as he stuffs one of my mom’s cookies in his mouth.
“Well, he didn't admit to it. They just said they think he is and he laughed.”
“What did they say about you?” I give her a smirk. I can’t imagine she has very many secrets.
“They all knew I was besties with Sami Ford and dating William Fairfield. So my secrets were pretty safe.” Her voice softens and her eyes lower.
Mike’s jaw drops. “Thee Sami Ford?”
“Yeah.”
“Holy shit! She’s so hot. She’s fucking Matt Brimley! The lucky bastard.”
“You’re friends with him, hey?” Mitch gives me a look.
“That's how we ended up here. Sami and her are friends and me and Mattie are, and they knew we both needed a roommate.”
“Yeah, they did us both a real solid,” she mocks me, making it all funny again. But I can see something is bugging her.
The game begins and instantly the guys are baffled. “Holy shit, you play well,” Mitch mumbles as he tries to score on her.
She steals the puck, whizzing past Mike and scoring on them easily. She grins. “Beginner’s luck?”
I laugh.
Both of them start to see the con—at least I think they do.
The puck drops and they try harder, plus we’ve all warmed up—our fingers anyway. Mitch skates toward her, going past easily which is weird. The fact he even got the puck drop is amazing. I skate toward him, steal it and head into their zone, scoring on Mike.
“Her luck is rubbing off on you.” Mike growls.
I give her a look. “She’s a lucky charm I guess.”
She groans and I smile wider.
Chapter Eleven
Dick pics
Natalie
We’ve been playing for an hour when I hear the buzzer. I jump up from between the two massive hockey players and run for the door. “That’s the pizza.” I buzz him in as Brady comes and stands behind me. He’s doing that too close thing he does. It’s like hovering.
“Are you going to unleash the beast soon?” he mutters, maybe annoyed that I’ve been playing fairly moderately since we started.
I glance back, pressing my lips together and nod. My eyes dart to the two beasts taking up most of the couch.
“You okay?” He looks weird. I can’t get a handle on what he’s thinking. He keeps giving me weird looks. “You’re not playing as well as you can. Is something wrong? Are they giving you the creeps? I swear, they’re both awesome guys.”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I eye up his friends and whisper, “I just thought maybe I should hold back a bit. I don't want to make them look bad. They’re your friends.”
“Oh shit.” He sighs and runs his hands through his dark hair.
“What?”
He looks down on me. His dark eyes are so wide I can see myself in them. “Nothing—I thought I forgot my Visa in the truck.” He shrugs, opening the door next to me.
I scowl at the pizza guy, not at him but just at the fact I didn't hear him at all. “I can buy it.” I pull my wallet from the counter near the door.
“Not a chance.” He hip checks me and pushes me out of the doorway, handing his credit card to the guy.
“Holy shit, you’re Brady Coldwell.” The guy starts having a fit. “Oh man, awesome!”
I look at Mike and Mitch. “You should come make this guy’s night.”
They both give me a blank stare from the couch.
“What?” Mike doesn’t sound interested in it.
“This guy will shit when he sees you three together. He’s a fan.”
“Ohhhhh.” Mitch gets up, followed by Mike. I step to the side as the pizza guy loses his mind.
“HOLY SHIT! Mitch Daniels, Mike Smolensky, and Brady Coldwell in one apartment!” Brady passes me the pizza as he laughs and signs the receipt.
I stand there, holding pizza and watching as the guy gushes over them, and I realize I’ve traded one group of friends for a carbon copy of the others.
Everyone is beautiful and fit and famous. And I am left standing and holding the pizza again.
It’s weird.
Placing the pizza down, I grab plates and paper towel since we don't have napkins.
They sign a few things for hi
m and close the door, laughing at whatever was going on in the hallway.
Brady closes the door and gives me a smug look. “See, Nat. Some people are impressed when they meet me.”
“I was impressed”—I lift a middle finger and grab two slices of pizza—“with myself for not killing you.”
His eyes widen, but he doesn't say whatever is on his lips.
We settle back in on the couches but this time I sit on the love seat. I was too hot sandwiched between Mike and Mitch.
Brady flops next to me, sitting too close and smelling too good.
Mike takes a huge bite, eating half of the piece of pizza. Mitch does the same. I wrinkle my nose and glance at Brady, startled by the fact he is eating exactly the same.
It makes me laugh. It’s like eating with giants, unmannered ones.
“What?” Brady gives me a look.
“You’re savages. This is what you look like.” I pick up a piece of pizza and shove half of it in my mouth. The three of them laugh as it takes me a very long time to chew my giant bite of pizza where as they wolfed theirs down like wild animals.
“Dude, have you never heard ‘don't try this at home?’ We’re professionals,” Mike mocks me.
“What are you doing, Banks?” Brady pats me on the back. “You’re gonna choke.”
I come to the same realization and get up, hurrying to the garbage and spitting the huge mouthful of masticated food into it.
All three of them laugh.
I cough and shudder, grabbing a beer from the fridge for each of us.
Brady stops laughing, seeing the beer in my hand. His eyes do that worried thing they did before. I roll my eyes at him. Just because I was a lightweight last night from doubles doesn't mean I can’t hold my liquor with one beer. He’s so worried about winning the game, he seems to be forgetting I beat him the night before, half cut and high off his mom’s sugary cookies.
My phone starts buzzing on the counter. I recoil as I wipe my mouth, but I answer. She’s restrained herself for days. It’s huge and we both know it.
“Hey, Mom.” I lift a finger and walk into my bedroom.
Brady gives me the eye roll, returning the one I always give him.
“Natalie, darling, how are you? How’s the roommate? How was the first day of work?”
“Good, good, and great. The new job is amazing. I really like it.” A smile creeps along my lips. “You know those romance novels you pretend not to like? The ones with the barons and the damsels and the time travel or forced weddings?”
“Yes,” she answers carefully. I’m certain her mind has taken this to an insane place.
“Those covers are what I’m making this week. We got a huge contract for one of the large New York houses and I’m making their book covers.”
“That's nice, dear. Have you talked to William?”
I groan inwardly, squeezing my eyes shut. I hate the way it always turns to him. Like what I do isn’t nearly as important as dating him. “Yeah, he’s doing good.”
“Doing well, dear. Are you thinking about coming home soon, maybe some weekend?”
We’ve talked about this a lot, and she still isn’t getting it so I nod. “Mmmhuhh.”
“Oh good. I know William is going to be in Greenwich in two weeks for his father’s birthday. I’m sure he’s already invited you.”
“No. Maybe it’s a family thing,” I accidentally let slip.
She pauses. My stomach hurts from the things that fill up in that space, disappointment and guilt and expectations. They all live there in the blank air we share. “Is everything all right?”
“It’s fine, Mom. He’s in Princeton, I’m here. We haven’t talked much. I’m sure when he gets a chance he’ll invite me. I don't really care. His dad’s weird anyway.” Which is true. He likes me way too much.
“He will likely be your future father-in-law, Natalie. Speak nicer of him. He’s earned your respect.”
I spend the necessary time she’s lecturing me to text Sami since I have Mom on speakerphone.
Did you get the invite to Mr. Fairfield’s b-day bash?
“I hope you’re nicer when you talk about me. I certainly hope you have some respect for the adults who have shaped you and sacrificed for you to get you where you are today.”
Yeah, two weeks ago. I forgot to mention it. You going to schlep across Connecticut for it? I can send a car.
I frown at her texts. My heart is beating a little quicker. He didn't invite me?
My mother continues nattering, “And your father has worked two jobs, two, Natalie, just to ensure that your life would include the right sort of people. Greenwich isn’t an easy place to live, but we did it for you.”
He didn’t invite me.
I send the text and stare at the words.
Why didn’t he invite me?
He invited my parents but not me?
Maybe my parents’ invite included me. Yeah, that's probably it.
“All we ask in return is a bit of respect and care for the things we’ve given up.” She finally breathes. “You know what I’m talking about?”
“Yes,” I answer even though I haven’t really heard a thing. “Did you and Dad get invited to the party?”
“No. They know we’re going to that conference for the Greenwich teachers at the Academy. We won’t be there for the Saturday night. We’ll be in New Hampshire. His mother asked us a while back, but we had a prior obligation. And with the stress of you moving away, we thought why not just go and have some fun.”
I would roll my eyes and pretend to hang myself with something in the room, but I’m actively concerned William isn’t inviting me.
Did William invite you or did his parents? My parents aren’t going.
She starts typing her answer, making the sickening nervous feeling hit my stomach. Is he going to call things off again?
No. It was Will. He asked if I was going to be home for it. I said no. He said bummer.
Her text makes me feel sick.
He’s doing it again. He’s pulling away from me. This time I am done with it. I don't want to play this game anymore.
“Mom, I need to go. I actually have to call Will. We said we were going to call tonight.”
“Okay. Love you. Take care of yourself and be safe. Lock the doors and don't forget to come home one of these weekends. We miss you.”
“Okay. Night, love you.”
“Love you.” She hangs up and I press his name.
It rings four times before he answers it, “Hey, how’s it going?” His voice is smooth and relaxed.
“Fine.”
“How’s the job? You like it? My working girl.”
“Yeah.” My one-word answers should be a clue I’m pissed, but I don't have time to do this dance. “Why haven’t you texted or called much since you got to school?” It’s the question he hates. He doesn't do clingy. I pretended for years I’m not a normal girl and have no needs to keep him happy. Now I’m starting to wonder why I care.
“You haven’t been texting me either, babe. And it’s been nuts. First week of school always is. And with it being the last year—”
“I know it's the hardest for you.” I shake my head, hating the way I feel right now. He’s right, I haven’t texted him at all. I don't know why. We always text and this summer has been so weird. We got back together but agreed to just be each other’s someone and not hound the other person. I was starting a new job and he was finishing last year, and we didn't need the stress of the other person needing us too. I agreed to that.
“Did you get my text about Dad’s birthday? I sent a voice message text to you. It doesn't say that you claimed it. You know when you send them and then they say that they’re being kept by the person?”
I sigh, but at the same time, it doesn't make sense. “Why’d you send it by voice text?” I don't know if he knows this is why I’m mad or if he’s telling the truth. My brain whispers that it’s a bad sign if I don't one-hundred-percent trust him for the smal
l shit.
“It was supposed to be sort of naughty, and I think it got lost in the world of the web and now it’s likely gone to my aunt Mildred. At least she doesn't know how to use her phone.” He laughs and I smile. I can’t fight it. “I don't honestly know if I’m making the party anyway. You might have to have cake with my dad for me. We’re working on a case here.”
“If you aren’t going I won’t either. It’s annoying getting home.” I lie down on the bed and sense the same distant silence between us as there is between Mom and me when I don't do everything she wants.
“I miss you.” His voice lowers, “Wanna see how much?”
“No. Don’t send me a di—”
“Too late. I sent it.” He laughs and I can tell he’s touching himself. I hate it when he jerks off on the phone when we’re talking. I really hate it. I think it’s creepy. I don't know why. I’m clearly not mature enough for the conversation.
My phone buzzes and the dick pic lands. I wrinkle my nose at it. Which also feels wrong. I should like seeing it, but it just feels cheap seeing it in a photo. He has a perfectly nice dick. I just don't like the photos.
“Did you get it?” His breath gets longer.
“Yeah.” I laugh. “You know how I feel about it.”
“My cock?”
I close my eyes. “Dick pics. I think it’s a terrible idea.”
“Send me something.”
Has he not been listening? “No. Use porn like the rest of the world.”
“I don't need porn. I have mental images of you in the spank bank. Like when you’re on top and your—”
“Oh my God, stop. I have to go.” My face is on fire.
“Can you give me one more minute?” He sounds like he might finish any second.
Shaking my head I mutter, “Okay.”
“Tell me you like sucking my cock.”
“I like sucking it.” I say it like I’m talking about liking the smell of my fabric softener.
“Say you like it when I pull your hair and push it farther than you want.”
“Oh yeah.” My enthusiasm doesn't change. “I love that.”
“Oh God, I miss you, Nat. I miss you sucking my bal—”
“I miss you too,” I cut him off and try desperately to block this out.
