by Ashley Love
"Sorry I'm late," he says. "And sorry for interrupting."
"Don't worry, Blake," the instructor says pleasantly, with a smile that's just for him. "Nice play at that last game, may I add."
A few people make sounds of agreement, and I put as much contempt into my glare as I can as Blake quickly moves towards the table that I'm sharing with Cadence, Emma, and some girl with a nose piercing and hair longer than anyone I've ever met. He slides into the chair next to me with a grin, legs scraping against the floor loudly.
"—piece will be of your choosing, any piece of art using one of the three mediums taught in this class. On the nineteenth of December we'll be hosting the auction at the time of the annual staff Christmas party, and—"
"What are you doing here?" I hiss, leaning close to him but keeping my eyes on the front of the room.
He shrugs. "Figured I could use an extracurricular outside of football," he says casually. "I checked and none of the classes are on days I have practice, so." Another shrug, and I'm honestly going to march to the back of the room where the art supplies are, grab a paint brush, and stuff it down his fucking throat.
"You don't even like this shit," I argue. "How did you even hear about this?"
"You don't know what I do or don't like," Blake counters. "And you mentioned it to Cadence when I was in the room."
He says it with a smirk, confirming my suspicions. He's only here to irritate me. This one thing I was doing to relax, to enjoy myself, and of course Blake has to ruin it. Of fucking course. But I'll be damned if I don't fight him on it. I'll let it go for now, but as soon as we're out of this room, I'm killing him. Violent and messy. I'll take the life sentence, I don't even care.
For now I force myself to relax and pay attention. But I barely hear another word the instructor says because I'm too busy seething and trying not to pay attention to Blake while simultaneously noticing every time he so much as blinks.
"—need to be in by Wednesday, as well as the forty dollar enrollment fee. There are only thirty spots open in this class, so the faster you get in your application, the better your chances of getting a spot. Any questions?"
A few people raise their hands, but I sink lower in my seat, possibly sulking like a child. I can't help it. And when we're told to get application forms on our way out, I'm one of the first ones to the front of the room, even though I had been sitting near the back. I fold the form twice and shove it in my pocket before pushing out the door, into the hallway.
"You okay?" Cadence asks when she and Emma come out of the room.
I nod curtly. "I'm fine."
"Then why do you look like you're about to punch someone in the ballsack?"
I cross my arms over my chest and ignore them. "I'm fine. I'll catch up with you guys later."
Cadence looks like she wants to stick around, but Emma grabs her arm and pulls her away. I watch as other people filter out of the room, some in groups and pairs, some alone. Blake is the last one out the door, his application held tightly in his hand. And he walks straight past me like he doesn't see me there, smirk in place.
I jog after him. "You won't even enjoy it," I say. "Come on, you're only doing it to piss me off."
He shrugs. "I might like it," he denies. "Who knows, maybe we'll discover a new talent of mine."
"Blake," I groan angrily. "Let me have this one fucking thing. Do you really need to butt into every aspect of my life?"
"What other aspects of your life have I butted into?" he wonders as he shoulders open the door to get outside.
The door that nearly hits me in the face, but I put my hands out at the last second and hurry after him. "Do you even know what that word means?" I can't help but ask.
Blake gives me a look. "I'm taking the class, Aubrey, and there's nothing you can do about it."
I reach out, grabbing his arm. I tug him back, and he whirls around instantly, getting much closer than necessary. I blink at him, words dying in my throat. But then I see the application form sticking out of his pocket, so I grab at it, ready to tear it to shreds. Only Blake's fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me, pulling me in even closer.
"Do you know how attractive you are when you're pissed off?" he asks. He tilts his head, lips grazing my ear, hand sliding up my back. "Now stop arguing with me and let's get back to the room. I can't wait to get you—"
"Not happening," I say. I push at his shoulders and stalk off. "Last time was the last time. It's not fucking happening."
Blake easily keeps up with me. "Really?" he chuckles. "Why do I have a feeling that you're just saying that to make yourself feel better?"
"Fuck you," I spit.
We walk like that all the way back to our dorm, me stomping past everyone with my eyes narrowed and my head ducked, Blake walking proudly beside me, like he's enjoying how upset I am. I want to throttle him. I want to tackle him into the grass and revel in the grunt he'd make as his back hit the hard packed dirt, and then I would—
I shake my head, cutting that fantasy off as I pull the door to our building open wide, wide enough for Blake to slip easily in behind me. Both of our feet thunder up the stairs, and I want to turn around and yell at him again, but he just keeps going. Up the stairs, onto our floor. Past people in the hallway, two of whom call out a greeting to him that he returns cheerfully and pleasantly.
Of course our door is unlocked, something that Blake has a habit of doing, no matter how many times I nag him for it. That only adds fuel to my fire. I pace to the desk at the window as soon as I'm inside, and then I whirl around as Blake locks the door.
"It's not happening," I say firmly. "Okay? Not happening."
Blake shrugs from the middle of the room. "Okay."
For a moment, I debate it. Go over my options. Weigh out the pros and cons. It's a bad idea, giving in to Blake again. It's a horrible idea. It's stupid, and I'd regretted it so much the other two times. There's no way I'd even consider doing it again. Never in a million years.
I stalk towards him, grabbing his hips. I wish I could burn him with my fingertips the way he burns me with his existence.
"Not happening," I repeat while pushing up his shirt. Blake's arms lift obligingly as I tug the garment off him, tossing it vaguely towards his bed. "I'm not going to sleep with you again."
"Sure," he says. His lips go for my neck, and I tilt my head back. "You keep saying that if it helps."
I scratch my nails across the small of his back. "Not happening," I groan. "This is—this is the last time."
"Mhm." Blake bends down, hands going to the back of my thighs, easily lifting me up. My legs automatically go around his waist, and he adds, "Desk. Gonna fuck you on the desk, okay?"
I nod. "Yeah."
Normally my laptop rests on the desk, but I'd put it away before I left. All that's on top of it now is one of my books, a pad of paper, and a single uncapped pen. Blake kicks the chair away and holds me up with one hand while swiping the top of the desk clean, brushing everything to the floor like in a really bad porno.
It's not exactly gentle, the way Blake drops me heavily on top of the desk. But neither is the way I claw at his back or bite at his skin when he tugs off my jeans and panties, pushing a slicked-up finger into me. This time he drags it out, chuckling against my skin as he works me open slowly, and I'm feebly trying to hurry him up while biting down on the fleshy part of his palm to stop from making noises.
When Blake pushes his dick inside me, I'm holding myself up on the palms of my hands, legs around his waist, and he has a hand fisted in my hair, his grip just over the line of too tight. My back arches and my head falls back against nothing. When I cum it's with my sweaty back sticking to the wood of the desk, Blake's body blanketing mine.
Afterwards, he pulls out and carefully lifts me off the desk, dropping me gently onto my bed. I collapse against it, too dead to the world to do much else. In the back of my mind I think that I should probably cover myself up, since I'm lying here w
ith my limbs spread, completely exposed, but I need to clean myself up before I tug the blankets over myself.
Blake tosses me a towel from across the room, and I struggle to do just that. Sitting up takes effort. Moving my legs, which feel like jello, not strong enough to hold me, takes effort. Blake, on the other hand, seems fine as he pulls on his boxers, his back to me.
"We should make this a thing," he says, conversationally, completely casually.
"We really shouldn't," I grunt. "I told you, this was the last time."
Blake turns then, and I pull my blankets over myself. "You keep saying that, but I think we both know you don't mean it. But really, we should...I mean, instead of fighting. What if we just took our frustrations out like this? Seems to be working pretty well."
I look up at him with a frown. "You're suggesting we fuck instead of fight."
"Better than punching you in the face, I think." Blake shrugs and reaches for his shirt. "Seems like a good alternative."
"Like...friends with benefits," I clarify. "Minus the friends part."
"Exactly." Blake does up his jeans. "You think about it. I'm going out."
"Where?" I ask before I can catch myself.
He gives me a weird look. "If that was any of your business, I would have told you," he says on his way out the door.
Across the room, my phone beeps and vibrates from the pocket of my jeans. I sit up, looking around, finding my clothes strewn about. One of my socks on Blake's bed, the other on Blake's dresser. My panties hanging off just the end of my own bed, and jeans on the floor near my shirt. Fuck.
Slowly I crawl out of bed, gathering up my things. When I get my underwear on, I pull my phone out of my jeans and open the message from Emma.
Just making sure you're ok?
I sigh and send back: mostly naked and upset, but I'm fine.
The reply is almost instantaneous. I can't figure out how she had enough time to write out the words told you not to fuk your roommate. Need me and cadence to come cheer you up? in that short amount of time.
I tell her no and then shut off my phone. Emma's right; she did tell me not to do it. And I told myself not to do it. So why does doing it again sound like such a wonderful, brilliant idea?
12
"Nice alpaca, Cadence."
Cadence glares at Emma and covers her picture. "It's a dog," she hisses. "Asshole."
My pencil brushes over the page, shading more than creating rough, sharp edges. The class is, just as I'd wanted, fun. It's not exactly challenging for me, the way it is for, say, Cadence, but it's still enjoyable. And it's only for an hour and a half twice a week, which isn't fucking with my schedule as much as I'd worried it would. Plus, I get to spend the whole time at a table with Cadence and Emma, laughing at Cadence's failed attempts at drawing, encouraging Emma's hesitant but fairly talented works. Trying to ignore the fact that Blake's sitting right beside me.
Blake is as hopeless as Cadence. He'd looked completely lost through the original instructions and the demo. He'd looked lost when the art student that was assigned to assist us with this part of the class tried to help him. He's possibly worse than Cadence, actually, but where Cadence gets annoyed and snappish, Blake gets...pouty and frustrated.
"This is so stupid," he mutters.
I sneer at him. "Just because you're not good at it doesn't make it stupid."
"Easy for you to say," he grumbles. "I can actually tell what yours is supposed to be. I'm helpless."
It's true. One hundred percent true. Even the instructor had attempted to help Blake before making a face and wandering off when she realized there was no helping him. Whatever he's drawing right now, it looks like a sort of lopsided blob with a nose. Or I think that's a nose. It could very well be a penis.
"I agree with Blake," Cadence decides. She puts down her pencil. "Drawing is stupid. I can't wait until Monday when we start sculpting."
"It's not completely stupid," Emma argues. "I mean, not completely, right?"
Cadence grabs Emma's picture from her, holding it up to her face. "Okay, not completely," she relents. "But that's because you're talented. Really talented, Em. We're hanging this up in the room, in fact. Maybe we'll put it on the door next to the whiteboard, for everyone to appreciate."
Emma beams. I look at the picture, open my mouth, and Cadence kicks me under the table before I can say anything. Not that I would say something bad. It's not a bad drawing at all. It's fairly good, for someone who walked in here with no knowledge of what they were doing. But it's not exactly good enough to warrant Cadence's reaction to it.
Blake makes an annoyed sound and scratches his pencil harshly across his paper, scribbling out the practice drawings we'd been instructed to work on.
"Stop thinking so much," I find myself saying to him. "You're trying so hard to be perfect at it, but that's not going to just happen."
Blake looks up at me, lips parted. He shakes his head and the look disappears. "I'm terrible at it, and I'm sure you know and you're just waiting for the right time to laugh at me about it."
Why does that make me feel bad?
"You are terrible," I admit, and Blake's eyes narrow. "No worse than Cadence, though."
"Rude," she says from across the table. "Factual, but rude."
That doesn't seem to help Blake, who drops his pencil onto the table. "It's humiliating," he says. "I'm not just bad, it's—"
I grab a new piece of paper and shove it at him. "So start over." Blake gingerly takes the paper from me. "Did you honestly think you could just, like, pick up a pencil and magically be perfect at it?"
"Maybe," he admits. "If I'm not good at it the first time around, I probably won't ever be. I'm shit at learning things."
I snort before I can stop myself. "That's not surprising at all."
I'm too busy focusing on my drawing of a bird to see the look on Blake's face, but I don't miss his low, annoyed, "Right. This is just another thing that makes you better than me."
Finally I look up, but he's got his eyes on his own paper now, focusing with his eyebrows drawn and his bottom lip sucked into his mouth. I'm not sure how to reply to that comment, so I don't. I go back to drawing, Blake continues to work on his own, and Cadence keeps praising Emma while making lame attempts at creating something on her own page.
Eventually the instructor comes back around. She smiles pleasantly at Emma, wrinkles her forehead at Cadence's 'dog' that honestly does look more like an alpaca than anything, and then compliments my birds before moving on to Blake...
Blake, who's had his picture covered for the last twenty minutes, arm blocking me from being able to see. Now, the instructor picks it up, and Blake's eyes stay on the table as she looks it over before flicking her gaze to me.
"The shape of her face is fairly accurate," she says. "The shading along her jaw is a little heavy, but that's very hard to do. With a bit more practice, this could be great."
Blake goes bright red, taking the picture back from her before stuffing it hastily into his pocket. When she walks off, he pushes away from the table and heads for the door, me staring after him.
"What did I miss?" Cadence asks, looking between me and the door.
Emma keeps drawing, but she says with a grin on her face, "Blake was secretly drawing Aubrey and he didn't want anyone to know, but Malerie called him out on it and now he's stomped off because he's embarrassed." Her tongue sticks out between her teeth, eyes scanning her own paper. "Do you really think this is good?"
"It's wonderful," Cadence says automatically, but her eyes are on me, the look on her face one I don't fully understand.
"That's not what he's upset about," I mumble. "And he's wasn't drawing me. He's just pissy because he has a game coming up. That's how he always gets."
"Speaking of which," Cadence says. "You're coming to that game with us."
"No, I'm not," I respond. "You know that I don't—"
"Look." Cadence splays her hands
flat on the table and gives me this look, one that says not to argue. "He joined this stupid class for you, the least you could do is attend one of his games."
My mouth falls open. "He didn't join this class for me!" I protest.
"Please keep it down in the back," the instructor calls from the front of the room.
I flush red and lower my voice, hissing, "He joined it to piss me off, that's all," while glaring at Cadence.
"Same difference," she says. "Go to his game to piss him off then. But you're going."
"I have homework," I argue. "I don't have time."
"You can take a few hours out of your time at the library," Cadence says, an air of finality in her words that says that I will seriously regret arguing this. And that she'll drag me to the game anyway, even if I don't want to go.
"Fine," I snap. "But I'm bringing my book with me. I'll read while you guys watch."
"Deal," Cadence says happily.
"Maybe I'll drop out of school and become a street artist," Emma says, as if she hadn't heard a word of that argument. Cadence and I both snort at her.
13
One of the only days that Blake actually wakes up in the morning when I do is game days. Every other day of the week, he grumbles about my "stupid fucking alarm" and tends to sleep in. Saturday is no exception to this rule, because I hit my alarm, roll over, and Blake's already out of bed, doing sit-ups.
"That's kinda hot," I mumble, mind too foggy with sleep to stop myself. I rub at my eyes and stretch. "How are you even doing that right now?"
"Have to...keep myself...awake," Blake grunts.
I blink at him, taking in the slightly manic look on his face, hidden under his flushed, sweat covered cheeks. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
"No," he says through panting breaths. "Too busy...freaking out."
"Over the game," I say, just to clarify. I don't mean to sound judgmental about it, but it's kind of habitual, at this point. Blake makes fun of me for doing my work and going to the library, I make fun of him for not doing his work and putting all of his focus into a stupid game.
