by Sara Ney
“I know.”
I look at her now, standing near the door, her long hair dry, hanging in loose waves. Eyes bright and alert and lined in black. Concerned—for me. She inches closer, dressed in jeans and an Iowa sweatshirt, feet bare. I can’t help fixating on her toes, the long length of her legs, the pretty sight of her pink glossy lips.
Guilty, I glance away, staring up at the trophies lining my wall on a shelf my dad helped me build at the beginning of the year when I moved all my shit into this dump.
Anabelle closes the space between us, inviting herself farther into my room, perching on the edge of my bed, making herself comfortable like we’re familiar, like we’ve chatted like this a million times before.
“Are you going somewhere tonight?” I ask curiously, changing the subject.
“Yes, just for a little bit.” She leans back, resting with her elbows on my quilt, swinging her legs off the end of my bed. “I met this girl in one of my classes and we really hit it off. She just texted me and thought we could meet up and have a coffee or something.”
Coffee at night? Anabelle is going to be flying off the walls later.
She reads my mind. “Don’t worry, I’ll drink hot chocolate or something. She just wants to talk—I don’t think she has many friends, either.”
“Which class?”
“It’s one of the science classes I needed to fulfill a gen-ed requirement—biology. She’s actually one of the TAs.”
“This isn’t going to be a repeat of the night I brought you home that first time, is it?”
Anabelle groans. “I can’t believe you’re bringing that up, and no, it’s not going to be a repeat because we are just going to sit and talk at a coffee shop.”
“Whatever, it’s none of my business.”
My roommate leans over, patting my leg. “Yeah, sure it isn’t.”
“For real. It’s none of my business.”
“Oh come on—you don’t take an active interest in what I do? Don’t lie, we spend all our time together.”
That’s true. We have been spending a lot of time together. “Fine. Maybe I do give a shit about what you do, but only because I care and want you to be safe.”
“Right, only because you want me to be safe.”
Anabelle stares me down, blue eyes boring into me at the end of the bed, biting back a smile, wanting to say something else. I can see it in the way she’s worrying her bottom lip, in her eyes—the twinkle in them.
But she doesn’t just blurt out whatever she’s thinking.
I admire that about her, the fact that she doesn’t just say what’s on her mind, that she knows when and how much to say. She’s not nosy and she’s not overly tenacious; that in itself makes me want to tell her things I wouldn’t share with anyone else.
“Anyway, I should go. I just wanted to pop in and tell you again how sorry I am for what happened when my dad was here, but you understand why I didn’t tell him, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“I really wanted to live here and I didn’t want him to try to stop me. He would have had no problem with a female, which is dumb because living with girls has been nothing but drama. This has been like a vacation.” She pauses. “Well, except for tonight. That was embarrassing.”
“It’s fine. It’s over.” And hopefully he won’t be back to give us a hard time, because I really don’t want her moving out, either.
I like having her here.
The house wouldn’t be the same without her.
It certainly wouldn’t smell as good.
“No more drama, I promise.”
Anabelle
I beat Rex Gunderson to class.
Unfortunately, there are far too many open seats available, including two on each side of me, presenting him with the perfect opportunity for him to plop down next to me when he finally gets here.
I’m seated halfway up, in a middle row, a bird’s eye view when he strolls through the door at the front of the room.
He’s wearing a different version of the same outfit I’ve seen him in every class: khakis, an embroidered Iowa wrestling polo, brown belt, tennis shoes. If he’s trying to look the part of a team manager, he’s certainly doing a bang-up job.
Rex reaches my row, shimmying his way down the aisle until he’s pulling a desk next to me, inching it closer, close enough that I can smell a heavy-handed dose of aftershave and notice the hairs on his chin he missed while shaving.
He’s still wet from his shower, shaggy dark hair falling in damp, sloppy strings.
“Hey. Thanks for saving me a seat.” He yawns.
“I wasn’t saving you a seat.”
He sighs. “You know what I mean.”
“I was just stating the obvious, Reginald.”
He narrows his eyes. “I hate that nickname.”
“It’s actually not a nickname, so…”
I’m being a brat and don’t even care.
“If we’re going to be friends, you’ll have to call me Rex.” His grin is patronizing, and I’m embarrassed that I ever found it charming.
It’s not.
It’s strange and annoying and it makes me want to pop him right in the kisser.
“Did you get the notes I emailed you from class?”
Before I discovered what a sleaze he is, I borrowed lecture notes from him. Our professor talks really fast, and I never took pictures of the projection screen, so I had Rex email me his.
“Yes, I did. Thank you.” My lips purse.
Fiddling with the laptop, I decide to take notes longhand instead since I’m quicker at it than typing on a keyboard.
“Busy weekend?” he asks, making small talk.
“No.”
Short, sweet, and to the point.
Maybe he’ll get the hint and stop talking.
“What do you have going on tonight?” He leans in closer, shooting me a flirtatious smile. “Feel like doing something?”
Wait—is he going to ask me out? “What are you suggesting?”
“You’re new to town. I could show you around.”
“Yeah? Where would you take me? Because I’ve already been to the park, a house party, and the mall.”
He scratches his neck. “That doesn’t leave us with many options.”
I stare straight ahead at the whiteboard, eyes scanning the previous class’s notes, acting bored. “Not many options? That’s too bad.”
“What about a date or something?”
“A date? With you?”
“Yeah, I could take you out. We could go dancing or something.”
“Dancing? Where?”
“Mad Dog Jacks has a dance floor.”
“Mad Dog Jacks?” I let the sound of indecision enter my voice, pursing my lips. “Isn’t that a biker bar?”
“It used to be.”
“But it’s still a bar, right?”
“Sure, but they have a dance floor.”
I tap on my chin, pretending to ponder his offer. “Hmm, let me think about it.”
“Take your time. We have the entire class.”
“How magnanimous of you.”
Gunderson winks. “No problem, babe.”
Babe.
Gag me.
Elliot
“Knock, knock.”
“Door’s open.”
Literally, it’s wide open—I have no idea why Anabelle is actually knocking.
She appears in the doorway, fully dressed to go downtown, looking fucking fantastic, not at all casual like she did for her night out with the girl from her class.
My stomach drops and I sit up straighter in the middle of my bed, where I’ve been studying, transcribing notes for a class I’ve been struggling to ace, thinking that maybe when I was finished, Anabelle and I would spend the rest of the night watching movies or playing a game, or maybe go for a drink.
Together.
“You’re going out? I thought we could do something later.”
“We were, but then Rex
asked me out—dinner and dancing—and I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to feel him out a little. You know, do a little reconnaissance work? Kind of like an undercover FBI mission where I infiltrate enemy territory. See if it’s worth my time to get back at the smarmy bastard.”
“Oh.” I flop back against my headboard. “That’s cool.”
Passive aggressive much, Elliot?
Anabelle’s brows shoot up. “Why are you saying it like that? Do you want me to stay home? Because I will. We can hang out.”
That’s even worse—Anabelle would sit on the couch with me out of some twisted obligation? Because I sound pathetic? No thank you. Hard pass.
“No. Whatever, it’s fine—I’ve got to catch up on this.” I hold up the exercise science textbook I’m reading. “This class is kicking my ass.”
She raises her arms, hands smacking her thighs on their way back down, exasperated. “Seriously Elliot? Science on a Friday night?”
“I’m trying to graduate with my GPA intact, Donnelly, so I can get into a stellar grad school. This shit is hard.”
“You can take one night off to have some fun.”
She has a point. “I suppose. Maybe I’ll see what the guys are up to.”
“That’s the spirit. Anyway, I just wanted to know what you think of this outfit for tonight. Is it too casual?”
Too casual? Ugh. Yeah, no.
Tight jeans, high black boots. Black fitted shirt. Dark, long hair down, messy. Glossy lips.
Anabelle looks both conservative and smoking hot at the same time.
“I thought you said this date was fake.” This sure as shit looks like a real date outfit to me, the way she’s fussing about her clothes and touching her hair.
“It is.”
“Then why…” my voice trails off.
She props her hands on her waist, jutting out her hip. “Why what?”
“What’s with the outfit?”
She looks down the front of her shirt. “What’s wrong with it? It’s just jeans and a shirt.”
Maybe, but her tits look fantastic.
“Nothing is wrong with it. You look nice.”
Anabelle laughs, poking a big hoop earring through the hole in her ear and tightening the back. “I thought the whole point of going on a date was to look nice for the other person.”
“That’s the point when the date is real.”
She pulls a face. “Why are you being weird? Rex is a complete douche, but I have a feeling he’s harmless, and I want to find out.”
Harmless?
Is she for real? “You’re fucking with me, right? I thought we established the guy is only trying to get into your pants to win a bet, and now you’re getting all dressed up for him. That’s all I’m saying.”
“He is a douchebag, but I mean, it might be worth it to go out with him, just to see? I feel like his whole problem is Eric Johnson, and that’s the guy I have to watch out for. He was super pushy that day in the gym.”
“What do you mean, super pushy?” The hair on the back of my neck prickles.
She fiddles with the silver hoop in her right ear. “Elliot, if we get into the whole story right now, I’m going to be late.”
Late for her fake date.
I let out a puff of pent-up, frustrated air.
“You think Johnson will be there tonight?”
“I don’t know…I hope not. Rex thinks this is a date, so I’m assuming he won’t want his friends around. I’ll cut him some slack, there’s no harm in that.”
Is she fucking serious? The more she talks about it, the more pissed off I get thinking about the whole damn situation.
“Are you so lonely and desperate you’re willing to give this guy a chance? He’s an asshole, Ana. Everyone on campus fucking knows it.”
“Desperate? Wow, Elliot, that was low.” She stands in the doorway of my room, hands on her hips. “I’m not giving him a chance, so screw. You.”
Shit. That was a really dick thing to say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How about you worry about your own crappy relationship problems and let me worry about mine, okay?”
“I have a crappy relationship? I don’t have a girlfriend—what are you talking about?”
“Precisely.” Anabelle scoffs, nose tipping into the air with a sniff. “These walls are thin, you know. I might be across the hall, but I hear everything.”
They are? She can?
I sit up straighter, adjusting the reading glasses on my face. Set down the book I’ve been holding. “Like what?”
Her shoulders shrug.
“Why are you shrugging?” What does that mean?
She inspects her nails. “I just know you have a lot of time to yourself, if you know what I mean. Maybe if you put yourself out there, Elliot—if you were in a relationship, you wouldn’t have to…you know.”
When she lifts her head, her brows are raised, both of our gazes sliding down my torso to the flaccid dick lying against my thigh—the dick she obviously hears me jerking in the middle of the night from across the hall.
Jesus.
Christ.
My face flushes but I manage not to flinch. “I do put myself out there. You’re not making any sense.”
“Do you though?” She crosses her arms, plumping her breasts above the collar of her shirt. Anabelle has obviously taken great pains with her appearance, spray-tanning herself to a golden perfection.
I return my gaze back to her eyes.
“You’re so passive aggressive, Elliot. I don’t think even you know what you want.”
“I am not. Just because I’m not out there hitting on every goddamn girl stepping in my path does not make me passive aggressive.”
The thing is, I know she’s right. I have been chicken-shit lately. If I wasn’t, I’d have already told her I’m starting to have feelings for her.
That it kills me not being able to wrap my hands around her waist when she’s standing at the sink, wearing that gray robe, hair pulled up atop her head. That I find her long, delicate fingers fascinating. That the sound of her voice instantly lifts my mood.
“Okay, you’re not.” Another shrug. “Cool.”
“Cool? What does that mean?”
“Oh my God, I’m not going to stand here all night and list the things you could be doing if you wanted a relationship! I don’t have the time. I just meant you could put yourself out there more. That’s it. Or maybe you don’t want a relationship and I’m wasting my breath, I don’t know. It’s none of my business.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
“Only because you’re giving me shit about my outfit.”
“Otherwise you never would have said anything?”
Her shoulders rise and fall, breathing hard because she’s gotten herself all worked up. “Maybe I would have mentioned it eventually.” She rakes both hands down her stomach, smoothing out the hem of her top. “Do you like this top on me or not?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
“Just fine? Ugh.”
It’s better than fine, actually. She looks gorgeous, and if circumstances were different, I’d tell her so. But, she’s my roommate, she hasn’t indicated she wants to change things anytime soon, and the last thing I want is Anabelle getting the wrong idea by me hitting on her.
Not when she’s living across the hall.
Not when I have to see her in that damn silk robe every morning.
“You look good.”
Really fucking good.
Hot.
“You’re sure I shouldn’t go change?”
“Nah. You look hot.”
“Why the hell didn’t you say that to begin with?”
“Because, you’re not sticking to the plan!”
Now I have her laughing, thank God. “I am the only one following the plan! I’m letting him take me out for free food! And to start, I’m going to order a bunch of appetizers and drinks, not eat or drink a single one of them, and make h
im pay.”
“Are you going out after your dinner?”
“Yes.” She picks at her navy blue nail polish. “For dancing, remember?”
“Seriously Anabelle? You’re going to let him wine and dine you?”
“I repeat: free. Food. Fake.”
She’s exhausting. “Is he coming here to pick you up?”
“No, I’m meeting him downtown. I thought it would be best—you know, no awkward goodnight walks to the front door, no fending off a goodnight kiss.”
I don’t even want to try imagining that scenario playing out on my fucking front porch.
“Can you do me a favor? Don’t lose sight of the fact that Rex bet one of his teammates he could fuck you for the chance at a bigger bedroom, okay?”
All the way from my bed, I can see her chest getting red. “Who would forget a detail like that? Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“No. I just think you’re being too nice.”
“Disagree.” She sticks her forefinger in the air. “I sent Eric Johnson to my dad’s house already, remember? He won’t be bothering me again.”
“Bet he does.”
“Haha, very funny. Don’t you start with that betting crap.”
“I was joking. Lighten up.”
“Fine.” She relents. “It was a decent play on words, though I’m not too proud to admit it.”
“Should I get dressed and come with you?” I set the book down on my comforter, starting to rise from the bed.
Anabelle throws her hands up to stop me, waving them in the air. “Oh my God, don’t you dare! I do not need you hovering, Dad. He’ll know something is up.”
I beg to differ. “No he won’t—Rex Gunderson is a fucking moron. I’ve seen his brand of genius at work many, many times.”
“Still, don’t you dare show up.” She sends me an accusatory glare.
Not intimidated, I ignore her, thinking I might actually show up on her fake date—you know, scope it out, check out the situation. Make sure he keeps his fucking hands off her.
If I can’t touch her, he sure as hell can’t.
The last time Anabelle went out to party, I carried her semi-unconscious body through my door and tucked her into my bed to sleep it off. I’ve earned the right to be overprotective of her.
