Rule #1

by T. A Richards Neville

  “I don’t know. That’s not shit we really talk about.” I pause, leveling Brooke with a considerate look. “You think I’m attractive?”

  Her answer is a stubborn eye-roll and an elbow in my ribs.

  “Have you dated anyone in the time you’ve been here? Had a girlfriend?”

  “I don’t date, B. I’ve got too much riding on these final two years, and no offense intended, but women are hard work.”

  Brooke pulls a face like she obviously doesn’t read from the same page as me. “What are you saying? You’re choosing the celibate, godly route until graduation?”

  I suck air through my teeth. “I said no such fucking thing. I’m just not interested in all that other stuff that usually comes after the date.”

  She runs her gaze over my face. “What? The relationship?”

  “All of it. If I’m into her, she’s into me, then what’s the harm? Why does there have to be more?”

  Consideration silences Brooke. “There doesn’t, I guess. But what if you catch feelings from one of those hookups? What’s your battleplan then? since you’ve got the core of an evenly balanced social and romantic life all figured out.”

  If I answer that how I want to: honestly, there’ll be no coming back from it. It’ll be thrown out there for all eternity, for me to wish I’d kept my slack mouth shut.

  “You’re telling me you can’t hookup and keep it platonic? You have to be with the dude? You don’t do one nights?” Fuck, she’s missing out. Wonder if she wants to dip her toes into the unknown with me. I’d be happy to introduce her to the slow, easy roll of the tide, even if it does sway against everything I’m trying to achieve here.

  Brooke blankets her expression, but not fast enough that I don’t see the flicker of frustration arcing above her eyes. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. Hookups aren’t my style, and that’s not passing judgement on anyone who’s style it is. I’m just not into it. I couldn’t force it like that.”

  “Force what? You’ve never seen some guy and wanted to jump in the sack with him just because you thought he was a beefcake? Forget that he’s got as much banter as an out-of-date watermelon and he’s as smart as a toothpick. We’re basing this on looks here. That’s it.”

  “Okay, maybe I’ve thought about it,” Brooke concedes. “But I’ve never acted on it. I wouldn’t even know how to.”

  “That’s fucking sad. What the hell have you been doing with your life? Homework and PBS every night?” I snatch Brooke’s hand, guiding her from the path of a line of kids careening down the ice in a game of chase.

  She scowls at the rush as they fly by her, her hair whipping off her shoulders in the backdraft.

  “If it’s so exciting, Roman, then why have you roped me into cockblocking for you? You hooked up, it turned on you, and now you wish you hadn’t done it.” Brooke nods in fake understanding. “Yeah, sounds like something I’ll get right on.” She gives me a wry smile, her cheeks all rosy with heat. “Notice I’m not avoiding anyone.”

  “Probably because you’ve never let a guy know you like him.”

  “Well, that may be so. But I’m not about to go changing that now. Not for twenty minutes of awkward, sloppy sex I’ll regret as soon as it’s over.”

  After the skate event, I head to the Drunken Barrel with a few of my teammates to play a couple rounds of pool. Jen’s invited herself, so I’ve dragged Brooke along for the show. It was no hardship on my part, and she was giving me the impression she wanted to come anyway. The dynamics are shifting, and I’m acting like nothing’s changed and everything’s the same.

  We’ve snagged a corner booth across from the pool table, and I throw my arm around Brooke. She’s deep in the middle of an animated debate with Madison over one of her Social Welfare professors. Maddie’s professor, not Brooke’s.

  “He’s mediocre,” Madison inputs. “Nowhere near Aric Garth standard.”

  “You’re talking about who’s more of a stud, right?” West adds his own contributions. Pretty sure he’s never come into contact wither either faculty member. He should have been born a female. He loves to gossip like one. “Who’s Mr. Garth?” West asks Brooke.

  “My Modern Arts professor,” Brooke answers. Her legs are crossed at the knee, but her body’s leaning into mine. “And he is not a stud. He’s too aware of himself.”

  West’s eyebrow crimps. “So, he’s a dud?”

  Jen returns from her fifteen-minute trip to the bathroom, accompanied by a puffy-eyed Rachel Piper. She’s an itchy sac fresh off a ‘breakup’ from Bowers, if you can even call it that. Bowers, like the degenerate he is, is feeling up another girl at the bar, swiftly moving on from Piper in full view of her. I’d be surprised if he could remember the first letter of her name.

  “Those are the only two options? Dud or stud?” Brooke’s disdain creeps across her face and into her voice.

  “Did someone say stud?” Kempy muscles an arm between me and Brooke from over the back of our booth, stuffing his hand in the bowl of nachos. “You called, I answered.”

  “I’ll be back,” I say to Brooke, removing my arm from around her shoulders. “Gotta hit the can.” I’m only drinking water, but it’s going straight through me.

  Brooke shuffles over the seat and stands to let me out. I take a slash and wash up at the sink. I shoot a text message to Kimberly after I’ve dried my hands. She’d looked at me with crystalized hate in her eyes when I put my foot down on her coming to the Drunken Barrel with us. Brooke hadn’t looked too happy about it either, and I’d reminded Kimberly she was supposed to be in school, not loafing about at Brooke and Maddie’s place. I might have reminded her I could take her ass back home any time, but I don’t feel good about dropping the threat. Hence why I’m in the bathroom attempting to clear the air.

  I’m about to tap SEND when the bathroom door swings open. I glance up, out of instinct, not expecting Jen to be the one strolling in. I send the message and shove my phone into the back pocket of my track pants.

  “What’s going on with you, Roman? It feels like you’re avoiding me.” The door close behind her, and she saunters right up to where I’m standing at the row of sink basins. The bitter stench from the urinals is ripe in here, but Jen doesn’t display any signs of noticing it. Nose of steel.

  “I’m not avoiding you.”

  “Sure seems like you are, and I’m not the only one who says so. Rach totally agrees with me.”

  Well, if fucking Rachel agrees.

  Jen trails her fingers up my arm, moves a little bit closer. “Don’t tell me it’s in my head.”

  “I’m not trying to.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “You’re the only one who’s decided there is one,” I say, verbally sidestepping her trap.

  Next thing I know, the hand that isn’t stroking my arm is on my junk. She cups and squeezes, and the rush of blood and the heat of her palm triggers an undesirable response. I’ve got a semi, and now I’m ignoring I’m rising to half-mast in the men’s fucking bathroom—with Jen.

  But I’ve been thigh to thigh with Brooke all night, that on-the-edge restlessness returning for reasons that have nothing to do with Jen. I’m free to touch Brooke, but not in the way I’m itching to.

  Jen smiles, and then drops to her knees, which are bare, by the way. Her skin’s touching the tile floor that I have no doubts is covered in piss, possibly feces. My cock doesn’t care about any of that, though, and a fog bank rolls through my skull as Jen tugs the waistband of my pants and my boxers away from my hips and runs a finger over my erection, her eyes on mine asking permission to go further.

  It’s nearly impossible to process a single thought with her down there, inches from putting me between her lips and sucking me into her mouth, but the lights flicker back on just in time, and I wrap a hand around the base and tuck myself in, all fucking worked up over a dirty bathroom blowjob from someone I’m not even interested in.

  New rule: Bring Brooke whenever I need to take a
slash.

  “Get up,” I say to Jen. “This floor’s filthy.”

  Confusion clears to anger, and Jen rises to her feet, her cheeks flooding red. “Because of that bitch out there?”

  “Don’t call her that. You don’t know her.”

  “I don’t want to know her. I fucking hate her, Roman.”

  “That’s up to you.”

  Jen grabs for me when I skirt around her, anxious to put space between us. I’ve already gone soft.

  “Roman, I love you. Please, don’t just walk away. Don’t do this to me.”

  My spine stiffens, but no way am I turning back to face that directly. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow when we’ve both calmed down,” I tell her, pushing the door open. “Not in here.”

  Brooke walks back into the bar, staring at her phone in her hands with a puzzled look in her eyes. Shaking it off, she slides the phone onto the booth table and picks up her cue stick that was leaning against the wall.

  “Something wrong?” I ask. She’d ducked out to answer a phone call about five minutes earlier, and now she’s strangely quiet.

  “No, nothing’s wrong.” She walks around the pool table, to the far rail. It’s her shot to take. This is our second game playing. She whooped my ass in the first game. Now I need to show her who’s boss.

  Maddie stands from the table and comes over to Brooke. “Who was that?”

  “Luke Cole,” Brooke says over another puzzled frown.

  Maddie matches the expression. “He has your phone number? Since when?”

  “I didn’t give it to him.”

  Maddie bites on her lower lip. “Maybe it was Booker?”

  “Booker doesn’t have my phone number,” Brooke confirms, their conversation’s stirring my interest. “Or maybe he does.”

  “What did Luke want?” Maddie presses her lips over a loose smile, like she doesn’t want to irritate Brooke, or have her notice she’s so damn pleased over the news. She’s wearing this short pink skirt that ties all down the front, looking like everything I go for in a girl, and It’s taken until now for me to notice anything about her other than her being here at all.

  I teamed up with Brooke for her to put an end to the complications and distractions, and now she’s becoming one.

  It’s a relief when I hear Brooke say to Maddie, “Asked if I was working Saturday night, and when I told him I was, he said he’ll see me there.”

  “So, you’re meeting him after work?” Maddie’s stopped trying to tamp down her excitement. It’s all out there, in its full, bubbly glory.

  Brooke glances at me in discomfort that I smile and shrug off. “I didn’t say I would.”

  Maddie’s hand lands on Brooke’s arm in the barest slap. “Brooke, you’re impossible. Honestly.” She levels me with a slightly disgruntled look across the felt table and then walks back to the booth.

  “Don’t pay her any attention,” Brooke says to me. She leans over the corner of the pool table and positions her cue stick.

  “So, you and Luke Cole?” I don’t know much about the guy other than who he is.

  Brooke looks up before she makes her shot. “There is no me and Luke Cole, so you can save whatever you were going to say.”

  “But he’s interested in you?” I press.

  “According to him.”

  “But… you’re not?”

  “I made a bet with you, Roman. How many guys can I be seen with at once?”

  So that’s why she’s dodging a straight answer.

  “Hey, don’t turn him down on my account. We can still be seen together and not be exclusive.” Brooke’s stick hits the cue ball, and it rolls into the blue, tipping it into the pocket.

  She strolls around the table, looking for her next target. Her smile’s evidently false when she says, “I’ll take that into consideration. Thank you for your understanding and permission.”

  I step back, out of her way, when she walks to my side of the table. “You better watch that sarcasm if you ever want to land a husband. That mouth of yours will get you in trouble.”

  Brooke stands in front of me, leaning against the rail with her stick in her hands. She took her hoodie off hours ago, and my jersey’s tied around her waist. Her black tank top’s got one of those built-in, push-up bras, so I know she isn’t wearing one, and I can’t see a second layer under the thin straps. She’s tied up her hair, and loose strands curl all around her face and neck, the long waves from her high ponytail waterfalling over one shoulder.

  I step into her and put my hand on the rail by her denim-covered thigh. “You got any plans tonight, B?” Jen’s staring daggers into the side of my head, and I’ve had enough of this place and her. Not enough of Brooke, though. And now she’s let slip Luke Cole’s worming his way onto the scene, it’s rubbed off a small amount of the danger attached to what I’m about to do.

  “Just to beat you in this game.” Her big brown eyes hold a challenging smile. Can she tell I want to kiss her?

  “You wanna get out of here?” I ask, not considering how I’ll swing it if she turns me down. If Jen’s here, there’s no reason for me to take Brooke anywhere else. It defeats the whole purpose of our arrangement.

  That glow in Brooke’s eyes dull, but then she’s nodding her head in answer, slowly, as though she’s got no faith in her decision, and even less faith in me.

  Having Kimberly for company is a hard pass for Roman, and we settle for hanging out at his apartment instead. I leave my car at the Drunken Barrel for Maddie, and Roman drives us back to the student village in his truck.

  We end up watching BASEketball in the living room, laughing at the dumb but hilariously funny plot. Time goes by so unnoticed, I’m disappointed when the movie ends, and the credits are rolling. But it’s getting late, and I still need to walk home. I’d ask Roman for a ride, but I could do with the time to myself to clear my head. Roman’s got me feeling all kinds of mixed-up.

  Reaching for the remote off the coffee table, Roman switches off the movie. My gaze wanders to the tan strip of skin at the bottom of his spine, where his T-shirt’s ridden up. I’m more aware of him tonight than any other time before now, and I realign my gaze with something less controversial.

  That something turns out to be the wall behind the TV, and I’m being ridiculous. I can hang out with a guy without being attracted to him. I’ve been doing it for years. Besides, I’m more of a personality kind of girl over looks. It just sucks Roman’s exceptionally gifted in both departments.

  I stand up, grabbing my hoodie from where it’s draped over the arm of the couch.

  “Are you leaving?” Roman peers up at me to ask. “It’s still early.”

  “I’m tired,” I lie. And it’s not that early. I’ve got three classes in the morning, and another episode for my comic I’m five days behind on. I’ve been receiving emails in the hundreds from unhappy readers not-so-nicely asking when the hell I’m going to be uploading, threatening to boycott and unsubscribe. With over a million reads and 150k subscribers, as a creator sudden abandonment isn’t what I want to hear. I set a standard, and I need to hold myself accountable to it.

  A look I can’t really explain slides over Roman’s eyes. “I can take you home.”

  “No,” I insist. “I can walk.”

  “Then I’ll walk you.” Persistence stiffens his tone, and he’s pulling on a Nike windbreaker before I can say another word about it or demand otherwise.

  The Maine sky’s blotted in black, the bitter air damp. I hold out my hand, palm facing upward, a raindrop landing on my nose. We’ve taken a few steps in the direction of the resident parking lot when the full sky opens its bowels and starts spitting rain. The light shower rapidly gathers speed and force, and Roman and I get caught in a full-blown rainstorm.

  Shielding my eyes with one hand, I bustle into a paced run for cover.

  On the private sidewalk, under dryish shelter from one of the apartment buildings, Roman’s palm skims over mine and he pulls me off the path, onto the ne
at strip of lawn bordering the ground-floor apartments. Rain bounces off the peaked roofs, pouring off the scalloped-edged paneling and echoing around us twice as loud as when we were out in the open.

  Roman stands in front of where he’s got me backed up to the side exterior of an apartment, his expression serious and alert. He pushes his hands into his track pants pockets, his firmness and straight shoulders making me feel like I’m on the cusp of being disciplined.

  “You know what your problem is?”

  Raising an eyebrow in haughty disbelief, I ask, “I have a problem now?”

  “You’re a bit too clueless for your own good. This isn’t what I wanted at all. I chose you because I thought you were safe. Bet’s off, B,” Roman says with a light shrug, hands still tucked into his pockets. “You win.”

  “Win what?” fires from my mouth in a verbal attack that narrows Roman’s eyes. My cards have been held so close to my chest, the hand I’ve been dealt doesn’t show itself until now, putting me at an unfair disadvantage.

  Roman’s expression neutralizes as we look at each other through the pouring rain. We’ve slipped into our own bubble, exempt from all that’s around us. The only dangers we aren’t protected from is each other.

  “I’ve let this go too far.” At my droll look, Roman feels it necessary to explain, “With you.”

  “Don’t sound so upset about it,” I say tartly.

  “Hockey takes up nearly all of my time if I’m not in class. I blow off energy with a pretty girl every now and then who’s down for it, but I’ve never asked for or needed more than that.”

  I breathe in the cool air, but I can feel my brow knitting. “I imagine having infinite number of beautiful girls throwing themselves at you can get tiresome,” I say sarcastically. I’m not sure where Roman’s taking this but, up until now, I’m not impressed.

  Roman’s flustered. I think with me.