by Ellie Wade
“Ugh!” I groan into my pillow.
Truth is, he doesn’t owe me anything. We didn’t say a word about commitment or even dating. We kissed and then … God, was that hot.
What is wrong with me?
I should be happy that Leo hasn’t called. Clearly, I can’t resist the guy, and it’s evident that he’s not dating material.
Chalk it up to completing the first week of college with some new experiences.
As far as how the first week of college went, I love my classes and my professors. Quinn and I get along so well. I chat with Amos every night, and he’s happy and doing well too. I got to experience my first kiss, and bruised ego aside, I do have that.
Quinn comes out of the bathroom. A towel is wrapped around her hair, and a cloud of hot steam follows behind her.
“Were you talking to yourself out here?” she asks.
“No.”
“I thought I heard you yell or something. Anyway, I just got a text from the girls, and there’s another party tonight.” She presses her lips together and smiles, her big green eyes opening wide.
I simply grunt in disapproval.
“Come on. Last time wasn’t that bad. Tonight, you’ll know even more people, and it will be a little easier. You have all weekend to do your homework, though I’m pretty sure it’s all done anyway.”
“You know it’s not my scene,” I reply.
“What do you mean? You did great last time. Plus, it’s no one’s scene until it is.”
“I don’t feel like drinking,” I say.
“Then, don’t drink, and I promise to drink less so that I’m not a total downer tomorrow.”
I sigh, “Okay, fine.”
“What?” Quinn laughs. “That was easy. I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”
“I just figured you’d win anyway, so I should save my energy for tonight.” I grin.
“Good call. I would win anyway.” Quinn giggles. “All right. Now, to decide what we’re going to wear!”
It’s true that Quinn can talk anyone into anything. She’s extremely persuasive. It’s part of her charm. Though I can’t pretend like a certain sulky hottie didn’t weigh on my decision. It’d probably be best if I didn’t run into him tonight, but I’m hoping I do.
“Do you think this is what every weekend will be like?” I ask Quinn as we approach the large frat house.
We’re seriously entering the same scene as last weekend. Clusters of people are congregated on the lawn, drinking. There are some smaller groups on the porch, smoking. A bunch of guys stand before us, cheering raucously. Couples are scattered throughout, making out. It feels identical to last week.
“I don’t know. I bet less people will be outside once winter comes,” she adds.
“Ooh, what a change. Can’t wait,” I kid.
“You’re feisty today.” She chuckles.
“I feel feisty. Maybe I will have a couple of drinks.”
“That’s the spirit!” Quinn approves.
I let Quinn talk me into wearing one of her short black tube dresses while she opted for a hot-pink pleather one. The black dress is stretchy and clings to every curve. Quinn says we look hot, but it feels strange. Especially now that guys on the lawn are checking us out as we walk by.
We head to the kitchen first for drinks and then to the game room, where the group of people we hung out with last week are sitting around, minus one. Leo’s nowhere to be found, and I can’t pretend I’m not bummed. I wanted to see him. As stupid as that makes me, I wanted to. The extra bit of makeup I wore, this dress, and my curled hair were in part for him. Pathetic, I know.
I actually put forth effort to get to know some of the people we’re hanging with. Since my roommate is a social butterfly, I either need to up my game and come out of my shell a bit or spend many weekend nights in our room, alone.
The conversation goes from college football to what bands are coming to Detroit this fall and who wants to go to what concert. There’s chatter about rush coming up, which is where all of the fraternities and sororities host potential recruits over a week of activities and decide which among the interested they deem acceptable to receive an invitation to join their group. Quinn and the girls rank the sororities in order of interest based on what they’ve heard about them so far. I use the time during this particular conversation to count my teeth with my tongue.
Gabby gets my attention. “What sororities are in your top three?” she asks me.
Tilting my head to the side, I answer, “You know, I don’t think sorority life is for me. I’m going to pass on that one.”
“No,” Gabby and Bethany groan in unison.
“Don’t worry,” Quinn says to them. “I’ll get her to change her mind.”
I laugh. “You’re persuasive, Quinn, but even you have your limits. You can tell me all about it though, and I’ll be there in spirit.” I tap her leg before turning to the guy on the other side of me. “Where’s the bathroom?” I ask him.
“The cleanest one is upstairs to the left. There is one by the kitchen, but I wouldn’t use that one if I were you.” He scrunches up his face.
“Okay.” I chuckle. “Thanks for looking out.”
I tell Quinn I’ll be right back and snake my way around the people dancing until I find the steps leading upstairs.
“On the left,” I repeat his directions to myself as I get to the top of the steps.
There are a dozen wooden doors lining the hallway to the left.
Great.
Approaching the first door, I knock, and when I don’t hear anything, I try to open it. It’s locked.
Okay, next.
I rap my fist against the second door and listen. I can’t hear anything, except the thumping bass from downstairs. I turn the handle, and the door opens wide.
It’s not a bathroom, and it’s not empty.
I gasp, bringing my hands to my mouth. Leo is sitting on a sofa against the far wall of the room. A girl is kneeling on the floor before him, her blonde head bobbing up and down against his crotch. Leo looks to me and squints his eyes, as if he’s bringing me into focus. A lazy smile spreads across his face, and I shake my head, stunned. Quickly, I take a step back and close the door.
Seconds pass, and I’m frozen to this spot, my hand clinging to the metal doorknob. I try to make sense of what I just witnessed, and as it becomes clearer, my panic increases.
Finally, I pull my hand from the doorknob and hold it to my chest as if it burned me.
I have to get out of here.
My bottom lip begins to tremble, and I know that the tears aren’t far behind. Retreating toward the steps, I race down them as fast as I can without falling on my face. I push past the drunk dancers in the living room of the house and dart toward the front door.
Once outside, I stumble on my shoe before yanking them off. Sandals in hand, I run back toward the dorm. The quicker I put space between Leo and me, the better.
I hate him. The thought comes to me as my tears finally break free.
Hot streams of betrayal fall down my cheeks as I sprint up the steps to the second floor and down the hall to my room.
As the solid door closes behind me, I sink to the floor and allow my sobs to come. It’s stupid. I’m stupid. Of course he’s the type of guy to get random blow jobs at parties. Of course he’s the guy who sucks on a girl’s breasts and moves on as if it meant nothing because to him it didn’t mean anything. Of course he appeared charming at Coney Island, only to morph back into a womanizing player later. None of this surprises me in the slightest, and yet my heart aches.
I don’t understand why I feel so broken. I’ve always been so strong. I’ve had an impenetrable wall around my heart my entire life. The only person who’s been allowed in is Amos. It’s easy to avoid heartache when the world is locked out.
Leo kissed me twice, and I opened the steel gates wide, optimistic that the moments we’d shared meant something. To me, it did.
I’m a hopeless romantic
and a fool. What did I think this was? A romance novel? Bad boy meets innocent girl and falls in love? Soul mates, butterflies, and a happily ever after?
Yeah, I hate Leo, but in this moment, I think I hate myself more because he’s never pretended to be a good person. I’m the idiot who hoped he was.
ELEVEN
Alma
After my tears cease, I make my way to the bathroom and step into the scalding shower. I allow the hot water to wash away the makeup, the curls and hair products, and mainly the shame. I’ve never been one of those girls who wanted to save all of my firsts until marriage, but I suppose I always thought that those moments, when they happened, would mean something.
Clean and dressed, I respond to Quinn’s frantic texts and let her know that I’m home safely and tell her to have a good time. Next, I call Amos. He picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, Mutt. How are you?” he greets me cheerfully.
“I’m okay. I’m good,” I add the last thought quickly so as not to worry Amos, but he knows me too well.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice concerned.
“Nothing. Something,” I stumble on my words. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. I don’t know.”
Do I want to tell Amos about everything that’s happened over the past week? True, I usually tell him everything, but we’ve never really chatted about this type of stuff. Then again, neither of us has had this type of stuff to chat about.
“I’m just having a bad night, and I wanted to hear your voice,” I tell him.
“I’m coming over,” he says.
“No,” I protest. “You have that paper due Monday.”
“It’s fine. I have the rest of the weekend to work on it. I’ll be there in thirty.”
Amos hangs up, and I lie in bed, waiting for him to get here. Life was simpler when my hormones were in check. And starting now, they are. Everyone says that college is where you truly figure out who you are, so I try to give myself some grace. It’s impossible to find oneself without some snags along the way.
I listen to my latest song obsession on repeat until Amos’s knock sounds at the door. Springing out of bed, I run to open it. It’s barely open before I throw my arms around Amos’s back and hug him tight.
“I missed you,” I say into his chest.
“I missed you too. And I come bearing gifts.”
I know it’s something sweet. My parents don’t have many scruples, but they are surprisingly strict on the food that they allow in their house. LSD is fine, but processed sugar is criminal. Nothing says comfort food like a kale and quinoa salad, which is why Amos became my official sugar dealer. Every sip of pop or bite of chocolate was supplied by him.
I steeple my hands in front of my face expectantly. “Can’t wait.” I grin.
He reaches into the paper bag at his side and pulls out some chocolate-covered raisins, a king-sized Twix, gummy bears, and …
“You found the sharks!” I exclaim.
The gummy sharks are blue with white bottoms. Truthfully, they aren’t better-tasting than any other gummy candy. We just never seem to be able to find them in the stores. So, the occasions that we get our hands on them is cause for celebration.
“I know. I was pumped when I saw them.”
“Where did you find them?” I ask.
“Just a little convenience store on campus.”
“Sweet.” I open the bag of sharks first and plop down on my bed.
Amos sits beside me. “So, you ready to talk?”
“Yeah,” I sigh.
Then, I tell him everything—the parties, the kisses, the attraction, the date, and the blow job. I hold no information back. As I speak, I’m taken aback by how easily the information comes out. At first, I was ashamed, but the more I share, the more I want to share. Telling someone I trust all about my regrets over the past week makes me feel lighter, as if now, I don’t have to carry the burden on my own.
Amos listens and doesn’t interrupt. He’s always been the best listener. When I’ve finally finished telling him every detail, he takes my pinkie in his.
“First of all, you did nothing wrong. You have absolutely nothing to feel bad about. But I need you to promise me that you’ll steer clear of this guy. He’s bad news, Alma. A good guy doesn’t treat others like that.”
“I know,” I agree.
“I’m glad you told me. You know you can share anything with me—always. I’m on your side, no matter what.” His smallest finger squeezes mine.
“I know that too,” I say as the dorm door opens, and Quinn walks in.
“Hey! It’s A-squared.” She laughs, tossing her purse onto the floor.
Ann Arbor, the city that houses the University of Michigan, where Amos lives, is often referred to as A-squared by the college students.
“You know … Amos and Alma—two a’s,” she explains with a hiccup.
I smile. “You should drink some water,” I tell her.
She points her finger at me. “Good idea.”
“Did you have fun?” I ask.
She grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “Besides the part where I was freaking out because I thought my roommate was abducted?” She disapprovingly waves her pointer finger in the air.
“I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll tell you I’m leaving, okay?”
“You’d better. It was not fun, worrying. I gotta pee.” She hurries to the bathroom.
Amos chuckles beside me.
“Can you stay?” I ask him.
“Of course.”
Quinn returns from the bathroom. “You know what would be really good right now? Taco Bell! Oh my goodness, I would marry someone for some Taco Bell.”
“We can get Taco Bell tomorrow,” I tell her. “You should finish that bottle of water.”
She gives me a thumbs-up. “Good idea. You’re so smart.”
“Hey, Quinn. You don’t mind if Amos sleeps over, do you?”
Her lips tilt into a grin. “Of course not. A-squared is always welcome,” she says as she plops onto her mattress.
“You’ve been roommate approved,” I whisper to Amos.
“That’s if she remembers tomorrow.” He says.
“True.”
Amos gets up and turns off the lights before sliding in behind me. He wraps his arm around my middle and pulls me in tight.
I feel safe and loved … and happy. Sleep comes quickly.
Amos hands me the big Taco Bell bag and a package of gummy worms.
“Tacos and gummy worms! You’re the best,” I wrap my arms around his body, and hug him tight. Amos understands my love for all gummy candy. But there’s something about the sugary worms that I’m obsessed over. He thinks I’m silly but I swear they taste better than the bears. “Are you sure you can’t stay and hang today?”
“I wish I could, but I do have that paper to write,” he says with a sigh.
“I know. I’ve kept you long enough. Maybe we can hang out next weekend?” I offer.
“I hope so.” He grabs my pinkie in his, and we kiss our fists in our good-bye ritual. “Bye, Quinn,” he says.
“Bye! Thank you!” She waves from her bed before he closes the door behind him.
I turn to face Quinn and hold up the bag. “Hangover food at your service.”
She grins and claps her hands. “At least I feel better than last week. I think the water helped.”
I hand her a burrito, and she opens it before applying several packets of Mild sauce.
Rolling her burrito up, she takes a big bite. Her eyes roll back. “I could live off of this stuff,” she moans.
“Same,” I agree as I take a bite of my bean burrito.
“Amos is a keeper, I tell ya. Why aren’t you two together?” she asks.
Her question startles me.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, have you thought about dating him before? And if not, why? He’s the perfect man.”
I think on it. “Honestly, no. I’ve never looked at him like
that. I know he’s beautiful, smart, and kind. I mean, he’s clearly a catch. Maybe I’ve felt attracted to him a few times in my life, but he’s too important to me. Relationships mess things up. Amos is the only constant in my life. He’s all I have. I could never risk doing anything that would jeopardize our friendship. Love is a gamble, and Amos is the one thing I’d never bet on losing.” Just talking about it makes my heart ache. “Plus, he’s like my brother. I don’t see him like that. He doesn’t see me like that either.”
“I get it.” Quinn nods. “So, you wouldn’t be jealous if he had a girlfriend?”
“No, I’d be happy for him.”
“What if his girlfriend were me?” She raises an eyebrow, and I almost choke on my mouthful of burrito.
I swallow. “Is there something I should know?”
She shrugs. “No, not yet. I figured you were secretly pining for him, but if you’re serious that you’re not, I might go after him.”
I grin. “I’m serious. There’s nothing going on between us. If you want to put the moves on him, go for it. Just promise me it won’t be awkward between us if he doesn’t reciprocate.” I don’t see him falling for Quinn, but I can’t tell her that and hurt her feelings.
“Oh, of course not. If he’s not into me, that’s cool, but I don’t see that happening,” she says with confidence.
“Someone’s a little cocky,” I tease.
“I know what I have to offer.”
“He’d be lucky to have you. Anyone would.”
We each hold our water bottles up in an air cheers.
“So,” Quinn says with a wag of her eyebrows, “let’s talk rush week.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Oh gosh … let’s not.”
TWELVE
Leo
She comes to me in my dreams, and it makes me feel like a giant pussy, but I secretly love it. It’s been a month since I last saw her. An entire thirty days has passed since my mouth was on her.
Her lips. Her moans. Her tits.
My cock stands at attention.
Damn it.
I promised myself I’d start going to classes again today. Grabbing my phone, I check the clock, fist my hand around my dick, and close my eyes. In the darkness, she’s there—her small frame, curvy hips, and juicy ass. She looks to me with those round russet eyes of hers, framed by long lashes and so full of emotion. Her full lips make an appearance too. I could kiss, lick, and suck them all day.
