by Sara Ney
And sex with Teddy? Out of the question, even though I’d fuck her any day of the week if the circumstances were different.
But they’re not, and I’m going to graduate and be out of here, and then I’ll never see this place again because I’ll be working in corporate America and probably miserable.
And clean shaven.
Yay me.
“My services are available if you want them. No pressure.”
“What services. Are you a tutor now too?”
“No—the hairy godmother thing. Those parties are boring as fuck, and helping you would give me something to do.”
“I…I’ll think about it.” She laughs, pulling her hair into a ponytail and securing it with the rubber band wrapped around her slender wrist. Glancing over her shoulder occasionally, worrying her bottom lip, eyes darting to the kitchen and up the stairs. Almost agitated.
Strange.
“Uh, are you looking for something?”
She jerks her head away from the entry of the hallway, startled. “I’m sorry, I just keep expecting your parents to walk in. It’s making me nervous.”
“They aren’t here.”
“I know, you said that—I just think it’s odd that you live here. Alone. In this gorgeous house. Alone. What are you, twenty-one?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Still not normal.”
No, it’s not her normal, but it’s mine—and it’s pretty fucking hard to explain to people, which is the exact reason I never bring anyone here, guys or girls. It’s just not worth the long, inevitable, drawn-out explanation. Plus, I don’t owe it to anyone; it’s my business, and I like keeping it that way.
“Is it making you uncomfortable being here alone with me? ’Cause I can go lock myself in the bedroom.”
“Oddly enough, no—you don’t make me uncomfortable.”
“Why is that odd?”’
“Because…look at you. You’re huge and hairy, and I don’t even think I’d recognize you if you shaved all that”—she gestures in the general direction of my face—“off.”
She sure as shit wouldn’t recognize me, which is the reason I grew this beard and keep my hair long.
“Do you ever…?”
I need more prompting. “Do I ever what?”
“Shave.”
Obviously. If I didn’t, I’d look like a ZZ Top reject. “Yes, I shave. I shaved this morning.” I run a hand down the length of my beard, satisfied with the wiry hair that took me two years to grow this long.
“No, I mean, like—off. Do you ever shave that off?”
“What’s wrong with it?” I stroke it again for good measure.
“Nothing is wrong with it, Kip. I’m just asking if it’s ever not there.”
“No.”
“Oh.” Pause. “How come?”
“Because I like it?”
“Fair enough.” Her lips purse. “It’s just…you’re a bit young for the Grizzly Adams look.”
“Who the fuck is Grizzly Adams?”
“A mountain man who wrastles grizzlies…basically.”
“Anyway.” I give my eyes a heavy roll to end the conversation, and she follows me up the stairs. I point to a closed door on my left. “Spare room here, bathroom there, but you already know this. Obviously no need to lock the door behind you.”
“Doors got deadbolts?”
I feel myself grinning. “Nope.”
“Well, I’m not worried. I’m less your type than you are mine, I think.”
That’s where she’s wrong—I’m warming to Teddy in ways I shouldn’t be. I’ll be thinking about her long and hard after we’re both locked in our bedrooms tonight.
“Not worried? You’re such a damn liar.”
“How can you tell?”
A scoff leaves my throat. “Because you keep looking for the nearest possible exit.”
“So I shouldn’t climb out a window because we’re on the second story? Got a ladder I can prop against the house?”
“Jesus Christ, don’t even joke about going out a window. Use the damn door if you’re going to escape.”
“But do you blame me? You’re kind of…” She waves a hand around in front of my torso.
“Abnormally large and hairy? Yeah, yeah, I get that a lot.”
“No, I was going to say it’s probably not the smartest idea to be in a strange house, far from campus and my apartment, with a strange guy I just met, especially since we’ve both been drinking and I don’t know anything about you.”
That’s where she’s right. This is a terrible idea.
But here we are.
My lips twitch beneath my scruff. “Just try to get some sleep, Theodora.”
Her soft laugh fades as the guest room door inches closed.
“You too, Kipling.”
Brat.
***
My phone pings in the dark.
Ronnie: Are you still alive?
Me: Go to bed, Veronica.
Ronnie: Ahhh, good. So she hasn’t murdered you. Yet.
Me: This girl is harmless.
Ronnie: What the hell possessed you to bring her home?
Me: Her friends are assholes and ditched her at the house.
Ronnie: So? Why do you even care?
Me: I have no fucking idea. But…
Ronnie: Don’t leave me hanging—it’s two in the morning here and if you’re going to keep me up, make it good. Your niece will be up in three hours and I’m going to look like complete shit tomorrow.
Me: I—Jesus, I can’t believe I’m saying this.
Ronnie: Oh damn, this is going to be good, I can feel it.
Me: You can’t say anything to Mom and Dad. Vault
Ronnie: **rolls eyes** Do I ever tell them anything???
Me: Yes, last year you told them about the public indecency citation.
Ronnie: That wasn’t to get you in trouble! That was to shock them because I wanted to see the look on Mom’s botoxed face! I JUST WANTED TO SEE IF HER FOREHEAD WOULD CREASE WHEN SHE GOT MAD!
Ronnie: It didn’t by the way. So. Hilarious.
Me: Goddammit Veronica…
Ronnie: Okay, okay, I’m listening. Go.
Me: This girl—her name is Teddy
Ronnie: That sounds soooo East Coast, pleated skirt, cardigan-y of her.
Me: Stop.
Ronnie: **zips lip**
Me: She’s been coming to the rugby house every weekend with these bitchy friends of hers, and they keep ditching her, and tonight she didn’t have a place to sleep. Like, I wasn’t going to let her sleep in the hallway of her apartment.
Ronnie: How uncharacteristically chivalrous of you.
Me: So I brought her home and we started talking, and the next thing I fucking knew, I was volunteering to help her out.
Ronnie: Help her out with WHAT??? God, do I even want to know?
Ronnie: Yes, yes I do.
Ronnie: And for the record, I just sat up in bed and turned on the light, and now Stuart is awake and he wants to hear the end of this story too.
Ronnie: BTW, since I woke him up, I owe him a BJ. So he says thanks.
Me: Jesus Christ.
Ronnie: GET ON WITH THE STORY, MY GAWD KIPLING. What are you helping this Teddy person with?
Me: How to date. I told her I’d be her hairy godmother.
Ronnie: You’re kidding me right?
Me: No
[five minutes later]
Me: Are you still there?
Ronnie: I’m sorry, hold on. Stuart and I are laughing so hard we have tears coming out of our eyes.
Ronnie: Hairy godmother? Oh my god, Kip, where do you come up with this shit? Mom would DIE.
Me: You said you weren’t going to say anything!
Ronnie: I know, I know, but…
Me: I swear to God Veronica.
Ronnie: RELAX, bro—relax.
Ronnie: Hairy godmother—what the hell even is that?
Me: I told her I’d teach her to be more assertive.
She’s way too nice.
Ronnie: Omg. Do you LIKE HER?
Me: Yeah, she’s nice.
Ronnie: “Nice.” No. I mean—do you LIKE her, like her?
Me: No. She’s just a friend.
Ronnie: Kip, do you know how many great love stories start that way? “She’s just a friend.”
Ronnie: Yeah—a friend you want to bang.
Me: Don’t start with me. I do not want to bang her.
Ronnie: Yet.
Me: She’s just a friend. Barely even a friend.
Ronnie: Mark my words, Kipling: this isn’t going to have the ending you think it will…
***
TEDDY
I can’t sleep—no surprise—for several reasons:
It’s a strange house I’ve never been in, full of noises I don’t normally have to listen to while I’m trying to fall asleep.
It’s massive and I’m slightly intimidated.
There’s a huge dude down the hallway.
There’s a lock on my door, but he and I are alone, so this was probably one of the worst decisions I’ve made this semester besides living with Mariah.
Mariah.
What am I going to do about her? Do I have to do anything? I know she loves me—and the way she behaves? I’ve said it a hundred times (because lately, I’m always defending her) that’s just how she is, how she has always been, really. Since we were young, she’s always been hypercompetitive, and not just with me—with everyone.
I’ve learned that I just…have to stay out of her way. Stand back, let her do her thing, whatever that “thing” happens to be at the time.
Sports. Extracurriculars.
Boys.
Deep down, Mariah is sweet and giving and kind. Not everyone knows her the way I do, especially guys, because she never acts like herself when she’s around them.
No. When she’s around guys, she tends to laugh too loud, talk too loud, wear too much makeup, and dumb herself down. I don’t know why—I’ve never asked—but I’ve learned to accept it. If that’s how she wants to behave, who am I to tell her what to say and how loud?
Not that it would matter since she hardly listens to me anyway.
I roll toward the window in the dark guest bedroom then when the street light hits my eyes in the wrong spot, roll away, toward the door.
Stare at it.
I locked it, right?
I’m tempted to throw back the covers, hop out, and double-check, but I know I’m just being paranoid.
Besides, Kip? Grouchy, rude, crass Kip? Oddly, I feel like I can trust him.
Stupid, I know, but there you have it.
He brought me home because he was worried, not so he could assault me.
And, even with the beard and the hair and the huge body, I can tell it would still be easy for him to pick up women. Even with the beard and the hair and the huge body, he’s still easy on the eyes.
My eyes, anyway.
I roll to my back, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about the guy a few doors down the hall.
What is he doing in a house like this? Who owns it? Why are all the rooms professionally decorated? Did his parents die and leave him tons of money? Is he spending it wisely or blowing it all on stupid crap—like that expensive SUV of his?
I wonder how they died. Was it in a fiery crash or something worse, like an illness or disease?
That has to be the explanation—his parents died. Nothing else makes sense.
God, that poor thing!
Alone in the world and alone in this big house! No wonder he doesn’t want to talk about his parents; their loss must have been tragic.
You know what else I wonder? If he’s lying in his giant bed, thinking about me too. I know it’s a giant bed because I snuck a peek of his bedroom when I was walking to mine, the large four-poster placed strategically between two large windows in the center of the room.
No.
He’s not thinking about me—no doubt he’s already passed out.
A guy like that wouldn’t give me a second thought.
A guy like that would have his pick of girls on campus, long hair and unruly beard or not—that shit is so trendy right now. As I flop to my side, I wonder if he realizes that. He seems to think it’s incredibly off-putting, when in reality…
It’s growing on me.
FIRST SATURDAY
“Since when was Hairy AF such a bad thing?”
Teddy
“I lay awake all night agonizing over something, and I feel terrible about being so insensitive.”
Kip’s brows go up as he pours himself a cup of coffee and leans his back against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles.
His hair is a mess, worse than mine—sweaty and sticking to his forehead, piled in a man bun, he’s added a sweat band for his early morning run.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about your parents.”
“Uh…why?” His voice cracks as it warms up, not having been used yet.
“I’m really sorry about what happened to them, Kip.”
“What happened to them?”
“You know,” I hedge, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.
Instead, his body leans forward, head tipping at an angle as he waits for me to finish my sentence.
“You know…” I try again. “How they…”
His head cocks. Brows go up as he sips from the white, porcelain coffee cup.
Slurps.
I try again. “It must not be easy living alone. Lonely, even.”
Kip shrugs his massive shoulders. “Beats living with roommates—or with my family.”
“Kip!” I gasp in horror. “You can’t say things like that!” I’m one step from making the sign of the cross.
“It’s the truth.”
“That is so wrong on so many levels!” My voice is an outraged gasp.
“Why are you acting so strange?”
“You’re the one being impervious!”
He presses two fingers to his temple. “First of all, don’t use such big words so early in the morning. Second of all—what the fuck is going on right now?”
“It must have been hard on you when they passed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your parents…passing.”
“Wait—you think my parents are dead?”
“I mean, why else would you live in this house all by yourself?”
“Because they bought it?”
“Who did?”
“My parents?” He’s staring at me like I’ve officially lost my mind.
“Wait, so—they’re not dead? They haven’t passed?”
“Stop saying passed—you sound deranged.” He laughs. “No, they’re not dead. The only thing my parents pass these days is the salt at the dinner table. Jesus Christ, Teddy, relax.”
His voice cracks as he lets out a loud bark, bending at the waist, really milking this for all it’s worth. I feel like such an asshole.
My eyes narrow into slits. “I hate you right now.”
“What the hell did I do!” Kip can barely catch his breath. “I never said my freaking parents weren’t alive, you just assumed they were. Oh my god, this is too good. It’s too good.”
“But…”
None of this makes any sense.
“Wow. You just made my day, I swear—goddamn you’re cute.”
“But…why would they buy you such a nice house? Why not a dump closer to campus? Who does that?”
When Kip presents me with his back, his shoulders give one last shake, hands busying themselves on the countertop by ripping open a packet of sugar and ignoring my question. “Let’s not get into it.”
Okay, so he doesn’t want to talk about it.
Fine.
“Someday, though? If we’re gonna be friends, Kip, we should be able to talk.”
“Jesus,” he mutters with a snort. “This is why I play rugby and stay away from girls.”
“Why? Because you don’t like having friends?”
“Yes.” He turns to face me. “No, because girls make everything complicated.”
Complicated?
“Are you being serious right now? I didn’t say I wanted to marry you! I said I wanted to be friends. That wasn’t a proposal—settle down, big guy.”
God, why are guys like this? It reminds me of the time my friend Sarah invited this guy Dave to a baseball game; when she offered him one of her spare tickets, he said he couldn’t go because he wasn’t ready for a relationship.
Idiot.
We had a good laugh about it afterward, but the point is: sometimes guys are way more drama than girls are.
It seems like Kip might be one of those guys.
It takes everything I have not to keep rolling my eyes at the grown man-child standing in front of me, but I manage. He’s being so ridiculous right now.
“Fine. You want to be my hairy godmother, be my hairy godmother.” I sniff. “And if you don’t want to be friends, we won’t be friends. Gotcha. That we can do.”
Kip tips his head back and talks at the ceiling. “Now you sound butt-hurt.”
“Me? Butt-hurt? Please.” As if. “I’m just clarifying.”
There is no hiding that stupid smirk on his dumb face. “Don’t worry—I get it.”
I lean back in his kitchen chair and cross my arms. “What exactly is it you think you get?”
One of his giant paws waves in the air. “I get how girls are. You want a relationship, I’m a good-looking, single guy, I have this house…”
“Oh my god—stop before you make me laugh.”
“Whatever, Teddy. You know it’s true.”
“Are you insane? You sound crazy.”
“You see all this”—he gestures those hands up and down his upper torso—“and I become a prime target.”
I push myself up, rising from the table. “You are delusional.”
He snickers. “Then why are you getting so defensive?”
Why is he so infuriating all of a sudden? “I would strangle you right now if I could reach your throat without a stepstool.” As luck would have it, there aren’t any to be found.
Kip laughs, and I’m sure his Adam’s apple is bobbing somewhere in his stupid, bearded neck.
“You’re telling me you don’t want to date me? After seeing my house?”
“What part of anything I said this morning would make you leap to that conclusion?” I swear, guys are morons.
