“No.”
“And why not?”
“Because it’s yours. You just admitted it.” Eric shrugs, then slams his door shut.
I race up to the door, shaking my fist at it and clenching my teeth. What a fucker. With a sigh, I grab a dustpan and, with great and careful delicateness, I sweep the item up and let it slide to its final, permanent slumber in the trashcan. Then, after shoving my favorite orange-and-blue hat on my out-of-control bed-head hair, I grab my backpack and head out.
No offense to our new gay roommate Eric, but I miss Clayton so fucking much. Clayton’s only moved ten or so minutes away into a new place with his girl Dessie, but it still put quite a bit of distance between us. He was my dude. He was my bro-from-another-mo. I’m not as close with Dmitri, and that fact has become all the more apparent with Eric moving in and taking Clayton’s old room. At first, I thought it would be fun and adorable, having an openly gay roommate and a so-called bisexual says-he’s-not-gay roommate, but it’s just made my living situation twenty times more complicated. Dmitri won’t admit he has any feelings toward Eric, but then Eric brings home some guy he met “at a Theatre thing” and Dmitri acts like the jealous ex, bitching to me about how loud Eric “and his ho” are being as they bang against the walls doing their butt ballet.
And here I am, sitting in the middle of all that.
I find any excuse to get out of the apartment, and I’m the one paying for the most of it. Well, more accurately, my parents are. I ought to have more of a say as to what goes on within these four walls, but sometimes it feels like they own the pad. I’m a guest in my own home.
I haven’t gotten any decent tail in months. The summer was a wasteland of half-forgotten kisses and hair-pulling and names I can barely remember. The dancer chick I banged behind the screen in that art class? I know her name starts with a C, but I couldn’t save my own life if it depended on recalling the rest of it. I’m sure she can’t be bothered to remember my name either. We know what we have is a for-fun, for-now sort of thing. I’ve only banged her four times, anyway.
When I reach the usual fork in the road—one way leading to the Theatre, Music, and Art schools, the other leading to the astronomy class I have in T minus ten minutes—I spot her sauntering down the road toward the School of Art.
Just the sight of that tight, shapely body and her whips of jet black hair cast me down a hypnotic tunnel of fantasies and lady parts. I can’t close my mouth suddenly as I feel the animal take over, pulling my feet in the wrong direction. I’m taking a right suddenly where I ought to be taking a left, and soon, I’m catching up to the woman in front of whom I’ve been naked twice … and without any sex happening.
Who the hell stands naked in front of a woman that hot—twice—and doesn’t have sex?
I’m nearly tripping over the cracks in the pavement as I hurry down the path. It’s a handful of minutes later that I start to catch her scent like a damn dog. Raspberries. Vanilla. Something soft and subtle.
“Hey, hey, hey,” I sing as we reach the door at the same time. I pull it open for her. “After you.”
Her needle green eyes flick upwards, taking me in. I flash her my most gentlemanly smile as a bead of sweat tiptoes down my forehead. Damn heat. Finally, she regards my existence and passes through the door, her delicious, inviting scent dragging me in with her like a leash.
Not even a thank you?
“You heading to class?” I ask, coming to her side and attempting to keep up with her quick pace, her hair dancing gracefully from side to side as she struts.
“That’d be a logical conclusion,” she answers with her soft voice.
“What’re you gonna learn today?”
“How to paint,” she throws back sarcastically. “I’ve wondered how it all works. How do those painters get all that paint on the canvas?”
She’s toying with you, Brant. Toy with her back! “I bet we could go off somewhere and learn something no paintbrush can teach you.”
“Is that so?” she asks, unimpressed.
“You’re gorgeous. I mean—” I blink away my words. What the hell did I just say? “Hey, how about I take your photo? I got this sweet cam around my neck.” Sweet cam? Am I serious?? “Maybe I’ll do your beauty half the justice it deserves, if I’m lucky. I’m pretty lucky.”
“Oh, are you? Lucky?” She stops finally, right in the middle of the hall between two wide-open classroom doors. “You know how to use that big ol’ complicated thing?”
I swallow hard, feeling all jittery inside. Having her full attention freezes me up suddenly. “Yeah,” I squeak, then clear my throat and set my jaw, faking the confidence that I’ve totally lost. “Yep. I sure do.”