Beneath The Skin(149)
I’m quite certain I know exactly what he means.
“Nice,” I say, feeling smart. “So, since freshman year, you’ve switched majors from boobs to titties to lady bags … and finally settled on architecture.”
He grins. I think he appreciates me throwing his humor right back at him. “I like a … hands-on major.”
“Your mother must be so proud.”
“You sure you aren’t lost?”
“Nope. Just waiting for someone. I know exactly where I am.”
After a second, his expression changes. Then, with a new, almost alarmed look in his eyes, he shifts his posture and says, “You wouldn’t happen to be Dessie … would you?”
I stare at him and blink. “Yes, I am.”
“Oh, fuck.” He lets out a laugh, his face flushing, and then he whistles and hoots loudly. “Right on!” he finally says after he’s recovered. “I should’ve known. I’m such a dipshit! So, you’re Dessie.” He extends his free hand. “You’re Clayton’s friend, and I’m rude.”
Now it’s my turn to blanch. “And you are?”
“Brant,” he answers, his hand still extended, as I haven’t yet trusted it with my handshake. “I’m the reason you’re here. The one who’s bowling tonight. Tournament. Clayton’s favorite roommate—just, ah … don’t ask him to confirm that.”
“Brant,” I echo hesitantly, shaking his hand.
He seems to cling to mine, fascinated. “Your skin is soft as fuck.”
“You’re cute,” I tell him, “but I’m not interested.”
“Sorry.” He lets go, then nearly drops his bowling ball as he recoils—like some magic barrier just formed around me after learning who I am. “You’re … you’re a lot prettier than I was expecting.”
I choke on a laugh, unsure how to react to that. “Were you expecting a swamp creature?”
“He said you’re from New York City,” Brant goes on, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, “so I kinda presumed you’d be, like … I dunno. Rough-looking? Edgy? Nose-ring and purple hair and kinda rude?”
“Is that what you think everyone from New York City’s like?”
“I’ve lived here my whole life, born and raised,” he explains, a twinge of southern accent playing in his words. “I don’t get out much. You can just tell me to shoo at any moment, seriously, and I’ll just go and bury my head in an ice bin or something.”
“Good thing I came down here to Texas,” I say, toying with him right back. “I totally thought you all ride horses to the supermarket, dodge tumbleweeds on the highway, and wear spurs to your best friend’s wedding.”
“Wedding? Oh, no. Clayton’s never marrying,” he says with a hearty guffaw. “That dude’s been …”
And then as quickly as the joke occurred to him, it dies on his tongue, his eyes glossing over. I wonder for a moment what he was about to say, then find myself staring down at his shoes awkwardly, struggling to give Clayton the benefit of the doubt and assume that his “best friend” Brant here wasn’t about to spill some magic beans I might want to be privy to, if I had any interest in pursuing Clayton seriously.
Which I don’t. I’m here to hang out. That’s it.
“Let me get you a drink,” he says suddenly. “What do you drink, Dessie? I’ll get it for you. On the house. I know people. Just name it, they got everything.”
I smile mutedly. “Tea?”
He frowns. “Except that.”
“Water, then.”
“I mean a real drink. The bartender who’s working tonight, mmm, she makes a mean martini.”
“Just a water.”
He studies me for a second. “You don’t drink?”
I fondly recall the hangover I enjoyed last weekend after my night at the Throng & Song. “No.”
Brant nods, appraising me with smiling eyes. “I think I like you. I hope Clayton keeps you around.”
I fight one of my stubborn blushes that’s coming on. “We’re just friends,” I insist, checking my phone again. Thirty-five minutes late. What the hell, Clayton?
“Well, hey, why don’t you come over to our lane?” He beckons me with a wave of his hand as he backs away. “Dmitri and I are hanging out. Oh, you haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Dmitri, Clayton’s least favorite roommate. He isn’t drinking tonight, either. His major is poetry and general arty-fartiness, so you two will get along just fine.”
Figuring it to be safe, I give a mild shrug and follow him into the noise. The bowling alley is packed tonight with people of all ages, from families with children to college students. Even a pair of elderly couples occupy lane fifteen.