The girl does drive a hard bargain. I do so love her cookie dough. “Make it peanut butter chocolate chip, and you have yourself a deal.”
She tosses her long sheet of auburn hair over her shoulder and smirks, gloating in her win. “Consider it done.”
After I get ready, we head to Shane’s off-campus dorm. He asked Makenna to make a stop by there to help haul everything out to his parents’ house for the party. Apparently this is going to be quite the bash, but I’m not sure what the purpose of it is. Then again, with college kids, who needs a reason to party? He’s just lucky to have parents that are cool enough to allow it to happen at their house. Mine would kill me. No questions asked.
We pull into the lot, and Shane appears in his front door, leaning casually against the frame. I nagged Makenna for a few years about dating, and she was always hesitant, mostly because her parents kept her on such a tight leash. They are both educators, so they’ve always pushed her to excel in school, even at the cost of having a social life. The girl nearly missed her senior prom because she was studying for semester tests, and even then, she only stayed for an hour.
In just over a year, Shane, in addition to the freedom that college brings, has changed all of that for her. And I certainly can’t fault her for letting him. He’s totally hot, and the most kind, genuine guy I’ve ever met. He’s so good for her. And to her. I’ve seriously contemplated asking if he has a brother. Especially after my latest dating fiasco.
“Hey, baby girl.” Shane tugs Makenna through the door and into a kiss. “Hey, Callie. I see she convinced you to come, after all.”
“She begged, pleaded, and made promises that she better keep, so yeah . . . I’m here to help.”
“Well, I appreciate it. I tried to get a few more people to come early to help set up, but it looks like it will just be the three of us. One little problem, though . . .”
I look around the living room in horror. “You lost a dead body in here?”
“So it’s a little messy.” Shane rolls his eyes. “That’s how it is when you share the space with three other suitemates who are a bunch of gorillas. But that’s not the problem. I forgot to get my brother a birthday gift, and I didn’t get near enough cups.”
“Whoa. Wait a minute. You’ve never mentioned a brother.” So there is another Baxter boy, after all. But for some reason, the image in my head is of a gangly teenager with braces and acne. Probably even still in high school.
“Oh, sorry. I thought I mentioned him before.” Makenna shrugs. “Remind me to introduce the two of you at the party.”
“Okay, so can’t we just pick up the gift and cups on the way? I don’t get why it’s a problem.”
“Well, it won’t be if you’ll stay here and wait for the liquor store delivery guy. He should be here within half an hour or so. Meanwhile, Makenna can help me hurry up and pick out a gift and get cups, and then we’ll be ready to go. It will save some time that way.”
I shake my head really fast. “Oh, no . . . you’re not leaving me here alone in frat boy central. I can feel the smell in here permeating my pores.”
“Just wait in my bedroom; it’s clean. And when the delivery guy gets here, just have him load everything in the trunk of my car . . . and the backseat. There’s a lot.”
Makenna sticks her pouty lip out at me, and as always, I cave. “Okay, fine. But the delivery guy better be hot.”
She readjusts the purse hanging from her shoulder. “Thanks, Cal. We’ll hurry.”
Once they’re gone, I hear yelling and stomping upstairs and something that sounds a lot like “you just got owned.” If I had to guess, they’re playing video games. Boys are so freaking loud and obnoxious when they’re in packs. They just feed off each other. Our building is co-ed, but either there aren’t any guys nearby or it’s superbly insulated. Other than footsteps and occasional laughter, I rarely hear anything too annoying.
I’m relieved, though, to find out that Shane’s bedroom is as promised. The bed is made, it smells clean, and the only thing out of place is a shirt thrown over the back of a desk chair. I love a man who can clean up after himself. Seriously, it’s so off-putting to go to a guy’s place and not feel comfortable even sitting down.
I flip through the channels on his TV, finally settling on a rerun of Friends. I keep the volume low, so I can listen for the delivery guy. And it takes thirty-eight minutes—not that I’m counting or anything—for me to finally hear the knock. “It’s about time.”