The Learning Hours(9)

“No.”

No.

Maybe.

My guard is coming down, so I’m not going to stand here and say the idea hasn’t crossed my mind since I started texting Alex. She may have messaged me under false pretenses, but…

I feel like her intentions might be changing the more we message. She texts cute, sounds sassy. Plus, she already knows what I look like and continues to flirt with me.

Bonus.

My phone dings with a new notification and I palm it, walking away from the table, toward my room. I enter and toss myself on the bed, lying on my back, staring at the ceiling.





.





Laurel





“I have yet to meet someone who doesn’t bore me to death,” my roommate Lana announces, popping a pretzel in her mouth.

It’s movie night at our house—Wednesday—one of the few days of the week none of us has a class, and as luck would have it, tonight, none of us have to work either.

Well, my roommates don’t have to work tonight, and I don’t have my job at the coffee shop anymore because as my parents put it, my new job is to “study and get good grades with the intention of graduating in four years.”

I have no break in my academic schedule, taking four extra credits and still two classes behind my goal to graduate on time. Playing catch-up with summer classes is going to suck.

“Tell me about it,” Donovan says, sticking his giant hand into the popcorn bucket perched on my lap, the three of us side by side on the couch, binging on butter popcorn, gossip, and chick flicks. All three of us are single and looking for a serious relationship.

I’m a junior now.

I’m done messing around with frat boys and one-night stands. After dating man-children who care only about two things—sex and themselves—I’m ready to find something more meaningful.

Don’t get me wrong—I love sex, I do, and I love guys; I just haven’t met one who’s wanted more from me. At the end of the day, they’re all just boys, really.

I’m tired of being used.

“The guys out there are nothing but fuckboys,” Donovan muses with a pout, popping a kernel and chewing. “You think you girls have it rough? Girl, please, the gay dating struggle is real.”

I snuggle deeper into his large body. “You’re all the man we need, Donnie.”

“Donnie.” He snorts, shoving me off him. “God I hate when you call me that. It makes me sound so suburban.”

I grin knowingly. “I know.”

We hunker down for the next few minutes, quietly watching the movie, a silly romantic comedy about a girl who writes a how-to column for a magazine and spends the entire movie trying to get the guy she’s fake dating to dump her.

It’s old, but one of my favorites.

Lane peels her eyes from the TV. “What’s that cousin of yours up to? Haven’t seen her around lately.”

I shrug, hug the popcorn bucket, and reach in for a buttery handful. “You know Alex.”

Lana twists her torso to study my face. “Why are you saying it like that?” Narrows her eyes. “Did she do something?”

Lana, Donovan, and I met our freshman year, when Alexandra was my roommate and I hid in their dorms as a means of escape when she had guys over, or any of her ridiculously catty friends.

Over the past few years, through honest late-night life chats and plenty more drunken ones, Lana and I have formed an unbreakable bond. An only child, Donovan and I are the siblings she’s always wanted, and for her part, Lana sometimes knows me better than I know myself. She knows what’s best for me, and I should be listening to her more often, not my damn cousin.

“She hasn’t done anything.” Not technically.

“Did you?”

Shrug. “In a roundabout way.”

“Stop vaguebooking and spit it out.”

“Can you actually use that term if you’re not online?” I ask skeptically, evading the subject, tapping my chin because I know it’s cute.

“Stop stalling and just tell us.”

I take the braid hanging over my shoulder and pick at the ends, avoiding both their curious glances. “Have either of you seen that flyer around campus? It’s green and has a guy’s face printed on it?”

“A guy’s face?”

“Yeah. His face, and his phone number.”

“Is this going to be a long story? Like, should I pause the movie?” Donovan asks, already pointing the remote at the television. “Tell me now or forever hold your peace.”

I nod. “Okay, so, there are these athletes playing a prank on one of their teammates. They hung these horrible posters around campus—I’m not sure how many, but there’s a huge caption above the photocopied face that says, Get Rett Laid.” I cringe. “They’re so bad.”

Lana furrows her brow, repulsed. “It doesn’t surprise me that someone would do that. People are so freaking rude.”

I ignore the dig. “Like I said, the posters have his phone number on it…” My voice trails off, gets small. I bury my face in the blanket that’s on my lap. “So I texted him.”

They both stare at me. Blink.

“What did you just say?” Donovan pokes me. “You’re mumbling.”

“What do you mean you texted him?” Lana narrows her eyes. Out of the three of us, she’s the only one with a strong moral compass. “Why would you do that, Laurel? It’s mean.”

I lift my head, continue picking at my braid.

“What was the point of the posters?”

Do I seriously have to explain it to her? “To get him laid, just like it says.”

“You’re not having sex with a stranger! Or did you become a prostitute overnight and didn’t tell us?” Lana fires off without taking a breath. “Why would you do that, Laurel? Why?”

Donovan holds up his hand to stop us both from talking. “No, no, don’t tell us, let us guess—Alex made you do it. Your cousin and that stupid-ass voodoo ball dared you to text the poor guy.”

“Something like that.” I laugh into my shoulder. They know her too well.

Lana nudges me with her pointy elbow. “So? Aren’t you going to tell us what happened?”

“So I texted him and it was fun.”

They look disappointed. “That’s it?”

I shrug.

“Bullshit!” Lana shouts. “That is such bullshit. You can’t tell me you sent some poor guy a sleazy text message and not give any details. What kind of an asshole are you?”

“Bore-ring! Boring, that’s what kind of an asshole she is,” Donovan adds, a singsong lilt in his voice. “That story was fucking boring, sorry.”

“And a total lie—you didn’t bring this up for no reason, Laurel. There’s obviously more to this story, so spill, or I’m going to be horribly disappointed in you.”

I pull a split end out of my red hair. “Donovan, remember that guy from the parking lot at the Pancake House?”

“Dine and dash guy?”

“Yeah.” I lean forward and grab my water bottle, twist the top off and take a swig. “That’s the guy. That’s who I was texting.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” Donovan scoots forward on the couch, turning to face me. “Seriously? No bullshitting?”

I set the water back on the coffee table we all have our feet on. “Nope, no bullshit. His name is Rhett, and his friends hung the posters—the ones who stuck him with the tab.”

Donovan lets out a puff of air. “Damn, I figured they were hazing him but I was hoping they weren’t. Hot guys are such assholes.” He sighs. “I wish I was dating one.”

“No you don’t,” Lana scoffs. “God, listen to the two of you. When are you going to learn not to settle for the first selfish dick who pays attention to you?”

“After I’ve been sexed a few times.” Our big gay roommate leans his head back on the couch. “I wish I was kidding.”

“I don’t settle.” My face is scrunched up. “I can’t help it if every guy I date ends up being a wanker.”

Lana sighs. “I love it when you use British slang.”

Sly grin. “Thanks. So do I.”

The three of us rest our heads on the back of the couch, eyes focused on the ceiling.

“So what’s he like?” Lana whispers without turning her head to look at me.

“Well,” I begin slowly. “It’s hard to tell. Obviously he’s defensive about the whole thing since every skank on campus has texted him, so when I sent him a message, he told me to fuck off—but he’s warmed up a little.” Kind of.

“Is he cute?”

I frown. “He’s slightly below average, but fun to talk to.”

I can hear her eyebrows rise. “And his name is Rhett?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s kind of sexy.” Lana’s voice is wistful. “Like, Gone with the Wind southern plantation shit.”

“Fiddle dee dee, I do declare,” Donovan sits up, fanning himself and not sounding one bit like Scarlet O’Hara. “I’d like to fuck y’all on the veranda.”

“Frankly my dear, you can suck my dick,” Lana says in a false baritone.

Donovan scowls. “Hey, you stole my line!”

“Shut up you guys.” I laugh. “You’re the worst.”