“Well,” she starts slowly. “I like parties…and sports…and meeting new people…and being friendly.”
Speaking of friendly: the vision of Jameson rising from her seat in the library right before she kissed the shit out of me has me pausing. The black sweater and pearls she had on. The buttoned up green cardigan she had on as she watched me get a hand-job in the hallway of a house party last weekend. The gray one she wore yesterday.
“Hold up. Does she always wear cardigans? I mean, she wears other shit out of the house, right?”
My date hesitates. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve never seen her in anything but sweaters. She owns other clothes, right?”
“Er…are we back to talking about Jameson?”
“She has other clothes in her closet, yeah? Not just all that plain crap? Does she own sweatshirts?”
“Uh…yes. I’ve seen her in other shit.” Sydney’s brow furrows into a pout. “Sorry if I’m coming off as confused, it’s just…I’ve never heard anyone call her plain before. I think you need your head examined.”
She’s probably right because why the fuck am I still talking about this shit?
I grab one of Sydney’s mozzarella sticks, dip it in marinara sauce, and swallow it whole. “I just think it’s weird. She looks like a fucking kindergarten teacher.”
My date shrugs. “She gets that a lot, but that’s not how she is. Trust me.”
Jameson
“Well that was the weirdest date I’ve ever been on.” Sydney walks in the door of our apartment, throwing her purse on the end of the couch I’m sitting on. “If you can call it that.”
I sit up straighter, my plaid flannel pajama bottoms bunched up around my knees. A piece of red licorice rope hangs out the corner of my mouth as I close my laptop, set it on the coffee table, and lean back into the plush couch cushions.
Trying to appear casual, I slowly drawl out, “What do you mean?”
Sid huffs, banging a few cabinets open and rummaging through them until she finds a clean cup. “He spent the entire time grilling me about you.”
What? “Shut up.”
“For real. The entire time. At first I thought it was cute, you know? I thought he was asking out of polite interest, but then it got really annoying.”
“Sydney, stop it. That’s not funny.”
“I wish I was kidding,” she says as she fills her cup with water then takes a few sips. “Honest to god, James, that guy is so hot. Like, I could see his hard nipples through his shirt. And his tattoos? Gawd, so hot, but not gonna lie—he killed my lady boner by bringing your name up every two seconds.”
“Why would he do that?”
She levels me with a stare. “Gee, I wonder.”
Rolling my eyes, I follow her when she heads toward the bathroom, padding behind her with bare feet. “I mean, not that I care, but what was he asking? Be more specific.”
Sydney puts down the toilet seat cover and invites me to sit. “He wanted to know why you study so much, why you’re so serious, do you go anywhere for fun besides the library.”
Shuffling past her into the tiny room, I plop down on the toilet, emit an indignant hmph, and cross my arms as she drones on.
“I know, right? And here’s the crazy part: he was hinting about asking me out again, which I found super bizarre ’cause he didn’t seem to give a crap about anything I was saying.”
“Would you have said yes if he’d asked?”
Say no, say no.
Sydney’s face contorts with an Are you nuts look before shifting her focus into the mirror. “Um, yeah. I mean, I’m not stupid. It’s Oz freaking Osborne. He’s so freaking hot. I swear, I wanted to pet him. Oh my gawd, James, his tattoos got me so turned on—I could have climbed into his lap. My panties are so wet right now.”
Tattoos. Wet. Hot.
“Right,” I deadpan. “Hot.”
And wet.
My roommate pulls out a cotton ball, gets it wet, and begins taking off her mascara. She turns to me with one eye open. “What is with you? You’re acting strange.”
“Me? No I’m not!”
But I am—I totally am.
“He asked for your number,” Sydney says offhandedly before running the water and bending to splash it on her face. “Honestly, I was surprised he didn’t already have it, the way you two carry on.”
“He asked for my phone number?”
My roommate laughs. “Yes Jameson, your phone number.”
“Why would he want my number?” I muse, sounding mystified. “That’s so weird.”
“Uh, no it’s not.” Blindly, she fumbles for a towel, her voice muffled when she says, “I swear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think…”
I hold my breath. “Think what?”
“I’d think there was something going on between the two of you besides being study buddies.” She says it warily, as if she’s afraid of what I’ll say next, afraid I might tell her to stay away from him.
“Pfft, please. That’s ridiculous,” I object. “I’ve seen him in the library maybe five times—that’s it.”
“I’m not so sure-er!” she singsongs. Then, lowering her voice, she teases, “What goes on between the two of you in that library, Jameson Victoria Clark?”
“Nothing!” I protest loudly.
Maybe too loudly, because my roommate’s smile widens into a full-out grin.
“Hmmm.” Her green eyes scan my ribbed navy tank top and plaid pajama pants. Sid taps a finger to her chin in mock thought. “Come to think of it, he did seem to fixate on your wardrobe. He brought up your cardigans twice. I told him all about your cardigan collection.”
“Shut up Sydney!” I grab a damp washcloth from the shower and lob it at her. “I do not have a cardigan collection, brat!”
Just one of every color in the rainbow: red, orange, yellow, green, blue… Purple. Pink. White, black, and gray.
And a few patterned ones.
But big deal—who doesn’t?
“But you kind of do. Don’t bother denying it,” she teases, calling off the colors in my closet. “Red, pink, yellow, green.”
I stick my tongue out. “I hate you sometimes.”
“No you don’t.” Sydney goes back to removing her makeup. “So you don’t care if he asks me out again?”
“What? Please. No. Why would I? It’s not like I’m going to date him. Haha. No. Be my guest—he’s just some guy I study with at the library.”
Seriously, I need to stop talking.
Fiddling with a container of moisturizer, not turning to meet my eyes, she dubiously nods. “All right, if you say so. But…you know, if you change your mind, say something, okay? I don’t want it to be weird if Oz and I start dating.”
“Oz Osborne dating?” I roll my eyes but she doesn’t see me. “Okay Sydney. Good one.”
This time she does turn to face me, her brows furrowed. Hurt. “Why would you say it like that?”
“Please. The guy screws everyone—I saw him getting a hand-job at a party in the hallway. It’s probably a good idea to stay away from a guy like that, no matter how good looking he is.”
“First of all, there is no way he screws everyone. Every athlete has a reputation simply by being an athlete; they’re not all pigs. Oz could be guilty by association. And secondly, why wouldn’t I want to date him? It’s Oz Osborne. If he asks me out, I’d be a fool to say no; do I look like a fool to you?”
No, dammit. She doesn’t.
She’s not.
I cross my arms stubbornly. “Fine. Just don’t let him lead you on—no doubt he’s run out of room on his bedpost for notches.”
She levels me with a stare. “You don’t honestly believe that garbage, do you?”
Well, no. I don’t. So why the hell did I say it?
My sigh is palpable. “No. But I also don’t think you should get involved with him.”
Sydney considers this for a few moments, swiping a hand through her long blonde hair. “James, it’s a few dates, nothing more. I’m not going to marry the guy.”
Her face turns a suspicious shade of pink—one she tries to hide behind a white terrycloth towel.
“Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. And make sure you wear a condom.”
She giggles prettily. “Him too?”
“That goes without saying,” I tease when she sets down the towel to slather on moisturizer.
I wait as she brushes her teeth, braids her hair, and scuttles back to her bedroom.
I wait for the telltale sound of her door closing before I exhale a shaky breath and revisit our earlier conversation.
Sebastian talked about me the entire time they were on their date? Then asked for my phone number?
What does that even mean?
A knot of uncertainly forms in the pit of my stomach, along with a pang of something else.
Jealousy.
I’m jealous that I’m not outgoing in the way Sydney, Allison, and Hayley are. Jealous that guys don’t find me sexy because outwardly, I’m conservative. Jealous that I can’t just let loose. Jealous that…
Ugh, stop it, James. Stop!
He’s not my type, he’s not my type, he’s not my type, I chant to myself.