3
Eyes Wide Open
Baya
On Wednesday, after U.S. History and just before American Lit, Laney snags me off the lawn, and we head over to Hallowed Groundsfor a cup of something hot to warm our frozen bones. It’s hardly the end of September, and already the air is crystalizing into an artic chill. The leaves have yellowed, and it’s a startling effect against the backdrop of the pale blue granite of the mountains, the supple verdant pines.
“So dish,” Laney says as we wait for our coffee. Her milky blue eyes are a stark contrast to her long, dark hair, her pale as paper skin. She’s pretty in a haunting way.
I fill her in on where I’ve been spending my nights.
“So, basically, staying with those two is like minoring in Sexology.” I twist a lock of hair around my finger while picturing a very naked, very sweaty Bryson panting over me. “Did I just make up a new major?”
“Sexology, huh? I bet you’d like to minor in Bryson Edwards.” She purrs into the idea. “I’m sort of majoring in vibrators at the moment. Did I just say that out loud? God I hate my ex.” She shakes the thought away. “Anyway, I’d help you out, but I’ve got two roommates too many at the moment. So”—she leans in and bites down over her Russian red lips—“on a scale of one to bed, how interested are you in Bryson?”
“Well—he took me to the Sky Lab last weekend.” I artfully evade the question with a fact. “That place was all stainless steel and glass. I was completely dizzy by the end of the night.” I leave out the fact it was Bryson’s kisses, the physical act of him twirling me while his tongue probed the landscape of my mouth that actually caused my head to spin.
“And?” Her pale eyes peer under her bangs, and she looks serious as shit while awaiting an answer.
“And,I assure you, no vibrators were harmed during the course of our evening.” The only thing vibrating against me was Bryson, and God knows he sent my insides quivering right down to my penis pocket—not that I’ve ever put anything in it that even remotely resembled a penis. “Maybe we shared a kiss.” The sweet memory of that hot exchange wafts through my mind, and my girl parts spasm just thinking about his hands roaming over me. I loved the way his embrace was gentle at times—hard and forceful at others. Who needs the battery response squad when you’ve got Bryson and his biceps to keep your vagina entertained? Not that he entertained the lower half, but still. Swear to God, if he were here my panties might spontaneously combust. Just thinking about him has me sitting in a puddle. “Okay, it may have been one,long,smoking hot kiss.”
“Hekissedyou?” She gives an open mouthed moan as if it were the sweetest thing. And it is because, for one, he doesn’t require double A batteries.
Once our lattes are ready, we head over to the pot-bellied stove, glowing with a crackling fire. The scent of fresh cut wood bites through the air, penetrating the thick scent of coffee, and the combination makes me heady.
A girl with long auburn hair waves a hand, and Laney speeds us in her direction.
“Baya, this is Roxy.” She nods over at the gorgeous Goth-like girl. “She hates people. Roxy—Baya.” Laney pulls out a seat, and we join her at the tiny table. Roxy has long, dark hair, more of a chestnut color with magenta highlights, and her eyes illuminate her face a lemony hazel. She’s beyond gorgeous, and a part of me wonders if she’s a tally mark on Bryson’s wall. And for that speculative reason alone, I secretly dislike her. A lot.
“I don’t hate people.” Her lips curl at the thought. “I hate people with penises.”
“Nice.” I muse. And I sort of like her better after that misanthropic comment. It takes the edge off any jealous feelings I was ready and willing to nurture.
“Roxy is the resident baker at Whitney Briggs.” Lauren holds a hand out to her as if making a formal introduction. “She specializes in all things delicious, including penis cupcakes so I suggest you buddy up. This girl has the potential to keep us in cake pops for life.”
Roxy wags a finger. “I prefer the term balls on a stick. The blue ones are my favorite.” She cuts a hard look at the poor boys sitting across from us.
Okay, I like her a whole lot, now that I know she’s more into skewering Bryson’s assets than licking them. I give her a wide brimming smile.
Laney peers over the mound of books on the table. “You have anything tall, dark, and chocolate lurking on your plate?”
“Not today.” Roxy clears the area to make room for our drinks. “Besides, I have a feeling any baking I do will be few and far between this year. They remodeled the commons area over the summer and took the kitchen out in favor of a pool table. Now I’ll have to beg the caf to let me use the facility.”
“Sounds like it’s back to the Easy Bake for you.” Laney gives a brief frown.
“So, what’s new?” Roxy takes a sip of her coffee and nods into Laney.
“The drama department is putting on Les Mis, and I’m thinking about auditioning for the part of Fantine.”
“Oh!” Roxy’s face puckers dramatically. “Death and dying in the land of the miserable. Can we get free tickets?”
“Don’t you always?”
“That sounds like fun,” I say. Laney is so gorgeous it’s hard to believe she wouldn’t get the part. I glance back at the redhead across from me as if Roxy were coming into focus. She looks more than a little familiar. “Hey, I think you’re in my building—Prescott Hall?” I tilt into her. “You’re the one with a poster of a cat that tells me to F off on the way to my room.” Or at least it did while I was still residing at the palace of perversion, but I leave that part out.
“Correction, old room.” Laney pulls her chin back. “She’s shacking up withBryson Edwards.”
Roxy looks impressed as hell as if I’ve pulled off the roommate coup of the century. “Does his harem know about this?”
