Or did I move into the city, become one of the “white-collar” people, and draw accusations of becoming too big for everyone?
I was pretty good about not wondering about those things. I generally stayed in the moment, and alcohol and pussy did wonders for not caring what the future held. But whenever a moment like this happened, where I spent the day studying and preparing for school and the guys spent the day pregaming for the pregame for the main event, it was impossible not to wonder if we’d remain together come my graduation.
I took another shot. And another. There were two blonde girls in the corner chatting with each other, giggling. They were very much talking about me. I didn’t recognize them out of the corner of my eye, which probably meant that they were Garrett’s girls. It was easier to call them that than try and remember their names, given how Garrett went through women like he was clothes shopping.
I went to the living room, sat on a couch, and slowly started working on a beer. Connor sat to my right. I clinked glasses with him. We took a sip in silence, preferring just a moment of tranquility.
“None of these bitches interest you, huh?” I said.
“Give it time,” Connor said. “Get me fucked up enough, I can consider a lot of things.”
I chuckled.
“Brock’s girl is damn fine, though.”
“Who is she?”
I found myself unexpectedly curious about her. I’d only briefly exchanged looks with her, but such a look was still on my mind. It wasn’t very often that someone held my attention. Briefly had it, sure. Sustained it, no.
“Justine, I think her name is,” Connor said. “Friend of Tara and Elizabeth.”
“They were here earlier?”
Connor shook his head.
“I’m not even sure why she’s here, to be honest,” he said. “She doesn’t seem like the partying type. Brock’s gotten her to drink some, but it never quite seemed like she wanted to be drinking here. Maybe she wanted to try the scene for herself.”
“And now she’ll get to try Brock,” I chuckled.
Jealous wasn’t the right word, or if it was, it was only a temporary thing. But I certainly did wish I’d come by an hour or so earlier so I could have had a fair shot at her.
And as it was, Brock wasn’t the possessive type. We all had our suspicions that he really had eyes for Tara; maybe getting with Justine was somehow supposed to represent that he was getting closer to Tara. Who the hell knew; I was an engineering major, not psychology.
At that moment, Brock and Justine passed by, Brock guiding Justine upstairs. At that moment, I saw Justine’s eyes lock on me. The look was unmistakable—it suggested she wanted to talk to me, not follow Brock upstairs.
I tore my eyes away. We all had it rough with the Bandits causing us trouble regularly—to say nothing of the true trouble they had caused Brock nearly a decade before. We all were broke, mostly living together because we couldn’t afford our own place. I was the exception to the rule, but the very fact that I was an exception always made it seem like there was just something slightly different about me, something that would keep me apart from everyone.
The least I could do, given that, was not disrupt Brock’s girl for the night. I had more than enough other options elsewhere. If I was the more jealous and moody type, I could have easily driven back to Albuquerque and chosen a dozen or so co-eds I could have spent the night with.
But damn.
Justine was going to be the rare girl to stay on my mind.
* * *
Justine Elks
I woke up alone and immediately started to feel regret.
And I didn’t mean the kind of regret that one quietly felt, the kind that left you feeling disappointed and sad for a couple of days before you learned and moved on. I didn’t mean the kind of regret where you fell short of something but could still find some obvious silver lining.
I meant the kind of regret that turned into shame very quickly.
I didn’t even know why I had chosen to come to this party. Usually, I went with Tara, Elizabeth, and sometimes Katie but always found the events boorish. I’d had a particularly rough week performing surgery at the hospital, but usually, I handled those moments by just being alone and having time to myself. Rare was it for me to have a week like this.
Even rarer, it seemed, was it for me to make a terrible, shameful mistake like sleeping with a biker.
Like Brock.
