David blinks. “Oh. Yeah. It’s cool.” He stands up. “Just change in here. I’m gonna grab my shower now, anyway.”
I nod. But I can’t stop replaying the vision of him laid back on the bed, or imagining myself above him, watching him come apart underneath me. My eyes automatically slide down to his ass as he heads to the door, and I barely look away fast enough when he turns back to face me.
He taps his palm nonchalantly against the doorframe. “Your last class is at four today, right?” he asks.
I nod my confirmation, and David mimics it back to me, nodding slowly like he’s working something out.
“Good,” he says finally, “we’re going out tonight.”
Chapter Eleven
Beth
I’m ready at nine as David asked.
I texted him this afternoon to ask where we were going tonight, and all I got back was, “dress up a little.”
Big freaking help.
Like, fancy?
I’d texted back.
Yeah, Bea. It’s a black fucking tie affair.
His sarcasm was even less helpful, so, naturally, I returned the favor.
Okay. I only have one evening gown at school, though, so I’ll stop by my dorm after class to get it.
I nearly bit right through my lip trying to stifle the grin that threatened.
All I got back, though, was,
behave.
I call my mom while I wait for him. She’s the only person in my life besides Sammy who won’t settle for texting, and she gets worried if I don’t call at least every other day. Of course, she’s one of the few people I really don’t mind talking to, and I know we’re closer than most mothers and daughters, but still, it bugs me that she feels like she needs to keep tabs on me. But I know I’ve given her ample reason for concern in the past, and without me home for her to see for herself that I have my anxiety and depression in check, these phone calls are probably the only thing keeping her sane.
I tell her about Abnormal Psych, which is even more interesting now that I’m not distracted by the glare of a stalker—no, attempted rapist, I inwardly correct myself. I shudder at the thought, grateful to my mom when she changes she subject. There’s no reason to tell her about Brody, just like there was no reason to tell her about Brian being here. It would only give her more to worry over, and I’ve already caused her more than my allotted quota of grief.
“Have you seen much of Dave on campus? Is he still acting like a ‘bodyguard’?” my mom asks with an adoring laugh. She’s always had a soft spot for David. Like mother, like daughter.
“Not as bad as the first couple of weeks, but, you know, I’m sure Sammy has him under strict orders. Plus, he’s helping me with my Shakespeare class,” I half-lie.
Another affectionate laugh. “Of course he is.” My mom sighs. “I hope he’s keeping out of trouble.”
“We’re going out tonight,” I tease, “I’m not sure where, but he said something about a crack house—or was it an opium den…?”
“Hilarious, Bits,” my mom volleys my sarcasm right back to me—she’s where I learned it, after all. “Well, have fun at your meth lab.”
I hang up with her barely moments before I hear David’s key in the lock.
He pauses in the small entrance hall when he sees me standing in the kitchen, self-consciously flattening the short, flouncy skirt of my black-and-white-striped, two-piece dress, which is basically just a skirt and a crop-top that meet about a half-inch above my naval. His eyes trail me from head to toe and back again, seeming to linger on my blood-red lips before finally landing on my gaze. I anxiously twirl the tendril of fine hair that’s fallen from the golden knot on top of my head, waiting for his assessment. My experience with makeup is decidedly limited, and suddenly I wonder what I was thinking attempting a smokey-eye, red-lipped look like I’m some kind of fashion model or Insta-celeb or something.
David is freshly showered and dressed in dark jeans and a fitted John Varvatos charcoal gray T-shirt. The material stretches to accommodate his defined biceps, his broad shoulders and chest filling it out in a way they didn’t even just a year ago.
When he still doesn’t say anything I start shifting from foot to foot, and if he were any other guy I’d probably run and hide right now. I have to consciously remind myself that this is David—the guy who can sleep beside me in his bed entirely unaffected. But that sound I swore I heard as I spied on him this morning—Bea—in that seductive, guttural tone…It’s been sneaking into my thoughts all day, and there’s still that pathetic, hopeful little part of me that wonders…Is he entirely unaffected?
“I really don’t have anything fancier here,” I explain.
