“Jackson, we’re supposed to?—”
But he’s already moving, grabbing Drew by the front of his leather jacket and hauling him back toward the dorm entrance. Drew goes willingly, laughing, his hands finding Jackson’s hips as they stumble through the door.
“Maybe fifteen!” Drew calls over his shoulder, and then they’re gone.
I stand alone on the sidewalk, blinking at the space they vacated. The wildlife utterly unbothered by the hormone-fueled college students. A laugh bubbles up from my chest—quiet at first, then louder. I can’t help it. Jackson, “I’ll be your escape plan,” Monroe has abandoned me for a quickie with his boyfriend before we’ve even left.
I settle onto a nearby bench, the wood warm from the day’s sun, and pull out my phone. Might as well check in with someone who isn’t currently defiling a dormitory stairwell.
Me
How’s it going? Ready for tonight?
The response comes almost immediately.
Elliot
Define “ready.”
Me
Prepared? Dressed? Not having a crisis?
Elliot
Two out of three. Gerard has squeezed himself into leather pants that I’m fairly certain violate several obscenity laws. I’m genuinely worried they’re going to split on the dance floor.
I snort, imagining Gerard attempting to contain his legendary posterior in leather.
Me
At least he’ll be wearing underwear. Worst-case scenario, people see some pink boxers.
The three dots appear, disappear, appear again.
Elliot
Ryan. Gerard is going commando.
I stare at my phone for a long moment.
Me
I’m sorry, WHAT?
Elliot
You heard me. If those pants split, and they WILL split, the entire Grotto is going to get an eyeful of Gerard Gunnarson’s bare ass.
Me
The Ice Queen will have a field day.
Elliot
The Ice Queen will probably propose marriage.
I shake my head, pocketing my phone. Gerard Gunnarson remains an enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in pants that are going to explode. I’ve given up trying to understand him. I think some people are meant to remain unfigured out, their chaos a featurerather than a bug.
