“Do you see the way he objectifies me?” Tex asks.
“That’s just the cost of doing business with Julian,” I tell him.
Julian and I have only known Tex for a year, but he’s the glue we didn’t know our friendship needed. In fact, after a big fight last spring, he was the one who brought us back together. Tex’s actual name is Miles Eugene Barrows III, which is a much stuffier name than is appropriate for him. The guy comes from a long history of oil barons but ran away to Oregon to get a degree in environmental sustainability that is being funded by his mother out of spite after a messy divorce from his father. The nickname Tex can only be explained by a drunken night and the fact thatOkiedoesn’t have the same ring to it.
“I don’t see why you can’t just live here with us.” Julian pouts as he sits up and hops off the counter. “Your marriage is basically a piece of paper. Who cares if you two share a dorm? If Clover is anything like I remember, I doubt she even wants to breathe the same air as you.”
“We have to play the part, chucklefuck. She’s my wife.”Shit, thatword.“Besides, if I’m going to be married to Clover, I plan on using this opportunity to annoy the shit out of her.” I slap Tex’s knee as I stand up to head over to campus and check out my new living quarters, which I added on to my tuition at the last minute. I probably could have found someone to take my room at our town house, but I have no clue what the hell I’ve really gotten myself into and wouldn’t mind the insurance policy. Besides, my mom’s accountant pays anything that comes through with a Wexley logo on it without blinking an eye.
I scoop up the third key from the kitchen counter. “I’m out of here.”
“Don’t forget to carry your bride over the threshold,” Julian calls after me.
“Fuck you very much!” I tell him.
Haystack Hall, named for the famous Haystack Rock off the coast just up Highway 9, is the oldest and most decrepit dorm on campus. It is one of two gender-neutral buildings, but most distinctly of all: It is simplynotthe housing assignment you receive when your family has an endowment. When Clover texted me to tell me where we had been assigned, I decided not to pull any strings and risk my mother finding out about this littlesituationany sooner than she needs to—which will hopefully be never, since Clover swears she will have housing lined up next semester and we can happily get divorced the moment we turn in our last finals.
I hover in the doorway of room 516. Behind me, the chaos of the hallway moves like a busy freeway.
Clover stands on a wooden chair in a pair of denim cutoff shorts,exposing her supple thighs and their shallow dimples. Her oversize hoodie skims the hem of her shorts as she drops her arms after failing in her attempt to hang a thin string of lights over the window on the left side of the room, which she seems to have established as hers. Because of course she wouldn’t wait for my input. The girl is about as tactful as a bulldozer.
All my belongings are already unpacked thanks to the same moving company Julian hired. They unloaded all my furniture at the town house, but I slipped them a little cash to bring most of my other things here.
The elephant in the middle of the room is the two twin beds that have been bolted together to make a king-size bed. Shit. This is one thing I hadn’t considered.
“I actually prefer the left side,” I say.
The string of lights she is trying to hook over the side of the window slips from her grasp and with a frustrated groan, she spins around with those small hands on her hips, the ring I gave her sparkling just as brightly as it had two weeks ago when I last saw her at the courthouse.
“Thenmaybeyou should’ve gotten here first,” she says.
“Ormaybeyou could have had the decency to wait before you made decisions about our dorm room.”
She only glowers at me in return.
“Need help with those lights?”
She huffs like a frustrated Pomeranian, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “No. Yes. No.”
“There he is! The groom!” chirps a sweet Midwestern voice from behind me. “I can’t believe there are married couples on our floor.Socute.”
“Sure,” responds a deadpan voice. “Cute.”
Clover steps down from the chair as two girls—both varying degrees of curvy—step in behind me. One wears a floral dress that is both virginal and slutty while the other is in bike shorts, Doc Martens, and an oversize T-shirt that sayseat the rich. It doesn’t take much guesswork to figure out which voice belongs to whom.
“Uh, Bennett,” Clover says, “these are our neighbors from across the hall. Meet Daisy.”
The girl in the dress gives a shy smile and I make a mental note to keep her far, far away from Julian, who never misses an opportunity to corrupt.
“And Briar Rose.”
The one who looks like she stomps around involuntarily nods, her oversize and ornate septum ring glittering. “Actually, it’s just Briar,” she says. If I weren’t suddenly a married man, I might ask how she feels about being mean to me for a night.
Clover flings a careless arm out, presenting me. “This is Bennett Graves. My… husband.” She swallows the word like half-risen bile.
“Oh, right,” Daisy says, “of Graves Coffee? I’d heard Wexley was a Graves family tradition.”
“You know your trivia,” I tell her.
