“Fine,” I tell her as I slump against my desk with my legs and arms crossed. “First rule: one bed. Even you can admit that there’s no great way to explain two beds if we plan to keep this story going.”
She looks over the bed with a forlorn expression and pushes up the sleeves of her sweatshirt to reveal the familiar smattering of freckles on her arms. “At least it’s a big bed.”
“And we’ll need to get matching bedding at some point.”
“It’s very European to have two different duvets,” she says, catching the way my brow arches before a defeated groan fills her chest. “Fine. But I have a rule of my own.”
She begins to write and I stand up to watch over her shoulder. Her hair swings out in front of her face, and my fingers itch to tuck it behind her ear. Thankfully, she does it herself before I make an ass of myself.
No bringing hookups home.
She gives a pointed look, like that rule will be some sort of challenge for me especially.
Her opinion of me is so incredibly low, and it’s unfortunately earned. “I would never do that, and I’m insulted by the fact that you think I would.”
She has the decency to look guilty for just a moment and offers me the marker. “Well, what’s your next rule?”
“That’s it for now. Maybe the rules should be an ongoing sort of thing.”
“Excellent.” She makes a show of closing the notebook.
“All right, I’m going out to meet some friends at a party.”
She perks up at the wordparty, and before she can even get the question out, I’m shaking my head. After today, I need a drink and some romantic alone time in the shower to jack off in peace. Seeing as my privacy is currently compromised, I’m going to have to settle for a drink. There’s no way I can take Clover to a college party full of lecherous frat guys eager for a first-year to pounce on and still manage to have fun.
“It’s not like I need you to get into a party,” she says.
“No, just the good ones. Besides, you need your beauty sleep. You only have one first day of college.”
She rolls her eyes, but I can see the fight draining from her as the nerves over tomorrow begin to settle in.
“Don’t wait up,” I tell her with a wink.
Tonight, Julian took the lead on locating a party to kick off the semester, which explains why I am sitting in the middle of a crumbling three-story Victorian that smells like patchouli.
“I love theater majors,” Julian says as a guy I vaguely recognize as one of his spring semester hookups curls against him and nibbles at his ear.
He nods toward Tex, who is in the kitchen talking to a pixie-like girl with long, strawberry-blond waves that skim her lower back. She looks like she just walked out of a Renaissance festival.
“Girls love a shy guy,” I tell him. “The whole Southern manners thing goes a long way too.”
“It’s pretty hot,” Julian confirms.
The party is so low-key that it’s more of a get-together, which is a nice change of pace after last year. There was a huge bash over at 1919 Hemphill tonight, which we were not invited to—no surprise there. We got a few other invites, including some from frat houses and one event co-hosted by a bunch of prelaw and marine biology majors. But the theater majors and art weirdos have some good music, decent weed, and a few kegs. Plus, any party hosted by this crowd is always one step away from turning into a poly compound, and that’s entertaining at least.
“Incoming,” Julian whispers.
But it’s not enough warning to prepare me for the lanky beauty with brown curls who welcomes herself to the armrest of my chair and drapes her legs across my lap.
“Vanya,” I say as she brushes a lock of hair off my forehead. “It’s been a while.”
She smirks, but her chocolate-brown eyes harden a little as she says, “Yeah, I think the last time I saw you, your pretty little bare ass was sneaking out of my room in the middle of the night.”
“I had a final the next day,” I tell her.
“That you were exempt from,” she reminds me. “I would know. I was your Intro to Sociology TA, remember?”
I give her the boyish grin that has gotten me out of trouble many times. I slept around a lot last year, but Vanya was very intent on coaching me in and out of the classroom and I’m a better lay for it. She’s finishing grad school this semester and then plans on doing her PhD dissertation on the rise and downfall of monogamy, which sounds hot if you’re a guy looking to get his dick wet, but in reality means that every hookup ends with a joint (which she hogs) and a long lecture on how Western culture is the biggest killjoy of all time.
