Oh, now she’s smiling.
‘Best thing I’ve ever tasted,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘Thank God I have another dozen or so. You want one?’
‘I’d rather eat my own foot.’
‘It might taste better.’
A hint of a chuckle forces its way out of her closed mouth, and I can’t help but smirk. She laughed first, I win. She releases the clip holding her hair back and it cascades over her shoulders, wavy and long, and not just brown but a rich, glossy chestnut. Under the overhead lights of the kitchen, golden highlights sparkle when she moves.
‘So, I was thinking,’ I say, absolutely not noticing when she adjusts a slipping bra strap through the thin fabric of her shirt, ‘how about we call a truce?’
‘A truce?’
She looks so suspicious that this time, I’m the one who laughs.
‘Yeah, a truce. I’m not an asshole to you, you’re not an asshole to me, we spend the rest of the school year under the same roof not hating each other’s guts. How does that sound?’
‘I’ll consider it.’ She steps out of the kitchen and yawns, releasing the door as she goes. ‘G’night, Ethan.’
Staring at the spot she’s vacated, it takes too long for me to realize this damn noodle cup is burning my hand.
‘Jesus, fuck,’ I grunt before dropping the entire thing in the trash. ‘How do people eat these things?’
The only other food I have is stashed in a cubby above my bed. Technically a bookshelf but now home to an enormous box full of protein bars, the last and most tragic refuge of the hungry athlete. Returning to my room, I grab two without looking at the flavours – not that it matters, anything has to taste better than that noodle stuff – and toss myself backwards on my bed with its box-fresh sheets. They’re scratchy and smell like chemicals, but it’s still a step up from the bare mattress I had last night.
There’s a brand-new laptop on my desk, and I’m almost certain when I open it I’ll find an email from my dad asking why I charged £1,000 to my emergency credit card today, but I choose not to look because I don’t have a great cover story yet. Once upon a time, he would’ve been more than okay with the truth, but I don’t think it’s going to fly right now. Or ever again. Tearing into the first protein bar, I inhale half the thing in one bite. Not bad. Could be better. Either I need to set an alarm to make sure I get down to the cafeteria to eat or I’m going to have to learn to cook.
I’m halfway through the second bar when I close my eyes to listen to the peace and quiet around me. The Hemden halls of residence are a damn sight quieter than the dorms at Marshall College. Those walls were made of paper and spit and your neighbour only had to cough to wake up the entire floor. Even when I lie perfectly still, I can only just hear movement in the next room. A creak of a floorboard, the soft closing of a door, and is that … is that music?
It’s Mia, I realize, stuffing the rest of the protein bar in my mouth and tossing both wrappers somewhere in the direction of the trash can. Once I’ve swallowed the rest of my dinner, I sit up, press my ear against the wall and hold my breath. She’s singing. I can’t make out the words, just her sweet, high voice. Peeling off my shirt, I lieback on the bed, arms crossed under my head to make up for the weak sauce pillow. Is she undressing in there? Already in her PJs or dancing around in her bra and panties? I wish I could’ve seen what colour bra she was wearing. In my imagination, it’s pink, a true pink, not one of those weird skin-coloured bras Breanna insisted on wearing under her white T-shirts. That has to be the least sexy item of lingerie ever invented. No, I decide, settling against my mattress, it’s a baby-pink bra with matching underwear. Not a thong, she doesn’t seem the type, more like cute little panties, maybe with lace at the edges and a little ribbon on the front, her hair spilling down her back, enormous eyes staring at me like she wants it and that pouty little mouth opening just for me.
And just like that, I am rock hard.
Staring at the tent in the front of my shorts, I try to work out how long it’s been since I had sex. How long since I even jerked off? Last night was a fail and it’s been weeks, months, since I was with Breanna. The answer is definitely too long, since I have a throbbing erection over a girl who can barely stand to look in my direction. Maybe the longest I’ve gone since I lost my virginity when I was sixteen. Before I know it, my hands are moving down my body and under the waistband of my shorts.
‘Fuck.’
The grunt that comes out of me when I wrap a hand around my cock takes me by surprise. There isn’t even time to reach for the bottle of lube I’ve already placed in the drawer closest to the bed, along with the ambitious number of condoms I packed at the last minute. The woman on the checkout in Target definitely thought I was planning an orgy. My balls pull tighter with each stroke, and a vision of Mia standing in the kitchen appears in front of me, the dark makeup bringing out her blue eyes, the look of surprise on herpretty face, and it only takes a couple of pumps before I explode into my underwear.
Panting, I lie still, my hand still gripping my dick and waiting for my heart rate to drop. I haven’t come that fast in years, not even when I was trying to speed things along. Carefully, I roll off the bed and into my bathroom to clean up. The music in Mia’s room has gone quiet and all I can hear is my own heavy breathing. What the fuck just happened? How desperate does a guy have to be to jerk it over a woman who can’t even agree to tolerate his existence? This desperate, I guess.
My classes might not start until tomorrow, but I don’t need a degree in psychology to know this is not good. Not good at all.
13
Mia
My first shift at Members was officially a success. Not a triumph exactly, but no one died, I didn’t burst into tears and the building is still standing. And tomorrow, I have plans to meet up with Oliver. Not even that awkward exchange with my least favourite roommate can kill my buzz, and that’s an especially impressive distinction for Ethan since I haven’t even met the others yet.
Hurling myself onto my mattress, I unfasten my insanely heavy boots, take out Oliver’s iPod and start scrolling through the songs. I’m exhausted but too worked up to sleep. Here in halls, my only possible hang-out buddy is Ethan and I’m not that desperate, especially after that shitty little comment about me and Gabe Friedman. That would teach me to feel bad for him, skulking alone in the kitchen earlier. What the hell did he mean, asking if I’d ever hooked up with Gabe? I tutored that guy through one English test, staying late every day for three weeks to try to get his grade up and he still only managed a C. I doubt he could even pick me out of a line-up. If he had truly struggled with Wordsworth’s poetry, I might’ve had more sympathy, but Gabe didn’t care. If he could’ve had me take the test for him, he would have. So why did Ethan want to know if we’d been sleeping together?
A flurry of confusing responses flashed through me. Anger at the thought of anyone lying about me that way, confusion as towhy Gabe would bother telling his teammates we’d hooked up in the first place, and a shameful chaser of pride that someone as objectively hot and popular as Gabe Friedman might even consider me worthy of lying about. Wow, that one is going to take some unpacking. Perhaps I should sign up for some psychology classes while I’m here.
It doesn’t matter, I tell myself, as though something as simple as the facts might erase these new worries from my mind. Gabe isn’t here and I set Ethan straight. Who cares if everyone back at Marshall thinks I was sleeping with Gabe Friedman?
I do. I care.
In an effort to distract myself, I scroll through Oliver’s iPod. He wasn’t joking about how many songs were saved on here, it’s like the library of Alexandria for music, only he’s somehow managed to not include anyone I’ve ever heard of. He might have a deep respect for all kinds of music but there’s no love at all for the pop girlies.
