“No, really, don’t worry about it.” I was starting to suspect she was high on something now, and that may have prompted the massive cleaning spree. I began to walk past her.
“Do you want to come in for a beer or something? I’m almost done tidying up,” she offered with a hopeful voice.
“I’m good. It’s been a long day. I just want to lie down.”
I was turning the key in the lock when she called out, “Hey! Did you end up meeting anyone that night? You know, someone to help you forget that fuckboy you broke up with?”
The door to the apartment swung open, but her question made me pause at the threshold.
“I think I might have,” I said before finally stepping inside, closing the door, and leaning my back against it.
There were all these parts to Jamie that I never knew about until now. Parts that called to me, made me think, made me question. Parts that I enjoyed.
What if Zoey had a point? What if Jamie was the perfect guy for me to sleep with for the first time?
In my current sober state, it seemed like a far-fetched idea, but that didn’t make it any less tempting. He’d refused to sleep with me when I was high, but was that because he wasn’t attracted to me, or because he didn’t want to do anything while I was in that state? What if I propositioned him when I was sober?
I nibbled on my lip. The problem was that without the chemical courage, I didn’t know how to go about it. Maybe I just needed to give myself a few more days to think it over.
Collapsing on my bed, I thought about what Oliver would say if he knew I was lusting over his old bandmate. Of course, it didn’t matter. Not anymore. With each passing day, my addiction was easing.
* * *
A pleasantly coolweek passed by, confirming that the heat wave had truly ended. We were now in the second week of October, and all my classes had quizzes or labs due. I was paying more attention in my lectures, and spending my lunch breaks thinking about what I wanted to do after I graduate. One of my professors mentioned a volunteer opportunity at a methadone clinic downtown, and I signed up to help out. Jamie’s words about there being an opportunity to make an impact in addiction research had struck a nerve. I was curious to learn more about the current treatment methods and better understand the struggles people with substance use disorders faced.
All of this resulted in me putting my intentions regarding Jamie on slow burn. On numerous occasions, I tried to craft a text to him, but it all sounded wrong. How could I explain why I was contacting him again?Hi, Jamie, I’m reaching out because I think you’re hot, and I want to sleep with you.Even saying the words in my head made me feel nauseous with nerves. The old Jamie certainly wouldn’t balk at a casual hookup. The new one? I wasn’t so sure.
Thursday night, a loud knock sounded on our door, startling Zoey and I from our positions on the sofa. She arched a brow at me. “Expecting anyone?”
“No,” I said, standing up to check the door. My first guess was our visitor was Mimi. She had never come to our place before, but I couldn’t think of anyone else who would show up uninvited.
I twisted the door handle and gasped as it swung open to reveal the unexpected visitor. Sophie stood at our doorstep, a suitcase in her left hand, and what looked close to a dozen shopping bags in the right. She wore a trendy washed-out jean jacket, black leggings, a pair of leather boots, and a giant grin.
“Soph!” I shrieked. “What are you doing here?”
Zoey cried out in surprise behind me, and something clattered on the floor as she scrambled to get up. “What in the hell?”
“Delivery from Paris, bitches!” She dropped the bags on the ground and gave us her signature wink. We lunged at her, laughing and hollering with joyful disbelief.
“You could have warned us,” Zoey blubbered, her face buried in Sophie’s voluminous hair. “I would have gotten your favorite cupcakes.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m here for the whole weekend, so we’ll have plenty of time to hit up my favorite spots. Now help me with these bags, they’re mostly gifts for you two. And then, I want to hear about everything I’ve been missing.”
It turned out that Sophie had come to LA for a job interview at a fashion startup, where she was hoping to intern next semester. She wore a satisfied smirk as we gasped at the news, knowing that if she got the internship, she’d be making our entire year.
“So we might all live in LA together?” I squealed.
“Hey, don’t jinx it. Right now, all it is is an opportunity. But I’m as prepped as my mom’s frozen lasagna. I’ve been practicing for the interview for weeks with some of my classmates back in Paris.”
“Speaking of,” Zoey said, “we need to see all the French hotties.”
Sophie laughed, “Oh, honey, I don’t know if you’re ready. You might turn into a puddle when you see Francois from my economics class. And anyways, I want you to open your presents before we get into all that.”
The next half hour was spent digging through the bags and tearing open the delicate tissue paper hiding our goodies from sight.
“Oh my God, where the hell did you get this? And how did you afford it?” I exclaimed, rushing over to the mirror and lifting a shimmery red minidress up against my body. “This is so beautiful.”
“One of my classmates, Marcus, is the heir to his family’s luxury conglomerate. He’s been asking me out ever since the beginning of last year. Let’s just say he’s eager to please,” she said with a smirk. “Go, try it on. Zoey, you, too. I want to see you rocking that emerald number.”
