“When I Was a Boy” by Electric Light Orchestra
August, Freshman Year
Xander’s point of view
I’m the first one here.
The space is small. Two bare beds, two desks, two dressers, two nightstands, one narrow door leading to a shared bathroom. A tiny-ass window on the far side of the room with cheap, plastic blinds. Ash-colored walls. Pale linoleum floor. A small dust bunny in one corner. Half the size of the bedroom at my parents’ house. This will be different.
I guess I’ll take the spot by the window.
I drop the bags on the bed. There’s more in the car, parked in the loading zone outside, but I plop down and pull out my phone.
The mattress is firm and unforgiving.
Where’s the nearest thrift store? I need a television, sheets, maybe a lamp. I should get the pillow and shampoo at Walmart.
A knock sounds on the open door.
I glance up.
“Uh, hi?” The wide smile that lights up his face smashes his thick-rimmed glasses against full cheeks. “I’m Jimmy Powell. You’re my roommate?” He steps into the room, the harsh fluorescents highlighting the freckles on his pink skin, and he places his bag on the open bed.
I cock an eyebrow. “Yeah. Xander. Nice to meet you. Officially.”
“I’m sure your parents are here too…” He fiddles with the zipper, biting his lip. “But mine are taking me and a family friend out to dinner later if you want to join us.”
I return to my phone. “Thanks for the offer, but I have to grab a few things still. No time.”
Jimmy offers me a sad smile. “Okay, no worries.” Finally, he yanks open the bag and piles the clothing inside his dresser.
There’s a local thrift store only a couple blocks from campus, and the Walmart is five blocks away. An easy drive.
“Alexander Theroux?”
My head shoots up. “Yeah?”
Our RA, a sophomore with a crooked smile and a deep obsidian complexion, pokes his head inside the room. We met earlier.
“Hey, boys.” He beams and turns to me. “You said it was Xander, right?” After I nod, he turns his attention to Jimmy. “And you must be James Powell. Welcome to Bradford.”
“Jimmy.” He steps forward, offering his hand, and they shake. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m David, your Resident Assistant. Seriously, if you need anything or have any questions, let me know. My room’s at the end of the hall by the elevator.”
Jimmy nods, and David turns his dark brown eyes on me again.
“Xander, you received a box downstairs. We’re bringing it up now.”
I cock my head. “A box?”
“Yeah. It’s huge.” He fusses with the papers in his hands and yanks out a small envelope. “Oh, and there was a card with it.” He offers it to me.
I cross the room to him, take the white envelope, and tear it open.
The typed note is simple: A small housewarming gift. Do well your first semester. I expect great things from you. -ST
God forbid he use the term “Dad.”
Jaw clenched, I crumple the note in my hand and turn back toward the window.
“Here it is,” David says behind me.
When I glance back, he steps out of the way as two upperclassmen haul an enormous brown box inside the room. They place it against the open wall and exit the room.
David sends each of us a grin. “Seriously, guys, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be around.”
And he’s gone.
I turn on the box. It covers the entire wall, but it’s not even a foot wide. I pull the pocket knife from my jeans and slice open the tape on the top edge. Let’s find out what my parents consider “small.”
Inside is another box, but this one is white with a bright blue logo. A Smart TV.
I look more closely at the label.
A 55-inch Smart TV. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?
I scoff and stalk back to grab my keys. “Fucking useless.” Barely send him a glance before stepping out the door. “I’ll be back. I have more stuff to bring in.”
“Sure,” Jimmy calls after me.
As soon as I’m out the door, I barrel into another student. We stumble apart, and I push past her.
“Excuse you,” she yells after me.
I don’t look back.
Inside my car, there are two more boxes. Clothes, video games, textbooks I ordered early, a couple miscellaneous items. I didn’t bring much.
But for the life of me, I can’t bring myself to carry them up there.
Just to see that stupid fucking box. I slam the trunk and hop inside the driver seat. The Eagles’ Their Greatest Hits bursts to life when I start the engine, and I crank the volume.
No point in putting off errands that need run. Of all the places I’ve lived, this is the tiniest and the whitest. Stores probably close at six or something equally ridiculous.
I pull out my phone again. The map with instructions for the nearest thrift store is still up.
The whole point of moving nearly 1,500 miles away was to be 1,500 miles away. What are these fucking “great things” anyway? Why is he pretending he didn’t spend three months trying to convince me to attend Harvard or Wharton or Tuck?
I slam my brakes at the stop sign. Probably better if I pay attention while driving.
At least I can take solace in the fact they’d just die if they knew where I’m going right now.
I return to the dorm building with a bag of assorted bedding, a few toiletries, a new pillow, and a mini-fridge that was on clearance. It’s late now—long past dinner—but if I’m anything, it’s prepared.
Jimmy looks up from Pirate Latitudes when I bring up the first load. “You’re back.” He drops the book on the bed and sits up, waiting for my response.
I shove the mini-fridge by the foot of my bed and head for the door again.
“It’s been hours.” He follows me out of the room. “Can I help with anything?”
I pause, a few feet from the room, and turn back. He offers me a small smile, and I can’t say no. “Yeah, I have a few bags to bring up.”
He doubles back to grab his shoes and rushes after me down the stairs, a giddy grin on his face.
“I was starting to worry,” he says when we reach the first floor.
Halfway to the exit, I shoot him a skeptical glance. “I said I had errands to run. I wanted to get them over with.”
My car is parked in the loading zone again, and I unlock the trunk to pull out the remaining boxes.
Jimmy comes alongside me and grabs one. “This is your car?” He pauses a moment to appreciate it. “It’s awesome. Did you drive here by yourself?”
I shrug. “It’s a nuisance. It started leaking oil on the drive here. Probably need to replace a gasket.” I drag the second box from the recesses of the trunk and close it with a heavy sigh. “Or I fucked up the oil change.”
He still looks impressed.
I nod toward the dorm. “Come on. There’s more stuff to get after this.”
He walks in step with me.
“Are your parents still here?” I swipe my ID on the gray pad beside the front doors of Lincoln Hall and hold the door for him. “Where’d you eat dinner?”
“There’s a small restaurant called Diego’s downtown. It was pretty good. But yeah, they left half an hour ago.” He sends me a small smile as he passes. “You’ll meet them some other time.”
It only takes one more trip to grab everything, and I throw the new sheets into the washer at the end of the hall. It’s too early in the semester for anyone else to use them yet.
In our room, I can finally open the box of pizza I grabbed on the way back.
“You’re welcome to have some.” I nudge the box toward the foot of my bed. “I got more than enough.”
Jimmy collapses down in the swivel chair at his desk. He must’ve brought that from home. “I’m stuffed. Thanks, though.” He flips open his laptop and continues his restless twirling as it powers up.
The first box is only clothes. I shove them into my new dresser, then move to the next.
But my stomach growls. I snag another slice of pepperoni and stuff half of it in my mouth.
A knock sounds on the open door.
I glance behind me to see a girl waltz into the room, not even waiting for a response, and collapse on Jimmy’s bed. Girlfriend, probably. I turn away and finish the pizza.
She groans and launches into a tirade without giving him a chance to say hello. “So I just met my roommate, and let me say this, I’m fucking thrilled. She thinks I have a boy’s name, she demanded the side closer to the bathroom, and apparently she’s already scoping for hot guys and looking forward to pledge week.”
Jimmy chuckles and spins in the swivel chair. “Don’t be so quick to judge. She’s probably really nice.”
I drop off a couple toiletries in the bathroom—it’s tiny. A single shower stall, short toilet, pedestal sink, one door leaning to another bedroom. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Great. A giant-ass grease spot on my abdomen. Motor oil. Apparently, I need to be more careful. Fucking lovely.
I tear the shirt over my head and toss it to floor as I return to work.
The girl scoffs. “You have far too much faith in humanity. Ugh, she’s probably going to get a boyfriend, and then I’ll have to listen to them have sex while I’m trying to sleep.”
“Then just don’t go to bed. It’s not like you sleep anyway.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “Thanks for the awesome advice, Jimmy. The library closes at midnight, though, I already checked. So what am I supposed to do when she brings a guy into the room at two in the morning?”
This box is mostly comics and video games. Not sure how much use I’ll get out of these, but I glance back toward the giant TV, still shoved up against the wall shared with the bathroom. That thing probably has enough ports for most of my systems.
At his desk, Jimmy shrugs. “Pretend to be asleep and hope they don’t have sex, I guess.”
“And if they do?”
He laughs. “I don’t know, find someone willing to join you and compete.”
But she’s not amused. “Very funny.”
I frown at the television. Maybe not girlfriend.
“Well, you can always come hang out here.” Jimmy pauses. “That is, assuming Xander’s okay with it.”
Or maybe she is his girlfriend.
The chair squeaks as he spins to face me. “Would that be a problem?”
I barely glance at him. “I don’t care what you guys do in the sanctity of your own bed.”
“Okay.” Jimmy sends me a confused frown and turns back to her. “I guess that means he doesn’t mind.”
She heaves a sigh. “That isn’t a real solution, Jimmy.”
“What would be a solution?” When she doesn’t say anything, he moves on. “Are you hungry yet? You didn’t have anything at dinner.”
“We ate on the drive up.”
He sighs. “That was six hours ago.”
“And aside from lugging my things up here in an elevator—and your dad carried half my stuff—I haven’t exactly done much today. I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat something.”
I push the pizza boxes toward the foot of the bed so she can see them. “You can have some pizza if you want.”
She groans. “Okay, fine. Just stop looking at me like that.”
Jimmy releases a victorious laugh.
“There’s pizza?” she asks.
“Yeah, on Xander’s bed.”
The bed squeaks, and Jimmy rolls back to the desk. Then, the squeaking stops. She doesn’t come for the food.
For just a moment, it’s silent.
“Fuck.”
Curious, I look over my shoulder.
She sits on the edge of his mattress in a Wonder Woman tee and holey jeans—the kind of holes that require time and effort. Her dark russet hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, the unkempt curls dangling toward the bed, and a pair of black-rimmed glasses sit atop her pointed nose. Despite her rich amber skin, she’s pale with a splatter of freckles across her cheeks. She’s staring at me.
I cock an eyebrow and return to my box. Has she never seen a shirtless guy before?
Jimmy, though, is immediately alarmed and spins away from his laptop. “What? What’s wrong?”
She clears her throat. “Nothing. Just…that’s a big TV.”
For a moment, they’re both silent.
Then, he says, “You’re not even looking at the TV, Billie.”
Ah, I finally get a name.
“What else would I be looking at?”
Jimmy doesn’t say anything, only spins back to the desk in silence, and I lean down to sift through the box more thoroughly.
Finally, the bed squeaks again. Footsteps approach.
She pauses a couple feet from me. Her hand reaches for the pizza, but she hesitates when I look. Hazel eyes widen when they meet mine, and she steps away.
On the swivel chair, Jimmy rolls toward the middle of the room and glances between us. “I guess it’s time to make it official. Billie Dixon, meet Xander Theroux.” He offers me a smile. “We’ve lived next door to each other most of our lives.”
For a moment, she watches me with those wide, suspicious eyes, staring, lips set in a thin line. When I offer my hand, she doesn’t move.
I cock an eyebrow. “Billie is a boy’s name.”
A scowl envelops her face, and she crosses her arms over her chest, averting her eyes. “Well, Billie ain’t a boy.”
I let out a short laugh—I’m impressed by the reference—and when she catches my gaze again, glaring, I smirk. “What, aren’t you going to show me you have woman-parts?”
She scoffs, turns on her heel, and stalks out of the room.
On his chair, Jimmy sighs and rolls back to the desk. “That could’ve gone better.”
I lean against my bed with a frown. “Does she have no sense of humor? It was a joke—and she got the reference.” When he shifts uneasily, I sigh. “Should I apologize?”
He lets out a hearty laugh. “Don’t bother.”
I tilt my head. “Huh?”
“Trust me when I tell you she can hold a grudge. Apologizing would probably annoy her.”
“Sorry I pissed off your girlfriend.” I turn back to the bed and stuff another slice of pizza in my mouth.
Jimmy blanches. “We’re not dating. Seriously. That’d basically be incest.”
I send him a skeptical glance and swallow with significant effort. “‘Basically’?”
“We grew up together.” He shakes his head, emphatic in his dismissiveness. “She’s like my sister, only we’re not related. There will never be anything romantic there, trust me.”
I shrug. “Good to know.”
He’s quiet.
Then: “Why’s that?”
I close the box of video games and shove it under the bed. “Why’s what?”
“Why’s it good to know we’re not together?”
I release a noncommittal grunt and grab the next bag.
“Because it sounded remarkably like you were hitting on her just then. Subtly, crudely, yes, but—”
I snort. “You need to get your ears checked. If I hit on someone, I’ll be upfront and honest—and probably not that crass.”
He looks like he wants to say something else—this guy doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut—but I send him another sharp glare, and he returns to the laptop.
But not before whispering, “If you say so,” just loud enough I can hear him.
We swipe our cards at the entryway before walking around the large open cafeteria, trying to find an open table. It’s barely after noon on the second day of classes, and there aren’t many left. The buffet lines are ridiculously long.
On the far side, near an emergency exit, there are a couple empty tables.
Jimmy nods over there after we grab drinks, and we set our cups and bags at a table before heading for the buffet.
“How was your first class?” he asks as we stop at the grill, one of the few places without a line. He grabs a burger and bun and dresses it.
I shrug, leaning against the counter next to him. “The same as all my classes yesterday. It’s the same ridiculous introductory game every professor insists we play so they can memorize our names.
The only variation is the game itself. Beckett insisted we not only say our names but also the names of everyone who’d already introduced themselves.”
He laughs, and we move on.
I put together a makeshift Cobb salad at the salad bar, and Jimmy grabs some veggies and ranch.
“I asked Billie to join us,” he says when he’s done. “I hope that’s okay.”
I shrug. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I dunno. You didn’t seem to care for her much.”
I snort and add some hard-boiled eggs. “I’m pretty sure you have that backwards. She’s fine, but I’m not going to be extra nice just because she’s overly sensitive.” I roll my eyes and head for the table.
He rushes to catch up. “Right, I get that.”
When we sit down, I stab at my salad, the fork gnashing against the ceramic bowl. “Why didn’t she just walk over here with us after Seminar ended?”
He shrugs, but his tone is morose. “She said she had to grab something from her room.”
My lips twist into a tight purse, and I set down my fork. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude to her, but I’m not going to sugarcoat things either.”
“No, I understand.”
I frown and look to my salad.
The table jostles.
When I look up, she’s standing with her backpack on top of the table. Her hair is pulled back again, this time in a messy bun. A few curls frame her face, and she wears a black Metallica tee, jeans with after-market holes, and a scowl on her face when she sees me.
Obviously, she’s already made up her mind about me—and she has a short fuse if that tiny interaction is all it takes.
“There you are, Billie.”
When she turns to Jimmy, her face transforms into a small smile, and she sits down beside him—in the seat farthest away from me.
“Hey, sorry that took so long. My roommate was trying to get me to eat with her and some of the other girls, so I had to figure out how to say no without being too rude.”
Jimmy laughs. “I’m sure that was successful.”
She wears a rueful smile. “I really don’t know anymore.” She sighs and lays her head on her hand. “I don’t understand women.”
I snort into my salad.
Her eye twitches, but she doesn’t look up; she just continues.
“Even Mo doesn’t make any sense.”
Beside her, Jimmy shrugs. “Imogene is…nicer than most women I’ve known.” He finishes his soda and stands. “I need more to drink. You going to grab some food?”
She shakes her head. “In a minute. I want to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything for my next class.”
He raises a bushy brown eyebrow. “Billie, what could you possibly forget? It’s your first session.”
“I don’t know. Pens, a notebook, the textbook. The professor emailed a copy of the syllabus weeks ago, so I have that printed off somewhere, but I couldn’t find it.” She opens up her backpack and peeks inside. “It might be in here.”
Jimmy frowns. “I’m sure they’ll hand it out in class.”
“I don’t want to take that chance. I’ll go back and get it or print out another copy, but I need to know if I’ve missed it now so I leave early enough to do that.”
He shakes his head, sighing, and stands up. “Okay, have it your way.” He departs for the drink station, leaving us alone.
When he’s gone, she empties her backpack. Notebooks, textbooks, binders, folders, sketchbooks, and a plastic container of pens and pencils spill onto the hard table.
I glance at the backpack hanging on the back of my chair. Its contents are minuscule in comparison. A notebook, one pen, the textbook for my final class of the day, and the papers I’ve received in my previous two classes.
Will a hurricane lay waste to the local office supply store in the next two days?
She flips through her things, searching for the missing syllabus, taking great care to keep her eyes on her task. All her motions are careful, forced—she’s trying to pretend I don’t exist.
But I’m not willing to let her.
“Hi.”
Despite herself, she looks up before quickly returning to her search.
“Are you ignoring me? I’d like for us to be friends.”
Her mouth twitches.
“Or at least to tolerate each other.”
Her jaw clenches, but her eyes dart up to meet mine. “That would require you to be tolerable.”
I laugh. “It works both ways.”
Her eyes narrow, but she turns away again. “I’m trying to focus.”
“No, you’re trying to pretend I’m not here.” I smirk and take a bite of my salad before continuing. “Obviously, you’re not trying hard enough because you haven’t been successful.”
She scoffs. “Haven’t you heard you’re not supposed to speak if you don’t have anything nice to say?”
I grin, but she barely notices. “You probably wouldn’t be able to talk very often then, would you?”
She grits her teeth. “Then don’t talk to me. I’m certainly not here to spend time with you.”
“Fine.”
Jimmy comes back to the table, and she stuffs everything back inside her bag and shoves it aside.
He settles in his seat. “Did you find it?”
“No. I’m going to grab food.” She pushes away from the table and stalks to the buffet.
Jimmy glances between me and her retreating form. “Everything okay? What was that about?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t think she likes me much.”
He shakes his head. “Give her some time to cool off. She can be a little hotheaded.” He sighs and glances toward her distant form in a buffet line. “Seriously, let it be.”
He’s probably right. He should know, after all, if they’ve really been friends that long. But I’m not Paul McCartney.
When her door opens, a girl with dark brown hair and spray-tan bronze skin hovers by the frame, staring at me. She’s in our Seminar class, but I haven’t bothered learn her name.
“Hey, uh, sorry to bother you.”
A big smile spreads across her face. “Not a bother at all. I’m Val, and you’re Xander, right?”
I nod. “Is your roommate here?”
Her face falls. “Oh, yeah.” She steps aside and motions me inside the room, a tight frown on her red lips. “She’ll be out of the bathroom any minute. That’s her bed.” She points to the nearest bed and returns to her own desk, set up in the far corner, where an array of makeup spreads in front of a tabletop mirror.
I hesitate outside the room but slowly enter and close the door behind me. Aside from the navy-blue beanbag shoved into a corner, there’s nowhere to sit but on her bed. Her desk chair has a stack of textbooks on it—calculus, American lit, a history book.
The room is minimally decorated. She has a Batman poster on the wall—from one of my favorite comics too—and there’s a stack of half a dozen sketchbooks on the edge of her desk, only a couple feet away. Otherwise, there isn’t much to look at.
I stretch out an arm to grab the topmost sketchbook. It has a simple black cover and spiral binding, and the edges appear unused. Before I can look inside, the bathroom door opens. I shove the book back on top of the stack and fold my hands together atop my lap.
She enters the room wearing nothing but a thin tank-top and the shortest pajama bottoms. Her hair is up in a green towel, and moisture clings to her warm amber skin. You’d never guess it with her baggy clothes, but she actually has a decent body.
Her glasses are missing, but she pauses a moment at the sight of me, immediately tense. “What are you doing on my bed?”
“I came to talk to you.”
The tension in her limbs subsides, and she groans. “Xander, seriously why are you here?” She passes me to reach her desk, where her glasses sit on the other side of the sketchbooks.
She couldn’t tell it was me.
“Like I said, I came to talk to you.”
She cleans her glasses with the thin blue shirt—revealing smooth skin, an outie bellybutton, and…ribs really shouldn’t be that prominent. She pushes the glasses onto her face before turning to me. “I don’t care. What the hell are you doing on my bed? Who in the world invited you here?”
I cock my head. “Your roommate let me in.”
As if on cue, said roommate pushes away from her desk, her makeup now complete, and grabs her purse from her bed. “I’m meeting Ruby and Prudence and Gemma for dinner.” She’s out the door before either of us can say anything.
Standing in front of me, she frowns at her roommate’s departure, then turns back to me. “You need to leave.”
I roll my eyes and scoot farther back on the bed.
But she turns away as if I’m already gone.
She drops her glasses back on the desk and leans forward to delicately squeeze her natural curls dry with the towel. Gravity forces her shirt forward—more skin and ribs than before—and those shorts…are very short. The lacy edge of sky-blue underwear sticks out from under the gray cloth.
And I have the best seat in the house.
I tilt my head curiously.
Does she have any idea how suggestive this position is? Or what a poor job her clothing does covering her round ass? I could literally reach out and touch her right now. There’s no way she doesn’t realize that…
I purse my lips. What the hell is she playing at?
When she’s towel-dried all her hair, she pulls back, flipping the burgundy locks over her head, nearly hitting me in the process, and grabs her glasses again.
She turns around to return the towel to the bathroom, but she stops when her eyes land on me. Her dark red hair falls all the way down to her waist, curls and all, and droplets of water trail down her skin. Parts of her are still wet.
My eyes trace their way back to her face, trying not to get too distracted. Her nipples are erect, areolas dark enough to see through the tank-top, and goosebumps cover her arms from the air conditioning. Her tits are tiny—A-cup, maybe B if she’s lucky—but that ass… She has a particularly nice ass. Tight and round, but big enough to give you something to hold on to.
She glares down at me. Her jaw is clenched. “Why are you still here? I told you to leave.”
I get the distinct impression she’s completely unaware of how seductive she is.
I clear my throat and adjust my position to get more comfortable.
“I told you I came to talk, Dixon. I’m not leaving until we actually have a conversation.”
She scoffs. “Just because my roommate let you in doesn’t mean I want to talk to you. I didn’t invite you here. You’re not allowed on my bed. This is my personal space, and you have absolutely no business being here.”
I roll my eyes but stand. “Is that better?”
“I told you to leave,” she says again, her narrow eyes still focusing on mine.
“In what world am I going to do what you tell me to, Dixon?”
Her eyes narrow even farther, and she drops the towel on her bed. “Why are you calling me that?”
I grin, leaning down so our eyes are level. “Billie is a boy’s name, and I have it on good authority you’re not a boy.”
My eyes wander across her form again. Her mouth is slightly agape, but behind her glasses, she studies me. She’s too skinny to be healthy, and her faded tank-top clings to her damp tits and exposes her stomach. The shorts, a stretchy gray material, barely grip her thin frame, but there’s definitely more under those clothes than her androgynous name and outward demeanor suggest. She’s attractive—pretty even—but she obviously doesn’t take care of herself.
I turn my attention back to her flushed face, and she shifts uncomfortably. I turn away, shrugging. “I’m still waiting for proof of that, though.”
“What, you expect me to lift my shirt and show you I have breasts? Who the hell do you think you are?”
I roll my eyes, and she looks away. “It was a joke, and you know it was a joke because you made the fucking reference too.”
“Right, because making a joke excuses all asshole behavior.”
My fists clench, and I step closer. “God, I’m trying to fucking apologize here, Dixon. It’s kind of hard to do when you won’t fucking shut up for more than two seconds.”
But she turns back to me, stepping closer, her eyes set in a deep glares. “You could’ve fooled me.”
“What?”
“You haven’t even tried. No apology has come out of your stupid mouth. So why the hell are you actually here?”
“Maybe if you stopped overreacting, I could get the words out.”
She scoffs. “I don’t want to hear an apology from you. I don’t care.”
I step close enough her arm brushes mine. “You don’t have to care, you just have to listen. Are you seriously too stubborn to do that?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t have to put up with this bullshit. You can’t come in here, claiming to apologize, only to make the same derogatory remarks the second you’re in the door.” Her hazel eyes meet mine, a fire deep inside them. “You’ve known me for literally one week. How can you possibly think you have the right to waltz in here and be a complete asshole?”
She doesn’t give me the chance to respond; she pushes past me, yanks open the door, and steps to the side. “Leave.” Her eyes settle on me with the deepest glare.
My jaw clenches. “You didn’t give me a chance to talk.”
She looks away. “Not everyone is interested in what you have to say. Get used to it.”
I stop in front of her again and lean down so our eyes are level, but she won’t look at me. “You’re insane, do you know that? You’re completely freaking out over nothing.”
A muscle in her jaw twitches, and after a strained moment, she shifts her gaze to my face and crosses her arms over her chest. When her tits squeeze together, still dewed from the shower, she actually has cleavage sticking out of that flimsy shirt. “Get out. Now.”
I take a step closer, her chest brushing mine, but she doesn’t falter. “Make me.”
Her fists clamp together, her jaw tightens, her eyes narrow farther—I didn’t think that was possible—and she leans forward and raises her voice. “Do I have to yell for you to get the message? Are you that dense?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should spell it out for me.”
“Fine.” She presses her hands to my chest and pushes me over the threshold. I stumble backward, surprised, and grab onto her arm, but she doesn’t miss a beat. “O-U-T. Stay the fuck out of my room!” She tears away from me, retreats inside, and slams the door in my face.
Jimmy doesn’t flinch as I storm into the room. He’s sitting at the desk, working on his Chemistry homework, even though he’s only had one lesson for the class so far.
“She’s crazy. Fucking certifiable.” I collapse face-down on my mattress and groan into the pillow.
His typing continues as if he hasn’t heard me, and I lift my head to make sure he isn’t wearing headphones.
Nope.
I force myself into a sitting position, pulling my pillow onto my lap. He doesn’t need to see the result of our argument—well, combined with her practically prancing around in her underwear. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice the hard-on.
I need to calm myself before attempting a conversation. “How do you put up with that?”
He frowns before turning to me. “The thing about Billie is, she’s never been very good with people. She never associated with anyone our age—except me and her sister, and I was homeschooled till high school—so she never learned, I dunno, teenage social cues. She had a lot of trouble getting along with people at school, and everything got harder after her parents divorced.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not looking for her life story. I really don’t care.”
“Then why did you apologize?”
I purse my lips. Perhaps because I don’t want to fuck up my brand-new start. The school year has barely begun, and I’ve already alienated my roommate because his closest childhood friend hates me.
Also, you know, a little bit of guilt for blatantly ogling her. How the hell did she not notice?
After a moment, I catch his gaze again. “It was the right thing to do.”
“Even after I told you not to bother?”
I shrug.
Jimmy laughs and turns back to his laptop. “It’ll blow over eventually. I think.”
I nod, but then the final words set in. “You think?”
He sends me a sheepish grin. “Honestly, she’s never been that mad before. How did you piss her off so much? I’m kind of impressed.”
I brush a hand through my hair and lie back on the bed, making sure to keep the pillow in place. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I made the situation a million times worse.”
“That’s definitely what it sounded like.”
I frown at the popcorn ceiling. “You could hear that?”
“The entire hallway could hear that.” He pauses. “Not in detail, but the door was open for part of it. Connor and Blayne were taking bets.”
“On what?”
Suddenly, his voice is quiet and reserved. “Nothing. Never mind.”
I push up on my elbows, scowling. “On what?”
He sighs, but he won’t look at me. The tips of his ears are bright pink. “How long before you guys have incredibly loud hate-sex.”
I collapse back on the bed. “That’s not going to happen.”
He shifts uncomfortably but turns to me, and I sit up again.
“Seriously, the thought hasn’t even crossed my mind.” I shift again, trying to hide my half-hard cock without drawing too much attention to the movement. “I mean, not that she isn’t…you know. Because she is. She’s got spunk. She’s obviously intelligent—and very aware of that fact. And aside from the fact that sex would probably break her tiny body, she’s decently hot. She’d probably be pretty, uh, enthusiastic based on that display.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“This is awkward now.”
A small smile forms on his face. “A little.”
I clear my throat. “Finding her attractive and being attracted to her aren’t the same thing.”
His face is pink now, and he doesn’t say anything.
“I’m not attracted to her. I want to make that clear.” I slap my knee and finally feel comfortable enough to push away the pillow.
“Now we can move on to something less uncomfortable.”
My eyes land on the television in its white and blue box pushed up against the wall. It’s been a week, and I haven’t had the nerve to unbox it.
“Well,” Jimmy says, and the chair squeaks as he spins, “for the record, it wouldn’t make any difference to me if you slept together.”
I shake my head, eyes still on the giant box. “That’s not going to happen. She’s not my type.”
“Because she’s half black?”
I frown. “Of course not.”
“Then who is?”
Hard to tell when my experience is limited to Em and a one-month fling. Under normal circumstances, an erection is a good indication of attraction. But I’m pretty sure any guy who’s into girls would get hard with a pretty woman shoving her ass in your face. And the argument just made her provocative body more effective.
What can I say? I like to argue.
“If my last relationship is anything to go by,” I say, turning back to him, “someone blond, conceited, and in desperate need of therapy.” I let out a short laugh and shrug. “I like to think I’m not limited by my past experiences, though. I’m open to anything.”
Jimmy laughs. “How can she not be your type if you don’t actually have one?”
I shrug. “She just isn’t.”
For a moment, he hesitates.
“Whatever it is, say it. Nothing embarrasses me.”
He locks eyes with me, but his voice still quivers. “It definitely looks and sounds like you’re attracted to her.”
I turn back to the box. “Looks can be deceiving.”
Before I can take another step, Jimmy says, “I’ll take your word for it.” He sighs and pushes the chair back to his desk. “I’ll talk to her. Try to smooth things over.”
I nod and stare at the television box. Dear God, I need a fucking distraction right now.
Classes are over for the week—it’s Saturday—but the television still sits in its box against the bare wall when I come out of the shower. I pull on a pair of boxers and turn to look at it more closely. I guess we’re keeping it. Jimmy expressed pleasure at its presence, and I’m not sure I can tell him no. He’d be so disappointed.
I drop the towel on my bed and return to the box as the door opens. I barely glance over. “Hey, you wanna help me set this up? It must be heavy.”
“Come on, it’ll be fine.”
My neck twists for a complete view.
The door is wide open, and Jimmy has her by the hand, tugging her over the threshold. She barely resists, but she clutches a black sketchbook to her chest anxiously. Right, I forgot he was bringing her.
It’s been four days since the fight in her bedroom. She hasn’t been here since.
When he shuts the door, Jimmy turns to me with a smile. “Yeah, I can help.”
She takes a seat on his bed and waits while he joins me by the television.
“I thought maybe we could move one of the desks over here to put it on.” I glance at the desk that barely fits between my bed and the entrance to the bathroom. “We can’t exactly mount it to the wall. But that leaves us with one desk.”
He shrugs. “I don’t mind sharing.”
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “This entire wall will be covered by it. I swear, they have no concept of size.”
“It’s cool. It’ll be like an in-home theater.” He smiles, and I can’t help returning it. “And it connects to the internet, so we can watch anything. This’ll be fun.”
I smile, even though I don’t believe him.
Because this is a fucking bribe. Nothing good can come of this TV.
And yet here we are.
I push the foam supports inside the box, and we lay the TV on its side to connect the stand. He helps me move my empty desk to the open space against the wall, and we lift the television on top of it. Easy work with two people.
I stand back and glance around the room.
She’s still sitting on his bed, a sour look on her face as she observes us, the sketchbook resting on her lap.
“What do you think, Dixon?”
She shifts her gaze to me and scowls. “How rich are your parents that this is considered a ‘small gift’?” She glances at it before back to me. “And who gives a housewarming gift to someone living in a dorm room?”
I let out a short laugh and return to the television.
Probably should’ve plugged everything in before getting it in the perfect position. I crawl under the desk to find the outlet and plug in the power strip.
“Where’s the remote?” Jimmy asks.
“I think I set it on the desk.” I pull down the TV cord to reach the strip by the wall and search for the black coax to connect the cable.
“I don’t see it anywhere.” The foam scrapes against the box as he checks inside.
Dixon scoffs, and the bed squeaks.
When I push out from under the desk, she’s standing over me, facing away, holding the remote in her hands. It must’ve fallen off the side of the desk.
For a moment, I can only stare. Her shorts aren’t nearly as short this time, and her ass isn’t nearly as close to my face, but the denim is tight and stretchy and curve-hugging. And her ass definitely has curves. How in the world does she look that good wearing only a t-shirt and jeans and a scowl on her face?
“It’s right here,” she says.
A couple feet away, Jimmy turns back, and I shift my gaze so he doesn’t notice. Too late. He laughs triumphantly, trying to catch my eye, but I stand up and snatch the remote from her hand.
She glares at me before turning on Jimmy. “What’s so funny?”
He shakes his head, but the smile remains firmly fixed. “Nothing.” He’s still laughing when he looks at me.
I power on the television, and it starts the setup.
She turns to me, careful our shoulders don’t brush despite our close proximity. “I’ve been told I have to be nice. I hope you can do the same.”
I send her a smirk. “Is that so? Well, then, I accept your apology, Dixon.”
A scowl spreads across her delicate features. “I didn’t apologize. Civility has nothing to do with apologies.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
She groans. “I’m never going to win with you, am I?”
I shrug and pick out my language of choice. “What do you consider winning? Because you don’t get to be right all the time. No one can win everything.”
She scoffs and turns away, returning to Jimmy’s bed, and he moves closer, glancing between us.
“Hasn’t crossed your mind, huh?” he asks in a quiet voice.
When I look at him, he’s grinning, but I shake my head.
On his bed, she is relaxed now, irritated but oddly at ease. The sketchbook lays on the mattress in front of her, and she lies on her stomach facing us, legs spread and feet up in the air, crossed.
Her glasses sit next to her, and she holds an ink pen close to her chest as she sketches something out on the paper. Although partially blocked by her dark auburn hair, which hangs over one shoulder from her ponytail, the position forces her tits together under her t-shirt. The view of her pert ass is particularly nice.
But I shake my head again and look back at the television. The next instruction is up on the screen, waiting. “Not even remotely.”
