Rogue Affair

by Rhys Everly

  How was I supposed to know the sight of them would infuriate him?

  I opened the box to eat another strawberry—it was a shame he refused to take them with him—and packed the rest of my stuff.

  “Excuse me. Food is not permitted in the library. You’ll have to take it outside or put it away,” a guy said with a stern voice, and I turned to find a familiar face dressed in a checkered vest and bow-tie.

  His badge gave me his name, although I already knew it.

  Henry Behrman.

  My past wouldn’t stop haunting me. Would it?

  “Hudson? Hudson Bell?” he said.

  I forced a smile on my face and flicked my hand to wave at him.

  “You don’t go here, do you? I’m pretty sure I’d have seen you before,” he said.

  “No. I started working at Espresso Blues, though.”

  “And what are you doing in the library?” he asked, crossing his arms and turning his stern face even more sour.

  “I had lessons. I—”

  I didn’t need my problems aired to the public.

  “Can I help you with something?” I asked him instead.

  Henry put his hands on his hips and cocked his head.

  “You don’t scare me anymore, Hudson,” he said.

  “I-that’s not what—“

  “You think you’re still someone because you were popular in high school?”

  “No. That’s… no,” I objected.

  “If you think you can come into New Harlow and wreak the same misery you inflicted on me back in Cedarwood, you got another thing coming for you, dude. I’ve grown up. Maybe it’s time for you to do the same?”

  How dare he make all these unjust assumptions about me from a single question?

  I knew I’d been a dick to him in high school, but I’d been a dick to a lot of people. It didn’t mean I was the same guy I was then.

  “You don’t know me. Okay? So fuck off,” I said and closed the lid of the fruit box to put it in my bag.

  Henry scoffed.

  “I think I know you pretty well. Once a bully, always a bully, am I right? And if you’re planning to go back to your firemaking past, I can get you banned from campus like that,” he said and snapped his finger to make his point.

  My nostrils flared and my breathing quickened, but I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of snapping at him.

  It would only prove him right.

  So I ran off before I did something I regretted. Something I no longer was. Something I never was.

  As soon as the scent of freshly mowed lawn hit my nose, I took a deep breath and allowed my body to cool down.

  When enough time had passed, I put as much distance from the library as possible and found my way to the bus stop where I allowed myself to look at Cinderfella.

  I scrolled through my messages to MrRomantic, who hadn’t messaged me in a couple hours and read through.

  Sweet_Peaches: Sorry I missed your messages.

  Sweet_Peaches: It’s been a crazy day.

  Sweet_Peaches: How did your meeting go?

  Sweet_Peaches: Did you kick the guy’s ass?

  Sweet_Peaches: I bet you have a sweet ass.

  Sweet_Peaches: Whoops. Auto-correct.

  Sweet_Peaches: I meant I bet you have a sweet brain.

  Sweet_Peaches: And by brain I mean smart. Not that I want to eat your brains.

  Sweet_Peaches: *facepalm*

  Sweet_Peaches: I swear I’m usually better at this.

  Which was a big fat lie.

  No dating. Remember?

  Sweet_Peaches: Let’s recap. I bet you’re very clever. I’m an idiot. I don’t have a taste for brains.

  Sweet_Peaches: #NotAZombie

  MrRomantic: Geez man. I can’t breathe.

  Wait! When did he send a new message?

  I checked the timestamp, and it had just arrived.

  Phew. I hadn’t scared him away.

  Well, I hoped I hadn’t. With my luck, I probably said something to offend him.

  And good luck apologizing over the phone when my live apologies weren’t doing the trick.

  MrRomantic: Sorry I didn’t see your messages earlier. I was busy and just got home.

  Sweet_Peaches: ‘sokay. Is your roommate fucking his boyfriend again?

  MrRomantic: Nooo

  Sweet_Peaches: Shame.

  MrRomantic: He *is* staring at me though.

  Sweet_Peaches: Suggestively or…?

  MrRomantic: Because I’m pissing my pants laughing with your messages.

  Sweet_Peaches: Glad to be of service.

  Sweet_Peaches: So? Did you kick his ass?

  MrRomantic: I tried. But he was infuriatingly nice. I was the dick.

  Sweet_Peaches: Hard to believe that.

  MrRomantic: I know right? I’m a fucking angel.

  Sweet_Peaches: Angels don’t swear.

  MrRomantic: How would you know? We had a meeting and we agreed to stop censoring ourselves.

  I huffed a laugh. I couldn’t help it. Thankfully, there was no one around.

  But I did see my bus approaching, so I got up.

  MrRomantic: Also, sweet ass, huh? You betcha.

  MrRomantic: Oh, oops. Auto-correct. I meant how dare you?

  Sweet_Peaches: Lol. I am a cheeky peach.

  MrRomantic: And I’m a lonely leaf. Wanna meet?

  Sweet_Peaches: Can’t sorry. I got brains to eat.

  Sweet_Peaches: #NotNotAZombie

  The bus door swooshed open and I got on it, paid my fare, and picked a seat at the front.

  My fingers were itching to get back to the chat.

  I might have no fucking clue who MrRomantic was—and probably never would—but he made me feel good.

  Like I was worthy of something good. He made me forget that I was a useless nobody without a future and made me feel… normal.

  Naturally, there was a response from MrRomantic already.

  MrRomantic: *sizzles* Smooth!

  Sweet_Peaches: All over. Why?

  MrRomantic: You’re intolerable.

  Sweet_Peaches: I can… block you if you want?

  MrRomantic: Nooooo

  MrRomantic: I love it.

  Sweet_Peaches: Good, coz I aint changing for noone.

  MrRomantic: Please don’t. You’re a national treasure.

  Sweet_Peaches: You’ll have to stop complimenting me or it will go over my head.

  MrRomantic: Which one?

  Sweet_Peaches: Now who’s the cheeky one?

  MrRomantic: Guilty as charged.

  MrRomantic: How did *your* day go?

  Sweet_Peaches: Meh. Could have gone better.

  MrRomantic: Aw, sorry. Wanna have a zombie night?

  Sweet_Peaches: Finally!

  MrRomantic: Finally what?

  Sweet_Peaches: You made your feelings about zombies known.

  MrRomantic: Are you kidding? I love zombies. The more the merrier.

  MrRomantic: Why? You don’t? Because I don’t think I can move on with this relationship if you don’t.

  MrRomantic: Oops. Auto-correct. I meant friendship.

  Sweet_Peaches: Lol. Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

  The rest of the journey went by in a fit of laughter, innuendos, and friendly banter. I didn’t even notice when we got into Cedarwood Beach.

  I got off the bus and walked back to the farm.

  Sweet_Peaches: I pissed off the guy I love today. #NotFun.

  By the time I approached the house, we’d gone into deeper territory, and I was starting to feel like I could somewhat trust the guy. Even if I wasn’t willing to send him a picture yet or meet him. Not that he’d asked for the former, and the latter was becoming more of a pun.

  MrRomantic: Oh crap. Sorry. What did you do to piss him off?

  Sweet_Peaches: Dunno. Talk to you I guess.

  MrRomantic: Well, I’d be pissed off if you were talking to a *handsome, clever, funny* guy on Cinderfella while you were with me.


  Sweet_Peaches: Lol.

  Sweet_Peaches: Full of yourself much?

  MrRomantic: Always.

  Sweet_Peaches: And it’s not like that. He doesn’t know I love him.

  MrRomantic: Why the hell not?

  Sweet_Peaches: Because he hates me. And I never got a chance to tell him.

  MrRomantic: Sounds like a lousy excuse.

  Sweet_Peaches: Yeah, it probably is. But it’s complicated.

  MrRomantic: Love always is.

  Sweet_Peaches: Sage.

  MrRomantic: I’m very sage. I’m also very basil and oregano.

  Sweet_Peaches: God you’re annoying.

  MrRomantic: I bet you love it though.

  Sweet_Peaches: I can neither confirm nor deny.

  MrRomantic: Jerk. But don’t feel bad. At least you got someone to be in love with. I don’t even have that.

  MrRomantic: And boy have I tried.

  Sweet_Peaches: What is that supposed to mean? *Raises eyebrow*

  MrRomantic: Next question.

  Sweet_Peaches: Uh-oh. I think I hit a goldmine. Now you gotta tell me.

  MrRomantic: No I don’t. You’re nobody to me.

  Sweet_Peaches: I’m your zombie-loving friend.

  MrRomantic: True dat.

  MrRomantic: But I’d rather we cheer each other up. That revelation can wait.

  Sweet_Peaches: What do you have in mind?

  I got to the door and found Dad on his usual spot, the TV loud enough to cover an explosion, and climbed the steps to get Romeo.

  We were back out in the field when I looked at the phone again.

  MrRomantic: Pride & Prejudice & Zombies.

  Sweet_Peaches: Oh God! Really?

  MrRomantic: Nah. Just kidding. Let’s do Resident Evil 1. I’m feeling nostalgic.

  Sweet_Peaches: You got it. Just give me ten.

  MrRomantic: *thumbs up*

  Romeo did his business, and we returned inside. I fired up my old laptop and loaded the film on the only streaming service I could afford and was about to message MrRomantic when I saw a message from Nathan.

  “Hey. I may have overreacted today. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be professional next time,” it said.

  “I’ll stop using my phone. Promise,” I texted back.

  I didn’t know what to make of his apology. Did it mean he didn’t hate me as much as I thought he did?

  He was willing to meet me again, so that counted for something, surely.

  Hell, it didn’t mean he forgave me or that there was a chance he’d ever feel the same way for me, but maybe, just maybe, we could eventually be friends again?

  With Nathan on my mind, I logged back on Cinderfella and messaged MrRomantic.

  Sweet_Peaches: Ready when you are.

  MrRomantic: I thought you forgot about me.

  Sweet_Peaches: Never. Us freaks gotta stick together.

  MrRomantic: Damn right!

  MrRomantic: Also, who the hell did you call a freak?

  Nine

  Nathan

  I don’t understand why we can’t go to Espresso Blues, Maya complained, taking a spiteful sip of her coffee.

  Because Hudson worked there. Because I’d been tutoring him now for a week, and the longer I spent in his company, the more I felt like I was losing my mind.

  The more I felt like I should accept his apology and lick his jawline. Or smell his hair.

  You know. Like friends do.

  I told you. I don’t go to that café any more, I told her.

  But why? It’s so good. It’s so vital. Why do you wanna kill me with this poison? she asked, looking down at her paper cup from the coffee shop outside campus.

  Because! God! Get back to your homework, I said.

  Maya narrowed her eyes not willing to relent just yet.

  You’re hiding something, she said.

  I’d like to see you try get it out of me, I said, raising my eyebrow.

  The truth was I was crushing on Hudson. Crushing on him bad.

  Like having sexy dreams about him kind of crushing.

  Like fantasizing what his cock in my mouth would look like crushing.

  Like him hate-fucking me against the shower walls crushing.

  And that was bad.

  Despite the fact that he was very shy and tame nowadays in comparison to high school, I still pictured him being an asshole.

  An asshole taking me any and every chance he got in every position imaginable.

  Which was the most bizarre thing about this whole ordeal.

  Me and sex? Not the best buds. I didn’t do sex dreams. I didn’t do fantasies. I only ever jerked off to get rid of morning wood and that did me just fine.

  So why on earth was Hudson haunting me and my dick?

  He didn’t even check any of my boxes.

  He wasn’t funny.

  He wasn’t smart.

  He wasn’t caring.

  He wasn’t calm.

  He wasn’t thoughtful—

  Well, he was a bit, actually.

  He kept bringing fruit to our meetings like he was trying to win me over with a sweet, but healthy, tooth.

  It was irritating.

  And quite possibly adorable.

  But it didn’t erase the fact that he was a bully.

  Even though he’d acted nothing like one since we started tutoring.

  Anyway, how’s your boyfriend? I asked, changing the subject to distract both her and me.

  He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just dating, she said, and I smirked.

  Sure. That’s what we call it now. So spending twenty-four seven with a guy in his bedroom is called dating? I said.

  How would you know, anyway? You only ever go to dinners, and you never end up in anyone’s bed. Do you even remember what sex is? She put her hands together and banged them a couple of times for the word sex, and I gagged.

  You can’t sign the word sex at your own brother. It’s disgusting. I don’t want to know what you do in your personal life. Don’t shove your lifestyle in my face, I told her, and she offered me, generously, the middle finger.

  We aren’t all looking for Prince Charming, you know. she said. How are you doing on that front, anyway?

  Failing miserably, I said. I haven’t been on a date in a week.

  About the same time I’d started tutoring Hudson. And chatting with Sweet_Peaches.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. But Hudson filled in my free evenings, and my chats with Sweet_Peaches always went on for a long time at night.

  He was fun. Even if we’d never met. Or video-chatted. Or talked on the phone. Or even exchanged pictures.

  Was it possible to have a connection with someone by text alone?

  If you’d asked me a few days ago, I’d have said no.

  Oh no. Why the dry spell? she asked mockingly. O-M-G! Do you have a boyfriend?

  I laughed. Louder than needed.

  Nothing that crazy. I’ve just been busy, I said when I calmed down. Besides, I think I’ve reached my dating quota. And the ratio between a date and a fail has not been in my favor.

  Maybe if you dropped your standards, you’d find someone.

  Did you not just hear me? I’m already dating a lot of dicks. I don’t need any more. I got standards for a reason, I said.

  Sure. Standards. Not batshit crazy. Standards. Gotcha, Maya replied, and I bit my lip in faked frustration.

  You’re dead. Who did you call batshit crazy?

  I attacked her with my tickle claws. She also wasn’t a fan of the tickle claws.

  Time-out, she signed in desperation, her cheeks already way past strawberry red and now more cherry red. I was joking, she added when I retreated. Sort of.

  You’re so funny, I mocked her.

  Linc thinks I’m funny. In bed, she said.

  I tilted my head to the side and frowned.

  I don’t think that’s a compliment as much as you think it is, I said, barely holding my laughter in.

  It was just a joke. I
t just came out the wrong way, she said.

  I was still laughing my ass off. That was definitely shareable with Sweet_Peaches.

  That’s disgusting by the way. I don’t know what you’re doing, but if he thinks it’s funny, you’re doing it wrong, I said, and she slapped the top of my head, but that didn’t stop my cackling.

  Which resulted in her throwing a pen at me. And another. And one more.

  I was suddenly being assaulted by pens, sharpies, pencils, and highlighters.

  Ceasefire. Ceasefire, I said in an effort to stop the barrage of writing instruments.

  She finally succumbed to my request, and I helped her collect all the strays back into her pencil case.

  When do I get to meet Mr. Linc?

  Maya pouted.

  Let me think, she put her finger on her chin and hummed before snapping her hands into never.

  You’re mean.

  You’re meaner. I don’t want you to scare him away.

  Why would I scare him away? I asked.

  I don’t want you checking him against your list, she said.

  The list is for my dates, not yours. I would warn him about hurting you, though.

  How chivalrous, she gagged. And that’s exactly why you’re not meeting him. Ever.

  I was about to argue about the statistical probability of that happening when my phone dinged.

  I picked it up anticipating a message from Sweet_Peaches.

  Instead, I found a date request notification from Cinderfella from a guy I hadn’t chatted with in a while.

  I didn’t really feel like going out on a date, but I messaged him anyway.

  MrRomantic: Hello, stranger. You finally want to meet me?

  Maya was practically lying on the table trying to get a good look at my phone, but I didn’t give her the pleasure.

  Is that a date?

  Mind your own beeswax, girl, I replied.

  I wanna see! she said. I love the weirdos you choose to go out with.

  I glared at her.

  She glared back.

  It’s just a random guy I talked to a while back, I said eventually.

  Are you gonna say yes?

  I don’t know.

  Random is good. Random can be surprising, she said and pushed my left shoulder to motivate me.