by Frankie Rose
THREE WEEKS pass and I don’t hear from Luke. I make up the slack in school and do well in my midterms, despite being permanently distracted and on edge. Brandon is joining me for Thanksgiving, which is surprising since he hardly ever leaves the town where he grew up. I’ve booked us an apartment on the Upper East Side so we’ll have a proper kitchen to cook with instead of living out of hotel rooms. It cost a fortune but Mom really wasn’t kidding when she said she’d increased my allowance. The difference is more than enough to cover the accommodation and everything we will eat and drink while he’s in town. Only three more days and I’ll get to leave college and relax.
“Gonna miss ya, peaches,” Morgan tells me as we walk back from class. Snow covers the ground now, coating everything in a four-inch layer of grimy slush. At first I thought it would be bad business walking outside with snow on the ground, but so far I’ve been wrong. It turns out people are too cool for snowball fights at Columbia University.
I tuck my arm through Morgan’s and dip my chin into my scarf, trying to warm the air I breathe in through the wooly material so it won’t burn my lungs quite so badly. “I’m gonna miss you, too. You sure you don’t want to join me and my uncle? We’re probably just going to drink beer, eat crap and watch bad movies.”
Morgan pouts, stomping petulantly in the snow. “You have no idea how much I would love that. My mom’s a freakin’ holiday nut, though. She’d lose her shit if I didn’t come home.” Home for Morgan is a nine-hour drive away in Charlestown, West Virginia. New York is the farthest her mom allowed her to move out of state, but for Morgan it isn’t far enough.
“You could always catch the red eye instead of driving. That would save time and you could have a couple of days after Thanksgiving in the city with me after my Uncle leaves. He’s got to be back at work.”
Morgan lets us into our building and kicks off the snow from her boots in the lobby. The floor is filthy and streaked with grubby track marks. A ‘WET FLOOR’ sign lays on its side in front of the elevator. It’ll probably be stolen by some frat jerk before the day’s out.
“I’d love that, Ave. Let me see if I can swing it with the ‘rents. I kinda feel bad for Dad trapped there by himself sometimes.”
We drop by Morgan’s apartment but her roommate has a ‘friend’ over and the noise is ridiculous, so we go up the extra flights of stairs back to my apartment and make ourselves comfortable. Leslie is in the library studying but she’s left a small package and a note on the kitchen counter.
“Holy crap, is that hot chocolate? Please tell me that’s hot chocolate,” Morgan chatters, throwing herself back onto the sofa. I read the note.
Step one: Drink me.
Step two: Prevent freezing of lady parts.
Step three: Save World
L xoxoxo
It’s a shame that Morgan and I don’t get to share an apartment, but I really did luck out with Leslie. Aside from the hordes of people who are always stopping by to see her when she’s in, she’s always really thoughtful. I swipe Morgan’s booted feet off the upholstery and crack open the tin of hot chocolate.
“Get your filthy footwear off the furniture, Kepler. I take it you want some of this, then?”
“If it’s no trouble. And I’m also gonna need something warm to wear, unless you’re okay with me climbing in your bed.”
“No!” I laugh. “I’d rather lend you something that have you stink up my sheets.”
Morgan looks offended for all of three seconds, until I go to my room and rummage around in my drawers to find a sweatshirt for her. I toss her the very first thing I lay my hands on and go about making us some drinks, warming some milk on the stove.
“What is this?” Morgan holds up the huge sweatshirt in front of me, and I suddenly realize what I’ve given her: the sweatshirt Luke leant me post freak out almost a month ago. She slips it on over her head so I see the big block capitols on the front—NYPD. “Fuck, this smells good, Avery. Why does this shirt smell like sex?”
An instant fire burns at my cheeks. “It does not smell like sex!”
“Oh yeah it does. Or it smells like a guy I most definitely would kill to have sex with. This is that cop dude’s, isn’t it?”
“Wow. Excellent powers of observation there, Sherlock. What gave it away? Could it be the huge New York Police Department logo emblazoned across your chest?” I stalk over to her and tug at the sweatshirt sleeve. “Take it off. I’ll find you something else.”
“No way!” She bunches up the front of the sweater and holds it to her face, inhaling deeply. “This is the best thing that’s happened to me all day. How the hell do you have this?”
I’ve kind of avoided telling Morgan about the night at Luke’s apartment. I don’t like purposefully keeping things from her, but explaining the new development with my dad isn’t something I am ready to do just yet.
“He loaned it to me ages ago. I just haven’t had chance to give it back.”
Morgan eyes me suspiciously. “And you say there’s nothing going on with you and this guy?”
“No!” I turn away from her so I can tend to our drinks, stirring furiously.
“In that case, I think you should return this sweater to our lovely peace keeper immediately, and I think you should let me come with you. It’s a crime to let a hottie like that go to waste. Get it? A crime?” She guffaws at her own lame joke and I pretend I haven’t heard her. I hand over her mug and plunk myself down on my swivel chair, taking a tentative sip.
“Don’t ignore me, Patterson. I’m serious. I want a shot at that guy if you’re not taking one.”
“He’s got a girlfriend, I told you,” I say, training my face into a blank mask now that I know I am flat-out lying to her. She’s ridiculously hot and guys go crazy for her rich auburn hair coloring. There’s no reason why Luke wouldn’t want to hook up with her, and the last thing I need is him running around my building. I try picturing what I’d say to him if I bumped into him in the hallways after he’d paid her a visit. The idea of it makes me shudder.
“What about Tate, anyway? I thought things were good with you guys?”
Morgan purses her lips and scowls. “I haven’t heard from him in five days. I fell asleep with him on Sunday night. I think he’s still mad at me.”
“Why would he be mad at you for falling asleep? You crash there all the time.”
A faint smile ticks at the corner of her mouth. She raises an eyebrow and gives me a scandalous look. Realization dawns.
“Oh, you fell asleep with him. While you were…?”
“Yep. Apparently it was the height of rudeness, especially since he was pulling out all of his best moves at the time.”
“Oh God, Morgan,” I laugh, trying to suppress an all out giggling fit. “You are probably the only person I know who could fall asleep during sex.”
“I’ve done it before,” she announces. “I’m probably going to do it again. It was his own fault, anyway. He was taking way too long down there.”
She says this as I’m taking a swig of my drink, and I end up spraying hot chocolate all over the living room wall. We laugh like idiots, only regaining our composure when my cell phone starts ringing. Morgan wipes her eyes and leans over to collect it off the coffee table, tossing it to me.
Unknown number.
I frown at the screen—One heartbeat. Two. Three—until Morgan throws a cushion at me. “Answer it, woman, I have sensitive ears!
Morgan doesn’t understand why I never answer calls from unknown numbers. Back in high school it was one of my fellow classmate’s favorite pastimes to prank me and scream ‘murder spawn’ down the phone before hanging up. Just another thing I don’t want to have to explain. I shoot her a hesitant look before hitting accept.
“Hello?”
“Avery Patterson?” The voice throws me, instantly familiar and not at the same time.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Noah Richards. I got your number from your friend—what is, Maria?”<
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I feel my ears pull back. I turn and stare at the girl feigning nonchalance to my right. “No, I think you mean Morgan,” I hiss. She smiles innocently at me, studying her flawless nail polish.
“Yeah, that’s it, Morgan. I’ve seen you two hangin’ around. I was wondering if your services were still on offer?”
I can literally hear the smirk in his voice, but he doesn’t sound like he’s being a jerk. I sigh and hit Morgan on the shin. “What’s up? Have Freddie and Kyle moved out of state?”
He laughs. “Nah, but they are going back home for the holidays. I’m spending Thanksgiving with a bunch of friends in the city but everyone’s leaving at the end of the holiday weekend. That means I’ll be a poor lonely foreigner in the big city with no one to hang out with. I heard you were going to be around. Any chance you might like to catch a movie or something? Purely in the interests of keeping me out of trouble, you understand.”
I frantically try to think of something, anything that will mean I don’t have to go to a movie with Columbia’s hottest, most popular exchange student. I come up blank. Morgan shimmies forward so she’s literally on the edge of her seat when she sees I’m hesitating, pulling a warning face. She clenches her fist at me, threatening physical violence if I don’t say yes. She obviously knows why he is calling. I flip her off and spin around on my office chair.
“Sure, Noah. That sounds great. I’ve got family with me for a couple of days but I’m totally free after that. You can just shoot me a text and we’ll work something out.”
“Grand!”
He hangs up and I drop my cell onto the coffee table, doing my best not to launch myself at Morgan.
“Who was that?” she asks breezily, and I can’t do it anymore. I pounce onto the sofa and proceed to thwack her mercilessly with one of the cushions.
“You know damn well who that was, you witch!”
“Aggghhh! Stop, stop, okay, okay! I admit it. Stop!” she squeals. I sink back and let the cushion drop. “I’m sorry, Avery. He just asked so nicely, and that accent…I couldn’t help it!”
“Whatever.” I nail her one last time with the cushion and let out a long sigh. “And I’m serious—take that sweatshirt off. I don’t want you funking it up with your out of control pheromones. I don’t intend on having to wash it before I return it.”
Six
Super Eight