by Hazel Kelly
“I don't know. Warby's?”
There was something appealing about having cheap hot dogs after weeks of heavy, homemade meals. “Sounds good to me.”
“Cool,” he said, backing towards the door. “I'll get my coat and meet you downstairs. We can take my car ’cause I'm illegally parked now anyway.”
“Sounds good.”
“One more thing.” He grabbed the doorframe on the way out. “I'm really accustomed to getting mad cuddles after I eat lately, so I hope you're up to the job.”
I rolled my eyes. “The only way you're getting mad cuddles from me is if I eat myself into a food coma and you take advantage.”
“Challenge accepted,” he said with a wink.
I shook my head and grabbed my coat off the chair, thinking how different his break must've been from mine. Not that I wanted the kind of obnoxiously sappy relationship he had. Hell, a girlfriend was the last thing I needed.
Still, in this weather, a cuddle didn't sound so bad.
But cuddling wasn't like sex. You had to really like somebody to cuddle them. You had to want them for more than their body. You had to want what was between their ears, too.
I thought of Nina's deep green eyes, and my stomach clenched when I remembered the last time I'd seen them crinkle at the edges, the last time I'd heard the melodic tone of her laugh.
Fucking Nina.
I'd cuddle the shit out of that bitch.
T H R E E
- Nina -
“Finally!” I said when Logan returned with a large box of much anticipated pizza sticks.
Zoey straightened up on his futon beside me and yawned. “What time is it?” She pulled her phone out and her bloodshot eyes grew wide.
“Pizza stick time,” Logan said, carefully setting the cardboard box down on his handmade coffee table so he wouldn’t knock over our lukewarm beers.
“It's after two,” Zoey said, sliding a stick from the box.
My stomach rumbled as the melted cheese stretched between the pieces.
Logan opened one of the small pots of marinara and dipped a steaming stick in it as the music clicked off downstairs, meaning people were finally calling it a night or moving their afterparties upstairs, as we’d done an hour earlier.
“Did you get ranch?” I asked, my eyes jumping from one marinara dipping pot to the next.
Logan's face fell. “I didn't know you wanted it.”
“What?!” I groaned. “Of course I wanted it! It's the best dip!” I must've been pretty drunk because I could hear the whiny thread of emotion in my voice. I shook my head and looked back and forth between my friends, who might as well have been aliens. No ranch? What the fuck?
“Carter might have some,” Logan said, clearly underestimating the offense he'd caused. “He's kind of a ranch monster, too.”
“Ranch monster,” Zoey mumbled to herself.
I stood up. “Where's his room?”
“End of the hall.” Logan lifted a hand across his mouth so he could chew and talk. “It's the one with the Burger King crown stapled to the door.”
I furrowed my brow, but he failed to notice that I was waiting for an explanation, so I spun and left like a woman on a mission.
The hall was deserted compared to an hour ago, and there were no signs of life apart from the muffled noises seeping out from behind closed doors. There were a few more beer cans abandoned beside the paint-chipped baseboards than I remembered, but not enough to have foiled the path of a roll of toilet paper that had mysteriously unraveled the entire length of the floor.
As promised, I eventually came to a door with a Burger King crown stapled to it. It wasn’t centered or even crown shaped, though. Instead, it was haphazardly flattened across at an angle like a listless banner.
As I raised my hand to knock, it occurred to me that Carter might be in there with someone, but I was so focused on ranch I pounded away as soon as I decided I couldn't hear any pounding from inside the room.
There was no answer.
I knocked again, this time more quietly. Nothing.
I dropped my eyes to the doorknob and considered my options…
I could walk away, ranchless.
Or I could simply check the fridge.
There would be no harm in that, right? After all, this was a frat house. Surely people invaded each other's privacy all the time around here.
I turned the knob, spurred on by my insatiable urge for creamy dip, and cracked the door open. It was pitch black inside, but as soon as the light from the hall poured in, I could see there was no one in the bed. I exhaled the tightness in my chest and slid my hand along the wall until I found the light.
Much to my surprise, Carter’s bed was perfectly made. Not only that, but it had a soft-looking, navy body pillow across it that I felt tempted to touch.
Fighting the urge, I let my eyes scan the walls. To the right, there was a sexy poster of Blondie sporting an exaggerated pout beside a vintage Woodstock poster that I felt so instantly jealous of I had to tell myself it couldn't possibly be real just to calm myself down.
Across the room, my eyes landed immediately on the fridge. I skulked over to it like a hopeful burglar about to crack a safe, but before I bent down, a picture on the corkboard over his desk caught my eye. It was of him and his brother in matching sombreros at a crowded beach bar. Their happy faces were visibly sunburnt, and they were each raising a shot of golden tequila like it wasn’t their first of the day.
I smiled at the idiotic scene, which didn’t surprise me at all. I couldn’t say the same about the notecards pinned around it, though, each of which was covered in some sort of illegible computer language. Perhaps he was smarter than he looked.
“I hope I'm not interrupting,” Carter said, walking in and plugging his phone in to charge on his nightstand.
“I only came for ranch,” I said so quickly it made me sound guilty.
“There's a line I haven't heard,” he said, lifting his face. His blue collared shirt stretched across his chest, and his hair looked like it had a pretty crazy night.
“It's not a line, it's-”
“In the fridge,” he said, stepping forward and leaning a hip against the far end of his desk.
I wanted to reach for it, but something about the way he was looking at me made me feel strangely paralyzed. Maybe it was just that we'd never been drunk and alone together, but I couldn't breathe much less remember what the hell I was supposed to be doing there.
I mean, it's not like he'd never looked at me like that before. He did it all the time. Always with that same expression of playful curiosity, like he might play-bite me if I came too close. But it made me feel kind of cute for a second, and I kind of liked it…even though it made me feel pathetically girly and weak.
Did I want him to bite me? Would I like it if he did?
“Why do you want it?” he asked, his blue eyes on mine.
I didn't know. Did I want it? Would he give it to me even if I didn't have a good reason? Was there any frat boy on campus who wouldn't happily screw a girl he found in his room drunk after two a.m.? Surely not.
“You hiding pizza sticks or something?”
“Yes!” I said, as if my brain had suddenly reinhabited my body. “We got pizza sticks.”
He furrowed his brow. “And you didn't get any ranch? Or did you just run out?”
“Logan forgot to ask for it.”
He shook his head. “Rookie mistake,” he said, walking around me to the fridge. “Don't know why I hang out with that guy.”
My eyes dropped to his butt when he bent over, and I wondered whether it was just good jeans I was looking at or good genes.
“Here.”
I smiled as I took the family-size bottle of ranch from him. “My hero.”
He smiled, and a shallow dimple flashed high on his right cheek.
“Do you want me to just stick it in Logan's fridge when I’m done or-”
“Absolutely not,” he said. “Can't trust that g
uy.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Bring it back when you're done, with some pizza sticks for my trouble.”
“Tonight?”
He cocked his head.
“Okay, tonight it is,” I said, squeezing past him.
“If I'm passed out when you get back, just chew ’em up and feed them to me like a bird.”
I looked over my shoulder. “I'm not doing that.”
“I guess I'll stay up then.”
“Suit yourself,” I said, slipping into the hall.
“Don't make me wait too long,” he called after me. “I need my beauty rest.”
F O U R
- Carter -
Normally, I’d strip down to my boxers at the end of the night, but I didn't want Nina to feel ambushed or uncomfortable.
I was hoping she'd stay a while. Even just a few minutes. I knew it was stupid late, and she'd only laugh in my face if I made a pass, but getting her alone felt like progress.
Honestly, when I first caught her in my room, I thought I'd already passed out and started dreaming.
Not that I wasn’t used to finding women in my room.
Most of the time, I invited them myself, which never took more than a few well-timed looks and carefully chosen words. But if I'd hooked up with a girl in the past, that shit wasn't even necessary.
She’d skip the booty call entirely and play the I'm so horny I came straight here card. Which was sort of annoying, actually. Not in the beginning. In the beginning, it was fucking great. But now that I was a junior, I’d tired of meaningless hookups with women I didn't have a connection with.
I had only myself to blame, of course. I could've made an effort to get to know them better, but that was the problem. I didn't feel compelled to do that.
And I liked to be compelled.
Nina, for example, was compelling. Belligerent, sure. Even bossy at times. Then again, she was probably so used to guys falling all over themselves to impress her it was bound to take a toll on her patience. Not that I blamed the poor saps. One smile from her was probably all it took to make the average undergrad bust his nut.
I threw on a white T-shirt and some basketball shorts and propped my body pillow up behind me.
2:36 a.m.
I wondered how long I would wait up for her to come back and realized it was likely an embarrassing amount of time.
But who could blame me? She was too fucking hot for her own good, and I knew that better than anyone. After all, I'd been studying her since the day we met. Even before she turned around just now, I knew it was her. Her shiny blonde hair was unmistakable. I even recognized the shape of her hips in her dark green sweater dress, which hugged her body just enough to make my mouth water.
Speaking of mouthwatering, where the fuck was she with my pizza sticks? Those things were so addictive the mere mention of them was enough to drive people crazy with longing.
And the thought of Nina eating pizza sticks? God help me, do not get a boner right now.
She pushed the cracked door open and blushed when she saw me lying at the head of the bed.
My eyes dropped to the box in her hand. Result.
“They're impossible,” she said. “Like they're in cahoots to spoil my appetite or something.”
“I know,” I said, sitting up. “Love is disgusting.”
“So disgusting,” she said, perching on the end of my bed like a shy cat as she set the box down between us. “Don't get me wrong. I'm happy for them. It's just…”
“Too much sometimes?”
She scrunched her nose and nodded.
I flipped the box open and my tongue soaked the inside of my mouth. “You've done well, young Jedi.”
One side of her mouth curled up.
“You're going to help me with these, right?” I asked. Not that I couldn't finish them myself. I could practically count the sticks that were left at a glance and often put away a whole box on my own.
“I'm not going to chew them up and spit them in your mouth, if that's what you're asking.”
“You’re off the hook there,” I said. “I'm actually excited to do the chewing myself, but friends don't let friends eat pizza sticks alone in the middle of the night.”
“I can see how that would be sad.”
I squirted a blob of ranch in the corner of the box. “So sad I'd probably have to eat even more to numb the pain.”
“Wow.” She crossed her legs and reached for a pizza stick. “I never would’ve guessed you were an emotional eater.”
“Very much so,” I said. “Why blot your tears with tissues when you can use pizza crust, which is so much better for the environment?”
She rolled her emerald eyes. “What do you have to cry about?”
“My favorite Game of Thrones character just got killed off,” I said, assuming she didn't really expect me to spill my guts. Not that I was really a crier.
Her eyes popped open. “You watch Game of Thrones?”
“Doesn't everybody?”
“I guess I shouldn't be surprised. There are so many boobs.”
“I do like boobs,” I said, my eyes dropping to her chest before I could stop myself.
“Let's pretend you didn't just do that.”
“Oh, are we officially playing that game now?” I asked. “I thought we'd been playing for months.”
“Very funny.”
“It makes me uncomfortable when you talk about me like I'm not here.”
“Jeez, Carter. Would you ever give it up?”
“Not until you do,” I said, holding her gaze.
She dropped her eyes to the pizza sticks and pretended to focus on eating again.
“You aren't planning on walking home after this, are you?”
“Of course I am.”
“I can't let you do that,” I said.
“What are you talking about?”
“It's fucking freezing, and it's the middle of the night.”
“I do it all the time.”
My stomach knotted.
“Especially now that Zoey shacks up here so often.”
“Please stay.”
She squinted at me.
“I'm not being seductive right now-”
“Thanks for clarifying that.”
“I just really don't want to have to get bundled up and walk your ass home.”
“I wouldn't ask you to do that,” she said.
“You don't have to ask. I'll have to insist.”
“Don't be ridiculous.”
“You're the ridiculous one,” I said. “It's not safe for you to walk home by yourself right now.”
“It's perfectly safe.”
“It won't feel that way when I'm trailing fifteen feet behind you to make sure you make it back to the dorms.”
“Carter.” She dropped her chin and looked at me.
“Nina,” I said, mimicking her tone.
“It's fine.”
“It's not fine,” I said. “Please. Do it for me.”
“For you?”
I nodded. “I’ll consider it a personal favor if you don't insist on walking home right now.”
“And what would you suggest I do?”
“Sleep here,” I said, gesturing to the far side of my bed.
She narrowed her gaze at me. “Where are you going to sleep?”
“I guess I can sleep on the floor if you don't trust me to keep my hands to myself.”
“That's stupid,” she said. “It's your room and your bed. You shouldn't have to sleep on the floor.”
“It's settled then. You can borrow pajamas and everything.”
“I don't know.” She dropped her eyes to my hands and then looked across the bed.
“Really? Seems like a no-brainer to me.” I rubbed the comforter beside me. “Nice warm bed in a safe place versus frightening and frigid walk back to the dorms. What else do you need to know?”
“When's the last time you changed your sheets?”
“What?”
“I heard you,” I said. “I'm just… obviously you didn't drink enough tonight or you wouldn't give a shit.”
“I drank plenty. Answer the question.”
“Five days ago when I got back after break.”
She twisted her lips.
“And I've only hosted two orgies since then and one of them was tantric so it wasn't messy.”
“Carter.”
I loved the way my name sounded in her mouth…even if I would've rather heard it said- or even better, shouted- in a slightly different tone. “Say yes, Nina. I'm asking you to stay. As a friend.”
She nibbled her lip so hard it made me lightheaded. “So no funny business?”
“No funny business.” I raised my palms. “You can trust me. I promise.”
“Okay.”
“Great,” I said, a wave of relief rushing through me.
“You don't snore terribly, do you?” she asked. “I'd rather you told me now if there's anything weird you do in your sleep.”
“Nothing besides the night terrors.”
Her face fell.
“That was a joke.”
“Right.”
“I usually sleep naked, though, so if I strip down to my boxers or something, don't freak out.”
“Undress yourself all you want,” she said, returning the ranch to the fridge. “As long as you don't undress me.”
“Does that mean cuddling you and smelling your hair are out, too, or-?”
Her sharp green eyes found mine.
I smiled, knowing I'd never get sick of that.
F I V E
- Nina -
I knew I wasn't in my own bed as soon as I kicked my leg out, and my suspicion was confirmed when my eyes popped open and came to rest on a dresser covered with colorful stickers. They were mostly for bands as far as I could tell, but there were a few snowboarding brands represented, too. The rest were too random to make sense of in my sleepy state.
Carter.
I perked my ears up and strained to listen, but I didn't hear anyone breathing behind me. Sure enough, when I peeked over my shoulder, I saw that the bed was empty. I rolled over and studied the imprint of Carter’s body in the gray sheets. A few feet away, the Transformers clock on his nightstand read nine o'clock. Or more specifically, three hours until Optimus Prime’s fist. Strange.