by Ruby Rowe
Moving the bright blue reusable freezer packs I use to hide my ice cream, I remove the container, find a spoon and dig into the comforting treat.
I lean back against the counter and stew over Poetry Boy. Hot and luscious… He’s probably like the kid in that old movie American Pie who sticks his dick in the pie to masturbate.
Every word he said about my poem was true, but he still could’ve been nice about it. Sincerely my ass. He wouldn’t know how to be sincere if it was necessary to save his life.
“Hey…” Jason says. I whip my head up and swallow down the bite of ice cream in my mouth. Feeling tears land on my cheeks, I hurriedly wipe them away.
Furrowing his brow, he walks closer, and I admire him in a snug black t-shirt and grey sweats that shape his cock like a mold of it was made for them. I have to look away so as not to stare at it.
“Why are you crying?”
“It’s nothing that concerns you.”
“Does it have something to do with your dad?”
“No. I mean yes, but only in a roundabout way. Please, can you forget we had that mini-discussion last night?”
“How about I take your mind off it instead?” Smiling, he approaches me and swipes the silver spoon from my hand.
He takes a bite of ice cream while I stare at his handsome face. As he licks his lips, I suck in a breath.
His enticing mouth...
The coolness from the chocolate mixed with the heat of his breath–I want to taste it.
I’m finding I want to taste all of Jason. Every. Single. Speck.
“I assume you eat ice cream when you’re upset.”
I yank the spoon back, aggravated that he’s so fucking hot. “Yes, and I like to be left alone when I’m upset, too.”
He grazes the back of his hand down my cheek.
“That’s a lie. You only think you deserve to be alone. You want me here right now, touching you, and like me, you’ve been thinking about last night all damn day.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re roommates, and I’m not jeopardizing that.”
He frowns. “It seems moving in here has backfired on me. If we weren’t living together and I asked you out, would you have accepted?”
“I doubt it. I told you I don’t have casual sex, and I also don’t date pre-med students.”
“I don’t understand the pre-med part, but I didn’t say anything about sex. I said a date.”
I cock my head to the side. “Are you saying you go on dates and don’t expect sex during or by the end of them?”
He smiles, and the corners of his mouth stretch out toward his defined jaw.
“Normally, I do, but with you, no. At least I wouldn’t expect it for a while.”
“Why?”
“You’re different, and I already know you’d be worth the wait.”
“You hardly know me.”
Leaning closer, he pins me with an intense look … one backed with enough energy to heat my entire body.
“I know you better than you think I do. It’s the real me you don’t know, and I want to change that. I want to redeem myself after the incident in the living room last weekend.”
“You must have a pretty guilty conscience over that incident.”
“Normally, I wouldn’t, but I seem to care what you think about me.”
I shake my head. “My opinion shouldn’t matter to you.”
“It does.”
Lifting my arm, I drop it to my side in frustration.
“Why?”
“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
“If I had a clue where you were going with this, I wouldn’t need to.”
Taking the ice cream and spoon from me, he sets them on the counter I’m still leaning against. He slides his cool hand along the side of my neck and around the nape of it where he squeezes gently.
Swallowing, I struggle to inhale a strangled breath.
“When I asked to move in here, I wasn’t exactly truthful when I said I had no desire to get with you or that you weren’t my type. The truth is … I want to date you.”
“I don’t know why. I doubt I’m anything like the girls you usually hook up with.”
“Exactly, and I’m no longer looking for hookups.”
“Define your definition of date?”
“I want you to spend time with me and only me.”
I lift my eyebrows. “I think that’s called exclusivity.”
“That’s what I had in mind.”
I scoff, “Right. Am I supposed to believe you’re going to date only me? I mean, what changed in a week?”
“Just say yes.”
“No.”
“Why not?” By the grip on my neck, he pulls me closer and leans his forehead against mine. His lips are so close, he’s far into my personal space, and I gasp to find oxygen. “Answer me. Why not?”
“I told you. I don’t date future physicians, and honestly, I think you’d become bored with me.”
“I wouldn’t. Come on. What do you have to lose?”
“Ultimately, a roof over my head.”
“I won’t let that happen. Give me a chance.” He presses his lips against mine, and as soon as he removes them, I whimper from how desperately I want to taste his mouth.
“You feel the heat between us. Say yes, Laurel. Let me prove that my chosen profession is irrelevant. Give me a chance to show you that I only desire you.”
“It’s too soon.” Grabbing his waist, I push him back. “I’ll agree to hang out with you, but I’m not dating you since I don’t think that’s what you really want. I refuse to be your sexual conquest, so you’ll have to prove to me over time that it’s not all you’re after.”
He smiles. “I guess that’s a start.” Moving back in my space again, he cradles my cheeks, and I realize I’m still holding his waist. “But my smarts and charm are going to win you over. Oh, and my mouth and hands, too.”
He kisses me again, and I can’t resist letting his tongue inside. He explores my mouth, and I pull him closer to me, needing more of him.
He shoves his pelvis forward and groans from a place deep in his chest, the hum and sounds of lust causing an ache between my legs.
Shit, this kiss is intoxicating. Reaching behind me, he pulls out my ponytail holder and snakes his fingers through my hair. He groans again–I moan, and god, how will I ever put the brakes on?
Like he’s licking icing off a cupcake, he savors my mouth one stroke at a time. His hands bury between my mane of curls, and it’s as if he’s been waiting for this moment for years. I can’t help but wonder if he kisses all women this passionately.
I slide my hands along his back, and it only encourages him to press his body harder against mine. His rigid cock tells me where this is going, and we’re headed there fast.
Softening our kiss, I bring my hands back to his waist. He takes the hint, and inhaling a slow breath, he nips at my lower lip and skims his wet mouth along my cheek … and down my neck.
I push him back. “Stop. This is more than hanging out.”
Releasing me completely, he grips the counter at each side of me and whispers in my ear, “You have no idea how desirable you are, and fuck, you’re a good kisser.”
“Ditto, and that’s the reason we need to rein it in. How about dinner? I want to cook for you.”
He steps back and stares into my eyes. The intensity in his finally fades, and he smiles while adjusting his cock in his sweats.
“If that’s all it takes for a home-cooked meal, I’ll be kissing you every day.”
“You might want to hold back the enthusiasm until you’ve tried my cooking. Do you have a few bucks to go buy two chicken breasts?” I ask as I move around him and stroll over to the cabinet where I keep canned goods.
Opening it, I eye the cheap cans of vegetables and the Bisquick mix. I check the refrigerator next to be sure we have milk.
“I’m an expert when it comes to breasts.”
“I’m sure you are.�
��
“I’ll grab them. Is there anything else you need from the store?”
“Buy two potatoes, too. I’m making you a chicken pot pie. It’s the only damn pie I’ll eat since all the other kinds are for assholes.”
Jason doesn’t reply, and I’m relieved since I said that remark on impulse. I don’t want to get into a discussion about how my peer review partner schooled me rudely on poetry.
I shut the refrigerator and turn around? Jason’s rubbing the back of his neck as he stares off.
“Are you sure you don’t mind going?”
Looking back at me, he gives a faint smile, but it’s not one of his flirty ones.
“No, I don’t mind.”
“Cool. I’ll get the dough ready. I didn’t even ask. Do you like chicken-pot pie?”
“Yeah, I do. My mom makes it.”
“Well, this one is being made by cheap ingredients, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“I’m sure it will be great. I’ll be back.” He disappears from the room, and something feels off. He was different after I offered to cook. God, maybe that seemed too much like playing house.
Here I told him we should rein it in, and then I said I wanted to cook for him. It’s not like I was going to throw frozen burritos into the microwave. No, I offered to cook him a meal like his momma would make or a wife.
Shit, I have to fix this now.
Sitting at the round kitchen table, I stare at the clock, and as soon as ten minutes have passed, I type a text to Jason.
Me: Sorry, but I think the ice cream’s making me sick to my stomach. I really need to lie down. Can you take a rain check on dinner?
Jason: Sure. Feel better…
He accepted that easy enough, which tells me I was probably right about cooking him dinner. I hope that doesn’t mean I was right about his intentions, too. That he’s only after one thing.
Imagining our superb kiss, I touch my lips. It was explosive and left me only wanting more. He’s dangerous to my heart, and I need to remember that.
CHAPTER TEN
Jason
Damn, did she discover I’m her poetry partner? I don’t believe so. She’s too feisty and would’ve laid into me instead of letting me kiss her.
Laurel wanted me to touch her, whereas she finds KeepingItReal69 repulsive. For every step forward I take with her, I then take ten back.
If I don’t make this right, I’ll be walking a hundred steps right out the front door of the apartment with my shit thrown onto the lawn.
Sitting in the parking lot of the grocery store, I start to text my sister. Dammit. I backspace until there are no words, and I call her instead.
As much as I don’t wish to discuss girls with her, I’m desperate, and this conversation will be too involved for texting.
“Hello,” she says.
“Summer, hi.”
“Hi. How’s it going?”
“Good. How’s school?”
“Fine.”
“Any plans for Halloween?”
“Colton and I are going to a party. Wait–aren’t you supposed to join us?”
“Oh, right, I forgot.”
“You never call me. Are Mom and Dad OK?”
“As far as I know. Look, I need your help with something.”
“Sure.”
“There’s this chick in one of my classes who I pissed off online. I want to do something nice for her to smooth things over. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Why don’t you send her flowers?”
“No, not the kind of nice that will cause her to get the wrong idea. Nothing romantic and nothing in person.”
“Of course. I forgot who I’m talking to here.”
I roll my eyes but choose to keep my mouth shut since if she finds out I actually want to date a woman, she’ll squeal and never leave me alone about it.
“I think a sincere apology is all that’s needed,” she adds.
“You’re sure?”
“If you don’t want her to get the wrong idea, then yes.”
“OK, thank you, sis.”
“You’re welcome. Glad I could help.”
I wrap up the conversation with her and think about what she said. Why don’t you send her flowers? KeepingItReal69 shouldn’t send Laurel flowers, but maybe I should.
Heading inside the store, I decide to still buy the chicken and potatoes in case Laurel wants to make dinner tomorrow. I can’t believe she’s my poetry partner.
Fuck, I’m the one who made her cry, and her poem was about her father. I’m such a jackass and have to fix this ASAP.
***
Once I’m home, I put the food away. Unable to eat anything myself, I go to my bedroom and send Laurel a text.
Me: I got the chicken and potatoes in case you feel up to making dinner tomorrow. I was looking forward to it, but no pressure. Also, I bought you some ginger ale and Tums. They’re on the kitchen counter.
Laurel: You really did want me to cook for you?
Me: Yes. Did I not make that clear?
I wait … and wait … and after a couple of minutes I get a text.
Laurel: Thank you for the ginger ale and Tums. I work tomorrow evening. Can I cook dinner for you Tuesday?
Me: It’s a date.
Laurel: No, it’s hanging out. Lol.
Laurel
After reading Jason’s text messages, I smile and feel bad at the same time. He did want me to cook for him, and he was even thoughtful enough to get me items for my upset stomach. One I didn’t lie about.
I guess from eating the ice cream and getting excited over the kiss, my nervous stomach rebelled, and it’s been aching ever since I told him about it.
Taking a break from studying, I surf my social media accounts, but it’s not long before my email alerts me of an incoming message.
It’s from KeepingItReal69, and he’s probably frustrated that I didn’t reply, which would’ve given him more ammunition to berate me.
Dear ElizabethBennetThe2nd,
I was an insensitive asshole. I’m sorry.
Sincerely,
LearningNotToBeADick69
Dear Poetry Boy,
Thank you for the apology. Although I would’ve appreciated a kinder delivery of your critique, I agree with everything you said about my poem.
I’m going to rewrite it, and unfortunately, you’re not going to get to read about pie. Instead, you’ll read about the person who ruined pie.
All I ask is that you remember I have feelings. I’m not as thick-skinned as you come across. My exterior is hard, but that’s not what’s beneath.
Sincerely,
Don’tBeADickInstructor
I go to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of ginger ale. I hang out at the table for a few minutes while chomping on my Tums and wishing Jason would come out of his room. He doesn’t, so I pad back to mine and discover I have another email.
Dear Gutter Girl (you did use the word dick),
For the record, I’m only hard exteriorly, too. Not in the perverted sense, so get your mind out of the gutter.
What I’m trying to say is that I have feelings, too, but it’s been a hell of a lot easier not to show them … until now. I look forward to reading your poem that’s not about pie.
Sincerely,
AWorkInProgress
P.S. Are you seeing anyone? Your feistiness is hot.
I cover my mouth, surprised by his last remark, and how do I reply to that? Am I seeing someone? It brings back the curiosity I have as to whether Jason will remain celibate while he pursues me. I find it hard to believe, but I’m holding on to hope.
Dear AWorkInProgress,
No, I’m not seeing anyone, but I wouldn’t call myself available, either. The guy I like is a work-in-progress, too, and I’m hoping he’s going to surprise me more than he already has. He certainly keeps my mind in the gutter.
Sincerely,
GutterGirl
Two minutes later…
Give him a chance. H
e’d be a lucky man.
Sincerely,
KeepingItReal69
Laurel
“I was impressed by your singing voice,” I say to Dan as we stand behind the service counter in the library.
“Thanks. I wish you could’ve stuck around.”
“Yeah, my best friend shows little restraint while drinking, so I often have to leave places early to take her drunk ass home. I usually don’t mind since I’m not one for crowds. It looks like you and Candice are hitting it off.”
“Oh, we’re just having some fun.” Brushing his long hair back, he gives me a charming smile, but then his eyes follow someone behind me.
“Hi,” a male says. I spin around, and I need to stop keeping my back to the counter before I end up fired.
A young guy is standing in front of me with a bouquet of orange roses. Interesting… They’re in an onyx glass vase.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I have a delivery for Laurel Murphy.”
“Um, that’s me.” I smile as he hands me the flowers.
“Enjoy, and have a good evening.”
“You, too.” Setting the vase down, I pull out the small card tucked between two roses.
Laurel,
I hope you’re feeling better today. Would you go to a Halloween party with me on Saturday? Did that sound corny? I’ve never sent a girl flowers before.
Anyway, I hope you’ll say yes, and if you have to work, ask Dan the Douche to cover for you. He owes you one.
Sincerely,
Your Roomie
Stifling a giggle, I shove the card back in the envelope before Dan can notice his name. I inhale the fragrant scent of the flowers, and now I understand the orange and black.
“You have an admirer,” Dan says.
“It appears so.”
“You have another one, but he wasn’t smart enough to send you flowers.”
Turning my back to the counter again, I give Dan a puzzled look.