Rm w/a Vu

by A. D. Ryan

  The only part of my day that I really look forward to is around seven-thirty at night when Greyston calls to check in. By Thursday, Greyston assures me that he’s signed Xander and that he’ll return on Friday as scheduled.

  After hanging up with Greyston, my phone rings again. This time, it’s Erik. He apologizes for not calling earlier, citing school assignments as his reason, which I totally understand. He confirms our plans for Friday night, and I tell him that everything still sounds great before giving him my address.

  There are a couple of things for me to look forward to on Friday when I wake up; the first being Greyston’s return home around six, and then the chance to go out and have a little fun with my peers. My excitement leads to my inability to get a good night’s sleep on Thursday, and I have to rely on a lot of coffee to get me through the day.

  Thankfully, I only have a couple of classes and am home just after two. The minute I curl up on the couch in front of an afternoon talk show, my eyes begin to droop, and I fall asleep.

  The dreams I have are bright and cheerful. Familiar blue eyes are a prominent part of those dreams, and it seems as though we’re more than just friends in this particular sequence.

  We’re lying in my bed, our legs intertwined and most of our clothes still on. His lips are on mine, soft at first, but soon grow hungry with need as his hands grasp at my body, wanting more, yet never pushing for it. My entire body warms as his lips begin to explore my neck, and my fingers thread themselves into the soft hairs on the back of his head to hold him in place against the hollow of my throat.

  “Juliette,” he whispers, his breath sending a cool tickle over the skin he’s just kissed. His lips leave my neck, and he looks directly into my eyes, bringing his right hand up to softly stroke my cheek. “Juliette.”

  Something about his innocent touch feels different from all the rest in my dream, and his voice seems a little more hesitant. I try not to think about those things, pulling his face back to mine. Our lips barely touch before he speaks again. “Juliette, I’m home.”

  My eyes flutter open, and I find myself staring across the low coffee table at the TV, my brain still muddled with the fog of sleep. As I continue to breach the barrier into consciousness, I realize it’s six-fifteen, and the talk show I was watching before passing out is no longer on. I’m momentarily confused. Parts of my dream still linger, but it’s all fading quickly—as dreams often do. I run my fingers through my hair and turn my head toward the ceiling. My heart leaps into my throat when I notice I’m not alone.

  “Holy crap!” I cry out, slapping my hand to my chest in an attempt to keep my heart from breaking through.

  Greyston takes a small step back from his spot behind the couch and offers me an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Good dream?”

  Ignoring his question, I sit up, my heart calming more and more with each passing second. “No, it’s okay.” Greyston moves around the sofa and sits next to me. “How was your flight?”

  “Thankfully short. I couldn’t wait to be home. I just hope that my next trip isn’t for quite some time.” With a content sigh, Greyston relaxes back onto the couch and rests his head. “So, what do you want to do tonight? Order in? We could go out if you wanted to get out of the house?”

  “Oh,” I say, my voice falling to barely above a whisper. “I actually have plans tonight.”

  Greyston seems happy to hear this. “Great. You going out to a movie with Daphne?” he guesses.

  “Um, no. There’s this frat party on campus. I was invited to go by a classmate. Erik.”

  The happy smile fades from his lips and he sits up, resting his forearms on his thighs and looking at his feet. “I see.” Greyston stands up and looks down at me. “Well, I’m going to go and unpack my things. You have fun tonight.”

  Greyston leaves me alone in the living room, and I can’t help but feel like he’s upset with me. I don’t like the idea, and I wonder what I might have done to upset him. Deciding to go talk to him, I make my way up the stairs. When I reach his door, I find it closed, and I can hear him talking. Even though I know I shouldn’t, I press my ear to the door. His voice is far too low for me to hear, so I give up trying and head to my room to get ready for the party.

  I step into my closet and look through my clothes. It’s been so long since I’ve gone out on a date—even with Ben—that I’m kind of at a loss. I shoot Daphne a text for her advice since she knows my small wardrobe pretty well, and it’s not long before I receive her reply.

  I go through my clothes, locate the items she’s suggested, and pull them on. The skirt isn’t so short that it gives the farm away for free, but it does show off a decent amount of leg, making them look longer than they are, and the shirt has a low back, showing off an ample amount of my sun-kissed skin. Happy with how I look, I find a pair of comfortable heels to complete my outfit and head to the washroom to do my hair and makeup. I keep it simple, playing up my eyes and the color of my shirt with a light blue shadow and adding a coat of mascara. Keeping the low back of my shirt in consideration, I pull my dark hair up into a twist and secure it with several hairpins, letting the ends fall down to brush my neck.

  Just as I’m giving myself a final once-over, the doorbell rings. I find I’m nervous, but not in a butterflies-in-stomach kind of way. Taking a deep breath, I exit my bedroom to answer the door. It takes me by surprise to find that Greyston has already invited Erik in.

  That’s when the butterflies erupt. Not because I see Erik, I realize, but because Greyston’s eyes have shifted to watch me descend the stairs. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but there’s something in the way he’s staring at me that confuses me. If it were anybody else, I’d swear that particular look resembled…desire.

  I shake off the ridiculous thought and continue toward the door. When I look up at Erik, who’s dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, he’s looking at me in an entirely different way than when he asked me out. I begin to wonder if Erik is expecting more than I’m willing to offer up tonight.

  “Hey,” Erik says, his eyes moving down the length of my body, taking a little more time than necessary on my breasts. “You look great.”

  “Thanks.” I look between him and Greyston. “I take it the two of you have met?”

  Greyston seems less than impressed; in fact, he seems downright hostile. “Oh, we’ve met.” I try not to read too much into it, but I think I detect a note of jealousy in his voice. This only serves to further confuse me when I pair it alongside the way he was looking at me a moment ago.

  I’m about to suggest to Erik that we leave when Greyston’s hand reaches out and takes mine. His hold is firm, yet gentle, and his thumb begins to move back and forth over the back of my hand. Sparks shoot up my arm, and my eyes lock on his. “Can I talk to you a minute while Erik waits for you…outside?”

  “Uh, sure.” I turn to Erik with a nervous smile. “Why don’t you go wait by the car? I’ll be right out.”

  Erik seems reluctant, but does so with one final look from Greyston. I shouldn’t, but I find this odd display of his kind of sexy. The minute Erik is outside, Greyston closes the door, his palm flat against it as if holding it in case Erik tries to come back inside.

  “What’s up?” I ask, truly curious about what is possibly going through Greyston’s mind right now.

  “I don’t like him,” is his short reply.

  I’m not sure how to reply to that. Greyston doesn’t even know Erik—hell, I don’t even know him that well yet; isn’t that what dates are for? To learn about someone that you may have expressed an interest in?

  “I’m sorry?” I finally say.

  Greyston sighs heavily, dropping his hand from the door and running it through his hair, never breaking our stare—or his hold on my hand. “You could do so much better. I don’t trust him.”

  I’m sure Greyston’s exactly right about being able to do better. However, what he doesn’t realize is that I feel as though he mi
ght be my “better.” And he’s not an option.

  “Greyston,” I say with a smile. “I don’t think they can get much worse than Ben.”

  “Juliette, you don’t know what he’s thinking—”

  “And you do?” I ask softly, smiling at him to show him I’m not upset by his need to keep me safe. He’s doing this because he promised my dad; I know this to be a fact. “It’s one date. I’ve shared a few classes with him, and he seems really nice.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.”

  There’s no holding back my amusement. “You look like a nice guy…are you telling me you’re secretly a psychopath?”

  He’s pinching the bridge of his nose and clenching his eyes shut. “That’s different.”

  “Is it?” I ask. “My dad thought you were some crazy person, and he agreed to meet with you so you could prove him wrong. Shouldn’t Erik be granted the same allowances?”

  It’s clear he’s not happy that I’ve compared him and Erik, but it works. He opens the door, but still holds onto my hand, tethering me to him for a moment longer. There’s something in the way he’s holding onto me that reaches out to that small, distant part of me that’s still grasping for a shred of hope that maybe he’s interested.

  Then he let’s go, and it all slips away.

  “Promise you’ll call if you need absolutely anything. A ride, someone to talk to, anything.”

  I agree without a second thought, thanking him for his concern, and walk out to find Erik leaning against the passenger side door of his older Ford Focus, playing with his phone.

  Upon seeing me, he slips his phone into his pocket and pushes off the car. “Well he’s mighty protective, isn’t he?”

  He moves away from the door, and I smile expectantly, waiting for him to open it. When he doesn’t, instead running around to his own door and hopping in immediately, I’m stunned. Slowly, I turn back to Greyston, who’s chuckling from his place in the doorway and shaking his head.

  I understand that it isn’t unusual for men to make their women open their own doors or pull out their own chairs, but since meeting Greyston, I guess I had hoped that maybe Ben was the rarity.

  Annoyed less than fifteen minutes into my first date, I open my door and climb in. I decide that I’m not going to hold this against Erik, and that it’s just how he was taught.

  The entire drive to the party, Erik is talking about the big football game on Sunday. “I’m having a few buddies over to watch the game on my new flat screen. You should stop by.”

  “Oh,” I tell him, “I can’t. I’m actually going to the game on Sunday.”

  Erik’s eyes go wide, and he turns to me for a longer period of time than I’m entirely comfortable with since he’s driving. “When did you get tickets? I’ve been trying for months.”

  I smile, remembering dinner with Greyston and my parents quite fondly. “Greyston, actually. He’s taking my parents and me. The team’s manager gave him tickets for signing the new quarterback.”

  Erik’s mouth is now equally as wide as his eyes; it’s kind of frightening. “Your landlord gave you tickets? That’s… weird.”

  “I don’t know,” I tell him with a laugh. “I thought it was kind of sweet.”

  We arrive at the party a few minutes later, and Erik gets out of the car and starts for the door—while I’m still sitting in the passenger seat. He’s docking himself points left and right, but I continue to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Walking as fast as I can in my heels, I catch up to him before we pass through the door, and he snickers. “What took you so long?”

  It takes all the strength I can muster to not slam his face into the side of the doorframe. He’s lucky he is able to redeem himself a little when he spots the keg and offers to get us both a drink.

  “Thank you. That would be great.” I watch as he crosses the room and talks to the guy manning the keg. While he’s gone, I take a look around at the party to find it’s already in full swing. Men and women are grinding in the large living room area as heavy dance music makes the walls and windows rattle, and there are couples making out in every corner. I haven’t been to one of these things since last year, and I can clearly see that they haven’t changed.

  Erik returns a couple of minutes later with my beer. “Your new place looks great,” Erik says, trying to start the conversation. “What made you decide to move off campus?”

  I quirk my eyebrow at him, because I am more than certain the rumors surrounding my moving out of the dorms has been made public. “You’re joking, right?” He says nothing. “Well, when someone finds out their boyfriend and roommate are sleeping together, there’s not really much keeping you here.”

  Erik doesn’t seem surprised by this news, which can only tell me he did know. “That sucks,” is all he says. “Can I ask if you know how he got the black eye?”

  I’m just taking a sip of my drink when I laugh. “Greyston.”

  “Your landlord?” I nod, and Erik shakes his head in disbelief.

  Erik continues to ask me questions, and I’m surprised that I’m able to contribute to the conversation here and there. However, it seems that every time I bring up Greyston, Erik becomes agitated. We talk about Erik’s plans for the weekend, and when he asks what I plan to do, I remind him of the football game with Greyston and my parents. This leads Erik to ask how that was even arranged, and I explain the dinner last week where Greyston invited us all.

  Naturally, I remember the whipped cream on the tip of Greyston’s fingers and get that warm tingly feeling in my lower belly. I don’t mention this out loud, but I imagine it over and over again before I let the memory play out to when I got whipped cream on my own clumsy digits.

  And Greyston dropped his fork.

  It must be the beer, because that memory shouldn’t be sticking out as prominently as it is… Should it?

  Erik interrupts my thoughts, asking about the car I was driving to school the past few days.

  “It’s Greyston’s,” I reply without thinking. “He wanted to be sure I had a more reliable vehicle while he was away on business.”

  I swear I can feel Erik’s annoyance flare. “Of course. Next you’re going to tell me he’s the world’s best cook.”

  “He’s not bad, actually,” I inform him, thinking back on all the delicious meals Greyston has prepared for us: the Alfredo dish, bacon and egg breakfasts, spaghetti…

  That was when Greyston dropped his spoon into the sauce.

  Something else clicks into place—even though I didn’t know there was a place for it to click.

  Hours pass, meaning I’ve become even more drunk. Erik and I have been doing shots in between my apparently bottomless red solo cup of beer. Sure, it’s probably not the best way to avoid a hangover—or alcohol poisoning—but I’m actually having a good time. I’m not fully aware of when or why I do it, but it seems like every time Erik starts up a new topic, I bring up Greyston, always finding a way to relate it to whatever we’re talking about. However, the more I talk about him, the more I seem to remember all of these little things I originally sloughed off as unimportant because I had figured there was no way Greyston would ever act that way or say certain things around me.

  The way his fingers brushed my knee when he was trying to comfort me about his leaving… The smiles he’s always giving me… Even just the way his eyes always lock on mine when he’s talking to me.

  “Greyston again, huh?” Erik says after I tell him another Greyston story. I think he’s annoyed, but he could also be drunk…because I’m drunk, and I think everyone here is drunk.

  “Greyston’s awesome.” My words are only slightly slurred as I state this as a fact. I think.

  Erik seems to ignore my statement completely. “Look, can we stop talking about your landlord? How about we go and dance?”

  “Uhhh…” I look behind me at the lazy dancers, leaning up against each other for balance—actually, upon closer observation they’re not leaning; they’re pawing at each o
ther and on the verge of public sex. Some people have no shame.

  “Juliette?” My eyes snap back to Erik’s a little too fast, and I lose my balance. He catches me, but I don’t like how his dry, calloused fingers feel on my arm. They itch. Greyston’s, though? They’re nice. Like little jolts of electricity making my heart beat faster and my stomach flip.

  “What?” I ask before remembering what he just asked. “Oh, right. Um, I’m going to go to the washroom.”

  Unable to deny me my girl time, he lets me go, and I stumble through the large crowd to find the bathroom. I do what needs to be done, wash my hands, and fix my hair. As I glance over my reflection, I flash back to when I was coming downstairs to greet Erik back at the house. There is no denying that there was something in the way Greyston was looking at me. I smile before biting my lip, wondering what the look might have meant…

  There’s a knock on the door that startles me until I hear Erik’s voice calling for me from the other side. When I open the door, he’s holding my cup out to me. I’m suddenly not feeling like partying and just want to go home.

  “What’s wrong?” Erik asks, placing his hard, scratchy hand on my bare back and leading me back out into the throng of people.

  “It’s just getting late, and I’m feeling kind of tired,” I lie. “Would you hate me if I wanted to go home?”

  While he doesn’t say yes, something in his eyes tells me he’s not exactly pleased. “I thought we were going to dance?”

  I look around at the “dancers” and cringe. “Um, I’m not a great dancer. And besides, I don’t do”—I raise my hand and wave my outstretched index finger around at everybody in the room—“that.”

  Erik’s hand moves across my back, even dipping beneath the soft fabric of my shirt slightly, and he leans in until he’s whispering in my ear. It reminds me of the morning I made French toast for Greyston, only Erik’s breath is nowhere near as sweet and warm as Greyston’s. “Juliette, everybody does that.”