by Hazel Kelly
And if they were right and there was no heaven or hell, then the world probably wouldn’t have ended if I’d kissed Logan. Then again, if kissing him was even half as intense as having his wood-worn fingertips tracing my skin, it might’ve triggered another big bang.
Seriously, though, it was disappointing him that I felt most guilty about, and that alone was telling. Even more than my parents, even more than Piper, it was the look on his face when I fled that had been ruining my appetite for days.
I could see in his eyes that I hurt him, and he didn’t deserve that. He’d done absolutely nothing wrong. All he did was intuit what I was craving without me even having to verbalize it. If anything, he was trying to make it easy for me to say yes to him, and instead of graciously accepting his attention, I lied to his face.
Even worse, I did it with clichés. It’s not you, it’s me?! Did I actually think that would make him feel better? It was true, of course. It was all me. I was the one who was afraid to get swept away in my own pleasure. I was the one who feared I wouldn’t be able to satisfy him. I was the one who was intimidated by the size of his cock before it even escaped his pants. Me. All me. I blew it.
So not only had I hurt this person I cared about too much, but I’d discovered that I was a pathetic excuse for a college girl. Ugh?! It’s not like I had to drop to my knees in the parking lot! I could’ve just kissed him! I should’ve just kissed him. At least then he would know he hadn’t totally misread the fact that I’d been flirting with him, that I did want it.
That I still wanted it.
In my guts. Like Nina and I talked about.
But my head got in the way.
Hell, it was still getting in the way, failing miserably with each passing moment to make sense of those things he said to me. His words alone were enough to give me pleasure. Yet I rejected him, along with the opportunity to know what it would be like to be way past wet.
It was hard to imagine that I could feel worse.
Plus, there was a chance that a kiss would’ve been a dead end! Perhaps it would’ve been like kissing a brother, in which case we both would’ve recoiled in disgust, thereby extinguishing the flames of our inappropriate longing, and it would never be mentioned again.
Compared to what I was going through now, that sounded like an absolute walk in the park.
I jerked upright in my chair when I heard the lock click and wondered how long I’d been lost in thought.
“Hey,” Nina said, still catching her breath from her walk up the stairs. As far as she was concerned, there was no elevator in the building just like there would be no freshman fifteen.
“You snuck out early today.”
“I went to the gym before class.”
“Wow,” I said. “Bravo.”
“Thanks.” She dropped her backpack beside her desk and slumped on her bed. “I had such a good workout I treated myself to a scone afterwards, so the whole thing was a waste of time.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said, swiveling in my chair. “Depends on where you got the scone.”
“Marple’s,” she said. “On Fourth Street.”
I cocked my head.
“It’s officially my favorite coffee shop on campus.”
“I thought you liked that other place.” I couldn’t recall the name. Coffee shops weren’t really my thing. Not that I disliked coffee, but I couldn’t justify the expense for something that made me have to pee every five minutes for the rest of the day. “By the quad.”
“I do, but Marple’s has a loyalty card.” She leaned over and slid her water bottle from the outside pocket of her bag. “So it’s a no-brainer. Plus, their scone selection is far more extensive.”
“I’ll have to check it out sometime.”
“Start with the raspberry crumble scone,” she said. “It’s better than sex.”
I was grateful I wasn’t the one drinking water, because that’s about the moment I would’ve spit it up.
“At least any sex I’ve ever had,” she added, screwing the lid back on the bottle. “I would’ve brought you one, but I didn’t think you’d be here.”
“No worries.”
“Do you mean that?” she asked.
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s just… you’ve seemed a bit off since last weekend.”
“Oh, I’m fine.” I waved her concern away. “Just got a little behind on some reading.”
“Think you’ll be caught up by Saturday so you can be my date for the pimps and hos party?”
“What pimps and hos party?”
“At the Beta house,” she said. “I only found out this morning ‘cause a few of the guys were at the gym.”
“Oh.”
She lay back on her elbows. “I figured Logan would’ve already mentioned it to you.”
He’d have to call me to do that. “Must’ve slipped his mind.”
“Whatever,” she said. “You down to slut it up and go?”
“Sure,” I said, more pissed than hurt that he didn’t invite me. Then again, what self-respecting frat boy would invite a tease to a pimps and hos party?
T W E N T Y T W O
- Logan -
It was hard to tell if I was more hurt or annoyed.
Not that I was a stranger to rejection. Hell, the first fifteen years of my life felt like one long rejection. I’d heard stories about kids who overheard their parents joke that they were an accident. As far as I was concerned, they had it easy. With my folks, there wasn’t a day that went by when I wasn’t aware of their resentment.
A teacher even picked up on it once after they got called in for a conference because I was acting out in school. I remember being mortified at the way my mom palmed her box of Camels during the meeting and by the way my dad offered nothing more than a skeptical grunt when the teacher said I had potential to do better.
The next day, she pulled me aside and told me a story about a piece of shit guy that had two sons. Okay, so those weren’t her exact words, but the point was that one of the sons grows up to be a successful, well-liked businessman, while the other becomes an uneducated drunkard. Yet when either is asked why they turned out the way they did, the answer is the same: because of my father.
Her words felt like a personal challenge, like the encouraging lifeline I needed. They helped me realize that I wouldn’t be burdened by my parents’ apathy forever, and I started turning things around. Not just at school, but in my relationships with others as well.
I found that even though my parents taught me how not to treat people, I had a knack for understanding what people needed, what they wanted. Especially women.
Far as I could tell, women were mostly after the things I always longed for as a kid. To be seen. To be listened to. To feel like my presence was a source of meaningful joy. To be safe.
No way Zoey didn’t feel those things with me.
I mean, I knew her moral compass was calibrated a bit tight, but fuck me if she didn’t want it.
I knew she did. I could tell by her breath, by the size of her pupils, by the way her skin flushed at my touch. Christ, if all the signs weren’t there, I never would’ve touched her in the first place, never would’ve said those things, things I meant so much it hurt.
Afterwards, I was so upset I couldn’t even jerk off to the thought of her sleeping in my shirt when I got home. Fucking stupid.
And yeah, I admit it was sort of awkward the first time I let myself think about her while I did that since I’d made it off-limits for so long. But ever since that day, I’d been doing it regularly with zero guilt whatsoever.
I liked to imagine holding her waist and sliding her body up and down my shaft. Or the way her plump lips might feel around my dick. Or the way her nipples would rise if I circled them with my tongue.
But now that she hadn’t returned my affection, it felt like I had some kind of sickness. Like maybe my craving her was dirty and wrong, which made me feel so shitty it triggered the memory of the night I first k
issed Piper instead of her.
Piper came on to me at that party, though, and I had no experience managing my hormones at that stage. I don’t think Zoey ever knew she made the first move, but not only did she corner me at that house party, I’m convinced she knew her best friend and I had chemistry. She never said as much, but I could read her like nobody else.
After all, we had the same background. Sure, her parents were successful members of society in a way mine weren’t, but the pressure they put on her growing up was arguably as debilitating, toxic, and abusive as the neglect I suffered. I think that’s why we hit it off so well. And why we were so explosive. In hindsight it seemed obvious. How could two young people riddled with deep-seated insecurities possibly have a healthy relationship?
The point is, I should’ve kissed Zoey. Maybe not back then, but days ago when I finally got a second chance, I should have taken it. Not because she turned me on, but because I had real feelings for her, deep feelings. Feelings so deep they remained even after all this time.
In fact, all her rejection had done was highlight the fact that I wanted her even more than I realized. In my arms. In my head. In my bed. I wanted every inch of that girl to be mine.
But after the way she fled, after the way my chest burned at the sight of her walking away, I was starting to think the whole thing was a pipe dream and that I was a fool for humoring it.
I snapped out of my useless cogitation when the familiar pattern of a rapid quadruple knock shook my door. As expected, it opened before I wasted my breath inviting Carter in.
“Jesus, Logan, the smell of paint in here.”
There was no need to respond to his comment. I was clearly painting a chair in the middle of the room over a paint-splattered tarp, having pushed my bed as far into the corner as possible.
“Did it not occur to you to crack a damn window?”
“I meant to,” I said. “I just… forgot.”
He groaned and threw a stack of notecards down on the bed before forcing my stubborn windows open.
“What’s up?” I asked, redirecting my focus back to the leg of the chair.
“I wrote up a list of sites for you,” he said, swinging my door back and forth to get some air circulating through the room.
With each swing, I could feel the intensity of the paint smell lifting. Maybe I had been chemically asphyxiating myself in here? Getting high off the fumes and freaking out about Zoey. Real cool, man. Real healthy. “Oh yeah?” I said, not looking up.
“They’re all different layouts,” he said. “Take a look at them, and let me know which one looks most like what you had in mind for your furniture site.”
“Thanks. Will do.”
“Could you not do that outside?”
“It’s supposed to rain later.”
“Don’t sleep in here if you can’t get that smell out,” he said. “It’s not healthy.”
I smiled. “That’s a line I haven’t heard.”
“Seriously, I’d rather sleep head to toe with you than find your body in the morning.”
“You’re a good friend.”
“Speaking of good friends.”
His tone made me look up.
“Did you invite your sister to pimps and hos?”
“She’s not my fucking sister.” Why had I even told anyone that?! It was complicating everything, and the truth was, I never had to see her or her parents again as long as I lived if I didn’t want to.
“Jeez, sorry.” He pretended to pull his collar away from his neck. “What I meant to say was did you invite Zoey to pimps and hos?”
I dipped the brush back in the pot of paint and slid the bristles against the side to remove the excess. “No.”
“Does that mean you didn’t invite her friend?”
I looked up at him again. “What?”
“The one with the green eyes.”
I squinted at him. “Since when have you ever noticed the color of a girl’s eyes?”
“Just answer the damn question.”
“No. I didn’t invite Zoey or Nina to pimps and hos.” For the same reason a fasting man doesn’t spend the day loitering around a food court.
His face fell.
I went back to ignoring him, though I could tell by the way he was leaning in the doorway that he had more words piled up on the tip of his tongue.
“Mind if I invite them?” he asked finally. “Just if I see them around. I won’t go out of my way or anything.”
“I don’t care what you do, man.”
“Cool, well, I’m going to leave this open since the paint fumes are obviously making you cranky,” he said, leaving the door ajar as he took off down the hall.
But it wasn’t the paint fumes that had me in a bad mood.
It was the fact that I knew in my bones that this crush I had on Zoey was more than a crush.
What it was exactly, I couldn’t be sure.
All I knew was that I couldn’t possibly feel worse.
T W E N T Y T H R E E
- Zoey -
“What do you think?” Nina asked, holding up her makeup mirror. It was surrounded by bright inset lights that made me feel like I was about to go on stage at the Moulin Rouge.
“Honestly?” I stared at my black-rimmed eyes and thickly coated lashes before dropping my gaze to my red lips, which were so shiny they looked wet. “No one I know would even recognize me with this much makeup on.”
“Perfect,” she said, setting the mirror on my desk and leaning over to do her own lips.
“I feel like a clown.”
“You look like an expensive hooker.” She pressed her lips together and straightened back up.
I cocked my head. “You mean a cheap hooker.”
“Whatever,” she said. “It’s supposed to be fun.”
“We’re going to get leered at.”
“I promise there will be sorority girls there that’ll put us to shame.”
“Great,” I said, rolling my eyes. “‘Cause feeling shamed by sorority girls is my favorite pastime.”
“Consider it practice for Halloween.”
I furrowed my brow. “What?”
“It’s the same idea, isn’t it? Just an excuse for girls to show more skin than they do the rest of the year.”
“I never thought about it that way.” Though that would explain why Piper always went as a dirty pirate hooker.
“Is that seriously news to you? What did you go as last year?”
“A bumblebee.”
“Like a slutty bumblebee?” she asked, squinting at me.
I pictured the thick, furry top I wore. “I wore leggings?”
She groaned.
“So I’m more of a sweater and Docs girl. Gimme a break.”
She pointed a manicured finger at me. “You are not wearing those clodhoppers tonight. You’re wearing heels.”
“What if I want to stand out from the other hos to attract more customers?”
“Nice try, but those boots are not the way to do that,” she said, walking over to her closet. “Besides, there are no customers. It’s just dress-up. So I better not catch you turning tricks.”
I smiled. “If I can’t turn tricks all night, I don’t even know if I want to go.”
“Very funny,” she said, unzipping the garment bag hanging on her closet door. “Now come here. I’ll let you have first pick.” She laid half a dozen short black dresses out on her bed.
“Where’s the rest of them?”
Her face filled with concern. “You don’t think one of these will fit you?”
“I mean the rest of the fabric. These all look like tube tops.”
“That’s enough, Grandma. Just start trying them on. I’m not rocking up to a pimps and hos party with a girl in overalls.”
“I’m not that out of touch,” I said. “I just don’t want to look…”
“What?”
“Like I’m trying too hard.”
“You need to trust me,” she said. “Logan would
notice you in a burlap sack, but if you want him to notice you getting noticed, a knockout LBD is the way to go.”
“First of all, I’m not a huge fan of mind games. I don’t have enough experience to play them and win. Second of all, if he wanted me to be there, he would’ve invited me.”
She picked up two dresses and held them in front of me one at a time. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened last Saturday?”
I took the hanger holding the slightly longer dress. Not that it was long enough that I’d be able to sit down anywhere, which was all I thought about the last time I wore heels.
“Zoey, c’mon. One second he’s spinning you in the air because you broke the top ten, the next you guys are skulking off slurring at each other, and then you pout for days and don’t hear from him all week?”
“I didn’t pout for days.”
“Fine, don’t tell me. Do try that one on, though.”
“Where did these dresses come from?”
Her neck hinged forward. “Are you really not going to tell me?!”
I sighed. “There’s nothing to tell. He made a move, and I panicked and fled.”
Pity filled her eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“What are you so afraid of?”
I shook my head at the ground.
She folded her arms. “Zoey.”
I sat on the edge of her bed and folded the dress over my arm. “I’m afraid I really like him, Nina. I’m afraid I more than like him.”
“Be afraid of something else then!”
I lifted my face. “What?”
“Be afraid of not letting him know how you feel. Be afraid that the world is going to end tomorrow and you’re going to die without the taste of him on your lips.”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“Be afraid of dying a nun.”