by Sara Ney
My eyes cannot help but drink in the sight of her, long tan legs in a black skirt, tight red t-shirt. Strappy heels. She’s totally irresistible and way out of my league. And unfortunately, she’s staring me down.
“Why aren’t you dressed? You can’t wear that.”
What does she mean why am I not dressed? I’m sitting here in track pants and a hoodie, my Friday night uniform for comfort but not style.
Also, what is Lilly even doing here? She just shows up out of nowhere, unannounced, startling the shit out of me and catching me off guard? Is this my life now? Being ambushed by beautiful girls who just want to be friends?
“I’m not dressed because I’m not going out.” I tap the pencil against my desktop to illustrate my business. “I have shit to do.”
I immediately regret using the word shit and hope my statement didn’t come out sounding too harsh. I’m trying to be professional and serious so she doesn’t stand there and argue with me.
Too bad Lilly is stubborn. Her brows rise and a leg juts out.
“You’d rather do homework than come out with us?”
I try to ignore how smooth her leg looks, averting my eyes and shooting a gaze to Jack, who shrugs as if to say, ‘You’re on your own, bro.’
“Me staying in has nothing to do with a lack of desire to go out with you guys. It’s just—I’m on this deadline.”
“Rome, we are all on a deadline, but that shouldn’t stop you from going out and having some fun with your friends. You stay in way too often.”
She’s not telling me anything I’m not already aware of; pretty sure living with my parents until a few weeks ago is the reason I’m like this. And yes, I know I should get out of my comfort zone and let them take me to the party, but I wouldn’t know what to do with myself there except stand in the corner and feel awkward.
I shift in my seat.
The hot seat.
Don’t look at her chest, Rome—don’t look at her chest.
They look great in that tight t-shirt.
Crap, I just looked.
My eyes just went there, and who would blame me—Lilly is sweet and gorgeous and standing in the middle of my bedroom harassing me about going to a party with her.
With them.
She would never invite me to a party alone—that would almost be like a date, and that’s not what we’re doing. Of course it’s a group thing and she wants me along; we’re friends now.
The friend zone.
Ugh.
Where I’m firmly planted among females near and far for all of eternity.
“You’re set on staying home?” she asks one more time. “There’s no changing your mind?”
She walks over to where I’m sitting and glances over my shoulder, her boobs pressing against my back as she looks at my drawing.
“What is this? A robot?”
“Kind of. It’s called a concept car—it’s a rendering for my final grade in an engineering class. It’s going to take months to design.”
Lilly looks suitably impressed. “That’s neat. What is this?”
She reaches around me and points, pressing her finger against the graph paper to the back part of the car I’m working on. I do each section first and then combine them at the end with an entirely new CAD—or computer aided drawing for those who don’t use the lingo as part of their vocabulary like me.
I can’t concentrate on answering; I can only concentrate on her boobs pressed against my back.
The smell of her is musky and romantic, not fruity or too overpowering—like the seasons and just…good. She smells good. Freshly showered and coiffed.
“It’s…” I swallow. “Uh.”
Her face is so close when she turns her head to grin at me. “It’s, uh? So technical.” She rises to her full height again. “Well. I suppose if you insist on staying home and acting like a hermit, there isn’t anything we can do to convince you. I don’t want to be annoying.”
“I should stay home.” I’m still getting used to the idea of living in a different place—baby steps.
Of course I don’t say any of this; I don’t want to sound like a complete pussy.
“Okay. We’ll be thinking about you.”
Will she be thinking about me while she’s at the party filled with other dudes? Doubtful, but it’s nice that she’s being kind, and a part of me does believe she’ll give me some thought while she is in a throng of people at whatever jock house they’re going to.
“Thanks. Wish me luck and cross your fingers that I am productive.” Chances are I’m going to spend the next few hours staring out the window wishing I had gone along but not really having the motivation to put clean pants on or fake a good time.
Lilly puts her hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Good luck.”
It takes a little longer for Eliza to pick out an outfit, but soon the trio are on their way and I’m listening to the sound of Jack’s truck ambling down the street. I wonder how long they’ll be gone, if Lilly will return once the party is over, and if she’ll be drunk.
Alcohol—yet another thing I don’t do a lot of.
I really need to live a little, jeez. What am I doing home on a Friday night when my friends are out having a good time? Goddamn I’m boring; it’s no wonder girls aren’t interested in me.
All I do is study and study some more.
My head gives a little bang against my desktop out of frustration. This is no one’s fault but mine. I’m the one who’s a chickenshit with anxiety about going to this party—it wouldn’t actually kill me or my deadline to pop in for a bit.
I put my pencil back to my paper and do my best to focus my energy on my assignment; it’s not easy, but I manage, fixating on this engine for the next two hours. Before I know it, I’m registering a dark house that is entirely too still, too cold, and too quiet—almost eerily so.
I’m hungry at one point, so I make my way down to the kitchen to scavenge the fridge, unearthing the shepherd’s pie Eliza tried her hand at Wednesday night in an attempt to be domestic. She botched some of the crust, but it’s edible, and it’s not lasagna leftovers—we’ve been eating that shit for way too long. I’m sick of it.
I’m at the counter when my phone dings.
Lilly’s name appears in my notifications, so I set down my fork and pick up my cell.
Lilly: I know you said you didn’t want to come out tonight but could you PLEASE come and help me?
Help her?
I stand at the counter, wiping my mouth on a napkin.
Me: What’s wrong??
Lilly: Kyle is here.
Lilly: Which itself isn’t shocking or a surprise, but he wants to talk to me and I want nothing to do with him.
Me: Is Jack there with you?
I’m already flying up the stairs, shucking off these stupid track pants at the same time, eyes scanning my bedroom for an actual pair of jeans.
There are some tossed next to the laundry hamper; I snatch them and pull them on.
Lilly: Jack and Eliza are both here, but he’s like, the center of attention, and the last thing I want to do is cause drama.
Me: Where are you now?
Lilly: The bathroom—but I can’t stay in here forever, people will get pissed.
Me: Give me ten minutes tops, I’m already on my way.
Does she want me to…pretend to be her new boyfriend? As if her last one is going to believe the charade? I’m hardly a match for him. One look at me and he’s going to laugh us out of the room.
But she’s asking for help, and it’s not my place to point out the flaw in her plan.
It’s freezing outside, but I skip a jacket, not wanting to waste time fetching it out of the mudroom where I hung it on a hook. Hop in my car and navigate toward Jock Row, glad I didn’t have to ask the poor girl for directions.
The red shirt is the talisman I need to spot Lilly immediately in the crowd of mundane, mute colors upon arriving at the baseball house. It’s packed and lively, music blaring.<
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My peers are spilling out of the house and onto the wraparound porch it’s so packed inside.
I feel out of place.
Foreign.
Like a fraud for being here.
But then…
There she is.
Blonde hair, red shirt, black skirt. There is a frown on her face when she looks up and finally sees me, her back pressed against the wall near where I assume the bathroom is.
Kyle is gesturing as he speaks to her.
When she catches my eye—watching as I walk toward her through the crowd—she visibly relaxes.
“Hey, I made it.” I kiss her on the forehead in greeting, doing my best to appear like a boyfriend, genuine and not the bundle of nerves I am inside. I feel sick to my stomach, somewhat terrified Kyle Gordeski, star of the football team, is going to punch me in the face for touching his ex-girlfriend.
When Lilly slides her arm around my waist, it causes my entire body to shiver.
She goes up on her tiptoes to kiss me on the mouth. “Hey, babe.”
My lips tingle.
“Who the fuck is this?” Kyle asks. I’ve never actually been this close to a football player on the university team before. He’s big, but so am I—and he’s intimidating, but I’m smart. Who the fuck is this? What kind of greeting is that?
He sounds like a Neanderthal.
“This is Rome, the guy I’m dating.”
Kyle barely looks at me. “You’re already dating someone new? Jesus, Lill, you’re not even going to let the body get cold?”
Her chin tilts up. “Yes, I’m dating someone new.”
She doesn’t explain herself like I thought she would, offering him no other explanation. After all, he doesn’t deserve one—based on what she’s told me and from what my roommates have told me, he cheated on her the entire time they were together, which wasn’t very long.
“Just like that?”
She gives a definitive nod. “Just like that.”
“So that’s it?”
I don’t want to open my mouth and get involved, and from the sounds of it, I don’t have to. The guy is giving up quicker than I can say Cambridge Stein Scholarship.
“Yes. Why, did you have something you wanted to say?”
Kyle glances back and forth between the pair of us, glances down at her arm around my waist and the way I casually slide mine around hers. She’s so tiny she fits right under my armpit when I pull her close.
I expect more of a confrontation from Kyle; I threw on actual jeans to race over here tonight. Sweatpants and arguments do not jive well. Better lower my expectations and lock away my wits now that Kyle is standing before me, seemingly backing down from any type of fight.
“How long have you two been together?” he wants to know, still not walking away. “He doesn’t look like your usual type.”
“What’s my usual type?” she asks.
“Popular and cool.”
Popular and cool? I laugh, tossing my head and hair back. What are we, in middle school?
Who gives a shit about popularity at this age?
This guy.
This guy gives a shit about popularity, and for a brief second, I wonder what kind of chance a guy like me stands with a girl like Lilly who dates idiots like this.
He might be big, but it’s obvious that Kyle Gordeski is harmless.
Lilly snorts at him before I have the chance.
“My type is really none of your business,” Lilly tells him with her chin up.
“We just broke up.”
His arguments are godawful, and quite frankly, I’m having secondhand embarrassment on his behalf.
“You cheated on me with so many girls I lost count. So don’t be a hypocrite.”
He turns bright red, and I doubt it’s from the alcohol he’s holding in the plastic cup. He looks at me, studying me. I wonder what is going through his mind as he stares at the nerdy dude with his ex-girlfriend—it’s certainly no scene from Revenge of the Nerds, but maybe that’s what I was anticipating.
Kyle is way calmer. I actually give him kudos for not arguing more.
As if on cue, a girl walks up and takes him by the arm, trying to drag him away. She has big hair and big boobs and is wearing a skirt that’s shorter than Lilly’s. “Come on, Kyle, we’re starting a game of beer pong.”
He shakes her off with a curse. “Jesus Christ, Kami, I’m in the middle of something.”
The girl pouts. “You said…”
“Wow.” I hear Lilly clicking her tongue. “This timing couldn’t be any more perfect, could it? You better go, Kyle—you have a game of beer pong to play with Kami, and you’re killing my buzz. I want to spend time with my boyfriend.”
Kyle hesitates, unsure. Not wanting to walk away, giving it one last-ditch effort. “Lilly, I…I’m really sorry.”
“I’ve moved on.” Her grip tightens on my waist. Fingers squeeze. “Don’t worry about me, I’m great.”
Is she though?
If she was great, she wouldn’t have texted me to come tonight, would she? I might not know much about women, but I know enough.
Kyle stands there, beer in hand, staring at Lilly, looking a little…ill. Regretful.
A feeling I’d feel if I let a girl like her get away.
Er.
If I cheated on a girl like that.
What sort of fucking moron does a thing like that? Cheats on a girl like Lilly? She’s…
A keeper.
The kind of girl you take home to your mother.
The kind of girl who doesn’t think your strange great aunt is bizarre, who thinks your dad is funny and your brother is endearing.
That’s the kind of girl Kyle cheated on.
“Bye, Kyle.” Lilly’s tone implies ‘Buzz off and get the hell out of here’ without actually saying the words ‘Piss off.’
He relents, chewing on his bottom lip as he gives her one last look.
One last look as she goes up on her tiptoes, pressing her mouth against mine, wrapping her arms around my torso.
She kisses me, hands burrowing beneath the hem of my thick hoodie, fingers skimming above the waist of my jeans.
I flinch, body shuddering.
It tickles but it doesn’t, the contact of her palms on my skin. Unexpected and bewildering.
I’ve kissed girls before, obviously I have, if Britney and girls from science camp count—I remember it being sloppy and uncoordinated with lots of fumbling.
Oh, and braces.
Lilly’s mouth is not sloppy and it’s not uncoordinated and we don’t have braces. Not anymore.
I open my mouth and her tongue meets mine, tentatively at first.
Holy shit, I’m making out at a house party.
In public.
Another first for me this year.
Lilly’s lips are soft and her tongue is exploratory, hesitant to push itself inside my mouth. Nothing about this moment feels very friend-zone-like to me, but I’m not going to shoot myself in the foot by pulling away and telling her so.
My hands go around Lilly’s waist; I pull her close, lifting her into me, hands sliding down her backside of their own accord then squeezing her ass.
Her hand slides up my chest and to my face, cupping my cheek as she kisses me, head tilted so our noses don’t bump.
“Lilly,” I whisper as I back up—step away slightly.
“Hmm?”
“Are you…drunk?”
She pulls back, dazed, lips puffy and no longer as glossy as they were when she left the house.
She’s scowling.
“No I’m not drunk—why would you ask me that?”
Because you wouldn’t ordinarily kiss me. Because you pressed your boobs against my chest. Because we are not dating and we’re at a drinking party and might I remind you that you kissed me?
I say none of these things; she sounds insulted by my question and looks hurt.
Shit.
“I just…” I spread my hands wide, palms up
now that she’s completely stepped away from me, leaving my body to continue to hum and buzz.
I shrug feebly.
“I didn’t kiss you because I’m drunk, Roman.” She lifts her cup—her full cup—and presents it to me, wiggling it back and forth. The liquid inside sloshes around. “I have a drink, but I’ve barely been drinking. Once I saw Kyle lurking from across the room, I lost my enthusiasm for being here. I wanted to leave but didn’t want to bother Eliza.”
That makes sense.
“Then why did you kiss me?”
“Because…I don’t know.”
Because Kyle is over there watching? I hate to let my insecurities get the best of me, but this is where my mind goes straight to. I’ve seen it in the movies enough times to know she was trying to get him off her back by playacting any actual feelings for me, any actual attraction. That’s fine. I’m here for that.
I’m her friend.
“Ahh.”
Was the kiss fake even though it felt real?
I won’t know unless I ask, and asking is out of the question.
I don’t have the balls for that—not right now.
“What do you want to do? Stay or go?”
“Leave. I want to go.”
“Home?”
“No, I want to snuggle up in your bed and watch movies…is that okay?”
I gulp.
“Of course that’s okay.” Because that’s what friends are there for—soothing and support. She’s troubled by her ex-boyfriend’s presence, and it’s my job to make her feel better.
10
LILLY
His lips felt like my mouth belonged there.
I touch a hand to them, the tingling sensation long gone but not forgotten. Swipe the warm, wet washcloth across my cheeks to wipe away the foundation on my face, rinsing my skin in Eliza’s sink.
I’ve pillaged her closet again. This new hobby of mine—taking clothes from her wardrobe to wear to bed with Roman—is becoming a habit, one I know she doesn’t mind.
That’s what friends do.
I would do the same.
I continue with my routine, washing my face and using Eliza’s skin care routine—all of her lotions and potions—watching myself in the mirror the whole time. I wonder what Roman sees when he looks at me, if he just sees the blonde hair and the big boobs or if he sees more.