The Roommate Situation (14 page)

When I push the door to our room shut behind us, the noise gets cut in half.

Derek, ahead of me, turns. Then he’s close, and my shoulders bump the back of the door, and his eyes are pinned on mine—dark, bottomless—and then his mouth is on mine, taking my breath away. I clutch his arms, kissing back, pushing against him as he pushes against me. He drags his mouth down my jaw, breathing heat over my neck, leaving a trail of stinging skin where his beard scrapes. He keeps going downward, his lips, nose, and forehead sliding down my T-shirt as his fingers rake my sides.

And then lower—his lips closing around the ridge in my jeans, making my toes dig into my sneakers. His long exhale is like wet fire soaking through the denim.

Oh God.

It’s going to happen.

I’ve never had a blowjob. Never.

He grasps my shirt and starts rising back up, dragging the shirt with him, until I have to lift my arms to let him yank it up and off. He drops it by our feet and presses himself against me again, his need digging into me. He pushes his tongue deep, greedy, wanting, as I hold his face between my hands, wanting him just as fucking hard.

This is everything I want.

When he draws away to touch a thumb to my mouth, words come out of me before I have a chance to double- and triple-think them. They come out ragged. “Are we dating? Or just fucking?”

The shine in his eyes is almost feverish in the overhead light. “Is it up to me?”

“I don’t know.”

After a moment, he’s moving against me again, his hands exploring bare skin. With his mouth on my neck, he murmurs, “I’m not interested in seeing anyone else.”

“But when you find someone you
are
interested in seeing…”

His lips move to my ear, his breath making me shiver as he says, “I’m not interested in looking for someone else to see.” He nips my earlobe, tugs on it. Canting his hips, all of him hard and insistent in my arms.

“Besides,” he says in my ear, sending shivers through me, “I like you.”

I grasp his head, my eyes closed, and press my forehead to his temple. “I can’t believe I want to date a guy.” My voice is hoarse. His stubble scrapes my neck, prickly and warm. His lips as they kiss my pulse are a soft in contrast.

I say, “That’s not what I really mean. What I really mean is, I can’t believe I want to date someone so much. This isn’t just ‘you’re cute, and you seem to like me, and the rest of the world is dating, so this must be the thing to do.’ God, you’re so hot.” I cup my palm over the bulge in his jeans, that hot fucking bulge in his jeans. It’s all mine.

“Can I take what I said back?” I whisper. “Except the hot part?”

He bites my neck, hard enough to make me yelp and laugh. I push my fingers into his hair, and he pulls back, eyeing me, asking, “What’s wrong with the rest of the stuff you said?”

“Nothing. I just feel like a sap.” Bashfulness forces a smile to my mouth.

“Guess we’ll have to get the sap out of you somehow,” he says. His hand kneads me, implying he knows just the way. I lean my head on the door, close my eyes, and see stars rushing and colliding.

He pulls me away from the door by the waist, drags me toward the nearest bed—mine—and dumps us both on it, a tangle of limbs and need. We don’t get around to blowjobs, but it doesn’t matter. Kneeling over Derek, thrusting into his fist—completely naked during sex for the first time ever—I have no complaints as I rush to the edge and leap into free fall.

Chapter Fourteen

I tap the borrowed helmet against my leg as I frown at the banjo. It’s nifty, no doubt…but it’s a banjo. The other musical instruments on offer are a tambourine missing a few of its jangles and a set of bongo drums.

“You could develop an interest in new bluegrass that sounds like old bluegrass,” Derek says, rolling a handful of old belts into something he can stuff in his jacket pocket.

I draw in a lungful of air and let it out slowly.

“You wanna go straight back, or ride around for a while?” he asks.

That perks me up. “Is that even a question?”

He laughs. “Come on. I know some good roads.”

I lag behind a little, enough to get to watch him throw his leg over, straighten the bike between his thighs, and knock the stand up with his heel. I climb on the back, thinking I probably don’t look half as cool, but it only takes getting up over ten miles an hour for me to stop giving a shit. As the town falls behind us and we get up to sixty, I’m glad I listened to his advice to dress warm: the wind sneaks between the helmet and the collar of my coat, and the backs of my hands are raw.

We wend our way through a stretch of country highway, trees and farmhouses and the occasional falling-down barn sweeping by. A car up ahead slows us for a moment; then the yellow lines turn to dashes, and the bike accelerates. I grip Derek’s waist as he swoops into the other lane and speeds past the car.

I am so saving up for a bike after I get the guitar situation sorted out.

With no other cars sharing the road, I slip my hand under his jacket, where it’s warm. Invitingly warm. I push my other hand in too. He turns his head, glancing over his shoulder, before bringing his attention back to the road.

I want to lean forward and put my face against his back, but not at the cost of smacking our helmets together. I settle for slowly tugging a bit of his shirt up so I can feel skin.

His stomach muscles twitch under my cold fingers.

I flatten my hand there, soaking up the heat.

As the first signs of town come into sight, I lean back on the little pad of a backrest and set my hands on my thighs.

In the lot, he lights a cigarette before he puts the kickstand down.

Even that looks cool as shit.

“Your hands are fucking ice,” he says, dismounting.

“Sorry.”

“If I had time, I’d figure out how to make you a pair of gloves.”

I smile. “I’m sure I have some in the winter-clothes box. I was just too dumb to bring them.”

He ruffles my hair, which is probably matted to my head from the helmet. “Don’t worry about it.”

My hands are cold, but underneath my clothes I’m warm—and warmer yet once we enter the residence hall. By the time we’re climbing the stairs, I’m starting to get uncomfortable under the layers. I strip out of my jacket first thing once we get to the room, then yank off my shoes.

“Hey, come here,” Derek says.

I head over to his side of the room, where he’s flopped on his bed.

“Let’s see if we can get your hands above subzero temperatures.”

I smile and climb onto the bed, into his arms. His lips are cool despite riding with his visor down. His hands, though, are warm—up under my shirt, roaming my back, making me melt against him.

I put my fingers on his belt, giving a little tug.

He covers my hand with his and moves it away. “No, you fucking don’t. Not till you’re warmed up.” He rolls me onto my side, pushes his knee between my legs. It’s just past ten a.m. The sun shines through the windows, the sky beyond as blue and clear as a daydream.

I’m grinding my crotch on his leg, and his phone rings.

He pulls away from my mouth, listening. With a sigh, he says, “Shit,” and rolls away to dig the phone out of his jacket pocket.

“Hi, Maureen.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. “Well, when you
act
like a mom…” I can hear a woman’s voice but not her words. He rubs his face and says, “Yeah, all right. Is it okay if I bring a friend?”

I run my fingers through his hair, down to his warm nape. I lean across the mattress and kiss it.

“All right. Yeah, I know where that is. Okay. I’ll see you at eleven… Yeah, it’s not that far, but I need to shower and shit. Okay, eleven.” He hangs up and drops onto his back, his shoulder jamming into my chest.

“You dodged a bullet,” he says.

“What’s up?”

“The circus has come to town.” He sits up and swings his legs off the bed. “My mom’s here. She wants to have lunch. She might want to come by the room afterward. It’s up to you whether you want to be here for it or not. Should I text and warn you when we’re heading this way?”

“No, that’s fine.” I wonder if meeting his mom is going to be as overwhelming as people meeting
my
mom.

He pulls his boots back on. “It’s like we fucking conjured her by talking about her the other day.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He shoves his toothpick in his mouth, then leans back, against me. I slip an arm around his waist, rest my chin on his shoulder.

“You probably have studying to do anyway,” he says.

“I probably have jerking off to do anyway.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“I may last longer that way, when you get back.”

He sighs again. After a few minutes of my heart beating against his back, he drags himself up. “I’m gonna go suck down a few cigarettes before I head to the coffee shop.”

“Hope it’s good coffee, at least.”

He smiles. He takes the toothpick out long enough to bend down for another kiss.

I really want to pull him down on the bed with me—fuck parents, fuck responsibilities, fuck everything. He unhooks my arms with a smile.

I stay there, on his bed, on top of his tangled sheets, and listen to the door of our room close.

* * * *

I’m on my side of the room, making progress on my persuasive speech, when Derek returns in the late afternoon.

“How’d it go?” I ask.

“Wanna get high?” Passing by on his way to his side of the room, he holds up a joint. “One of the few things she’s good for.”

“Serious?” I shove my chair away from the desk and get up to follow him. “Damn, even your crazy mom is cooler than my crazy mom.”

He drops onto his bed, jacket and boots still on, the joint pinched between his lips, lighter firing up. I sit beside him and take it when he passes it my way. I’ve smoked a few times, but not so much that I feel casual about it. I take a tentative drag, making sure I don’t go into a coughing fit—there’s nothing like doubling over hacking your intestines out to make you look like an amateur. Feeling safe with that first taste, I take a little more smoke, holding it in my chest as I pass the joint back.

He drops his head against the wall as he takes another pull, closing his eyes.

It’s burned down to a roach before he’s ready to actually talk, and all he says is, “A complete fucking circus.”

“Is she just passing through?”

“She’s staying the night. I told her I had work I couldn’t get out of. She just spent a year working as a receptionist for some church. It sounded kind of crackpot, but what doesn’t when it comes out of her mouth? She’s between adventures again—that’s why she’s here.” Pinching the joint between his nails, he draws another lungful off it, wincing at the heat hitting his lips.

I feel liquid. Like a cat, all slinky and melty. Like I just want to lie on a windowsill, soaking up the sun. I drape my limbs over Derek instead, which is even better.

He butts out the joint and settles back, one arm crooked behind his head, the other around me. I start playing with the zipper on his jacket, enjoying the texture of the teeth, all lined up like that.

“It’s just the same old, same old,” he says.

“You wanna get something to eat?” My mouth is dry. Fritos sound really good. Fritos and Mountain Dew.

“Nah,” he says.

“I’m gonna hit the vending machines.”

“Okay.”

“Back in a few.” I don’t bother putting on shoes, just pad out into the hall and down the stairs, my swipe card in my hand. When I let myself back in the room, juggling an armful of junk food, Derek’s at his desk, hunched in front of his computer. I set down the candy bars and spare bottle of Dew and wander into Derek’s end of the room, crunching on chips.

I tip the bag toward his arm. “Want some?”

He reaches for a handful, his eyes still on the screen. “We sold the cuffs with the straps,” he says before cramming chips in his mouth.

“Awesome.”

“I sold a couple other things too. We left so early, I didn’t even check the overnight sales till now.” He twists around in his chair. “You want to take some more pictures? I was thinking I could make another couple sets of straps to match the cuffs I don’t have listed yet.”

“Sure.”

He nods, then takes another handful of chips from the bag I tip toward him. “All right,” he says. “I’ve gotta make some straps.”

“Want some Mountain Dew? I bought two.”

“Sure.”

When I bring it to him, his laptop’s closed and tossed on his bed, and he’s laying his tools out. I set the bottle on his desk and go back to my side.

Schoolwork isn’t about to get done with my head floating on pot, so I carry my laptop to the bed and watch some old
South Park
episodes while I polish off the chips, candy, and soda.

Chapter Fifteen

“Okay,” he says, holding up two new straps.

I yawn and stretch, and my laptop slides off my stomach. “Looks good.”

“Straighten up your bed so we can take some pictures.”

I grin and stretch some more, rolling onto my side and settling my head on the pillow as he starts unplugging and moving lamps again.

“No more bud for you if you’re just gonna be a slug,” he says, turning the shade of my desk lamp up so it shines in my face when he turns it on.

Squinting and shielding my eyes with a hand, I say, “It’s Sluggerday anyway. This is what you’re
supposed
to do on a Saturday.”

“I thought you were supposed to party or play foosball or something.” He steps out to grab his own lamp.

Shoving the pillow off my bed, I say, “Or sex or something.” I get on my knees to peel the comforter down to the end of the bed and push it off. Then I tuck in a corner of the fitted sheet that’s ridden up.

He plugs the other light in as I drop back on the bed. I clasp the headboard loosely and stare at the ceiling until Derek turns on the overhead light. Then I turn my face away, squinching again.

He sits on the edge of the bed, making the mattress shift, and pulls my wrist into his lap so he can buckle on a cuff. Lifting my head, I watch. It’s one of the expensive ones.