Wait for You (6 page)

“Do you have ovaries?” Jacob asked.

I shot him a look. “Yes.”

He slid down the back of the couch and sat beside Brittany. “Then how are you not interested?”

Shoving the rest of the chips in my mouth, I struggled to respond without coming across like a frigid prude. But I was a total frigid prude, wasn’t I? Or afflicted, depending on who you asked. Either way, while the idea of cocks and balls interested me, the thought of actually getting up, close and personal with them made me break out in a cold sweat.

And I was sweating now. The chips were already souring in my stomach. I’d be breaking out the Tums later. My mind immediately went straight to the email from last night.
 

Liar
.
 

Wiping my hands over my jeans, I shook my head. “I’m just not interested in a relationship.”

Jacob laughed. “We’re not saying that Cam is either, you know? You don’t have to want to be in a relationship for a little bow-chicka-bow-wow.”

Brittany looked at him slowly. “Did you really just say that?”

“I did. And I owned it. Gonna make me a shirt that says that.” Jacob flashed a grin. “Anyway, all I’m saying is he’s an opportunity you might not want to pass up.”

I didn’t even give that a thought. “Why are we even talking about this? We have one class together and he lives across the hall—”

“And you’re partners for the rest of the semester,” Brittany added. “Kind of romantic, going out at night and gazing up at stars.”

My stomach tightened. “It’s not romantic. Nothing is romantic.”

Her brows rose as she ran her hand through the short locks of blonde hair. “Well, hello, Debbie Downer.”

I rolled my eyes. “All I’m saying is that I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. And he’s just a flirt. You’ve even said he’s the town bike. This is just probably how he is. He’s a nice and friendly guy. That’s all. So can we just forget about it?”

“Yeah, you bitches be boring me to tears,” Jacob said, and Brittany stuck her tongue out at him. Light glinted off the bolt, and I winced, thinking that had to have hurt. “And I need some salsa to go with these chips.”

“In the bottom cupboard,” I shouted, but he was already halfway in the kitchen, doors opening and slamming.
 

Much to my relief, the topic veered away from me and the nonexistent whatever with Cam. Hours passed and I became more comfortable with them here and we even cracked open our history books for a few short seconds. When it got close to nine, they packed up their stuff and headed toward the door.

Brittany stopped and sprang forward. Before I could prepare myself, she gave me a quick hug and peck on the cheek. I stood there, sort of shell shocked. She smiled. “There’s a big party at one of the frats Friday night. You should come with.”

I remembered Cam saying he was busy Friday and since he obviously liked to party, that was probably why. I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t be antisocial,” Jacob said, opening the door. “We’re cool people to hang with.”

I laughed. “I know. I’ll think about it.”

“Okay.” Brittany wiggled her fingers. “See you tomorrow.”

Out in the hall, Jacob started pointing at Cam’s door as he thrust his hips and wiggled his ass. I bit down on my lip to stop laughing. It went on until Brittany caught the collar of his polo and yanked him down the stairs.

Smiling, I shut the door and locked it. It didn’t take much time for me to clean up and get ready for bed. The whole bed thing was pointless because I wasn’t sleepy and since I was avoiding the laptop and therefore my email, I ended up watching reruns of Ghost Hunters until I was convinced there was a poltergeist in my bathroom. Turning off the TV, I stood and ended up doing something I hated.

Pacing my apartment like I used to do in my bedroom back home. With the TV off and my apartment quiet, I could hear little minute noises from the other apartments. I focused on those noises instead of letting my mind do the wander thing because tonight had been good and I didn’t want to ruin it. The last couple of days had been great with the exception of the whole plowing into Cam thing. Things were good.

I stopped behind my couch, only realizing then what I was doing.

Looking down, I saw the sleeve of my shirt pushed up and my fingers were wrapped around my left wrist. Slowly, meticulously, I lifted up my fingers, one by one. There were faint pink indents from the bracelet pressing into my skin. For the last five years, I only took the bracelet off at night and when I showered. Those indents would probably be permanent.
 

Just like the jagged scar the bracelet hid.

I removed my hand completely. The two inch stretch of a deeper pink slashed down the very center of my wrist, over the vein. It had been a deep cut made with broken glass from the picture frame I’d thrown after the first picture had circulated the high school.
 

When I’d made that cut, it had been the lowest point of my life and I hadn’t been joking around. There would’ve been a matching violent cut on my right wrist if it hadn’t been for the maid hearing the glass break.
 

The picture had been of me and my best friend; the very same best friend who had been one of the first to turn their back and whisper words like ‘whore’ and ‘liar.’

I had wanted to end it then. Just check out, because at that point in my life, nothing could’ve been worse than what had happened to me, what my parents had agreed to, and the subsequent fallout. In a matter of months, my life had utterly separated into two ragged chunks: before and after. And I hadn’t been able to see a possible
after
when the entire school got behind Blaine.
 

Now? The after seemed endless, but shame burned like a low fire in my belly as I stared at the scar. Suicide was never the answer and if anything,
checking out
was letting all of them win. I’d learned the lesson all by myself since therapy had never been an option. My parents would’ve rather cut off their legs than suffer through the embarrassment of having a daughter that had tried to commit suicide and needed therapy. More money had exchanged hands to keep my afternoon hospital run quiet.
 

Apparently my parents were okay with having a daughter labeled a lying whore.

 
But I hated seeing the physical embodiment of my weakness, would be beyond humiliated if anyone ever saw it.
 

Sudden deep laughter from the hallway drew my attention—Cam’s laughter. My head swiveled toward the kitchen. On the stove, the clock read near one in the morning.
 

I tugged my sleeve down.
 

“Can’t you skip it Friday night?” a feminine voice asked, slightly muffled through the wall.

There was a pause and then I heard Cam say, “You know I can’t, sweetheart. Maybe next time.”

Sweetheart? Oh! I heard their footsteps round the railing outside the apartment, hitting the stairwell.
 

Rushing around the couch, I made my way over to the window. Since my apartment was at the end and overlooking the parking lot, all I had to do was wait. And then there they were, a shirtless Cam and a girl.
 

A really tall, leggy brunette wearing a cute denim skirt. That was all I could make out from the window as they crossed the parking lot. The girl stumbled but caught herself before Cam had to intervene. They stopped behind a dark colored sedan. I felt like a total peeper watching them, but I was riveted.
 

Cam said something and laughed when the girl playfully shoved his shoulder. A second later, they hugged and then he stepped back, giving her a little wave before turning back to the apartment building. Halfway back, he glanced up toward our floor, and I jumped back like a total idiot. He couldn’t see me. There was no way without any lights on in my apartment.
 

I laughed at myself and then quieted when I heard a door shut down the hall.
 

Relief poured into me, easing the muscles that had been tightening on and off. Seeing him with another girl was… good. Totally reaffirmed the fact that Cam was a very charming, harmless flirt who like to hand out cookies to pretty girls and had a pet tortoise named Raphael. That was good. That was doable. I could handle that because what Brittany and Jacob were suggesting made me itchy and antsy.
 

Maybe Cam and I would become friends. I was okay with that because it was nice to have more friends like
before
.
 

But as I climbed into bed and laid awake, staring at the ceiling, for a moment, a really brief moment, I wondered what it would be like if Cam had been interested in me like
that
. To have something like that to look forward to. To be giddy and excited whenever he looked at me or when our hands accidentally touched. I wondered what it would be like to be interested in him like that or any guy for that matter. To look forward to dates, to first kisses and all the things that came after that.
 
I bet it would be nice. It would be like
before
.
 

Before Blaine Fitzgerald had taken all of that away.
 

#

Storm clouds were rolling in Thursday morning and it looked like it would be a rainy, cruddy day on campus. Luckily I only had two classes to sloth through, so before I headed out, I grabbed a hoodie and slipped it over my shirt. I thought about changing out of my shorts and flip flops, but decided I was feeling way too lazy to go to that much trouble.
 

Texting Jacob to see if he wanted me to pick up any coffee before I hit art class, I slipped out of my apartment and made it to the stairwell before Cam’s apartment door flew open and a guy came out, pulling a shirt down over his head.
 
His shaggy, shoulder length blond head poked through, and I recognized him as the guy with Cam’s tortoise—the roommate.
 

The moment our eyes met, a big smile broke out across his tan face, exposing a row of ultra white teeth. “Hey! I’ve seen you before.”

My gaze flicked behind him. He’d left the door wide open. “Hey, you are… tortoise guy.”

Confusion flickered across his face as his sandals smacked off the cement. “Tortoise guy? Oh, yeah.” He laughed, the skin crinkling around his brown eyes. “You saw me with Raphael, right?”

I nodded. “And I think you called yourself Señor Fucktard.”

Letting out another loud laugh, he joined me on the stairs. “That’s my drinking name. Most days people know me as Ollie.”

“That sounds much better than Señor Fucktard.” I smiled as we rounded the fourth floor landing. “I’m—”
 

“Avery?” When my eyes widened, he gave a toothy grin. “Cam told me your name.”

“Oh. So… um, you’re heading to—”

“Yo douchebag, you left the door open!” Cam’s voice boomed down the stairwell and a second later, he appeared at the top of the stairs, the black baseball cap on. A lopsided grin appeared as he spotted us and bounded down the steps. “Hey, what are you doing with my girl?”

My girl
? What? I almost tripped over my feet.
 

“I was explaining to her how I go by two names.”

“Oh yeah?” Cam dropped an arm over my shoulders, and my flip flop snagged in the back of my other one. His arm tightened, pulling me to his side. “Whoa, sweetheart, almost lost you there.”

“Look at you.” Ollie hopped down the steps. “Got the girl tripping all over her feet.”

Cam chuckled as he reached up with his free hand and slid the cap around backward. “I can’t help it. It’s my magnetic charm.”

“Or it could be your smell,” Ollie retorted. “I’m not sure I heard a shower this morning.”

He gasped in mocked outrage. “Do I smell bad, Avery?”

“You smell great,” I murmured, feeling my face heat. It was the truth, though. He smelled wonderful—a mixture of fresh linen, faint cologne, and something else that was probably all him. “I mean, you don’t smell bad.”

Cam watched me for almost a moment too long. “Heading to class?”

We were walking down the steps, but his arm was still around my shoulders and the entire side of my body seemed to tingle like it had fallen asleep. He was so… casual about it. Like it was nothing to him and it probably wasn’t. I remembered how he and the girl had hugged last night, but to me, it was….

There were no words.

“Avery?” Cam’s voice lowered.

I wiggled free, and saw the way Ollie’s grin spread. I headed down the stairs, needing distance. “Yeah, I’m heading to art. What about you guys?”

Cam easily caught up with me on the third floor. “We’re going out to breakfast. You should skip and join us.”

“I think I’ve done enough skipping this week.”

“I’m skipping,” Ollie announced, “but Cam doesn’t have a class until this afternoon, so he’s a good boy.”

“And you’re a bad boy?” I asked.

Ollie’s grin was contagious. “Oh, I’m a bad, bad boy.”

Cam shot his friend a look. “Yeah, as in bad at spelling, math, english, cleaning up after yourself, talking to people, and I could go on.”