“Ready.”
Reagan
It’s midnight by the time I roll in. My stomach’s full and my mind’s at peace. Spending time with Bailey always leaves me feeling better. She’s a shot of serotonin to my restlessness. Even after she chewed my ass out about being rude to Brock. Not a lot of people I can say that about. As a matter of fact none, now that I really think about it.
I enter the dark kitchen and find the man in question in his underwear, standing in front of the open refrigerator door with the light illuminating his face. He frowns when he sees me, grabs a quart of milk, and shuts the door. Okay, maybe I was a douchebag, but he was stepping on my time with Alice and I didn’t much appreciate it.
“Hey,” I throw out as I drop my backpack. I get nothing in return, only the silent treatment as payback.
I grab a water bottle out of the fridge while Brock opens the milk and takes a long drink, his stare never wandering from the side of my face.
“Listen, dude––”
“Uh huh––” he interrupts, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and pushes off the counter, walks past me. “Next time you want to spend alone time with your girl, just say so. No need to be a dick about it.”
He’s halfway down the hall, headed to his bedroom, when I remember to speak. “She’s not my girl.”
His door bangs shut.
Chapter 15
Alice
“So you guys aren’t fucking?” Zoe says––loudly, to my great misfortune.
“Shhh, keep your voice down.” I look around the library and find some curious glances being thrown in our direction.
“No…” I whisper, slouching lower down in my chair. I take another furtive glance about the room for anyone I may know. That or the man in question. Nobody catches my eye, so I lean over the table. “I’ve been friend-zoned.”
After spending all our free time together for the last two weeks, I can say that I’ve been zoned beyond a shadow of a doubt.
I don’t know what exactly happened the night that he was rude to Brock. Since then, however, he’s been completely hands-off. The texts haven’t stopped. We still spend way too much time together––that hasn’t changed. The difference is that he hasn’t come within an arm’s length of touching me. As if I’m contagious.
I’ll never understand men.
“I h-hate that. I’m always f-friend-zoned,” Dora commiserates.
Zoe’s flinty hazel eyes bounce back and forth between me and Dora. “That’s because you two losers allow them to friend-zone you.” She shakes her head. “Who does that?”
I’m pretty sure that was rhetorical but I tuck my hair behind my ear and raise my hand anyway. “Umm, I do.”
Dora’s hand shoots up. “Me too.”
Zoe exhales tiredly, sucks in a deep breath. “We’re going to have to fight fire with fire to fix this.”
I chuckle. “This isn’t a fight.”
“Isn’t it?”
Wearing a vintage David Bowie t-shit, shredded skinny jeans, and lemon yellow sandals, Blake walks up to the table and sits. She’s so cool she makes everything I deemed cool before her look uncool. Out of her Louis Vuitton messenger bag, she pulls out a Mac Air and a textbook. “What did I miss?”
“Alice is not fucking Reagan Reynolds.”
“Oh my God, use a library voice!” I hiss very, very quietly.
Blake looks shocked. She aims her shock at me. “Really?”
“She’s been friend-zoned,” Dora explains, sad face on.
More heads turn in our direction and my neck gets hot, my shoulders bend inward. “Yes. Now will both of you shut up before we get kicked out.”
“Do you want to be?” Blake asks, genuinely concerned. “Sexing him up, I mean. Not friend-zoned.”
I look around, stall for as long as I can. The one thing I cannot do is lie. Zoe will know. She’s scary perceptive. “Kinda?” I cringe.
“That’s a yes,” Zoe responds, jumping right back in. “So…enough.” She slams her palms on the table and draws everyone’s attention. “Stop spending so much time with him. He’s got it too good right now. It’s in the book I’m reading. I should lend it to you. There’s a whole chapter on this. It’s all on his terms. You need to let him know he’s the one that’s been friend-zoned.”
She’s onto something. He calls and I’m available. He texts and I’m there. A handful of hours ago this happened…
Big Deal: what are you doing?
I was about to walk into a free yoga class they offer at the campus health center only I got stuck outside, answering his text.
Me: Walking into a yoga class.
Big Deal: ants?
Me: What about ants?
Big Deal: you said you would try anything. would you eat them?
Me: Seriously?
Big Deal: why not, you said. that’s what you said. what if they were chocolate covered?
Me: Then yes. I would. Because why not? One try won’t kill me.
Big Deal: admirable bailey. i like a girl with conviction.
Me: Go away.
I never did make it to that class.
“I don’t play games. I can’t do that to him,” I tell Zoe. Or anyone else for that matter. “He’s my friend. He trusts me. And I wouldn’t appreciate someone doing it to me.”
Zoe tilts her head, her pale blonde ponytail swaying with it. “Then get ready to see him with another girl, because there’s one universal truth about men––”
“They’re clueless?” Dora startles us all by saying. We all stare at her, pausing for a moment to absorb this.
“No. But I like where your head’s at, Red. What I was about to say is…if he’s not gettin’ sum from you, he’s gettin’ it somewhere else.”
Reagan
Tuesday night at the Cantina is a bust. Or maybe I’m just in a crappy mood. Tipping my chair back, I let it slam back down and reach for my third beer of the night because I need to either get trashed, or get laid. What I can not do is go home and jerk off to thoughts of Bailey one more time. My dick won’t allow it. It’s probably too chaffed for sex, but I’ll risk it for some seriously needed body-to-body contact.
“So what’s the real story with phone-tree girl? Is she available?”
I don’t like the smirk Cole’s wearing. I don’t like it at all.
“Why?” I ask, suspicion riding high. Why would he bring her up now? I scan around and find nothing to explain his sudden interest.
Most of the guys have moved to the bar. The only ones left at our table are Dallas, Brock, and Cole who’s usually off hunting for a new hookup but for some reason decided to stick around tonight just to fuck with me.
“Why?” he repeats, half chuckling. “Because I’m a hetero dude and she’s cute.”
She is cute. And sexy. And funny. And fun to be around. And easy to be with…damn, this is turning into a problem.
I’ve been trying to give her more space lately, not spend so much time with her, but that has not worked out well. In her defense, it’s not her fault that she’s the first person I want to speak to when I wake up, and the last before I hit the sack.
“No story. We’re friends.” The words do not come easily. They feel like a lie.
He crosses his arms over his chest and nods. My attention moves over to Dallas, to see if I’m the only one finding this line of questioning odd, but he’s staring at the television screen over the bar behind me. Whatever.
“Friends?” Cole repeats. Like a dick.
“Yeah.”
“So she’s available?” He smiles wider. “For dates and such?”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up straight. Eyeballing him, I take a sip of my beer. “Nah, man. She’s not available. I don’t even think she dates and such.”
“Really? Why not? Is she a Bible banger?”
He’s really starting to get under my skin. “Because she’s got a full course load and a scholarship to hold on to. She’s not your type anyway.”
He nods again. His mouth pressed tight. I swear, laughing at my expense is his favorite hobby after hooking up and polo. Shrugging, he says, “What’s her type?”
I glance at Dallas and note he’s trying not to smile. “What are you two assholes up to? What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you what her type is––” Cole starts. “About, mmm”––he looks off, squinting––“six feet.” He glances at Dallas. “Six feet, right?”
“’Bout six feet,” Dallas answers with a quick nod.
I know something’s up when the chuckles start.
“Blond, surfer type,” Cole chokes out.
“The hell is going on?”
Cole points to a spot over my shoulder. “Your girl’s at the bar.”
My head rips around and the two idiots I call friends break out in laughter.
Alice
The Cantina is packed tonight. It took fifteen minutes of intense stalking and searching to finally earn me an open seat at the bar.
I look around. Zoe’s busy gettin’ her flirt on with the bartender. Blake is talking to a guy I don’t recognize, and Dora has yet to return from the restroom. In the meantime, I’m getting to know my barstool next-door neighbor. He’s kind of cute.
“What’s your major?” Ken says in a slow voice.
Seriously, Ken? You can do better than that. Cute, but not my type. Too blond, too surfery, and way too baked. His eyes are so bloodshot they make his red t-shirt look orange.
“Film. What about you?”
“It was business, but I’m taking a year off to reassess. Maybe go to Australia and catch some waves.”
Ken does not strike me as the type to inhabit an office. He also must not have bills to pay.
“Living the dream, eh?”