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I’ve spent the past three years in a non-stop bonanza of one, occasionally two and (twice) three-night stands. And had a great time doing it. So I have no idea why I have this sudden craving for something more.
“Hi, Elias. Hi, Gabe.” It’s Abby Fraser. She’s got long dark hair and is vice-president of one of the bigger sororities on campus. I’ve known her since freshman year. We hooked up one night years ago but never again, because I’d already moved on. West dated her for a while last year but it fizzled out at some point. I think she might have even had a thing with Gabe too, somewhere along the line. “Isn’t your sister a freshman this year?” she asks him.
“She’s arriving tomorrow,” Gabe confirms.
“What’s her name again?” Abby asks.
“Isla,” Jake answers for him and the tone of his voice is layered. Like he’s not sure if he’s happy about the sister’s arrival.
Hang on. Could this be the reason Jake is wound up? He’s an easy person to read and he’s definitely wired.
“I still can’t believe my little sister is a college student.” Gabe takes a long, soulful sip of his beer.
Abby’s flirting with Jake. “You guys will keep her out of trouble, I’m sure. No one would dare go near her with the entire football team as her protectors.”
Jake looks pissed off at her comment. It almost makes me smile, but I feel for him. Holding a secret torch for your best friend’s sister is definitely classified as breaking the bro code, if that’s what this is. Gabriel doesn’t seem to notice. He’s distracted by some girls who have just walked in.
Unlike the rest of us, Gabe has relationships. He wants to fall in love, he once told us. He tries to, but so far nothing has stuck. We gave him shit for the comment at the time and pointed out that he was playing the field just as enthusiastically as all the rest of us were. Either way, he’s not with anyone at the moment that I know of.
The party swirls around me, the music loud, the laughter infectious, but I can’t shake this weird feeling of detachment. I wait for enough of a spark to kick in, to pull me toward one or another of these girls, enough to offer to take one of them home.
But it isn’t happening.
The sophomore with all the piercings comes on strong and she’s abrasive about it. The red-headed cheerleader has a neurotic edge. I recognize the blond from a sneaky exit from West’s room early in the morning last week. The one named Penelope laughs at everything I say like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. It’s slightly irritating.
“I follow you on Instagram,” she tells me. “I like all your posts.”
“Thanks.”
“You have, like, so many followers.”
“I guess so.”
“That video you posted a few days ago was…really cool.” That nervous titter again.
The conversation stalls and I just can’t really bring myself to force it tonight. My chick-o-meter seems randomly stuck on some impossibly high setting. Out of the blue, with no fucking warning, my expectations have shifted.
I’m not sure how to feel about this.
“Oh my god, it’s Elias O’Shea!” Some tipsy sophomore girls have arrived and they giggle and huddle together, daring each other to come over and talk to me.
They work up their courage and Jake and I make polite conversation but not one of them is appealing to me on the kind of level I wish they were.
It’s all so predictable. “I follow you on Instagram,” one of them tells me.
There are only so many people per night I can thank for that.
“You want to head downtown, Chief?” My boy Jake is tuning in on my wavelength, like he always does.
“Yeah.”
Some cosmic wind has changed course—and yes, I know what that fucking sounds like but I can feel it.
It’s like I’m waiting for someone.
Someone in particular.
What the fuck happening?
