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“Um, I’m here to see Eric?” Suddenly, I was sure I’d made a mistake. Maybe I was meant to come over earlier, or maybe we were supposed to meet on campus. Did I misread his text?
“It’s for me!”
I relaxed as soon as I heard his voice. He appeared behind the girl and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her face warmed when she heard him, but her gaze still regarded me coolly.
“Brooke, come on in. You need to meet everyone!” Eric said, grabbing my hand and bringing me into the living room. A handful of people lounged on the couches, limbs intertwined, but the girl who opened the door sat by herself on an armchair. She and some of the other girls were holding red Solo cups, but the guys didn’t seem to be drinking.
“Everyone, this is Brooke,” Eric announced to the room, drawing none of the guys’ attention. Some of the girls looked up,intrigued, but returned to their drinks after an apathetic glance, except for the brunette from the door who hadn’t stopped looking at me. “Brooke, this is everyone. Can I get you something to drink?”
I told himsurein a voice that didn’t sound like mine. He disappeared and returned a moment later with a single can of Natural Light, which he handed to me.
“You’re not drinking?” I asked.
“Nah, it’s dry season for us. Our coach doesn’t want us drinking or partying for a month before championships. We’ve got two weeks left to go, and it’s torture.”
“It’ll be worth it,” one of the guys volunteered from the couch, a redhead with full, dark eyebrows. I recognized him from the photos on Eric’s Facebook page.
His comment sparked a conversation about the impending swimming competition. After a few minutes of lively discussion—none of which I participated in—Eric finally turned to me.
“Do you want a tour of the house?” He asked it quietly enough so that no one else would hear.
I knew what this was. It was what I’d been waiting for. An excuse to go up to his bedroom.
“Sure,” I said almost before he could finish asking. Because Iwassure. I wanted to go upstairs with him. I ached to touch him, to feel his lips on mine. But still, my heart rate accelerated as I stood.
The guys whooped and cheered as we left the living room. The girls stayed silent.
At the top of the stairs, Eric led me down a narrow, wood-paneled hallway. The walls were empty of decoration except for a big whiteboard. I could see Eric’s name written on it in marker, alongwith the names of his roommates and some others I recognized from my research on the swimming team. Each name had a flurry of lines next to it. I tried to stop to look at it, but Eric pressed his hand against my back.
“Come on,” he murmured. “My room is down here.”
We stopped at the last door in the hall, which Eric opened to a dimly lit room with wood floors and walls covered in posters and stray clothes. It smelled damp and slightly chlorinated, the source of which I guessed was the pile of crunchy-looking Speedos in the far corner of the room.
He guided me toward the bed, and I sat down, seeing nothing but him. His face. That beautiful face.
And soon it was on mine. His lips soft at first, fleetingly so. Quickly, his tongue pushed my lips apart, exploring my mouth. I could feel the lipstick I had so meticulously applied smearing as his hands snaked around to my back and under my shirt, searching for my bra clasp.
What was happening? This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
I pulled my head back, pressing my palms against his chest.
“What’s the matter?” His tone was hard, cold. It didn’t sound like the voice I’d grown accustomed to in the library yesterday. “Isn’t this what you want?”
“Yes, but—”
Before I could finish, his mouth was back on mine. Once he succeeded in loosening the clasp of my bra, he grabbed my hand hard, shoving it between his legs.
“Eric, stop.” It came out garbled. His tongue was still in my mouth.
“Jesus.” Now he was angry. “What?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. He moved his face back close to mine, as if he was going to kiss me. Instead, he spoke.
“Look, you were all over me yesterday. I didn’t waste all that time in the library for you to decide at the last minute that this isn’t what you want.”
I stared at him, my mind struggling to process his words. My emotions ping-ponged from shock to sadness to anger, and my thoughts wouldn’t calm down enough to figure out which one I felt most.
He didn’t wait for me to respond. Instead, he covered my mouth with his hand and whipped me around. I felt his other hand yanking my pants down. I tried to cry out, or at least I think I did. To this day, I’m not sure if I made a sound.
