“Okay, first of all, it wasn’t a king costume. It was a Shakespeare costume. And it was sexy.”
“Let’s talk about that first. Who dresses like Sexy Shakespeare?” Jade asks.
“He was dressed LIKE Shakespeare, but he was sexy. It wasn’t, like…a revealing costume.”
“He might as well have tried to be an accountant, or Ben Franklin,” Jade says.
“Sexy Ben Franklin?”
“Sexy Abe Lincoln.”
“Sexy Teddy Roosevelt?”
“Are we just naming presidents now?” Jade asks.
“Look, that guy could have dressed as anything and I probably would have found him sexy.”
“Jane Eyre?” she suggests.
“Yes, absolutely. I would be his Rochester. Oh! We could do a three-way costume—you could be the wife in the attic.”
“The only part of that sentence I understood was ‘three-way,’” Jade says.
“Why did you reference Jane Eyre then?”
“I don’t know! It was the first book I thought of on your shelf.”
I roll my eyes and chuckle. Jade is my favorite person to talk to about a lot of things, but books are not one of them.
“Well, anyway, there isn’t anything to tell with Sexy Shakespeare. We made out, and then I got beer dumped on me and I called it a night.”
“Why didn’t you just invite him back? Sexy shower?”
“Showers aren’t sexy, Jade. They’re practical.”
“You’re taking the wrong kind of showers.” She raises her eyebrows at me while taking a sip of her coffee. She starts walking down the path to the left that would take us to our dorm, but I’m taking the path in the opposite direction.
“Where are you going?” she asks, brow furrowed.
“I have that financial aid meeting,” I say, and my stomach does the tiniest flip. This meeting is the same check-in I always do with my financial aid advisor; it’s routine, but it still makes me nervous.
“Oh! I forgot. I’ll walk with you. But you have to explain why you skipped out on the opportunity for a sexy shower and if you have plans to see him again.”
“I just wanted to get out of my beer clothes, and I was sweaty and gross. I don’t know, it just didn’t feel right. But his name is Will, and I gave him my number! But he hasn’t texted.” I check my phone: no new messages. “Yet. He will text, right?”
Jade groans. “What!”
“What?” I ask.
“What have I always told you?”
“When it doubt, bang it out?”
“Well, yes. But—”
“Never trust a man with blond hair? He had brown hair. I mean, it was kind of a sandy brown—”
“No, not that. The—”
