Page 10 of Those Eyes, That Mouth

The conversation drifted around me. Alex was talking about the bass player she hoped to find at the Stone Lion. Kelly was acting all animated and playful, hanging on every word Nathan said. He was being polite, giving her that easy, effortless attention that he gave to everyone.

They looked like they belonged on a college brochure.

I wanted to get out of there.

The girls had finished their fries. Nathan had cleared his plate.

I finally said, “All right. Let’s head back.”

We left the dining hall a little after six. Since we’d turned the clocks back, it went pitch black and chilly the second the sun went down.

Kelly looped her arm through Nathan's as soon as we hit the sidewalk. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his peacoat, so he wasn't holding her arm, but he didn't pull away either.

Alex and I hung back a few paces behind. She was still going on about this guy she wanted to find later, wondering if he was going to be at the show.

I lit one of the cigarettes I'd rolled earlier and watched Kelly pressing against Nathan. And him letting her.

"She's really throwing herself at him, isn't she?" I mumbled to Alex. "I don't even think he likes her like that."

Alex scoffed. "Oh, come on. They look cute together."

I wanted to argue. His hands had been in his pockets the whole walk. He'd flinched when she tried to touch his face at dinner. He wasn't leaning into her—she was leaning into him.

I flicked the cigarette into a drain in the curb.

FOUR

I survived dinner. Barely.

Back in our room, I could finally breathe. But my irritation still clung to me like cigarette smoke.

Nathan said, "Showers?"

"Yeah. We don't have that much time."

We were supposed to pregame in the girls’ room in forty-five minutes, then hit the Stone Lion before the show. Alex could always get herself and Kelly in—she had connections everywhere—but I almost hoped Nathan and I would get carded. It might be our only shot to ditch them.

The communal bathroom was mostly empty. A few guys at the sinks, someone in a toilet stall. We hung our towels on hooks right next to each other and stripped down.

This was always a little weird when it happened. Our class schedules never quite lined up, so we usually showered at different times. But every once in a while—like now—we ended up in there together. Fully naked. Showering across from each other.

He was broad and solid, muscles more developed than mine. I looked like a teenager next to him. He had a hairy chest—darker than the blond on his head—and freckles scattered across his shoulders and forearms.

And he was big. Not just tall and built, but big big.

He seemed completely oblivious to it, soaping up and rinsing off like having a dick like that was no big deal.

I turned toward the wall and finished up.

"I'm gonna go lay out the clothes," I said.

I grabbed my towel and got out of there.

Back in the room, I pulled on my boxers. I was still half-hard.

The light was wrong. I flicked on the overhead—way too harsh—then tilted the banker's lamp up from the desk. Much better. Almost theatrical.

I rubbed Aveda pomade through my damp hair, then French-braided it tight against my scalp. If I let it partially dry like this and took it down later, it’d be deliberately messy in a Michael Hutchence kind of way. That’s how I imagined Lestat.