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Jack followed Marcus into their room after their morning class—of which he spent the majority daydreaming about Ed. He was pretty keen to get back to that, to be honest.
He’d told Ed about the spring formal, leaving out any mention of his bet with Harper to land a date. He didn’t want to freak Ed out. Or make him think he was asking him to come.
First they had to cut through the subtext.
Marcus clapped him on the back of the head. “Dude, you know you’re on laundry.”
Jack flipped him off. “No way.” He stared at the pile of dirty clothes and shook his head. “Do our shirts and pants fuck like bunnies while we’re gone? I’d swear we didn’t have this much laundry to do when we left.”
Marcus laughed, then proceeded to add to the pile by shrugging out of his shirt and tossing it into the basket. “What? We’re going for a run first, no?”
Jack snagged his shirt and popped his head through his yellow-and-black T-shirt. Shorts on, he perched on the edge of the bed and laced his sneakers.
Marcus pulled him to the floor so they could stretch. “What route do we want to take, and don’t say—”
“To the river and back by way of Granville.”
“—Granville.” Marcus shook his head and sighed. “What is it with you and that stupid hill? Can’t we just run down to the river and then use the path next to Brittany’s sorority to come home? It’s all flat that way.”
“What?” Jack leaned forward and grabbed the soles of his feet. Bending his head, he felt the stretch in his hamstrings. “You’re Mr. Lacrosse Jock, should be a piece of cake for you.”
Marcus imitated his roommate and held the position for a few seconds. He exhaled, released the stretch, and sat up. “You really excel at finding the worst hills in the area to take me running.”
Standing, Jack put his hand on his desk to keep his balance while he stretched his quad. “You’ll thank me when you’ve still got gas left in your legs at the end of a lacrosse game.”
Marcus shook his head, then did a double take. “Do you have to wear that shirt?”
“What?” Jack pulled the bottom taut so the lettering was easy to read.
“‘You will get very wet on this ride?’ Really? Where’d you get that?”
Feeling pleased, he pressed the wrinkles from the front. “Brittany bought it for me.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Marcus turned to stretch his left hamstring.
After warming up for another couple minutes, Jack steeled himself for a grueling run.
“Race you. Loser does the winner’s laundry this week.”
One day one of these bets was going to backfire on him.
If they weren’t starting to already.
* * *
Jack resisted the urge to tap his foot on the linoleum like his chem lecturer did when he waited for his students to hurry up and settle down. Why was it taking her so long to pack up? They’d spent enough hours here working on the finishing touches of their assignment.
“Brittany,” he said, “c’mon, or I’m leaving without you.”
He pushed open the door and made his way outside. Brittany muttered something, rushing to catch up.
Outside, the cool, fresh air breezed over him.
“Keep your junk in your jock, I’m here.” Brittany flicked her braids over the collar of her coat. The mocha denim complemented her light brown skin perfectly. “What got you all pissy? It’s not like the cafeteria food is worth rushing there.”
He tried not to laugh but couldn’t hold it back. Brittany always had a quip to lighten the mood.
“True,” he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her closer. He patted her arm and got an arched eyebrow in return. “I have to get the laundry in before we can eat.”
She slapped his hand and wiggled free. “You lost another bet with Marc, didn’t you?”
“He cheated, I’m sure of it.” It was a bad omen. He turned and wagged his finger at her. “I was at the entrance to the horseshoe, three houses from a lopsided victory—I mean, his ass was trounced. He was huffing and he had nothing left.”
“And yet….” She raised an eyebrow. “If you were trouncing him, how’d you lose?”
“I tripped.” He pulled up the right leg of his jeans to show her the scrape on his knee. “I glanced back to see where he was….”
“You mean you looked back so you could gloat.” She raised that eyebrow again and cocked her head.
“Anyway, when I turned, I tripped on a piece of the curb that had broken off. I swear he must have planted it there. He really hates doing laundry.”
Brittany slipped her arm through his and moved closer as they crossed down a narrow path between the law building and library that cut their time back to the fraternity by five minutes. “Do you have to make everything a competition?”
