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Ever since my photography class let out over an hour ago, I haven’t left Wolfgang’s side. He’s currently in the middle of prepping for a final in an upper-level art class, doing research at the design library, while I pretend to view and study compositions for our photography class final. The assignment is to do a series that directly negates our last project. Since mine was water, I’m pursuing images of fire.
In less than thirty minutes, my shift will begin at the engineering library. This will be the first time I see Foster since we did the ole in and out, bump and grind, hitting of the nasties.
Since we had sex.
After leaving Foster’s apartment early Saturday morning, I stayed in my room all day, only coming out to see Chandra as she left on another date with Jeremy. I claimed to be a bit under the weather, which wasn’t a huge stretch since I was nursing a hangover.
Come Sunday, I was feeling much better, and after completing some homework, I ventured to the studio, laying crimson and blue hues on a large canvas for no reason other than a desire to create and paint. It was my own personal therapy to make sense of my actions.
When three hours had passed and I had painted until my arm was sore, the final conclusion on my sexfest was that it was fun and that my budding friendship with Foster would likely be over after that night because, at the end of the day, I didn’t care for him like a girlfriend should. To me, he was still just Fozzie, platonic Fozzie. No matter how great the boink-o-rama evening was, I just didn’t have those love feelings toward him.
Peeking at my phone, I note the time and begin to gather my things, preparing to leave for my shift.
“Off so soon?” Wolfgang asks.
I shove my book into my bag. “Yeah, I need to get to work. My shift starts in about fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll walk with you,” he says, rising from his seat and closing a book. “I need to get out of this place. My head is beginning to hurt.”
We put on our coats, and exit the library into the dark evening. The sun always sets earlier this time of year, nearing December.
About halfway to the engineering library, Wolfgang asks, “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yeah,” I respond, adjusting my bag higher up my shoulder. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“You’ve been off today. Barely said a word. It’s so unlike you. Was the trip back home not that great?”
“No, it was predictable, just like I said. I came back early because my family had other plans, and I didn’t feel like sticking around.”
“Is that normal? You don’t talk about your family much. I just figured you had normal child-parent issues with them.”
“You could say that.”
“Did something happen?”
The engineering library comes into view, and my heartbeat quickens, anxiety setting in.
“Yeah, something like that.” Sighing, I stop in place, staring at the entrance. “But not with my parents. I slept with my coworker.”
His head does a quick snap in my direction. “Say what?”
“Over the weekend, I had sex with the guy I work with,” I admit, tilting my head in the direction of my workplace. “I had too much to drink, and we have to work together and—”
“You got some. Congratulations.”
“Wolfie…”
“What? Do you like him?”
“He’s nice.” I lift my shoulder. “Not really my type. He’s kind of geeky but nice.”
“But do you like him?” he asks again.
I hem and haw and then say, “No, not like that.”
“So then, it was just one night of fun.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, giving unintentional sex less thought than ordering a latte. “We all do it.”
“I never have,” I admit. “This was kind of a first for me.”
