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Me: Thanks. I’m pretty excited about it.
Ally T: You should be. You’re basically a badass.
Me: This is true.
Ally T: Okay, your head is big enough, and I’m in the middle of class. Leave me alone.
Me: Fine, asshole.
She sends me a kissy face, and I laugh as I click off her name and go to Angie’s.
Me: Hey, if you still want a date for the party, I’m your dude.
Angie: Really? What changed your mind?
I can’t exactly tell her the whole truth, so I go with part of it.
Me: I want to get to know you more, and I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.
Angie: Well, that’s good to hear. Wanna meet at my dorm at nine?
Me: Yeah, I’ll see you in a bit.
Angie: I can’t wait.
Me: Can’t either.
I sort of feel bad. I don’t want to lead her on, but then again, I’ve been totally honest about what I want. Maybe tonight, she’ll decide she wants more. Though, that’ll just put me in more trouble.
’Cause I don’t want anything with her.
Shit. I’m acting like a before-Shelli Aiden.
Not a good look, but he’d be so proud.
I get to Angie and Ally’s dorm right at nine. I’m one of those punctual dudes, which is why my supervisors and professors speak so highly of me. The rest of my family? Always late. It drove me insane growing up. It didn’t matter what time we had to be somewhere; we were always thirty minutes late. It was so bad that Aiden would have to put his hockey gear on in the car just to make it to practice on time. The smell was horrendous. When he started driving, it was a godsend. He actually cared about getting to practice or games on time; everything else, though, he was late. Come to think about it, he’ll probably be late to his wedding.
When I reach Ally and Angie’s room, I admire the picture of them hugging tightly that’s stuck to the door with their names on either side of the photo. It’s cute, plus, they both look really pretty. I never lived in the dorms. I got an apartment right off the bat because sharing a space with a person I’m not sleeping with makes me itch. Ally loves it. Though, she does have an issue with sharing a washing machine—for good reason. College kids are disgusting.
I rap my knuckles on the door three times, and Ally yells, “Come in!”
I push the door open, and the first thing I see is Ally. She’s lying halfway on her bed, her knees on the floor, with a book open in front of her. She’s wearing a very tight leopard-print dress and has on black Jordan sneakers. Her hair is down, wild with curls, and her makeup is done like she is about to walk the runway. I swallow hard at the sight of her.
She looks up at me and grins. “Hey, Jumbotron-job guy.”
I grin, shaking my head out of the haze her beauty has caused. “Hey yourself. Tight dress.”
She scoffs as she nods. “I know. We’re all wearing these dresses we got at Walmart.”
I raise my brows as I shut the door. “Walmart?”
With wide eyes, she says, “Um, Walmart stepped up their game. Plus, can’t beat eleven bucks for a bitchin’ dress.”
I snort. “Bitchin’?”
“What? It’s a fun word.”
“Yeah, in the eighties,” I tease as I sit on her bed. “Where is Angie?”
