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Kora popped in twice. Her questions were more direct.
Why was Max dropping you off this morning?
Are you sleeping together?
How long has it been going on?
I didn't answer her either. If I told her the truth, that Max wasn't the one behind the wheel of his car, she would ask who was. That would lead to a series of questions I wasn't about to answer.
Her second visit was less invasive. She brought me snacks and watched a movie with me. But before she left, she tried one last time to get answers out of me, confessing she saw me get out of Max's car. Instead of answering her directly, I gave her a piece of information to ponder instead.
"There's nothing going on between me and Max. He's already sleeping with one member of this house. Don't ask me who, I have no clue, but I saw him sneaking out of here last week."
Kora's eyes go wide at my confession. Ten minutes later, she excuses herself, and I don't hear from her the rest of the night. My bet is she went snooping around the house to figure out who Max is poking with his dick.
Yesterday I finally pulled myself together, did a load of laundry, and had dinner with my parents. My mom could tell something was wrong but didn't push me when I avoided answering her questions. Not that she stopped asking them. She just didn't force me to answer. Instead, she attempted to interpret my facial expressions. Which she's notoriously good at.
Which is why she has most of the story but no real answers.
She figured out it has to do with a guy. That we weren't together. That my heart hurt. And that I wasn't ready to talk about it.
That last part was obvious from the get-go.
And the entire time my mother was asking me these questions, my father was staring at the TV, watching football, interjecting when he felt he had something to add to the one-sided conversation. Or when he wanted a second helping of casserole.
As soon as I got home, I crawled back in bed and fell asleep, the emotional toll of the weekend consuming me.
Which has me wondering why I still feel drained this morning. I hit snooze twice, forcing me to skip my morning shower in lieu of stopping for coffee. One could happen, but not both. And coffee seemed more pressing with my current state of exhaustion.
Sipping from my cup, my coffee now cold, I force one foot in front of the other and slip through the open doors of the science building. Turning the corner for the stairwell, I bump into a rock-hard body, my coffee splashing out of my cup and onto my chin.
"Crap."
"I'm sorry."
Can this day get any worse?
Wiping the remnants of my drink off my chin with the back of my hand, I look up to find Brady staring down at me, his eyes filled with sorrow. My body comes alive at the sight of him in his tight black t-shirt, his tattoos on display as they wrap around his arms. The blues and reds swirling in an intricate pattern I have yet to decipher and now won't have the chance to.
"It's fine," I state, averting my eyes as I attempt to walk around him. Brady steps in my way, placing his hands on my waist. The heat from his hands has a shiver threatening to wreck my entire body, forcing me to take a step back, his hands falling to his sides.
"Can I buy you a new one?"
"That's not necessary." Tossing the cup in the trash can beside him to emphasize my point, I say, "It was almost empty anyway."
Brady shoves his hands in his front pockets, rocking back on the heels of his boots. I wait for him to say something, to attempt to fight for me—at least to buy me coffee—but he doesn't. I've already reached my breaking point for this conversation.
We're standing too close.
He smells too good.
And my brain has forgotten that we're no longer hooking up. Because it's sending signals to my girly parts. Dangerous thoughts are running through my mind. And all of them involve Brady naked. Which makes moisture pool in my panties—yes, I'm wearing them today.
"I'm going to be late," I finally say, but my feet refuse to move.
"I was hoping we could get together and talk."
"I have class."
