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I can recognize the answering silence for what it is: she’s not satisfied with all Bs, but it’s also not bad enough to justify harping on me. When she speaks again, I’m relieved that she’s decided to move on. “Are you going out tonight?”
“Yeah,” I say, swiping on deodorant, “just about to head out soon.”
“With Grant?”
“Yeah, and I think we’re meeting Callie at the party.”
“What about Azalea?”
I frown as I cap my deodorant. “Azalea only comes out once in a while. She probably won’t be there.”
“So she’s going to be left all alone? Maybe you should keep her company.”
God knows I’d rather stay in with her like I usually do, but this is our last free weekend before the season starts. Grant is determined to get laid, and I promised him I’d be his wingman tonight. “She’s fine, Mom. She knows she’s invited.”
“Alright,” she says reluctantly. “I won’t keep you. Make good choices, Maverick.”
“I will.”
We say our goodbyes, and I step out of the bathroom. Pax immediately jumps off his bed, pointing to his watch. “It’s 9:13. You should have been out of there three minutes ago.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m done now.”
Pax and I got connected through a mutual friend when we were both looking for a roommate last summer. He’s a recluse, rarely leaving his room for anything besides class, meals, and his internship at a local software agency—and his nightly, scheduled bubble baths. Still, he’s grown on me this year. We play video games and watch action movies together sometimes. I might even call him a friend.
“9:10,” he says, jabbing his finger at the laminated piece of notebook paper hanging on the wall. “The agreement is that you’re out at 9:10.”
Like I said: Imightcall him a friend.
I ignore him as I put on my sneakers and grab my jacket off the doorknob. “Have a good night, man,” I say, and slip out the door before he can reply.
Grant’s car is idling in front of my building. I tap on the window to get his attention, and he lets me in. He has his music turned up loud, the bass reverberating, and there’s a Red Bull sitting in his drink holder. I dial the stereo volume way down.
“You’re already killing my vibe,” he complains.
“You’re killing mine,” I shoot back. “I’m exhausted. Practice this week kicked my ass.”
“It’s our last year of college. You really want to spend it laying in your bed, icing your groin and pining over Azalea?”
I purse my lips as Grant hits the gas and peels out of the parking lot at a slightly higher speed than necessary. As we head toward campus, I sidestep his last comment. “Is that your segway into trying to convince me to have sex tonight?”
“No, but since you brought it up—”
“I’ll be your wingman,” I interrupt. “That’s it.”
Grant gives me a sideways glance. I can tell he’s trying not to be pushy, but he legitimately doesn’t understand this hang up of mine. To him, preparing for the future doesn’t have to mean putting your life on hold in the present. That’s not the way I see things. I have one single goal that I’ve been working toward for my entire life, and I’m on the cusp of achieving it. I’d be stupid to mess it up now.
“Alright,” he says.
“Wasn’t this part of the appeal of having me for your wingman? You can bring me to talk to groups of girls, but your shots of scoring are higher since none of them are leaving with me?”
“Yeah, but dude…” Grant lowers his voice, even though we’re alone in the car. “You haven’t had sex sincehigh school.”
I stare straight ahead, out the windshield. With every second that passes, my regret at agreeing to come out tonight grows. “I’ve got two hands. They do just fine.” Grant guffaws at that, and I crack a smile. “The last thing I need is to knock up some stranger.”
“That’s what condoms are for, my dude.”
“Condoms break.”
