“Only when you don’t try and give things a fair chance, Miss Remy.”
I rolled my eyes, even though they couldn’t see it, because they spent the rest of the way up to the second floor going on with their banter. My friend, the fierce liberal, loved picking fights with the uber conservative. It was like they rarely had a normal conversation, but she loved it. Every time she talked about him her whole face lit up. He’d finally brought her out of the dark clouds she first sat under when she transferred, and now they were inseparable.
I, on the other hand, was not taken and would have been just as happy sitting at home and not having something sticky that smelled like licorice on my costume. I’d have to ask Trey who he used for a dry cleaner.
We reached the second floor, where a few couples were making out and some girls were taking duck face photos with their phones. Ugh. Trey turned to the right and stopped at the first door.
John Boy sauntered in behind us, his loin cloth still perfectly in place. Not that I was hoping for it to have shifted. “And welcome to Chez John Boy, where the magic happens.”
He pushed open the door and I was overwhelmed by the smell of dirty socks mixed with cologne. The room was small, with an unmade twin bed in one corner, a futon opposite that, and a sole window across from us. Piles of clothes littered the floor and there were posters of half naked women and beer advertisements on the walls.
“I can’t believe any girl would actually screw you after seeing this place.” Monica curled her upper lip, walking into the tiny room and dodging the piles of clothes.
“Some girls prefer things a little out of order. What do you think about it, Red?” John Boy winked.
“Red?” My hair definitely wasn’t red and I wasn’t one of those redheads who were in denial, like Monica, who claimed her hair was auburn. No, my hair was dirty, bottom of the sink brown and just as curly as the steel wool used to wash that sink.
“Yeah, you know, because of what’s soaking through that lovely sweater.” His eyes trailed down to the now giant red splotch across my shirt.
My cheeks heated up and probably turned just as red as my shirt.
“Okay, can you stop trying to spit your game at Melanie now and get us a shirt?” Monica groaned. Trey stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head.
“Keep your hat on, Lib, I’m getting it.” John Boy took a few strides over to the small closet and opened it. There were only empty hangers and a dresser inside. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a dark green shirt, tossing it in Monica’s direction.
She caught the shirt and unfolded it, holding it out in front of her before curling her upper lip. “Seriously? You expect Melanie to walk around wearing this?”
“What? That’s a nice one. Usually girls have to do a lot more than just get a drink spilled on them to get one of my shirts.”
I looked over Monica’s shoulder and raised my eyebrows when I read the shirt. “Alpha Mu: We’ll make you smile like a donut.” I didn’t get it at first and then I noticed the picture. It was of a girl with her mouth as a donut, making a giant O shape. Great, a blow job shirt.